Douglas Niles: The Dragons

Again the tutor used words that the dragons had never heard, but once more their tiny minds fashioned images to the sounds and began to picture a world that was beyond the enclosure even of the Darkness Beyond.

“Aurora and her sisters used their spell magic to fashion this nest, breathing upon the most precious stones in the world, forming them into a suitable crib for their precious offspring. It was this enchantment that insured your bed was always warm, and that should have seen all of you to a birth undisturbed by dangers.

“In those days of magic, all of your mothers knew great spells. But ever was Aurora the greatest.” At the continuing words, the golden wyrmlings puffed with visible pride.

“It is said that she even caused a mountain to disappear once, bringing to death one of her mortal enemies when that dragon of white flew directly into an immovable cliff.”

“Was that a dragon of our enemies?” asked Aysa.

“Yes, my daughter. You should know that those were days of violence, for the Queen of Darkness was ever jealous of your beautiful mothers, of their metal scales and keen wisdom and, perhaps most of all, of their eternal patience.”

“And that jealousy brought war?” stated Darlantan, who had deduced many facts about the past from things that Patersmith did not say.

“That was the birth of war as such. The sons of the queen were so treacherous that even your mothers’ magic was barely enough to prevent their ultimate success.”

“But spell magic let our mothers win!” Oro asserted, glaring about with a golden glint, challenging any of her nestmates to dispute her claim.

“In the end, it did, though that struggle cost Aurora her life. Still, her spells were mighty. With them she could fly without wings, could at one time battle enemies in two different places.”

“Master, you told us that you speak of ‘those days of magic.’ ” The questioner was Kenta, one of Darlantan’s silver sisters. “By that do you mean those days are over?”

“Aye, my gleaming daughter. In that age of evil and dreams, when your mothers battled the five sons of the Dark Queen, sorcery was a power held by all dragons. It was inherent might that only served to prove your ancestors’ status as masters of all the world.”

“But what happened to the magic?” asked Aurican, frowning, thrashing his golden tail. He glared about the grotto, as if he would fix with his sharp stare the culprit who had worked that audacious theft. In his hands, the ruby bauble had begun to glow faintly, casting a soft, fiery light between the wyrmling’s clutching golden claws.

“Spell magic passed from Krynn with the death of Aurora,” declared Smith, with a sad shake of his whiskers and his head. “The only sorcery in the world now is that embodied by creatures such as yourselves-in the breath weapons that you spit at each other like petulant children, and in the might that will enable some of you to assume different shapes, to walk among the elves and men of the world as one of them.”

“But there are no spells?” Aurican asked again.

“No. Except, perhaps, in the tiniest vestiges-such as you yourself have brought to that piece of rock.”

Aurican looked down in surprise, blinking at the soft illumination that radiated from the stone.

“A nice trick, that-pretty to see, simple to work. But that is the extent of magic that remains in the world. There is no use in searching nor in seeking. The power of true, world-shaking sorcery has vanished, never to return. It faded with the passing of your mothers, leaving Krynn a colder, darker place.”

“Perhaps I will bring it back,” Auri mused, so softly that only Darlantan could hear, though Patersmith looked at the golden wyrm sharply as Aurican spoke more firmly.

“I will. I say this now, to my tutor and my nestmates: Spell magic will again belong to our world.”

Circa 7000 PC

Thirteen metallic shapes padded silently along the winding passageway, following the bow-legged figure of their mentor as he led them from the grotto at a surprisingly fast jog. Aurican was in the lead, of course. In fact, the sleek and golden dragon paced directly beside the tutor, his proud golden head upraised, nearly as high off the floor as Patersmith’s own bewhiskered visage.

Darlantan was right behind. He strained to see past his brother’s shoulder, succeeding because he was slightly larger than Auri. The other eleven nestlings trailed behind, loping gracefully to keep up on what their tutor had promised would be a memorable excursion.

Biting back a twitch of irritation, Dar saw Patersmith turn and speak softly to Aurican. The silver dragon couldn’t hear what was said, and he felt the familiar resentment Auri was always getting special tidbits of learning from their tutor.

Usually it had something to do with magic. All the dragons had been impressed by the stories of the sorcerous powers of their matriarchs, but none had latched on to those tales with the obsessive intensity of Aurican. Many times had he boasted to Darlantan of his intention to discover the ancient magic that had been lost with the elder dragons, until at last the silver had grown short-tempered every time he heard about his brother’s pointless wish.

Often Darlantan reminded himself of Patersmith’s lesson: Aurican’s obsession with magic made him different, and was therefore good. Even when it seemed bad, like Blayze’s temper, or Smelt’s endless chatter, these were the traits that would make them strong. At least, so the bearded tutor said.

But Dar’s musings were interrupted as the procession approached the end of the tunnel. Before him. the Darkness Beyond expanded to overwhelm his senses. He advanced and stood poised lightly at the lip of the lofty precipice.

The gulf of shadowy space had become familiar to the young dragons, and especially to Darlantan, in the vast expanse of time since Patersmith had come to join him. Whereas Auri was entranced by the tutor’s stories of magic, Dar found himself raptly listening to descriptions of the world beyond their vast but shadow-cloaked environment.

He imagined an expanse of bright skies and was desperately curious about the sun, of which he had heard much but never seen even a trace. Too, he was intrigued and fascinated by the whole idea of weather-water and ice tumbling from above, heavy clouds billowing thicker than the smoke from Patersmith’s pipe across the sky. All of that sounded suspiciously like magic, and he wanted to see, to learn for himself, if these things that the tutor was suggesting were really true.

“Darlantan, my silver son,” declared the tutor.

Now it was his turn to enjoy the smith’s favor, and Dar wasted no time in nudging Auri aside.

“You shall be the first. All the world awaits beyond, and now it is time for you to take wing.” His eyes rose and took in the rest of the brood. “Time for all of you to fly.”

Several of the dragons, Aysa in particular, gasped nervously at the prospect, but Darlantan’s wings stood stiffly to the sides, beating rhythmically as he readied himself for that first leap. His heart pounded as he looked at the vast darkness with eagerness and anticipation.

“Remember, your body will know what to do, though your mind will not. Therefore, don’t try to think. Let yourself sail through the air and fly, my children!”

Without hesitation or reflection, Darlantan hurled himself into the void and, for a heart-stuttering second, commanded his wings to beat, to carry him upward. Immediately he plunged nose downward, then flipped over onto his back, careening wildly as wind whipped past his face, lashing across his scales. He strove to bend the unwilling membranes of his wings. Only then did he remember the words of Patersmith to relax, allowing his body to direct itself without interference from his mind.