Margaret Weis: Dragons of Summer Flame

The Irda had lived on the continent of Ansalon for centuries, ever since their creation. Yet few members of the other, more prolific races knew of the Irda’s existence. Such wondrous creatures were the stuff of legend and folk tale. Each child learned at mother’s knee the story of the ogres, who had once been the most beautiful creatures ever created, but who—due to the sin of pride—had been cursed by the gods, changed into ugly, fear some monsters. Such tales were meant as moral lessons.

“Roland, if you pull your sister’s hair one more time, you’ll turn into an ogre.”

“Marigold, if you keep admiring your pretty face, you’ll look into the mirror one day and find yourself as ugly as an ogre.”

The Irda, so legend had it, were ogres who had managed to escape the gods’ wrath, and so remained beautiful, with all their blessings and magical powers intact. Because they were so powerful and so beautiful and so blessed, the Irda did not hobnob with the rest of the world. And so they vanished. Children, walking into a dark and gloomy wood, would always look for an Irda, for—so legend had it—if you caught an Irda, you could force him or her to grant you a wish.

This had about as much truth to it as did most legends, but it did encompass the Irda’s primary fear: If any of the other races ever discovered an Irda, they would try to make use of the powerful magic to enhance their own ends. Fear of this, of being used, drove the Irda to live alone, hidden, disguised, avoiding all contact with anyone.

It had been many years since any Irda had walked on Ansalon—in dark and gloomy woods or anywhere else. Following the War of the Lance, the Irda had looked forward to a long reign of peace. They had been disappointed. The various factions and races on Ansalon could not agree on a peace treaty. Worse, the races were now fighting among themselves. And then there came rumors of a vast darkness forming in the north.

Fearful that his people would be caught in yet another devastating war, the Decider made a decision. He sent out word to all of the Irda,.telling them to leave the continent of Ansalon and travel to this remote isle, far beyond the knowledge of anyone. And so they had come. They had lived in peace and isolation on this isle for many years. Peace and isolation, which had just been shattered.

The Irda had come together here, beneath the willow tree, to try to end this threat. They had come together to discuss the knights and barbarians, yet they stood apart, each separated from his or her fellows, glancing at the tree, then askance at each other, uneasy, uncomfortable, and unhappy. The tree’s severed branch, cut by the knight’s cold steel blade, lay on the ground. Sap oozed from the cut in the living tree. The tree’s spirit cried out in anguish, and the Irda could not comfort it. A peaceful existence, which had been perfected over the years, had come to an end.

“Our magical shield has been penetrated.” The Decider was addressing the group as a whole. “The dark knights know we are here. They will return.”

“I disagree, Decider,” another Irda argued respectfully. “The knights will not come back. Our disguises fooled them. They think we are savages, on the level of animals. Why should they return? What could they possibly want with us?”

“You know the ways of the human race.” The Decider countered, his tone heavy with the sorrow of centuries. “The dark knights may want nothing to do with us now. But there will come a time when their leaders will need men to fill the ranks of their armies, or they will decide that this island would be a good location for building ships, or they will feel the need to put a garrison here. A human can never bear to leave anything alone. He must do something with every object he finds, put it to some use, take it apart to see how it works, attach some sort of meaning or significance to it. So it will be with us. They will be back.”

The Irda, always living alone, in isolation, had no need for any sort of governmental body. Yet they realized that they needed one among them to make decisions for all of them as a whole. Thus, as far back as ancient time, they had always chosen one from among their number who was known as the Decider. Sometimes male, sometimes female, the chosen Decider was neither the eldest nor the youngest, neither the wisest nor the smartest, neither the most powerful mage nor the weakest. The Decider was average and thus, being average, would take no drastic actions, would follow a median course.

The present Decider had proved far stronger, far more aggressive, than any of the Deciders before him. He said it was due to the bad times. His decisions had all been wise ones, or at least so most of the Irda believed. Those who disagreed were reluctant to disturb the placidity of Irda life and had thus far said nothing.

“At any rate, they will not return in the immediate future, Decider,” said the female who had been one of the watchers on the shore. “We watched their ship disappear over the horizon. And we noted that it flew the flag of Ariakan, son of the late Ariakas, Dragon Highlord. Ariakan, like his father before him, is a follower of the dark goddess Queen Takhisis.”

“If he were not a follower of Takhisis, then he would be a follower of Paladine. If not Paladine, then one of the other gods or goddesses. Nothing changes.” The Decider folded his arms across his chest, shook his head. “I repeat, they will be back. For the glory of their queen, if nothing else.”

“They spoke of war, Decider, of invading Ansalon.” This came from the male watcher. “Surely that will occupy them for many years.”

“Ah, there, you see?” The Decider looked triumphantly around at the assembly. “War. Again war. Always war. The reason we left Ansalon. I had hoped that here, at least, we would be safe, immune.” He sighed deeply. “Apparently not.”

“What should we do?”

The Irda, standing apart, separate from each other, looked questioningly at each other.

“We could leave this island, travel to another, where we would be safe,” suggested one.

“We left Ansalon, traveled to this island,” said the Decider. “We are not safe here. We will not be safe anywhere.”

“If they come back, we’ll fight them, drive them away,” said one of the Irda—a very young Irda, newly arrived at the Year of Oneness. “I know that we’ve never, in our entire history, shed the blood of another race. That we’ve hidden ourselves away in order to avoid killing. But we have the right to defend ourselves. Every person in the world has that right.”

The other, more mature, Irda were regarding the young woman with the looks of elaborate patience adults of every species adopt when the young make statements embarrassing to their elders.

And so they were considerably astonished when the Decider said, “Yes, Avril, you are correct. We do have the right to defend ourselves. We have the right to live the lives we choose to live in peace. And I say we should defend that right.”

In their shock, several of the Irda spoke simultaneously. “You are not suggesting that we fight the humans, are you, Decider?”

“No,” he returned. “I am not. Of course, I am not. But neither am I suggesting that we pack up our possessions and leave our homes. Is that what you want?”

One spoke, a man known as the Protector, who had occasionally disagreed with the Decider and had occasionally made his disagreement known. He was, consequently, not a great favorite with the Decider, who frowned when the Protector started to speak.

“Of all the places we have lived, this is the most congenial, the most lovely, the best suited to us. Here we are together, yet apart. Here we can help each other when there is need, yet remain in solitude. It will be hard to leave this island. Yet... it doesn’t seem the same now. I say we should move.”