Douglas Niles: The Dragons

“Over there!” barked the knight in a rudely direct tone. But Lectral bit back his annoyance and followed the tip of the lance, seeing several greens swarming around a mighty gold and its royal elven rider.

“Quallathan!” cried Lectral in alarm, immediately sideslipping and curling toward the savage melee.

Laurana, astride the gold, stabbed with her lance, taking down one of the greens, and then Lectral swept through the melee. Allsar Dane’s lance ripped another emerald-colored serpent, and the powerful combination of silver talons and fangs rent a third, leaving it, crippled and shrieking, to plunge helplessly toward the plains far below.

Lectral looked, seeing more of the enemy dragons breaking away, flying toward the eastern horizon. The first battle was over; the evil wyrms had been put to flight. He knew there would be more, and the silver dragon was eager to fight them.

“We’ve got them on the run now. I’ll bet they fly all the way to the Khalkists,” Allsar declared.

“Then it is time for us to go there and finish the job our forefathers began,” replied the mighty silver dragon.

352 AC

In a dazzling campaign, Lauralanthalasa, the Golden General, led the army of Whitestone on a rapid counterattack across the Vingaard plains. Under the shelter of metallic wings, the Knights of Solamnia, dwarves of Kayolin and Thorbardin, and free men and elves from throughout the west surged in vengeful attacks against the dragon high-lords and their teeming armies. Buoyed by Laurana’s success in her initial attack, the forces of Whitestone marched and fought and marched some more, striking quickly, winning one battle after another. Willingly they followed her orders, trusting her natural instincts, constantly keeping the enemy forces off-balance and in desperate retreat.

Laurana led the liberation of Vingaard Keep, and then swiftly ferried her army-on the backs of dragons! — across the river of the same name while that torrent was at the full height of spring flood. Striking quickly, moving with forced marches, and always in the direction the enemy least expected, the Army of Whitestone embarked on a series of blistering, lightning-fast offensives.

The wyrms of Takhisis did not let this advance go unchallenged. After the disaster met by the green dragons, the whites and blacks flew forth but were defeated in quick, sharp battles. Following each of these three engagements, the survivors among the defeated chromatic dragons reeled back to the east, flying into the rugged Khalkists in search of sanctuary.

On the ground, the mounted knights thundered forward in sweeping charges, onslaughts that set the plains themselves to resounding underfoot. Great phalanxes of footmen kept pace, anchoring the line when the enemy forces showed signs of attacking, or hurrying forward in relentless pursuit each time the foe was once again put to flight. Elven bowmen harassed the enemy with deadly missile fire, and doughty dwarves wielded sword and axe, an implacable anvil against which the hammer of the good dragons could strike.

Still the Blue and Red Wings remained intact and under Highlord Ariakas’s personal command. That lord’s mount, Tombfyre, became as well known as his master, killing many a Whitestone warrior with his fiery breath, cruel jaws, and crushing, talons. For the most part, the Emperor of Ansalon patiently held his mighty serpents back from Laurana’s army. Yet finally any further patience on the Highlord’s part would have resulted in the loss of virtually all the land gained in the previous years’ campaigns.

The two wings met in a major battle, hundreds of dragons and their riders wheeling through the skies, breathing death, striving for mastery, and once again the Golden General prevailed. The Army of Whitestone moved on to the liberation of Kalaman, while Ariakas fell back again, withdrawing into the rugged sanctuary of the Khalkists.

But before the campaign could continue to its final triumph, Lauralanthalasa was captured by trickery, her own loyalty used to draw her into the Highlord’s snare. She was taken into the heart of the Dark Queen’s realms, and all the hopes for victory remained in abeyance. Warriors, dragons, and wizards on both sides felt the world plunging toward a cusp of history, a day-or night-when the Dark Queen’s dreams of mastery would either become reality or be shattered into irrevocable defeat.

Yet still the war in the skies continued as the dragons of Paladine fought against the wings under Ariakas’s command. Gilthanas of Qualinesti, mounted upon mighty Silvara, took command of the aerial forces, and the good dragons pressed their foes all the way to the fringe of the Khalkists.

For their part in this culminating campaign, Lectral and the silvers were patrolling with the coppers over the great Army of Whitestone, which was gathered at a gap leading into the foothills. The evil forces had fallen back all the way to Neraka, with mountainous barriers screening them against any land attack from the west. Now they watched… and waited.

“After the war, let’s go fishing,” Allsar Dane suggested, lounging in the saddle as Lectral glided lazily above the plains. They had learned to converse easily in the air, Lectral holding his neck arched so that he could hear the man’s voice. The posture was too slow and awkward for battle flight, but quite comfortable when, as now, they were gliding on patrol.

“I’d like that,” the silver flier agreed, realizing that the notion had a strong appeal. “To the Newsea, perhaps, to see if the salmon are running.”

“Ah, but only if we can then go to the mountains, stalking the rainbow trout,” replied Allsar.

“I like your plan,” Lectral said.

A squawk of alarm drew their attention, and they saw a griffon flying urgently toward them. The hawkish flier bore an elven scout on his back.

“The Blue and Red Wings gather in the high mountains,” the scout explained as his laboring steed strained to fly beside Lectral at this lofty altitude. “They’re concealed by fog, but they took flight with the dawn. They’ll be coming this way soon.”

“Thanks for the notice,” the silver replied, turning his head to the east. Allsar Dane cinched his belt tight and made sure that the Dragonlance was firmly seated in its swiveling mount.

The coppers, under the leadership of Cymbol, circled nearby. The gold, brass, and bronze dragons were elsewhere, embarked on a desperate search to rescue Laurana. Until the Golden General’s return, Gilthanas, astride Silvara, would remain in command.

“Ready?” asked Lectral.

“Let’s go,” the knight replied.

The skies over the mountains were thick with cloud and mist, a great blanket of white, deceptively soft and pure, billowing upward into the loftiest reaches. After hearing the alarm, the ancient silver stared into that impenetrable murk, waiting for the first appearance of the foe. His rider was alert and poised on his shoulders, and more silvers flew to either side.

The Red Wing emerged from the cloud like a mass of bloodstains seeping through a cotton blanket-dozens, then scores of red shapes growing larger and more distinct, emerging from the foggy nothingness to become bright, vivid spots of color. In the lead came the Highlord Ariakas, Emperor of Ansalon, still mounted upon mighty Tombfyre.

In fact, Lectral recognized the dragon before the rider, for his old enemy was the only wyrm among the opposing force that was the silver’s equal in size. Somehow it seemed fitting that the descendant of legendary Crematia should bear the enemy emperor.

The dragons of both wings converged quickly, with no thoughts for the antlike troops crawling on the ground below. A formation of blue dragons flew beside the reds, and the numbers of the enemy serpents seemed to fill the air. Lectral knew beyond any doubt that this battle would be settled in the skies-and, perhaps, finally resolved for all the future of Krynn. His jaws parted instinctively, and he bellowed a thunderous roar, loudly challenging the chromatic dragons, instinctively boasting of his courage and his might.