Memories flickered through Dusk's mind.
Three centuries ago he had ruled the skies over the Moonsea. All the cities along the coast had lived in fear of his shadow. Dusk had plundered wherever he went, amassing a hoard of riches that made the treasure of a hundred kings pale in significance.
Then he had devised his most brilliant plan.
He flew from mountain peak to mountain peak, from ruin to ruin, speaking with the other evil dragons that lived along the shores of the Moonsea. With sly, cunning words, he played upon the hatred that all dragons felt for human, dwarven, and elvenkind. He lit a spark in the hearts of the evil dragons-red, blue, green, and black-until that spark grew into a burning wildfire. One dark dawn, a hundred dragons flew from their hidden lairs to join his army and fight as one, assailing all the lands around the Moonsea.
Thus began the first dragon-rage.
Folk cowered in their cities as destruction rained down from above. Fire and acid, lightning and poisonous clouds, mayhem and devastation. Dragon wings blotted out the sun, and dragon roars boomed like thunder. It was glorious. And Dusk was the most magnificent of them all. The other dragons looked to him as their exalted leader. The tribute they had agreed to pay would make him lord over a mountain of treasure such as Faerun had never seen.
Or it would have come to pass, had it not been for Andehar Longarm.
Andehar was the latest in Phlan's irksomely endless supply of champions. Heroes seemed to breed like lice in that wretched city. Just as the dragon-rage was nearing the peak of its frenzy, Dusk had made the mistake of flying too close to Phlan's walls. Standing atop the city's battlements, Andehar had loosed an enchanted arrow from his bow. Guided by magic, the barbed shaft had struck Dusk in his left eye.
Dusk had never known such agony. He had spun wildly through the air, blinded by the pain. He fell to the ground and crawled away. Without his leadership, the evil dragons began to bicker among themselves. Hatred and suspicion flared. The dragon-rage descended into chaos as the wyrms sped back to guard their lairs from each other, leaving Dusk to flee abjectly to the mountains. He never forgot the cheers rising from the walls of Phlan, and he had vowed to exact his vengeance upon that blasted city and all of the vile folk that inhabited it.
Dusk had limped into a cavern deep in the Dragonspine Mountains, intent upon licking his wounds until he gathered the strength once again to assault Phlan. But he had not counted on the pool of twilight. He had stumbled upon it by accident, and in his delirium of pain and anger had succumbed to the tempting offers of power made to him by the storm giant who was the pool's guardian. Dusk had agreed to enter the pool in the hope of gaining the power he needed to recuperate and wreak the ultimate vengeance. The storm giant had been freed-while Dusk found himself trapped.
Over time, Dusk had discovered he could use the power of the pool to compel the multitudes of monsters that inhabited the mountains to do his bidding. All it took were a few droplets from the pool mixed with the underground streams that flowed below the cavern. Once the streams passed into the outside world, all manner of creatures drank from their waters, thus falling under Dusk's sway. Over the centuries, he had amassed great hordes of creatures and sent them to attack Phlan. Time and time again the monsters failed, dying by the thousands against Phlan's stubborn walls. Eventually Dusk realized that there was only one way he could destroy Phlan. He had to launch a new dragon-rage.
And now that he was finally free, he could do just that. Only this time he would not send a hundred dragons against the cities of the Moonsea. He would send a thousand! He would not be simply a prince of his kind, or even a king. He would be an emperor of dragons, and all the lands around the Moonsea would cower in fear before him.
Dusk unfolded his huge, shadowy wings, exulting at the glorious victory that would soon be his. Ah, but first he had to say a fond good-bye to Sirana. As the pool's new guardian, it would be her honor to grant him the power he needed to summon the evil wyrms for a new dragon-rage.
"Sirana!" he called out. "Heed my call!"
Why should I, wyrm? the sorceress's voice echoed in his mind with a sound like laughter. It was clear she was enjoying her newfound status as the pool's guardian and was intoxicated by the incredible power. Sirana was even more of a fool than Dusk had imagined.
The dragon grinned evilly, displaying row after row of daggerlike teeth. "Obey my wishes, sorceress, or I will pulverize the mountains, sealing this cavern under so much rubble that it will never be discovered. You will remain here, imprisoned, forever."
He could feel fury radiating from the pool, along with just a hint of fear. His feral grin widened. She would be forced to serve him.
Very well, she replied sullenly. What do you wish, wyrm?
"Don't call me that!" he hissed dangerously. He crawled toward the edge of the pool, seeing his dark and sinuous beauty reflected in its surface. "Now, grant me power enough to summon a thousand dragons."
I will grant you what I can. But I must retain enough power for myself so that I can create a new army to send against Phlan.
The dragon roared with laughter. "Believe me, sorceress, nothing you can do while trapped within the pool will be enough to destroy that city. I have tried myself a hundred times over."
He felt disbelief radiate from the pool. "But do not fear," he continued wickedly. "Once the dragon-rage has begun, Phlan will be blasted off the face of Toril. We will both have our revenge!" His one good eye glinted sharply. "Now, sorceress, grant me the power of the pool."
As you wish.
A dully shining tendril lifted itself from the surface of the pool. It reached toward Dusk, coiling about his body. The dragon threw his head back in a roar as the tendril tightened about him. He felt the pool's magic flowing into him.
"More!" he screamed, wings beating. "More!"
Finally the tendril slipped back into the pool. Dusk stumbled backward, his head reeling. Ah, but it was exquisite! To be free, and so full of power!
Deep within the pool, Sirana laughed smugly to herself. Like everything, even laughing was a new, exciting experience. All sense of her own body was gone now. Her senses seemed to mingle with the waters of the pool. The vast amount of magical energy she had just granted Dusk was but a fraction of the entire source.
So in all these centuries, with all the might of the pool at his beck and call, the stupid dragon could not manage to destroy Phlan? Bah! Let the wyrm try his dragon-rage, thought Sirana. By the time he arrives at Phlan, he will find it a smoking ruin.
She felt certain that she would succeed first where the dragon had failed. Without the Hammer of Tyr, Phlan had fallen into dark decay. The walls crumbled in disrepair, and the Death Gates hung open on their hinges-practically an invitation for an army of destruction to enter.
Now all Sirana had to do was to create that army.
With all the pool's power flowing through her, she cast forth a summons. It vibrated through the bedrock, pulsing out in waves, spreading throughout the Dragonspine Mountains. Scant seconds later, the first to heed her call shuffled into the cavern.
A motley throng of dull-eyed creatures approached the pooclass="underline" bears and elk, eagles and snakes, insects and worms. There were monsters as welclass="underline" goblins, orcs, owlbears, gnolls, and giants. Among them too were humans, dwarves, and even elves.
All of them were dead.
Some were only in the first stages of decay, their pallid skin mostly unblemished, covered with fine, moist bits of leaf litter. Others were riddled with worm-eaten holes, their swollen flesh dripping off their bodies in gobbets. All lurched toward the pool, compelled by her call.