Ulin cleared his head to concentrate on Flint’s Anvil and his father. He pictured the elder Majere’s face, reached out, and felt—nothing.
“Your magic will not work in here.” The keeper had joined them. “The walls are so enchanted as to permit no mortal-cast spell to function within its confines. It keeps this place safe.”
Ulin started putting on his furs. “Then we’ll go back to the tomb and go outside.”
°I would first like to talk with you about magic,” the youth persisted.
“Well, some other visit, perhaps,” Ulin returned. “We’re in a hurry. There’s a race for this ancient magic, and we need to take the lance to my father as quickly as possible.”
The youth sighed. “I can help you, Ulin Majere, teach you things about magic you’ve never dreamed.”
“And-vel now?” Groller asked Ulin, moving toward the open hole in the floor of Dragon Mountain.
The sorcerer nodded. “Coming, Gilthanas?” Ulin turned and asked.
The elf shook his head. “To the tomb? Yes. But to the Anvil? No, actually. I’m staying,” he said. “I’ll return with…” he paused. “Arlena. To Castle Eastwatch. We’re going to see if we can patch things up a bit”
The room grew silent. “Well, then, let’s get going,” said Ulin, ushering everyone toward the shaft.
They each made it through the return trip in the windpipe safely and gathered by the tomb’s doors, which again swung open without the slightest touch. Immediately snow began to blow inside the small room.
Ulin gestured, and the half-ogre plodded out through the snow, the wolf behind him, following in the trench he was creating.
“I’ll tell the others of your decision. I doubt my father will be pleased. Rig’s lance?” Ulin held out his hands, and Gilthanas handed it over.
“Tell Rig thanks for the loan,” the elf said. “And tell him I was glad I didn’t have to use it”
Ulin headed out into the frigid landscape. Behind him, the Solamnic Knights gathered their weapons and prisoners, and followed after. The keeper sadly shook his head, and joined the procession.
The magic came easier with his fatigue gone, and when the sorcerer again concentrated on the visage of Palin Majere, an image of his father’s face appeared almost instantly in his mind. “We’re ready, father,” Ulin stated simply.
“Dragon!” one of the Solamnics cried, shattering Ulin’s enchantment “Frost!”
The sorcerer’s gaze shot skyward as a great shadow passed over the snow.
“Gellidus,” the keeper announced. “Everyone, back into the tomb!”
The dragon swooped closer. Stark white against the pale blue morning sky, he was at once terrifying and exquisite, his scales glimmering against the snow that swirled around him. The dragon streaked toward the ground, opening his maw and blasting forth an icy breath.
“No time to get inside!” Ulin shouted to the others. He held out the lance. It was unwieldy, and he wondered how Sturm Brightblade could have ever handled it with ease.
The keeper rushed past the Solamnics, who were drawing their weapons and spreading out. Barefoot, and seemingly mindless of the cold, he waved his spindly arms, trying to draw Frost’s attention. “Here, creature of evil!” he called in a deepening voice.
Ulin stared at the strange youth, who had begun to change his form again. His skin sparkled, then turned golden and rough. Scales began to cover his body, and his hair melted away leaving a spiky ridge that ran across the top of his head and down his back. His face cracked and popped and extended into a snout; his arms and legs rippled and thickened and grew longer. Gold talons replaced his fingers, and small wings sprouted from his back. Gleaming gold barbels dripped from his lower jaws, and darker gold horns, like those of a ram, curled backward from atop his equine-shaped pate.
The gold dragon stretched more than a hundred feet from nose to serpentine tail. He opened his mouth, revealing an astounding number of iridescent teeth.
“Fight me, Gellidus!” the gold dragon bellowed. “I’m what you want-—not these people!”
“Sunrise!” the Solamnic called. “You can’t fight him alone!” She was racing through the snow toward him, her plate mail shimmering, her form shining.
The White plummeted toward the gold, opening its maw and expelling a cone-shaped blast of ice particles. The ice struck with the power of a hail storm, pushing Sunrise back into a snowdrift and practically burying him. But the young dragon was up in a Hash, opening his own mouth and sending forth a deafening roar. The sheer force of the noise repelled Groller, who had been advancing with Huma’s lance, and even Ulin and Gilthanas felt the sound waves and struggled to keep their footing.
The White Dragon’s eyes grew wide in anger, as he pulled his wings into his sides and dropped to the ground. Landing, he sent a great deluge of snow in all directions, and the vibrations from his impact knocked Groller over backward.
The half-ogre struggled to his feet, grasped the lance more tightly, and slogged forward. Then his mouth fell open as he noticed Silvara, several paces ahead of him, launch into an extraordinary transformation.
The elf’s armor flowed outward across her limbs until her skin was sparkling silver. Her hair also became silver, grew down her back and changed into a jagged, imposing ridge edged in pale blue. A tail grew and her arms elongated and spread to her sides. Wings sprouted from her underside. Her neck snaked forward and her head enlarged, the tips of her ears shooting up to become twin horns the color of burnished platinum. Silvara’s mouth pushed outward until it was filled with sharp teeth, and her eyes became great oval pools of gleaming sapphire.
She was a most impressive silver dragon, more than double the size of Sunrise. She had immense wings that swept away from her sides. Her muscular legs pushed off from the ground and Silvara leapt into the air.
The sorcerer was in the midst of casting a spell. The magical lance tingled in his hands. He was drawing some of its power into himself, using it to channel his enchantment. Even as Ulin finished the last arcane phrase and pointed his finger at Frost’s head, the White opened its maw, and the sorcerer felt an icy blast of wind and saw ice crystals speeding toward him. At the same time, a ball of fire raced from his fingertips toward the dragon. The ball of flame struck the ice missiles. Steam filled the air outside Huma’s Tomb, and then the fireball struck its intended target and erupted inside the dragon’s mouth.
The White Wyrm howled as the heat exploded inside him, and Groller darted in, angling Huma’s lance upward.
Wield me! the lance cried inside Groller’s head. For such was I forged!
So massive was the great dragon that the half-ogre could only hope to reach the tip of Frost’s belly. The lance struck the white plates and easily passed through them into the soft flesh beneath. Cold dragon’s blood rained down on the half-ogre. He withdrew the lance and stabbed upward again, eliciting another chill shower of red. A third time he tried, but the White was no longer within his reach. Gellidus was winging upward, away from the annoying little man who’d hurt him so terribly.
The silver dragon darted after Frost, lashing out with her claws. But the overlord was faster and larger, easily eluding her, and slamming his tail against her side as he dodged. He sent her catapulting through the sky.
“Silvara, no!” Gilthanas cried.
“We can’t help her!” a Solamnic cried. “Our weapons are useless against Frost!”