Margaret Weis - Dragons of Summer Flame

The dragons spiraled downward amid walls of roaring water. The sound was deafening, the booming of the waterfalls pounding into the head, the vibrations of the thundering cascade threatening to stop the heart.

The knights and their dragons flew deeper and deeper into the rift until darkness swallowed them. With darkness came silence, a silence more awful than the water’s tumult. It was a silence that made each man fear, for horrible moments, that he had gone deaf.

When Steel spoke, it was mainly to hear the sound of his own voice.

“Where are we?”

“We have flown into a tunnel that leads into the Abyss,” Flare replied. “This is the path we dragons take. It is secret, unguarded. It comes out near the Portal.”

The dragons sped through the tunnel, and soon the knights could see a glimmer of red light at the end. They emerged from the tunnel into a landscape that was more barren and empty than the darkness from which they had come. Empty except for a lone figure, clad in white robes, who stood near the Portal and seemed to have been awaiting their arrival. When they flew within his range of sight, he raised his hand to stop them.

“Who is that?” Steel demanded, peering down at the figure.

“A White Robe,” replied Flare disdainfully, neither slowing nor pausing in her flight. Steel stared at the figure, thinking it was familiar. His eyes caught the glimmer of white light shining from atop a staff.

“Halt!” Steel ordered. “Take me down. I know him.”

“Master, there is no time!” Flare protested.

“This won’t take long,” Steel promised. “He is in contact with the mages. Perhaps he has some news.”

Flare made no more complaint, but spiraled slowly down. She landed near the Portal, claws skidding on the gray, red-tinged rock.

Steel leapt from the saddle, walked swiftly toward Palin, who advanced to meet him.

“What is it, Majere?” Steel demanded. “Why do you stop us? Make haste. We ride to battle.”

“I know,” Palin replied. “I stopped you for that reason. Take me with you.”

Steel frowned, said slowly, “I thank you for the offer, Majere. I honor your courage now, as I have in the past. But I must decline.”

The other knights and dragons spiraled overhead, silver dragons flying side by side with blue, dark knights riding with the knights of light.

“Go back to the world above, Majere,” Steel said. “Go back to the woman you love. Go back to the parents who love you. Spend what time you can with them. Don’t worry about missing the battle. If we fail, the battle will come to you. Farewell.”

Palin moved to block Steel’s way.

“I can keep you from failing,” Palin said, and he held out the spellbook. “Look at the name written on the cover. The book was given to me by the Conclave of Wizards. And I am to tell you this. All you need to do to Chaos is to wound him.”

“Wound him?” Steel was doubtful.

“That’s all. The god, Reorx, told me this as I was leaving.”

“That’s all?" Flare snaked her head down to take part in the conversation. “That is everything! This is not some ogre chieftain we’re talking about! This is the Father of All and of Nothing. Even in his mortal form, he is terrifying beyond belief. He stands taller than the Vingaard Mountains. His arm is the width and breadth of the River Torath. His hair is pure flame, his gaze is doom, his hand is death. He is surrounded by fire dragons and shadow-wights and daemon warriors. Wound him!” Flare snorted.

“We can. You and I,” Palin said calmly, his hand upon the spellbook. “We walked through Shoikan Grove together and came out alive. Few other mortals can say that.”

“True,” Steel said with a half-smile. He pondered, but only a moment. “A warrior never turns down a useful weapon. Very well, Majere, you ride with us. But understand this—we cannot spare the manpower to defend you. If you get into trouble, you must get yourself out.”

“Agreed,” said Palin. “I will not let you down. I have learned much since my first battle.”

Steel remounted his dragon. Reaching down his hand, he assisted Palin to sit in the saddle behind him.

Flare spread her wings, flew to join the rest of the knights. The red-orange glow in the sky grew brighter, stronger. The air was hot and fetid, difficult to breathe.

“How many spells do you have?” Steel asked, shouting over the rush of wind in their ears. “Are they powerful? What do they do?"

“I may not speak of such matters,” Palin answered, clutching the spellbook under one arm. “It is forbidden.”

Steel looked back at him, suddenly grinned. “The hell it is. You don’t have that many, do you?”

Palin smiled. “They are very complex. And I didn’t have much time to study them.”

“How many do you have?”

“One. But,” Palin added gravely, “it’s a good one.”

“I’ll say this for him,” Tasslehoff Burrfoot remarked, looking up and up and up. “He certainly is ugly.”

“Hush!” Dougan whispered in an agony of terror. “Himself will hear you!”

“Would he be offended?”

“No, he won’t be offended!” Dougan snapped furiously. “He’ll just squash us all like bugs! Now shut up and let me think.”

Tas fully intended to keep quiet, but Usha looked so pale and frightened and unhappy that he couldn’t help but whisper, “Don’t worry. Palin will be all right. He has the staff and the spellbook.”

“How can he possibly win against... against that?” Usha said, staring in awe and dread at the fearful giant.

A word from Dougan had transported Usha, Tas, and the dwarf to the Abyss. Or rather, the god’s magic seemed to have brought the Abyss to them. The grove of seven dead pines remained around them, but the rest of the island on which the grove stood had vanished. The broken altar of the Irda stood in the middle of the grove, which stood in the middle of nowhere. Dougan, Tas, and Usha crouched behind the altar.

Above them towered Chaos.

The giant was alone. He had apparently not noticed the grove or the altar, which had sprung up behind his back. He gazed straight ahead, into time, into space. He was silent. All was silent around him. Yet it seemed that in the distance could be heard the sounds of battle.

“The people of the world fight Himself and his forces,” Dougan said softly. “Each person in his or her own way, wherever they may be, battles him. It has made allies of ancient enemies. Elves fight side by side with ogres. Humans and goblins, dwarves and draconians—all have abandoned their differences. Even the gnomes—may the gods bless them and help them.” Dougan sighed. “And the kender are doing their part, a small part, but a valued one.”

Tas opened his mouth to make an excited comment, but Dougan frowned at him so fiercely that Tas kept silent.

“And that is why, Lass,” Dougan said, patting Usha on the arm, “that we have this chance. If we had to face Chaos and all his legions...” The dwarf shook his head, wiped his hand over his sweating face. “It would be hopeless.”

“I don’t know if I can do this, Dougan,” Usha said, trembling. “I don’t know if I have the courage.”

“I’ll be with you,” Tas said, squeezing her hand. The kender looked back up at Chaos. “Humpf. He’s big—really, really big. And ugly. But I’ve faced big, ugly things before. Lord Soth, for example. And I wasn’t the least bit afraid. Well, maybe just the tiniest bit, because he was a death knight and awfully powerful. He could kill you with just a single word! Imagine that! Only he didn’t kill me. He just sort of bowled me over and I got a bump on the head. I—”