Ed Greenwood - The Dragon's Doom

The old woman sipped her wine, shook her head, and told the glass severely, "Men. Kings little better than the rest, I see. It'll be dawn before we're done, so find something to wet your royal throat, Raulin. Hulgor's tried a bit of everything already, so if he doesn't fall over in the next few breaths, 'tis all safe."

The old noble chuckled. "Ye can see out of the back of your head, Swee-hem, Natha."

"Trick of the Wise," the old lady said darkly, and then drained her glass in a swig like a man in a hurry to leave a tavern, handed it to the astonished king, and clapped her hands lightly together. "Enough empty tongue-wagging! You dreamt of fire, Flaeros, and came awake shouting. This is not unusual, and probably happened to scores of folk the world over this night-most of them in the Vale."

"Lady," King Castlecloaks said politely, "I believe you've now established that you are eloquent, learned, and can be very mysterious. Can you also speak plainly, and Reveal All?"

Lady Orele grinned at him. Surprisingly, she still had all of her teeth. "The Wise never Reveal All, Majesty; you know that. Or should. Let's test your learning: What know you of the Arrada?"

Raulin Castlecloaks sighed. "Beyond the fact that it's a grand name for all the magic of Darsar, which is the gathered lore of our ways of harnessing the energies of all that lives, nothing at all."

The old woman sat back, regarding him with new respect. "Well said, Majesty-very well said. I'd say you have learning enough. The son of a bard, you-and a bard yourself, Lord Flaeros, so you know this too, hmm?"

"I do," Flaeros agreed. "Like Raul-the King, I know very little more than what the Arrada is-and that it flows in cycles."

"Ah!" Orele said, leaning forward again. "Hulgor," she said, "get this King a drink."

Hulgor and Raulin both blinked at her. Ignoring them, she said serenely, "Two creatures manifest at either end of the flows of the Arrada: the Serpent and the Dragon. Now tell me, which one is associated with fire?"

Flaeros stared at the old woman as if she'd suddenly grown three serpent-heads, with a golden crown gleaming on each one. "The Dragon," he whispered.

Orele nodded and raised her glass. King Raulin and the bard both stared at it. Though they'd both seen her drain it to the dregs but a few moments ago, and she'd sent Hulgor away to fill another glass for the king, the old woman's glass was brimful once more.

She smiled at them over it. "Whenever there's a Serpent-The Serpent, called by those who worship it the Great Serpent, and usually a human wizard twisted to evil-there must also be a Dragon. When one arises, there comes the other. In the words of the bard Tanathavur-you should know this, Lord Flaeros-'I burned in the night of fire, at the awakening of the Dragon.' You do know what became of Tanathavur, don't you?"

"He became the Dragon," Flaeros murmured, wide-eyed, "and was slain in the skies above the Silverflow by the wizard Garaunt, who rode the Winged Serpent!"

Hulgor thrust a glass into the king's hand, another into the trembling fingers of Flaeros-who hastily drained it-and then set two glasses in front of himself and deliberately quaffed them both.

All three men stared at each other as Orele sighed, "An astonishing display of greed, Hulgor. 'Twas always your besetting fault."

"Does that mean…" Flaeros whispered, his voice dwindling into a squeak. He tried again. "Does that mean I'll become the Dragon?"

"Not necessarily," the old woman with the cane told him, drinking deeply-and setting down a glass that was just as full as before. "The Arrada visits many suitable folk, ere flowering in one. If no one else in all the Vale saw flames in their dreams hot enough to awaken them, then you might want to set your affairs in order accordingly, but I think that's highly unlikely. Majesty, if you were to issue a royal decree in the morning that any waking dreams suffered this night must be reported…"

"I shall," Raulin said, pale-faced. "This is…"

"Unsettling," Orele told him. "You were going to say 'exciting,' and discovered that the word was unsuitable. Unsettling is nearer the mark."

King Castlecloaks gave the old woman a respectful look. "Not for nothing are you deemed one of the Wise. Have you any advice for me?"

"Get yourself a wife," Lady Orele said promptly, "but make sure you choose the right one. Bed her well, and sire at least two heirs. Give one to me, to raise far away and in secret." A smile touched her lips. "You see why I wanted no one near the keyhole?"

Raulin Castlecloaks stared at her, his eyes large and dark, and shivered suddenly.

"Secrets, secrets," the Delcamper chambermaid Faerla whispered, her fingers laid carefully across the keyhole of the door that connected their room with Lady Orele's.

Lameira nodded, so close in the darkness that their foreheads almost touched. She was close enough to see Faerla's disapproving expression as her irrepressible friend added mournfully, "Life used to be so simple."

A Dragon Over Flowfoam

I trust," Ingryl Ambelter said mildly in the nickering firelight, "you all understand my orders? And the fate awaiting anyone who disobeys them?"

There was a moment of silence, and then the answer came as a thunderous, ragged murmur: "Yes, Great Serpent."

The snake-headed man looked down at them from his newly shaped, emerald-scaled height (Ingryl Ambelter had discovered he rather liked being head-and-shoulders taller than everyone around him) and hissed, "Good. Very good. Now, my Lords of the Serpent, heed me further. Rather than try to whelm armies and march them on Flowfoam, you are to round up all Aglirtans you've managed to infect with Blood Plague, but who you've thus far kept from beast-shape or falling into madness, and give them weapons. I shall do the rest. You shall know my question as to your readiness, when it comes, and I shall expect only one answer."

He let silence hang in the still-shattered chamber for a tightly-smiling moment, and then snapped, "Now go and do this! Hasten!"

Men in robes far more elaborate than his own streamed past the flickering braziers to the door-all but a dozen senior priests, who stepped back from the throng to stand along one wall together. When the doors had been closed behind their departing Brethren, they stepped forward in a small group to face the Great Serpent. Each had mind-heard his personal orders to remain, and so knew without a doubt that this wizard commanded the Thrael, and thereby was the rightful Serpent.

Ingryl’s eyes seemed to meet all of theirs at once. "Is everyone armed sufficiently? The doorpriests can bring you blades if you wish."

There was a general silence. Priests cast glances at each other, but no one stepped forward or spoke.

The Great Serpent nodded. "Good. You deem yourselves ready, then?"

There were nods and murmurs of "Yes, Highest."

"You know what to do, and that the Brotherhood depends on you this day. Fail us all not."

Ingryl Ambelter threw up his hands, arms spread wide dramatically, and sent them all elsewhere. The Thrael allowed him to command the Dwaer without even touching it directly. Such power…

As the glow where the dozen had stood faded, Ingryl Ambelter turned away to stroll and smile.

Well, now. Spellmaster of All Aglirta and Great Serpent of all Darsar. Not too shabby… not shabby at all. The Thrael showed him that his meal was almost ready, and that none of the priests preparing it had dared to introduce taints or poisons. He'd best get to the eating; there was a busy day ahead.

With the Dwaer he'd soon be jumping up and down the Vale, from beacon fire to beacon fire. At each blaze one of the hastening priests-teleporting each other right now to their towns and villages, in a glow of bustling magic so strong that it was almost painful, through the Thrael-would be waiting, with a whelming of armed Aglirtans.