Jean Rabe - The Day of the Tempest

The gold and silver would try to pursue him, but they were smaller, and their wings could not take them as far and as fast as Khellendros’s. They would not be able to catch him. The Storm Over Krynn ached from absorbing the impact of their dragon breath, but his heart soared with pride.

Higher he flew, until he buried himself in the thickest cloud overhead. Lightning skittered down his sides and helped to ease his agony. The fierce wind washed over his massive head, and the rain refreshed him.

Then he climbed higher still, heading north, swooping below the clouds only once, and that was to snag Fissure in a great claw—and the lance in the other.

“The Storm Over Krynn shall triumph!” the Blue bellowed to the heavens. “With this magic I will bring Kitiara home!” His triumphant cries turned to shrieks of agony as the lance burned his evil flesh. Still, the dragon flew higher.

The clouds thinned and the rain lessened. The gold and the silver gave up their chase and returned to the scene of the carnage.

“Father! We answered your call too late!” Ulin gasped as he slid from Sunrise’s back and stared at the rubble strewn over the shattered bodies. Tears welled up in his eyes, and spilled down his cheeks. He felt faint with grief and tried to stifle a sob—which quickly turned into a cry of surprise.

A portion of the clearing shimmered. As the dragons and Gilthanas and Ulin watched, shapes formed, transparent at first, but then growing brighter, appearing solid. There were eight figures—Palin, Rig, Fiona, Groller, Fury, Feril, Blister, and Jasper.

The elder Majere dropped to his knees. The spell he had cast to cloak their presence and make false images of themselves had sapped the last of his energy. He was exhausted, and his sides heaved mightily as he tried to suck air into his lungs. He had not cast that type of illusion since the gods of magic had withdrawn from the world,

Gilthanas, Silvara, Ulin, and Sunrise had provided a much needed distraction and had made it easier to fool the Blue. Now the dragons kept their necks craned toward the thinning clouds, wanting to make sure Khellendros would not be returning.

“We still have a chance,” Rig said, as he shouldered the Fist of E’li and helped Palin to his feet At least he had one artifact, and Palin knew where Dalamar’s ring rested. There was Age of Dreams magic with the Dimernesti beneath the sea. And there was Dhamon’s glaive, which the mariner intended to claim after he slew the treacherous ex-knight.

“Goldmoon is dead. We’re wounded. What chance do we have?” Jasper asked.

“A chance,” Rig said quietly. “And it’s a chance we have to take,” He stared at the scepter in his hands. “If we give up now, all of Krynn loses.”

It was a place of swirling gray mists—insubstantial, yet solid enough to stand upon. Goldmoon stood there, the tendrils swirling about her legs, and wrapping tight as if to hold her there, to keep her from falling or floating away.

She was dressed in leather breeches and a fringed leather tunic that hung to her thighs. The clothes looked new and fit her perfectly. Her long, gold and silver hair was braided, as she had worn it in her younger years, with beads and feathers stuck here and there as adornments.

Though there was no sun or moon, there was a hazy light, provided by the gray mists. Her hair shone in the light, and her eyes sparkled as her lips crept upward into a smile.

Goldmoon looked as she did then, on that first day they met, her eyes wide open and fixed on the man’s handsome form.

Riverwind stood before her, with tanned skin, jet black hair, and eyes that were piercing and filled with a quiet mirth. He was just as she had remembered him being at their first meeting that seemed like yesterday, though it was long ago. He reached out a hand and touched her smooth race. .

“Husband,” she said simply.

“I have been waiting for you,” Riverwind replied.

Jean Rabe lives in a sky-blue house wedged between a cornfield and a dairy farm in rural Wisconsin. When she isn’t charting the course of the new heroes of Ansalon, she likes to spend time with her numerous pets, tend her strawberry garden, and play war games with her husband. She worked for TSR, Inc. for many years as the coordinator of the ROLE PLAYING GAME ASSOCIATION™ Network. Prior to that, she was a newspaper reporter and news bureau chief.

Jean’s previous novels include The Dawning of a New Age, Red Magic, Secret of the Djinn, and Night of the Tiger. She also co-authored Maquesta Kar-Thon in the DRAGONLANCE” Warriors series.

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