Douglas Niles - Measure and the Truth

Great pale wings spread from the scaly shoulders of the creature, which snarled at him and Laka, opening a pair of tooth-filled, crocodilian jaws. And then it stood on its hind legs and drew a short steel sword from a leather belt.

“Stop!” it hissed. “And be afraid!”

Ankhar, in truth, had been badly startled by the creature’s appearance. It was a draconian, he noted at once, but of a type that was larger than any draconian he had ever seen previously. Furthermore, the draconian had a broad set of wings that spread much wider than the atrophied leathery flaps that allowed the standard example of the species to glide short distances while preventing true flight.

The creature was silvery white in color and almost as tall as the gaping half-giant. The hissing growls that issued from the draconian’s maw were indeed frightening, and its flapping wings made it look even larger than it really was.

But the thing was not as tall as Ankhar-nor, he felt certain, was it as strong or fierce. The half-giant’s surprise changed to anger and insult, and he lowered his spearhead, brandishing the emerald stone at his challenger’s chest.

“Who are you to tell me to be afraid?” he demanded.

“I am Gentar-chief of the sivaks!” snapped the draconian, hissing, growling, and spitting.

Only then did Ankhar realize that other draconians were settling to the ground all around them. Within moments he and Laka were surrounded by more than a dozen of the creatures, each of whom was some nine feet tall-taller than a bull ogre-and continuously flapping their great, powerful wings. Others remained in the air, wheeling and circling, like bats. They flew with grace and power, and wore bands of leather strapped across their chests and girding their loins. The growling, hissing sivak draconians presented an impressive array of fangs, talons, and silver-bladed weapons.

“I am not afraid!” Ankhar lied-loudly, which was his favorite way to lie. “You fear me, or die!” He waved his emerald-tipped spear for good measure.

A blast of fire erupted from the ground in front of him, sending the half-giant tumbling backward. The blaze shot upward as if exploding from a deep hole, crackling and burning, radiating heat that forced Ankhar to raise a hand just to shield his eyes. He only barely managed to hold on to his spear as his jaw dropped at the sight of a slender, wingless draconian standing in the place where the column of flame had shot upward.

“You are Ankhar!” declared this new draconian. He was smaller than the other winged monsters, but there was something that suggested command about him. His eyes, slit with vertical pupils, nevertheless gleamed with intelligence, and his voice had a sibilant quality. And he knew the half-giant’s name.

“Who are you?” demanded the one who called himself the Truth.

“I am Guilder,” the creature replied easily, stepping forward, extending a taloned paw in a gesture of greeting. “Aurak draconian, master of these sivaks, and lord of this valley. I greet you in friendship and respect.”

Guilder held that paw extended. Ankhar, watching suspiciously, switched his spear to his left hand and took the paw in his own-and immediately felt a numbing, chilling paralysis take root in his palm and start to run up his arm. Magic! He pulled his hand away with a roar of alarm. Weakness seeped through his flesh, and a wave of dizziness surged up through his mind.

“Take them!” cried Guilder, pulling his paw free, dancing away from the suddenly staggering half-giant. The aurak crowed in triumph and chanted words to a magic spell, wildly gesticulating.

His mother laughed shrilly, a cackling sound that made the half-giant wonder if she were going insane. Whose side was she on anyway? The aurak was still casting a spell, making grotesque sounds that rose to a crescendo and-Ankhar feared-a coming convulsion of magic.

Abruptly the sound of the aurak’s spell-casting ceased, though he continued to work his jaws, frantically. But there was a glimmer of fear in the creature’s slit eyes as the shaman’s spell of silence disrupted the casting of whatever sorcery he had been preparing.

As one of the silvery draconians charged him from in front, Ankhar raised his spear by instinct more than plan, still holding the weapon awkwardly in his left hand. The green stone at the head of the weapon pulsed brightly, a flash of light brighter than the sun. The weapon almost seemed to draw the suddenly frightened draconian onto the weapon. Ankhar took heart from that flaring brilliance and thrust the spear forward with a triumphant bellow.

The green stone wedge pierced the draconian’s chest and exploded through its back, halfway between those two suddenly flailing wings. “Die, wyrmling!” roared Ankhar, pulling the spear free. The draconian tumbled back and fell to the ground. Wings flapping, it thrashed and kicked for a moment, but its struggles quickly faded and it died in a spreading pool of black blood.

The other sivaks growled and barked and squawked, obviously dismayed. Several feinted lunges at the half-giant but retreated before he could parry against them. He spun through a full circle, feeling the strength returning to his numbed right arm. He still held the heavy shaft of his spear in his left hand, shaking it over his head, roaring challenges and taunts at the reptilian band. With his chest thrust out and his muscles flexing, he felt his mastery over the craven creatures and, like his mother, laughed out loud at their hissing, clacking, and flapping.

“Look at Arcen!” The aurak, Guilder, gasped in surprise as Laka’s spell of silence fell away. He was pointing at the dead sivak, now sprawled motionless on the ground at his feet.

Slowly, with a strange rippling through its flesh, that silver-white body began to change. The shape writhed, its talons drawing back into the fingers and toes, its wings shriveling and shrinking. Ankhar was familiar with the gruesome death throes of lesser draconians-the baaz, who became hard stone statues when slain; or the kapaks, whose flesh dissolved into searing acid. But the sivak was strange and different: the draconian was changing shape.

With a violent convulsion, the scaly flesh of the creature’s skin ripped apart. Its chest thickened, and its dragonlike face smoothed, the jaws shrinking until it resembled a more humanoid creature. With a gasp of disbelief, Ankhar suddenly realized that he was looking at the very image of himself! The corpse was wearing strange, ornate garments-nothing like the half-giant’s leather tunic and leggings-but he was too stunned to take note of the garb.

“What foul sorcery is this?” he demanded, taking a step backward.

But the other draconians were not listening. They all recognized the image of Ankhar the Truth-but it was an Ankhar wearing a golden crown and wrapped in the robes that signified he was a great king. The aurak, Guilder, threw himself to the ground, pressing his face forward to kiss the half-giant’s muddy boots.

“My liege!” he cried. “Forgive me!”

“Hail Ankhar!” croaked another of the draconians, the sivak called Gentar who had first confronted him. The draconian placed the tip of his great long sword on the ground and leaned the hilt toward the great lord. “Allow us to serve you, O mighty one!” he croaked.

“My power is my Truth!” bellowed the half-giant. “Est Sudanus oth Nikkas!”

“And we,” Guilder said, speaking with bowed head from bended knee. “We will follow your Truth to the far ends of Krynn!”

Deciding that they did not want to risk magically transporting themselves into the middle of a battle, Selinda and Melissa teleported safely to the yard of a country inn that the princess knew that was several miles south of Vingaard Keep. They arrived unnoticed and, in the early morning light, simply walked up the lane without being seen by anyone in the barely stirring household.