“What’s the dragon want with Palanthas?” Usha said in a hushed tone.
They watched the blue dragon fade to a shadow that glided silently over the city like a hawk.
“The dragon must want something in Palanthas,” Palin whispered.
The shadow of the dragon banked toward a wraithlike view of the city’s Great Library. Pulling its wings close to its side and descending heavily to the roof, the dragon broke through the tiles and disappeared. Palin directed his attention to the hole the beast had created, peered through the dust and broken masonry.
The view shifted to accommodate him, revealing the building’s interior. The dragon sat atop the crushed and bloody bodies of monks. With his huge claws, he was tearing down shelf upon shelf, retrieving rare manuals here and there. It was evident the blue dragon was after specific tomes, magical ones. Finished with his grim work, the dragon clutched his prizes in a claw, departed the ruins, and soared into the sky. His course took him toward a tower.
“The Tower of High Sorcery,” Usha murmured.
Palin’s voice grew weaker, and his lanky frame shuddered. The dragon paid no heed to the Shoikan Grove that surrounded the Tower of High Sorcery and kept most at bay. Poised above the tower, he appeared to enact some sort of spell before he lighted agilely atop the tall building. With his rear claws, the beast started tearing at the tower. Pale stones the color of parchment flew like chunks of dirt scattered by a digging beast. The rocks rained down on the city, crushing the curious who’d come out of their homes and businesses to see what was happening.
When the image of the tower was reduced to rubble, the dragon thrust his claws into the chambers below and began retrieving chests and coffers filled with magical items, scrolls saturated with powerful arcane spells, and more. Then the dragon’s golden eyes fixed on the portal to the Abyss.
“No!” Palin hoarsely barked. “I must stop him.”
The wavering image dissipated, leaving the reflection of Palin’s ashen face and the cloudless morning sky in its place.
“But what can you do?” Usha tugged her husband away from the window and drew the curtain. “What can you do against a dragon that size?”
“I don’t know.” He cupped her chin. “But I have to do something—and soon. If my dream is in truth a vision, a glimpse into the future, the dragon could mean to strike soon, perhaps today at sunset. I can’t let him kill those people. And I can’t let him claim the tower’s magic and access the portal.”
“There’s nothing in the Abyss but the bodies of dragons and rubble,” Usha said. “What could the dragon want there?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Palin replied. “To get there, the dragon would have to ruin the tower and the precious magic inside.” He moved toward the end of the bed, where his white robe lay. Quickly donning it, he glanced back at his wife. “I’ve got a contact in Palanthas. I can alert him, share my dream. He can do something. He can contact someone in the Tower of High Sorcery.”
“I thought with Chaos and the gods gone, we were safe,” Usha whispered. “I thought we’d finally know peace.”
5
The Master of the Tower
Deep in the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas, a dark-clad man separated himself from the shadows. He stood before a moisture-slick wall from which jutted a lone, guttering torch. The flickering light danced over his black robe—a garment hanging in thick folds that looked much too large for his slight frame.
“You call to me,” he said in a voice that was little more than a whisper. “You rouse me from my rest.” He sighed, and a train of heavy fabric trailed on the floor behind him as he lost himself once more in the darkness. His course took him up a winding stone staircase, chipped and crumbling from age. He didn’t need light to see where he was going. He knew every musty corner, expansive room, and secret corridor of the ancient tower by heart. He ran his fingertips along the cool stone walls that were covered with ornamental weapons and shields and portraits of old, long-dead wizards. He didn’t need to see the faces in the portraits, either. He knew the sorcerers when they breathed and studied in this tower, and he preferred his memories to the painted canvas—they did his friends more justice.
His measured steps took him ever higher, until he emerged in a room filled with bright morning sunlight that spilled in from several evenly-spaced windows. He glided toward the one overlooking the palace in the center of the sprawling city. In the distance was the Bay of Branchala, its brilliant blue-green waters beckoning invitingly. To the north was the massive Library of Ages, the grandest library on all of Krynn, and to the south was the Temple of Paladine. He idly wondered whether the latter would receive any more visitors now that the gods had abandoned the world.
He gazed at the city, at the many buildings that were in ruins—damaged by the battle against Chaos, by the energy and magic that had expanded beyond the Abyss. It looked to the watcher as if the battle had been fought here. No doubt, he suspected, other cities likewise had felt the repercussions of the war, their buildings and citizens scarred.
“What do you want?” he said to the air. He felt a soft breeze wash over his skin, and looked upon the translucent visage of a young man’s face.
“To warn you,” the image replied. “To share a dream.”
The black-cloaked sorcerer closed his eyes, and his mind relived Palin’s vision, blue scales and golden eyes filling his senses. After several long moments the haze vanished, the wispy cloud disappeared, and the sorcerer rushed away from the window. He hurried down the twisting stairs, stopping on each level to retrieve a few priceless baubles and magical trinkets.
The sorcerer worked diligently for many hours, collecting scrolls, magical weapons and armor, crystal balls and the like. All the while he mulled over the dragon from Palin’s dream and wondered why it wanted access to the Abyss.
All of the Tower of High Sorcery’s magic wouldn’t necessarily allow him to open the portal. Such an act would devastate the city, flatten all the buildings within at least a mile of the tower. Hundreds could be killed. Worse could happen if the dragon first turned the power of the magical items loose on Palanthas before using them to open the portal.
The battle with Chaos was over. Only death hovered in the Abyss now. What could the dragon want there, hope to accomplish there? Palin had told the sorcerer it didn’t matter. But it did, the sorcerer knew. He vowed to consider the matter later—after the magic was saved.
Not used to strenuous physical labor, the sorcerer was nearly exhausted by the time he had an impressive pile of objects gathered in one place deep below ground. His chest heaved as he regarded the hoard that twinkled in the torchlight.
“It is not everything,” he whispered, brushing a strand of sweat-soaked hair away from his eyes. “But it is the best and the most powerful, and it will have to do.” His slight frame shuddered and he leaned against the damp stone wall. “Old friend,” he said to the stone. “I shall miss you. We’ve... what’s that?” He cocked his head, ran his fingers along a seam between the bricks. “The dragon. He’s coming.”
He reached into the deep folds of his robe and produced a staff of polished mahogany. It was topped by a bronze dragon claw clutching a faceted crystal and fairly pulsed with energy. He traced his fingertips over the staff’s smooth surface, then raised it high before twice driving its end down against the stone floor.
A blinding blue flash filled the underground chamber. As the glow receded, the guttering torch illuminated the crumpled form of the sorcerer. The horde of arcane treasure was gone. “Safe,” the man whispered. His breathing was labored, and he used the staff for support as he slowly rose.