The stars winked down on the Peak of Malys, and a single pale moon that hung low on the horizon. The Red raised her head to the heavens and roared. Flames leapt into the sky, a burst of searing heat that helped to vent her great anger. She roared again, the sound so intense this time that it made her mountain tremble. In response, the volcanoes that ringed the plateau belched sulphurous gouts of black smoke.
A rumble started in Malys’s belly, and the volcanoes thundered in chorus and began to erupt anew. Thick streams of lava raced down their sides and pooled at the Red’s taloned feet. Their smoke continued to rise to mingle with her flames and to blot out the stars and the moon.
Her link with Dhamon Grimwulf had been tenuous, but as he neared the cursed Isle of Schallsea, it seemed to disappear entirely. The Red knew of the healer, one of the most powerful Heroes of the Lance, and she knew it was the woman— deity-touched—who was interfering with her influence.
“I will have the man and the weapon,” she hissed. “I will not be cheated of so great a prize.” There were other exceptional magical items to be had, Malys had learned—a lance wielded by a man named Huma, a crown that rested beneath the waves with the Dimernesti, a ring languishing on a mysterious man’s hand. Still, the Red sensed that none of those things could surpass the glaive.
Her fire continued to fill the sky, the lava surged about her claws, and Malystryx the Red closed her eyes and summoned all of her arcane strength.
Usha Majere stood on the outskirts of Ankatavaka and stared into Groller’s eyes. The half-ogre reached out a big hand, trying to provide some comfort. His other hand firmly grasped Huma’s lance. He offered her a smile, but didn’t offer her any words of explanation or understanding. Words weren’t needed—there were plenty of them on the parchment Palin was reading for the second time.
The red-haired wolf sat at Groller’s feet, and Fiona Quinti, the young Knight of Solamnia from Castle Eastwatch, stood nearby, clutching Rig’s dragonlance,
Ulin and Gilthanas hadn’t appeared when Palin magically summoned them from Southern Ergoth. Neither had Ulin offered a clue as to what he was planning when he had contacted his father more than an hour ago and asked for the summoning enchantment.
Palin’s spell brought only Groller, Fury, and Fiona—and the parchment on which Ulin sought to rationalize his and Gilthanas’s absences.
“I came to help explain their decision ” Fiona began. “I was given leave to join you for a time. I realize I cannot replace Ulin and Gilthanas, but my sword is yours.”
“Do you know anything of this gold dragon? Sunrise?” Usha asked.
Fiona shook her head, glancing at Palin.
The sorcerer was visibly rattled by the words on the parchment. His eyes watered as they met Usha’s. “Ulin is a grown man, with a wife and children. But to think he would abandon them—for who knows how long—to study magic with a dragon. He and Sunrise have also gone to the Dragon Isles to tell the good dragons about Takhisis’s imminent return. He feels it a mission of great import.”
His shoulders slumped. He couldn’t control his son’s life. He didn’t want to and wouldn’t dream of trying. “But the twins are so young. He has a family. How can he do this— what I did too often to you?”
Usha released Groller’s hand and moved toward her husband. “He can do this because he is your son and because he is tied to magic. Magic was always at the heart of the reason why you left me.”
“I always came back.”
“Ulin will, too.”
But will he? Usha wondered. She knew her son better than Palin did. And she knew that magic was Ulin’s passion, perhaps even more so than it had been his father’s.
Palin crumpled the parchment in his fist. Usha wrapped her arms around her husband. “We will travel to the Tower of Wayreth,” he said softly into her ear. “This matter of Takhisis…”
“And if it is real?” Usha asked.
“We’ll gain Dalamar’s ring, and rejoin the others at the Silver Stair. The overlords are threat enough, but if the Dark Queen aids them, the danger is tenfold.” He felt a lump rise in his throat and thought briefly of the Chaos War and all the death and destruction it had brought. Takhisis and the overlords could wage a battle that Krynn probably wouldn’t survive—at least not the world’s races of humans and demihumans.
“You’ll send the others to Goldmoon’s?” Usha interrupted his musings.
Palin nodded. “Yes, now. I suspect Goldmoon is waiting for them—as the Master and the Shadow Sorcerer wait for me”
“They’re coming ” Goldmoon said to the air. She stood at the window, looking up at the stars. “Yes, Dhamon is with them. I was so glad to learn he lived. I sensed he was the one, dear Riverwind. I’m still certain of it. What’s that? Oh, yes, the mariner is with him, the one Palin trusts. And Blister as well. There is hope yet for Ansalon.”
Her fingers fluttered over the surface of the medallion she wore. “Of course I will give this up,” she said, her eyes fixed ahead. “Yes, it does mean a lot to me, husband. But they think it will return the gods’ magic to Krynn. Do you remember when we worked so hard to bring back clerical magic to the world? We were so young then, and the task seemed impossible. But we succeeded, and it seems like it was only yesterday. You were here and—”
“I think she’s got company.” The kender’s voice drifted up from the curving stairwell. “I hope we’re not interrupting anything important. Wonder who’d be visiting her this late at night?”
Blister was in the lead because she was tired of getting left behind. Her short legs carried her up the twisting staircase that seemed to wind itself through every vacant room and alcove of the crystalline dome. She was sticking to the middle of the stairwell so Rig and Dhamon couldn’t squeeze around her and with their longer legs leave her behind. Eventually they reached an oval chamber at the top, where Goldmoon seemed to be conversing with someone. Rig and Dhamon emerged from the stairwell behind the kender.
“Guess she doesn’t have company,” Blister decided, as she took in the immaculate room. “Must have been hearing things.” The room’s polished, curved white walls and its marble floor reflected the starlight and made it seem as if a dozen lanterns were burning. “Guess I was imagining her talking to somebody.” Gauzy curtains hung here and there, more for decoration than function. The pale birch furniture, though sparse for the size of the room, appeared newly made and delicate.
As Goldmoon stepped away from the window and faced Blister, the healer’s lips edged upward in a smile.
Though she was over eighty, she didn’t look quite that old, nor as old as Dhamon remembered seeing her long months ago when he had first answered her summons. Her blonde hair streaked with silver rested in stray curls about her shoulders. Her blue eyes were pale, but not dull and cloudy as he recalled. Jasper once told Dhamon that his faith colored what he saw whenever he visited the famed healer. The moonlight revealed the lines on her face, and Dhamon could see that the flesh on her arms and along her jaw sagged.
Blister saw a different image, however, one full of life and promise, with sparkling clear eyes and no trace of lines or stooped shoulders. “Your faith indeed colors what you see,” the kender whispered.
Goldmoon glided toward the trio, carrying herself with a quiet grace. There was a stately demeanor about her, a feeling of quiet power. “It does truly gladden my heart to see you, Dhamon Grimwulf.” She took Dhamon’s hand, and nodded to the mariner, offering him a smile. Then she winked at Blister.
Rig was awed to be in her presence, but kept silent. One of the Heroes of the Lance. She was the stuff of numerous tavern tales he’d heard throughout the many nations he’d visited. He suddenly wished Shaon was here to share this moment with him.