Khellendros shook his head, the motion sending sand flying in all directions. Fissure’s skin shimmered for an instant, and the sand passed through him. “No, faerie, he does not know. I never discussed my plans when the wyverns were present”
“Ah, to return to The Gray….” the diminutive man sighed wistfully. He was a dark huldrefolk, one of the lost race of faeries who, prior to the gods departing from Krynn, could access the many dimensions that overlapped the world. The Gray was his home, a realm of swirling clouds and floating spirits, a place with no land—only mists. He had not been able to return there since the world’s magic was suppressed. As was the case with the Blue, he had an innate magical aura about him. But it wasn’t powerful enough to transport him beyond Krynn, even with the aid of one of the many portals scattered across the land.
Fissure had met Khellendros at one of those portals. The dragon was trying to use it to return to Kitiara’s spirit in The Gray. Perfecting spawn was part of his plan to snatch her spirit and place it in a spawn shell. “To go home,” Fissure mused aloud.
“To find Kitiara’s spirit,” Khellendros said. The dragon had sworn an oath to protect Kitiara uth Matar, the only human he knew who seemed to have the soul of a dragon and a mind as calculating and clever as his own. Decades ago, on a day when she was away from him, she died. Khellendros had felt her spirit drift beyond Krynn, and so far he had searched in vain for it. Vowing to find her spirit, to be reunited with his partner, he had scoured dimension after dimension.
Decades passed on Krynn, while time raced by beyond the portals. When Khellendros at last found her, in The Gray, he returned to Krynn to locate a body suitable to house her lost spirit. He returned as a massive dragon, one century old by Ansalon standards. With his greater size, came greater power. But he had lost the power to return to The Gray.
“How many artifacts shall it require, faerie?” Khellendros hissed.
Fissure stroked his chin. “The ancient magic is powerful. I would say six such pieces should contain enough energy to open a portal and to allow us access to The Gray.”
“I have two,” the dragon stated. “We must attain four more.” Then Khellendros pointed a talon toward the wyverns. The creatures looked toward the dragon and the huldrefolk, then down at their feet. “Free them, then get them out of here. They are useless.”
“I promised you other sentries, Portal Master. Smarter ones.”
“See to it that you keep your promise, faerie.”
The huldrefolk stood and approached the wyverns. Their heads and tails weaved back and forth, reminding him of a pair of excited puppies.
“Free please?” the smaller one pleaded. “Hungry. Thirsty.”
Fissure stooped and touched the cave floor. A pale blue glow spread out from his fingertips and raced forward to surround the wyverns’ clawed feet. Stone was Fissure’s element. He mentally ordered it away from the creatures, and as the rock turned to putty and then parted, the wyverns flapped their wings maddeningly, carrying them above the floor. They were careful not to touch any part of the cave for fear they would be ensnared again, and they watched as Fissure resculpted the stone to look as though it had never been disturbed.
“Free,” the larger said with a hint of glee to its deep voice.
“You are truly free,” the huldrefolk said. He rose and pointed to the tunnel that led to the desert above. “You are free to return home.”
“To forest?” the larger asked. “To cool forest? Shady forest?”
“Hot Here,” the smaller said. “Go cooler place? Dragon say so?”
Khellendros rumbled loudly. “Go!” he hissed. He watched the wyverns fly from his lair, colliding with each other as they competed to be the first to leave the cavern. “And you should be going as well, faerie. You have duties—help me to gain the ancient magic.”
Like a mole, Fissure burrowed quickly through the stone, leaving a ridge behind him to mark his passage. Up and out of the tunnel he hurried. A moment later the stone ridge behind him shimmered and again went flat.
The Blue drummed a talon against the floor. He had places to go, too—away from this lair. Malys had contacted him earlier, requesting his presence. She wanted to know more about creating spawn, for she was gathering human specimens to begin the process herself. Khellendros was furious that she’d discovered his spawn so early in his game. But there was no turning back time and making her oblivious to his scaly children now. So he had agreed to show her how to do it. He had said the process was to be his gift to her.
I shall teach you, Malys, he thought. And then you shall show all of the other overlords—as is your plan—but I shall also show Gale, a lesser blue dragon you have not included in your schemes. There will be more blue spawn than any other color created by the other dragons.
Khellendros wrinkled his scaly brow. It had been some time since he had heard from the younger dragon, his lieutenant Gale had attacked Majere’s ship—as Khellendros had ordered—many days ago.
The dragon glided from his lair and out into the morning sun. He stretched out on the sand, and let its intense, blessed heat seep into his scales. Khellendros would bask here for a few hours, then he would visit Malys. Later, he would get around to contacting Gale. He didn’t feel like bothering with the lesser dragon just now. The Blue deserved some time in the sun. Yes, later he would take the younger dragon to his desert stronghold, show him firsthand how spawn were created, let him enjoy the screams of the captive humans and realize just how much power dragons held in Ansalon.
Chapter 6
Sand to Flesh
Fissure sat cross legged on the desert sand, bis drifting to the lone barrel cactus he spotted. Stark green against all the trackless ivory, it looked like a blemish on the face of the Northern Wastes. He reached a slender gray finger up to scratch his bald head. “A giant walking cactus as a guard for the Storm’s lair?” he mused aloud. “It could hurl needles and… no, that would be no better than the wyverns. What to bring the Blue?”
An hour passed and still the huldrefolk contemplated the matter. The sun was climbing above the horizon. Soon the temperature in Khellendros’s desert would be intense and unrelenting.
The heat didn’t bother Fissure. A faerie, and a master of the element of earth, he took the weather in stride, willing his body to allow the waves of warmth to pass through it like the wind blew through an open window. But he detested the light that came with heat. The huldrefolk coveted the shadows where they could hide and slip among the inhabitants of Krynn unnoticed. But being here—at this hour—was a necessity if he was to keep the Blue happy and cooperative.
A scorpion skittered across his path, pausing for an instant. It looked up at the odd little man, then skittered away, apparently uninterested in him.
“Now there’s an idea.” The huldrefolk thrust his thin fingers into the sand and brought up two handfuls. He held his palms out to his sides, like plates on a scale, and let a little bit of sand slip through the fingers of his right hand until the small piles seemed identical in weight.
“Life springs from the earth,” he said matter-of-factly. “Let life spring from this sand.” His large black eyes grew wide in concentration, and wrinkles formed across his otherwise featureless gray brow. He pictured the scorpion in his mind, and his senses focused on the sand. He felt the pleasing coarseness of the grains of sand agitating in his palms. He directed the magical energy that flowed through his veins to agitate the grains faster, then to meld them together into two liquid blobs. For each of the two shapes, he envisioned eight legs, lobsterlike claws, and a flat, narrow body the color of obsidian. Then he imagined for each a tail that curved up and over the body and ended in a needlelike stinger.