For Harold Johnson, Tasslehoff Burrfoot, and the Winter of 87 and for the FIFTH AGE™ design team—Steven Brown, Sue Weinlein Cook, William W. Connors, Steve Miller, Ed Stark and Skip Williams—Krynn’s true champions.
DRAGONLANCE® FIFTH AGE®
The Day of the Tempest
Prologue
A Red Shade of Greed
Malystryx the Red lay on a plateau on the highest mountaintop amidst an arid wasteland. From this lofty position—in what once had been called the Goodlund Plains—she could survey a large portion of her domain. Smoke curled upward from her cavernous nostrils, douding her huge, dark eyes. Twin horns curved gently away from the sides of her skull and tapered to sharp points. Her scales were as large as a knight’s shield, and they glowed like hot coals in the late afternoon sun.
Those rare individuals who accepted invitations here, to her favorite lair—like the Knights of Takhisis standing before her—braved much. Streams of lava from the volcanoes that ringed her plateau ran perilously close to the steep paths that led to her lair. Unnatural creatures prowled the bleak slopes, and the visitors had to endure the intense heat once they climbed to the top—or perish.
The ninety men were here at the command of their governor-general. They were selected for their bravery, cunning, and loyalty. Malys thought little of humans, but she considered these far better specimens than the ones she had slaughtered in the many villages she had trampled since taking over this part of Ansalon.
“You are mine,” Malys hissed to the knights. Her words were drawn out, sounding like an ominous wind. Flames licked out around her massive jowls and crackled loudly.
“Command us as you will,” the senior knight said as he stepped forward and bowed his head. He was a young man who had distinguished himself in numerous battles under the governor-general’s watchful eye. He acted confident and poised in the presence of the great dragon, though he was actually in awe of her and terrified.
He wore the black armor of the knights, with the death lily displayed prominently on his breastplate. A curl of red edged up from one petal—a rising flame that signified that his compgroup had sworn fealty to Malys. The young knight stood at attention, his shoulders painfully square and his arms at his sides, straight as arrows. His eyes met the smoldering orbs of the dragon without blinking. Malys opened her mouth a bit, just enough for her furnacelike breath to escape and wash over him. The knight did not flinch, though beads of sweat rolled down his face.
“You are called…” Malys began.
“Subcommander Rurak Gistere,” he answered.
“Rurak,” the dragon repeated, “Gistere.” The words sounded eerie when uttered in her sonorous, inhuman voice. She tilted her head slightly and looked him up and down. She’d already studied him carefully as he led the procession of knights up the path to her plateau, but she wanted to make him uncomfortable, wanted to see if he would squirm beneath her intense scrutiny.
Malys growled softly as her eyes met the knight’s. He did not falter, and she noticed with satisfaction that his lips did not tremble, his hands did not shake. The knight was trained very well and was indeed brave. Or he was terribly foolish. In either event, Malys decided he would do.
“Rurak Gistere,” she said again, this time holding onto each syllable and letting the deep tones echo off the volcanoes.
“Yes, great Malystryx?”
“Take off your armor.”
The other knights’ eyes widened, but not those of Rurak Gistere. The dragon was amused. To her, the other knights’ faces asked dozens of silent questions. Was Rurak to be eaten? Tortured? Who was to be next? Still, she was mildly pleased that they held their positions and watched attentively, though fearfully.
Rurak maintained his stoic composure. He took off his gauntlets and laid them at his feet. Next came his helmet and his flowing black cloak, which he carefully folded and set upon the gauntlets. Then he removed the epaulets, brassards, and elbow pieces that covered his arms. Undoing the breastplate took more work, but he eventually stood it up next to the other pieces. Then he took off the scale chest piece. The tunic beneath it was dark with sweat, and he tugged it off to reveal a gleaming, muscular chest.
“That will do,” Malys said.
Rurak snapped to attention and again met the dragon’s gaze.
She raised a claw and crooked a talon at him, as if he were a dog she was beckoning. “Closer, Rurak Gistere” she hissed. He stepped around the pile of armor and moved nearer to the dragon’s snout “No. Much closer.”
The knight stood a mere foot from the dragon’s claw now, and for the first time in her presence, he showed a sign of weakness. His bottom lip trembled ever so slightly, but she decided she would forgive him this fault Malys had to concede that he was the most suitable subject of the lot
The dragon rose to sit back on her haunches. Her shadow fell across him, cooling him somewhat, and it occurred to him that this was an unfortunate way to gain some respite from the heat. Malys flicked her tail up in front of her snout and appeared to study it for a moment Then she tugged free one of the tiniest scales she saw near its tip and held the specimen gingerly before her smoldering eyes.
“Kneel,” Malys hissed. The young knight was quick to comply. Then the Red uttered words so exotic and strange that none on the plateau could discern them. There was a melodic resonance to them, and as her inhuman voice droned on and then quickened, the heat on the plateau intensified. Flames darted out of her nostrils and teased the edges of the small scale.
Rurak felt lightheaded and feverish, felt warmer than he ever remembered being in his life. His head pounded, and he gritted his teeth to keep from crying out as waves of heat rolled up and down his limbs. He imagined that his blood was boiling and his skin was starting to melt. The young knight stared at the flames licking around the scale and flickering about the dragon’s nostrils. He saw shapes—orange and red winged creatures, miniature versions of Malys flying ail around her. The vision was at once mesmerizing and terrifying, and he continued to stare as the tiny dragons of flame darted toward him.
The dragon moved the scale closer to the knight, then suddenly thrust it against his chest. His skin sizzled and popped, and—despite all his training and resolve—the young knight screamed. The tiny dragons of fire swarmed into the scale as it seared his flesh and melded with his body, becoming one with the muscles of his chest. The scale now resembled a small breastplate. It glowed white along the edges from the heat of the dragon’s flame.
Rurak pitched forward and clawed at the ground. The pain was excruciating and it consumed him. His throat was dry and he gasped for breath, but was unable to suck enough air into his parched lungs. Tears rolled from his eyes. He thrashed about in front of Malystryx and prayed to his departed goddess Takhisis for death to claim him. But death didn’t come. Eventually the pounding in his head lessened, it became easier to breathe, and he was able to push himself to his knees. He was still warm, uncomfortably so, but no longer felt as if he were rolling in a bonfire. He struggled to his feet, and after a few moments stood shakily at attention.
/ have honored you, Rurak Gistere, as I have honored only a few other humans on this world. Rurak’s eyes widened slightly. The dragon’s lips were not moving, but he could hear her — inside his head. A part of me is with you, knight, enhancing you, making you better than human. Rarely will you require sleep now. You will discover that you are stronger, more alert, your senses keener and your mind sharper. Vie are joined, Rurak Gistere, and through our link I can see what you see, hear what you hear. You are truly mine.
“Yours to command,” Rurak said aloud.