A bolt of lightning shot from the dragon’s mouth and buried itself deep into the largest cloud. The sky reverberated in response, and a myriad of lightning strokes flashed down to tease the treetops and dance erratically toward the earth.
A bolt struck the dragon’s wings, raced to his shoulder blades, then played along the spiked ridge of his back. It crackled up his neck and along the length of his silver-white horns, and it darted toward the tip of his tail and sparked across his massive haunches. Then another bolt struck him, and another. He relished its tingling touch. He was its master.
The dragon closed his eyes in ecstasy, and his roar was echoed by the storm’s booming thunder. Then the rain began, splashing against the dragon’s hide, against the shrouded, ancient ring of stones far below. He flew higher, until he was just below the clouds, and then unleashed his lightning breath again and again. He was illuminated by the bolts, his rain-shiny scales acting as bits of mirrors that reflected the lightning and made him glow.
He lashed his tail about like a whip. In response, the storm grew fiercer still, and the rain came in torrents, battering the trees and flattening the grass.
The deluge intensified as the dragon swooped to hover above the ring of stones, still hidden by the immutable magical fog, but not from him.
“Hear me!” he cried in a voice that sounded like a keen wind. “Khellendros, the Portal Master... Khellendros, the Storm Over Krynn... has returned! Khellendros, once called Skie by Kitiara, is home!”
The lightning and thunder rocked the ground, the rain hammered against the trees, and the sky grew black as midnight.
2
The Abyss
The falling sensation stopped, and the fog pulled away from Palin, leaving him on a barren rock floor in what seemed to be an immense cavern. The air was hot and fetid. Dozens upon dozens of knights mounted on dragons flew high above him, skimming just below the ceiling and streaking toward something. Palin could hear the sounds of battle, the faint screams of the dying, the roar of war cries and the whoosh of dragonbreath. Chaos was somewhere ahead.
Palin’s lungs burned. It was difficult to breathe here, and the warmth of the place surged upward from the rock, through the leather of his boots, and into the very soles of his feet. He swallowed hard and glanced down at his hands to make sure he still held the book. He’d been clutching it so fiercely his fingers had gone numb. The book was there, he noted with relief, as was his magical staff.
The next several moments were a blur to the young sorcerer. Like bits and snatches from a nightmare, events began unfolding around him. He spied Steel Brightblade, his cousin, on the back of a blue dragon overhead. He motioned to him, and within several heartbeats Palin was sitting behind the young Knight of Takhisis. The dragon’s wings closed the distance to Chaos, taking Palin and his cousin toward the father of everything and nothing.
“He need only be wounded,” Palin whispered to Steel.
Then he was on the ground again, the battle raging about him, the sea of men and dragons—of blood and flame—filling the air surrounding Chaos’s giant form.
Somehow Usha was here, on the ground at the far rim of the battle, and Tasslehoff, too. Palin saw them as he lifted his eyes from the book, spotted them at the edge of his vision. The last words of the spell tumbled from his lips and his eyes locked onto Usha’s. Chaos swatted a dragon overhead as if it were a gnat and the creature tumbled from the sky and struck Palin.
He felt the crushing weight of the creature’s tail over his chest, felt the book fall from his fingers, and the staff slip from his grasp. A sudden wave of cold washed over him. He, the knights and dragons, and the form of Chaos that reached to the cavern’s rocky ceiling were all swallowed by a sheet of impenetrable blackness.
3
Spawn
The warm sand felt good against the pads of the creature’s clawed feet as it plodded across the desert toward the northwest, angling away from the dawning sun.
Hours ago the creature had an urgent purpose, a reason for being in this seemingly endless desert. It was supposed to locate its mistress’s allies— the blue dragons who laired in this hot desolation, and the lesser creatures like itself which milled about. Once gathered, they would be transported to the battle that was brewing in the Abyss.
But the creature had received those instructions many hours ago, the evening before in fact, and now it had lost touch with its mistress, the Queen of Darkness— Takhisis. It could no longer feel her powerful presence. Not knowing what to do, it continued its monotonous course and enjoyed the feel of the sand.
The creature walked upright like a man, but more resembled a dragon. Its coppery-hued scales and skin proclaimed it a kapak, one of the most dull-witted of Krynn’s draconians. It had a lizardlike snout, reptilian eyes, and hunks of scraggly and matted dun-colored hair that hung from its mottled jowls. It sported leathery wings that it flapped occasionally to cool itself. The spiky ridge on its back ran from the base of its thick skull to the tip of its stubby tail, which twitched with nervous uncertainty.
What to do? it wondered. Despite its simple mind, the kapak sensed something was wrong. Perhaps the battle had begun earlier than expected and the Queen of Darkness was occupied.
Should I continue to search for the dragons? It had already discovered two empty lairs. Maybe the queen’s other draconian minions, dispatched at the same time, had found all the dragons that lived in the Wastes and the lot of them had been spirited away by the queen. Or perhaps the battle was called off and the Dark Queen had neglected to inform her loyal kapak minion.
Maybe I have been forgotten, it thought. Abandoned. The kapak paused and stared across the barren expanse, which was broken only occasionally by patches of scrub grass and piles of rocks. It scratched its scaly head, then resumed its journey, deciding to abide by its orders until it again felt the touch of Takhisis’s mind.
Khellendros continued to revel in the summer storm as he banked toward the northwest and left Nightlund behind. The rain was warm and sang to him, pattering out a soft melody against his back. It sang that it was glad to have him home.
It feels good to be home, the great blue dragon thought. He cast his eyes skyward and let the rain wash into his golden eyes. And it shall feel even better to end the loneliness, to again be joined with Kitiara.
“I made a promise to you once,” he hissed aloud, as the miles passed beneath his enormous wings. “I vowed to keep you safe. But I failed you, and your body died. Your spirit disappeared from Ansalon, though I know it lives and remembers me.”
The dragon remembered, too. He remembered what it was like to be teamed with the only human whom he believed possessed the heart of a dragon. Ambitious and crafty, Kitiara had led him on successful strikes and rode him into one glorious battle after another. Together, there was nothing they would not dare to do and no force that could stand up to them.
Khellendros felt complete in those long-ago years, always purposeful and always content in the company of his trusted, calculating partner. He remembered the overwhelming exhilaration they shared in the midst of a fight, remembered the dizzying sense of victory afterward.
And he remembered the frustration of not being able to save Kitiara one rare day when she was alone and far from his side. Even across the miles, he had felt her body die, had felt the instant of her death as if an incredible blow had been landed against his own stomach. He had flown to her then and seen the crumpled, weak human shell that once housed her remarkable mind. And through a haze of anger and tears he had watched her spirit slip free and rise above its useless shell. Her spirit still lived!