“Your orders, Sir!” the lead mercenary snapped. He was young and eager to please, and stood rigidly at attention.
Dhamon eyed his line of charges, nearly four dozen mercenaries gathered at the request of Palin Majere in the city of Barter, deep off Ice Mountain Bay. Most of them were battle-tested Qualinesti elves. The Qualinesti had sought Palin’s help against a young green dragon.
One of the mercenaries was an Ergothian, who by the number of daggers he carried and his confident swagger reminded Dhamon of Rig. And there were a few other humans in the mix.
Three elves were women, so small and slight they looked like children. By their cold eyes and the numerous scars on their arms, Dhamon was certain they were the most seasoned warriors in the group. He intended to rely heavily on them.
It had been several years since Dhamon commanded men, and that was for the Knights of Takhisis. But issuing orders and not second-guessing his own decisions still came easy, and he spit out commands as if this collection of mercenaries—volunteer and paid—were Dark Knights. His experience leading men had prompted Palin to approach him about this mission. That, and his experience with dragons.
“It’ll be dark soon. Set up camp and we’ll rest for a few hours,” Dhamon told them. “We’ll break before dawn. Gauderic, assign a watch.” No watch for me this night, he decided. He was so very tired. Just a few hours of sleep would put him back in top form. A few hours’ respite from the walking and the wind and the memories that gnawed at his mind. There’d been no time for rest since he and his companions—Rig, Fiona, Feril, Jasper—fought the dragons at the Window to the Stars portal in Neraka nearly four months past.
At the Window, an ancient stone ruin that had once held enough magic to act as a passageway to other realms, Malystryx had summoned all of the other dragon overlords. Gellidus the White, Beryllinthranox the Green Peril, Onysablet from the swamp, and Khellendros the Storm Over Krynn—agreed to help Malys ascend to godhood. All of them had been collecting powerful magical artifacts, intending to use the energy released in destroying them to turn Malys into the next Takhisis, god-queen of the dragons.
Dhamon, Rig, and their small band of heroes had likewise been collecting artifacts, to keep them from the Red. And they traveled to the Window to the Stars in an effort to stop Malys’s transformation.
It was a foolish undertaking Dhamon realized even then, a handful of mortals going against dragons—the most powerful dragons on Krynn. Still, his heart burned with a righteous fury the night that they made their way up a winding path to the plateau that held the Window. Then his heart nearly stopped at the terrifying sight of the massive dragons gathered there.
One of the overlords spotted them as they were hunkered down behind some rocks. Fortunately, Malys was in the midst of some intricate enchantment and was pulling energy from the gathered artifacts. She refused to be distracted, which bought Dhamon and his comrades precious seconds.
Dhamon rushed forward, intending to fight Malys. He vowed to exact revenge for the scale that was on his leg and to end her tyranny. He also expected to die. Help came from an unexpected source—The Storm Over Krynn. The great blue dragon tossed a lance Dhamon’s way, one of the original dragonlances and one of the most arcane weapons ever forged on Krynn.
Amid all the fire and the chaos of that terrible night, the great red overlord was seriously wounded by the lance Dhamon wielded. And she was tossed into the Blood Sea by her blue dragon rival. The massive blue gained the power Malys sought that night.
Dhamon was certain Khellendros could slay them all with a single swipe of his claw, and that the dragon with but a thought could become as powerful as Takhisis. However, rather than using the mystical energy to ascend to godhood, the blue used it to activate the ancient portal, the Window. The dragon, called Skie by men, gave Dhamon and his companions leave—his boon to recognize their contribution in foiling the red dragon’s plans. Then the massive blue flew through the Window and disappeared.
After Dhamon and the others left the Window to the Stars, some of them vowed to continue their struggle against the overlords—in their own fashions. His beloved Feril returned to her Kagonesti homeland of Southern Ergoth, saying she needed some time alone to think matters over, and some time to study the White called Frost. For a time, he told himself that she would return and they would be together again. That thought helped to bolster Dhamon’s spirits and keep his fire kindled against the dragons and their minions. But the weeks passed without any word from her, and then a few months strolled by carrying whispers that she’d found another.
Rig and Fiona, who’d sworn their love for each other and vowed to marry, traveled to the coast of the Blood Bay on the Blood Sea of Istar. Dhamon had made no attempt to stay in contact with them.
The sorcerer Palin and his wife Usha went to the Tower of Wayreth to pursue their studies of the dragon overlords. It was Palin who remained closest to Dhamon through magical and mundane messages and who asked the former Knight to assist with various tasks.
The kender Blister went to the Citadel of Light to study the healing arts under Goldmoon’s expert tutelage. Dhamon had heard she was doing exceedingly well, but he had not visited her since they parted company after the Window.
Groller went to who knew where. The deaf half-ogre had his own personal demons to deal with. Dhamon suspected Palin knew where Groller was, but he never bothered to ask the sorcerer. It wasn’t his concern.
And Dhamon… who went away on this mission prompted by Palin—a mission to slay a young green dragon who was tyrannizing the Qualinesti in this part of the forest—was so very tired. Just a few hours sleep was all he needed. A little time.
But there was no time to himself. No time to think. No time to forget about the dragons. Dhamon and his men were at the edge of the forest now.
“Sir?”
The lithe elf named Gauderic roused Dhamon from his musings. Gauderic was his second-in-command, and in the short time they’d been together the elf had earned Dhamon’s respect and friendship.
“Windkeep is along that river.” Gauderic pointed to the southwest, where a thin ribbon of dark blue cut through the trees. The setting sun sent just enough light through the canopy to fling sparkling motes of orange across the swiftly moving water. “Sir, we’ll be able to get…”
“More mercenaries there, Gauderic, “Dhamon finished.
“I know. Forty or fifty, Palin told me. We’ll be there before noon tomorrow. Get some rest.”
The air was chill as they struck out before dawn, cold enough to make their cheeks rosy and to keep their bare hands buried deep in their pockets. Still, it was not near so cold as what they breathed on their arduous trek through the Kharolis Mountains to get here. The air smelled rich and so full of life.
The men would follow Dhamon without question, most admiring him to the point of hero-worship—he’d shaken off the mantle of a Dark Knight, dared to stand up to the Dragon Overlords, and was the chosen hero of Goldmoon and Palin Majere, two of the most powerful and influential people on the face of Krynn. Dhamon Grimwulf was a living legend, his deeds whispered regularly, and in his company they envisioned being part of some grand and glorious feat that would be the stuff of tavern tales. Their spirits were impossibly high.
However, it did not take long for those spirits to plummet.
Dhamon led his men into Windkeep and discovered that the elves who were to join them were dead—as were all the rest of the villagers. Nothing stood in Windkeep. The birch log homes, so lovingly constructed by their owners, appeared as so much wreckage. Bolts of fine cloth flapped like pennants amidst splintered furniture and broken dishes. Toys were pressed into the earth, as if the people had carelessly stepped on them in their panic—not realizing there really was nowhere to run. The dead were everywhere—old and young, innocent infants, dogs that had stayed with their masters to the very end.