Jean Rabe - The Day of the Tempest

“This cave is under the lake?”

“A safe lair,” Shimmer continued. “Safe from the eyes of the overlords and from Krynn’s inhabitants who seem to fear all dragons now.”

Dhamon’s fingers explored his chest and his legs, where he’d been sliced by Gale’s sharp scales. There were no scars, and only a few tender spots. His palms were healed, too. He reached his hands up to his face, where a short, uneven beard grew. His fingers combed through his hair, which was a little longer than he remembered and much more tangled. He glanced again at the dragon.

“I peeled your clothes from you, healed you ” Shimmer explained. “I have such talents. But there were serious injuries beneath your flesh, and those took a long while to mend.”

“How long have I been …”

“You have slept for a month or more, as humans count the passing of time. I was able to feed you some, but I suspect you are hungry. Yes?”

Dhamon nodded.

“1 will return with something for you to eat.” Shimmer slipped into the darkest shadows of the cave, and Dhamon heard a splash. He pulled himself to his feet, using the cave wall for support.

“A month,” he whispered. “Feril must think I’m dead ” He felt a little lightheaded as he forced himself to walk. His legs protested, but he pushed himself to explore the cave. The floor sloped downward to his right and the passage narrowed. Too narrow for the dragon, he thought, but not a dragon that can turn itself into a fish—or likely other creatures. Blackness engulfed him for a moment, but he followed the passage, until it widened and brightened. Luminous lichen covered the ceiling of a chamber that was filled with piles of steel pieces, gems, jewelry, weapons and shields, urns, golden candlesticks, and more. So my savior dragon is covetous, Dhamon thought. But then all dragons were said to crave wealth.

He slowly returned to the scale and drank his fill, then sat and leaned back against the wall to wait for the dragon. He did not have to wait long. Shimmer glided into the cave, moving quickly and quietly despite her bulk. She opened her mouth and three large fish spilled out, flopping onto the cave floor. Dhamon quickly grabbed one and struck its head against the stone wall to stun it. He sliced open its belly on the edge of the scale, careful to not let its entrails spill into his drinking water. Gently prying the fish apart, he tugged at its flesh and began to eat.

“Feeling better?” the dragon asked when Dhamon had finished all three fish.

“Yes, thank you.”

“I would know of you, then. What you call yourself, what you are about. Then I will decide just what to do with you.”

Dhamon’s brow furrowed. He hadn’t considered the possibility that the dragon might not let him go. Bronze dragons sided with the forces of light, and in decades past they had aided Krynn’s humans and demihumans. But times were different. Naked and without a weapon, he could do little to stand up to Shimmer. He was at her mercy. Dhamon took a deep breath and stared into the dragon’s emerald eyes.

He told her briefly of his youth, of how he had been recruited into the Knights of Takhisis, lured by thoughts of pomp and battle and his admiration of the knights in his town. He had distinguished himself in battle after battle, and finally was paired with a blue dragon, Gale.

Dhamon was apart from Gale when he met the old Solamnic Knight—Sir Geoffrey Quick—in the woods. The Solamnic had carried the grievously-wounded Dhamon to his home, and during the next few months gradually nursed the young man back to health. During that time, the Solamnic’s words eventually swayed Dhamon away from the Knighthood of Takhisis, made him realize that the Order had little to do with chivalry and honor anymore, and had grown into an organization of armored bullies striving for power and the accomplishment of dark goals.

The day Dhamon left the Solamnic, he buried his black mail armor and the sword with the ruby in its pommel, and set about trying to cleanse his spirit.

“I am not proud of what I was,” Dhamon concluded. “But I am not that man anymore. I owed the Solamnic for saving my life, and now I owe you as well. But do not think to keep me here.”

The bronze scrutinized Dhamon’s tanned face. “No. I do not think you would reveal my lair. You are free to go.”

Dhamon grew silent. A month had passed—at least. Rig, Feril, and the others would no longer be in Palanthas. Once they had contemplated going after the White in Southern Ergoth—perhaps he might find them there. Or perhaps they were on their way back to Serialises. He wanted desperately to see Feril again, to explain about his past. He’d need clothes first, and a weapon, as well as a way to get to Schallsea island.

“Join us, Shimmer,” Dhamon said simply. “We stand against the overlords and we could use your help. If good dragons were to join forces and fight against the evil dragons, then we…”

Shimmer emphatically shook her head. “Most of my brethren are in hiding. There are more evil dragons than good now, and the evil ones are ruthless. It is impossible to save all the people from the overlords. If we tried, if we fought for you, we would be dying with you, not saving you. We will pick our own battles, in our own time.” The dragon glanced toward the darkest part of the cave. “You are free to go. I will take you above the lake. I’ve invested too much effort in you to see you drown. You can go wherever you wish.”

Dhamon paused. “A weapon,” the former knight said. “You’ve several in your cave. Could you spare one?”

Shimmer’s eyes narrowed. “The glaive. You can have it. Take it from my treasure chamber. But take nothing else.”

Dhamon hurried through the passage. He had no intention of taking any of Shimmer’s wealth. He had no intention of risking certain death for a bit of treasure—even though a couple of coins would buy him something to wear. The glaive leaned against the farthest wall. Dhamon picked his way over a mound of coins and gems. The weapon’s curved edge glinted in the light from the lichen. It had a long haft, nearly five feet in length and was intricately carved with the images of birds of prey in flight. The blade secured to the top resembled a large axe head, and it was crowned with a spear point. The glaive was light and well-balanced, its metal a silvery-blue.

He returned to Shimmer and ventured to ask another boon. “It would take me a long time to walk anywhere. Would you take me to the healer Goldmoon on Schallsea? The island?”

He heard a gentle rumble, the dragon laughing. “You ask much; that is near Sable’s realm.”

“Yes.”

“No. Name another destination.”

Dhamon thought for a moment, then named another possibility. The dragon nodded. Her emerald green eyes bore into his, filled his vision. The cave seemed to melt around him, the grays and browns of the rock melding with the green, swirling about him like wind-whipped leaves. Then the stone floor vanished beneath his feet

Gilthanas tugged the cord free from the neck of his bright indigo tunic and tied back his hair, tucking the loose strands out of the way behind his prominent elven ears. Then, without slowing his stride, he straightened the tunic and brushed at a couple of loose threads. It was one of the garments Rig had bought for him not quite a week ago in Gander, where most of the Northern Waste refugees had been sent on their way—thankfully easing the severe overcrowding on the ship.

The mariner had purchased colorful clothes for everyone, and gave each passenger a purse of steel coins. Gilthanas remembered that Feril was pleasantly surprised by Rig’s generosity, but that generous act wasn’t enough to save the dark-skinned man from the Kagonesti’s tongue-lashing several minutes ago.