Upon entering, they found the females already gathered, the aged tutor standing dotingly over the huge basket of the nest. Though several of these dragons hadn’t been here for centuries, there was no great ceremony to mark their arrival.
“These are your eggs,” Patersmith explained as Aurican, Darlantan, Smelt, and the other males gathered around the gem-studded nest in the grotto. The mighty wyrms of metal, long necks arched high, stared in awe at the glittering array of perfect baubles lining the sacred bowl.
Darlantan saw numerous orbs of silver, and only then did his eyes go to Kenta, who, along with the other females, coiled regally across the mossy cushion of the grotto’s floor. She was uninterested in meeting his gaze, holding her attention instead upon the tutor and the nest that had somehow become full of eggs.
Now Patersmith lectured in his most sonorous tones, and out of old habit, Darlantan paid full attention to his mentor.
“You must guard them well. This is the sacred trust of every metal dragon. You are serpents of Paladine, and as such, these are your treasured artifacts. They represent your future and give proof to your past.”
“There are so many of them,” Auri declared in awe. “Our numbers shall grow.”
“It is the Platinum Father’s wish that your descendants should populate Krynn, should make this a world of halcyon peace, of celebrated beauty, goodness, and high learning beyond compare. No task is more important than that you guard them well and protect these eggs against any danger.”
At Patersmith’s words, Darlantan suddenly remembered his frosty blast when he slayed the multitude of ogres.
“Are they safe here?” he asked, raising his silver head to regard the tutor.
“Their mothers will remain here until the eggs have hatched,” Patersmith explained. “They will be as well protected as anything on Krynn.”
“And you… you will be here as well?” asked Aurican, his gilded brow furrowing with concern. “You will remain with our precious eggs?”
“Alas, that is not to be,” declared the bewhiskered tutor. For the first time, Dar noticed that Patersmith had somehow grown very, very old. His whiskers were white as snow, his posture stooped and frail.
“You are going away?” asked Darlantan, while the other males lifted their heads in mute question.
“In a sense, yes… yes, I am. My journey will not be a physical one. To you, my sons and daughters, I will appear to sleep. And my sojourn shall indeed be restful, if good fortune will only follow me.”
Darlantan was seized by a startlingly strong emotion, a tug of melancholy that seemed quite out of place in his massive, powerful self. He knew he would miss the aged tutor, and though his visits to the grotto had been rare in recent centuries, he found it difficult to imagine a life without the sage’s patient insight and wise counsel.
“But what of us?” asked Aurican, his deep voice rising in a plaintive question. “While our sisters guard the eggs, what would you have us do?”
“Ah, Auri,” chuckled Patersmith. “Here is where your brother Darlantan’s wisdom may even have exceeded your own, for he has always understood that you should not do the things that I would have you do, but that you would do for yourself.”
The silver dragon tried to speak but found that his throat was thickened in an awkward fashion. He couldn’t shape the words, couldn’t even think of what to say.
Patersmith came to stand before Smelt, reaching up to stroke the brass scales of his neck. “You always understood me,” the old tutor declared. “Of all your nestmates, you have best learned the value of mercy and of friendship. Go back to your humans, my chatty one, and lead them in the ways of wisdom and goodness.”
Next he came to Blayze, whose copper head drooped sadly in the face of the smith’s departure. “Mind that temper, my quick one. But do not vanquish it entirely, for it is a force that lies at the heart of your clan’s might. All of you could learn something from Blayze, for there may come a time when you need to fight. Then you shall find that anger can be a useful force, a thing that can enhance your strength and even overawe your enemies.”
Patersmith chuckled. “Our copper nestmate has only to learn to wait for that time,” he concluded gently.
“And Burll, my mighty one. Know that your strength is as the bedrock of the world, an underlying force upon which the dragons of Paladine can always depend. Do not think too hard, for you are a doer of deeds, not a philosopher.”
Next the bearded elder came to Darlantan. He placed a weathered hand on the shoulder of silver scales, blinking back at the moisture that began to form in the watery old eyes.
“And Darlantan, my silver pride… you are the one who best knows the world as it was meant to be. You will see what must be done and do it. With your strength, there is hope that goodness may stand for many ages. And never forget the pure joy of flight.”
The tutor’s words moved the silver dragon, but already Patersmith had moved on to Aurican, the last of his hatchlings to say farewell.
“We owe you much, our teacher,” murmured the gold dragon. Aurican had picked up a diamond from the nest, clutching it in his foreclaw as he gently nuzzled the sage’s beard. Darlantan hung his head low, but couldn’t help listening to the exchange.
“Hold your gems, my golden one. Share them well, for those stones may become the proof of your life, even the hope of the world. And your songs, too, are ballads that will endure.”
“I would like you to carry this on your journey,” Aurican said softly. He extended a golden forepaw, in the clasp of which he held a bright diamond. When he pulled his claws away, the stone floated in the air. “It is all the magic I have been able to work.”
Patersmith took the stone, blinking back the moisture of his emotion. “Hold your faith, my golden one. You may find the means of greater power yet. I only regret that I shall not be here to share in your triumph.”
Finally Patersmith laid himself upon a bier of fine stones in the rear of the sacred cave. He settled back peacefully, clasping his hands over his chest while his eyelids drooped shut. With a deep, shuddering sigh, he went to sleep. Then, as the thirteen dragons watched with breath held in check, the frail and weathered body slowly faded from sight until it had completely disappeared.
Chapter 8
3493 PC
The ogres gathered in a mighty throng around their mistress, shouting, roaring, and cheering in a monstrous din. The stomping of their feet shook the ground as greatly as did the rumbles of the nearby volcanoes. Accolades and battle cries rang through the night in a rising tide of martial thunder. Hulking Blacktusk, the battle chieftain who was descended directly from Ironfist himself, led the hailing of their mistress’s name, of her power and her might.
Crematia coiled in their midst, her crimson neck and head rising high into the air. The dragon’s serpentine tail snaked through the legs of a massive bull ogre, and a dozen more of the brutes, clad in armor of stiffened leather studded with bronze spikes, stood arrayed in a stance of honor around her. They were armed with swords and held these weapons high, allowing the red dragon to temper the keen edges with a great explosion of her flaming breath.
Beyond the elite bodyguards were thousands more of the burly tusked warriors. Great knobbed clubs waved through the air like a sea of grass flowing back and forth in the currents of the wind. Numerous chieftains were bedecked in feathers and ornaments of gold. Instead of crude clubs, many of these leaders brandished long swords or axes with blades of jagged-edged bronze. They all thronged forward, praising their leader, sharing in the glory of her presence while they displayed their bravery and devotion.