Margaret Weis - Dragons of Vanished Moon

“I wanted to die. I would have died happily, gratefully, for I would have died serving her. Now, I live and she is gone and I have no one. No one!”

Her hand, wet with the blood of her queen, grasped Takhisis’s sword.

Paladine sought to intercede, to stop her. An unseen hand shoved him off balance, sent him tumbling into the sand. A voice thundered from the heavens.

“We will have our revenge, Mortal,” said Sargonnas.

Mina plunged the sword into Silvanoshei’s stomach.

The young elf gasped, stared at her in astonishment.

“Mina . . .” His pallid lips formed the word. He had no voice to speak it. His face contorted in pain.

Furious, grim-faced, Mina thrust harder, drove the sword deeper. She let him hang, impaled on the blade, for a long moment, while she looked at him, let the amber eyes harden over him. Satisfied that he was dying, she yanked the sword free.

Silvanoshei slid down the blade that was smeared with his blood and crumpled into the sand. Clutching the bloody sword, Mina walked over to Paladine, who was slowly picking himself up off the floor of the arena.

Mina gazed at him, absorbed him into the amber. She tossed the sword of Takhisis at his feet.

“You will feel the pain of death. But not yet. Not now. So my Queen wished it, and I obey her last wishes. But know this, wretch. In the face of every elf I meet, I will see your face. The life of every elf I take will be your life. And I will take many ... to pay for the one.” She spat at him, spat into his face. She turned to the gods, regarded them in defiance. Then Mina knelt beside the body of her queen. She kissed the cold forehead. Lifting the body in her arms, Mina carried her dead from the Temple of Duerghast.

All was silent in the arena, silent except for Mina’s departing footfalls. Galdar laid down his head in the sand that was warm from the sunshine. He was very tired. He could rest now, though, for Mina was safe. She was safe at last.

Galdar closed his eyes and began the long journey into darkness. He had not gone far, when he found his path blocked.

Galdar looked up to see an enormous minotaur. The minotaur stood tall as the mountain on which the red dragon had perished. His horns brushed the stars, his fur was jet black. He wore a leather harness, trimmed in pure, cold silver.

“Sargas!” Galdar whispered. Clutching his bleeding stump, he stumbled to his knees and bowed his head. His horns touched the ground.

“Rise, Galdar,” said the god, his voice booming across the heavens. “I am pleased with you. In your need, you turned to me.”

“Thank you, great Sargas,” said Galdar, not daring to rise, tentatively lifting his head.

“In return for your faith, I restore your life,” said Sargas. “I give you your life and your sword arm.”

“Not my arm, great Sargas,” Galdar pleaded, the pain burning hot in his breast. “I accept my life, and I will live it to honor you, but the arm is gone and I do not want it back.” Sargas was displeased. “The minotaur nation has at last thrown off the fetters that have bound us for so many centuries. We are breaking out of the islands where we have long been imprisoned and moving to take our rightful place upon this continent. I need gallant warriors such as yourself, Galdar. I need them whole, not maimed.”

“I thank you, great Sargas,” said Galdar humbly, “but, if it is all the same to you, I will learn to fight with my left hand.”

Galdar tensed, waited in fear of the god’s wrath. Hearing nothing, Galdar risked a peep. Sargas smiled. His smile was grudging, but it was a smile. “Have it your way, Galdar. You are free to determine your own fate.”

Galdar gave a long, deep sigh. “For that, great Sargas,” he said, “I do truly thank you.” Galdar blinked his eyes, lifted his muzzle from the wet sand. He couldn’t remember where he was, couldn’t imagine what he was doing lying here, taking a nap, in the middle of the day. Mina would need him. She would be angry to find him lazing about. He jumped to his feet and reached instinctively for the sword that hung at his waist.

He had no sword. No hand to grasp it. His severed arm lay in the sand at his feet. He looked at where the arm had been, looked at the blood in the sand, and memory returned. Galdar was healthy, except for his missing right arm. The stump was healed. He turned to thank the god, but the god was gone. All the gods were gone. No one remained in the arena except the body of the elf king and the strange elf with the young face and the ancient eyes. Slowly, clumsily, fumbling with his left hand, Galdar picked up his sword. He shifted the sword belt so that he wore it now on his right hip, and, after many clumsy tries, he finally managed to return the sword to its sheath. The weapon didn’t feel natural there, wasn’t comfortable. He’d get used to it, though. This time, he’d get used to it.

The air was not as warm as he had remembered it. The sun dipped down behind the mountain, casting shadows of coming night. He would have to hurry, if he was going to find her. He would have to leave now, while there was still daylight left.

“You are a loyal friend, Galdar,” said Paladine, as the minotaur stalked past him. Galdar grunted and trudged on, following the trail of her footprints, the trail of her queen’s blood. For love of Mina.

The fight for the city of Sanction did not last long. By nightfall, the city had surrendered. It would have probably surrendered much sooner, but there was no one willing to make the decision.

In vain, the Dark Knights and their soldiers called out Mina’s name. She did not answer, she did not come, and they realized at last that she was not going to come. Some were bitter, some were angry. All felt betrayed. Knowing that they if they survived the battle they would be executed or imprisoned, a few Knights fought on. Most fought because they were trapped or cornered by the advancing enemy.

Some had decided to act on Galdar’s advice and tried to find refuge in the caves of the Lords of Doom. These formed the force that had run into the army of draconians. Thinking that they had found an ally, the Dark Knights had been prepared to halt their retreat, turn around to try to retake the city. Their shock when the draconians smashed into them had been immense but shortlived. Who these strange draconians were and why they came to the aid of elves and Solamnics would never be known. The draconian army did not enter Sanction. They held their position outside the city until they saw the flag of the Dark Knights torn down and the banners of the Qualinesti, the Silvanesti, and the Solamnic nation raised in its stead.

A large bozak draconian, wearing armor and a golden chain around his neck, marched forward, together with a sivak, wearing the trappings of a draconian high commander. The sivak called the draconian troops to attention. He and the bozak saluted the banners. The draconian troops clashed their swords against their shields in salute. The sivak gave the order to march, and the draconians wheeled and departed, heading back into the mountains.

Someone recalled hearing of a group of draconians who had taken control of the city of Teyr. It was said that these draconians had no love for the Dark Knights. Even if this was true, Teyr was a long march from Sanction, and no one could say how the draconians had managed to arrive at the critical time. Since no one ever saw the draconians again, this mystery was never solved. When the victory in Sanction had been achieved, many of the golden and silver dragons departed, heading for the Dragon Isles or wherever they made their homes. Before they left, each dragon lifted up and carried away a portion of the ashes from the totem, taking them for a proper burial on the Dragon Isles. The Golds and Silver took all the remains, even though mingled among them were the ashes of Reds and Blues, Whites, Greens, and Blacks. For they were all dragons of Krynn.