The white-bearded human figure moved easily through the trees, skirting the clearing, insuring that he was unobserved. Only then did Darlantan proceed along the narrow, winding trail through the deep ravine. Sheer walls rose far over his head, barely an arm’s length to either side, but instead of constricting him, they represented security to the transformed silver serpent. He was masked from the skies above by the overhanging walls, and any dragon that tried to pursue him would be greatly hampered by the narrow confines.
Of course, an ogre or two could squeeze in here, but then Darlantan almost hoped he would encounter a few of the brutish warriors. On another occasion some winters before, several heavily armed ogres had come upon an apparently frail, elderly human, and it had been the last mistake those particular monsters ever made.
Once he reached the cave, Darlantan sniffed the air, probing for any sign of danger. The shelter was large, with a ceiling arching high overhead. Though it was not deep, it remained dry and sheltered from the weather and was large enough that the silver dragon could have assumed his normal form if he had desired to do so. Yet he was content to remain in his two-legged guise.
The shadows were thick, but his golden eyes penetrated the darkness with ease, determining that the place was empty. Retaining his body in the shape of the bearded human elder, Darlantan advanced into the cave, shuffling through the dark recesses, insuring that nothing unsuspected lurked in concealment. Crouching beside a pile of dried wood that had apparently remained undisturbed since his last visit, the ancient dragon used his dexterous fingers to find the shard of flint and the steel knife blade that Kagonos had left here. With a few quick strikes, Dar started a fire-not because he was cold, but because he knew that Kagonos, when he came, would appreciate the warmth.
Flames crackled from the tinder, rising with cheery warmth and brightness, spreading light throughout the stone-walled shelter. For some time, Darlantan amused himself by watching his own human-shaped shadow cavort and gesture on the smooth stone of the cave wall. Finally he heard the almost silent sound of a footfall along the trail that ran along the ravine floor, and Darlantan looked up to see the wild elf jog into view. Kagonos bore the long-hafted axe that was his favored weapon, the ram’s horn on its thong of leather, and was garbed in a supple breechcloth of doeskin. Otherwise he was naked, unadorned except for the elaborate designs of ink streaked across his chest, cheeks, and forehead.
He entered the alcove with a nod, squatting before the fire and absorbing the warmth from the small bed of coals. Unlike humans or other short-lived creatures meeting again after a winter’s separation, these two long-lived beings felt no need for conversation to distill the silence of the wilderness. Instead, they sat in worldless fellowship around the heartening blaze.
After a time, the two friends shared the fresh venison Darlantan had brought, drinking water from a pure spring at the back of the cave. A feeling of kinship grew between them, rising in the air like heat radiating from the coals. With the addition of a few dry sticks, the fire became their balladeer, crackling bold lyrics, then fading into a soft postlude.
“Word comes by runner from the east.” Kagonos, with his eyes closed, leaned back and laid his head against the rock wall of the little cave. He spoke slowly, reluctant to dispel the serene aura. “The blue dragons attack toward the coast. They fight in support of a large army, so all indications are that they will remain there for some time.”
“And Crematia?” Darlantan’s calm broke with the mention of his enemy’s name. His voice quivered and his jaw clenched at the thought of the red dragon, who had eluded his best efforts over so many winters.
Kagonos only shook his head. “Perhaps she has been swallowed by Aurican’s magic gems-the same way those stones ate the souls of the white and green dragons.”
“Do you know what happened to those gems?” Darlantan asked.
“Silvanos tells me the griffons carried them deep into the mountains,” Kagonos replied. “There they were buried so they would never be found. And with them are buried two of the Dark Queen’s clans.”
“It is only to be wished that Crematia could have been trapped as well,” Dar agreed. “But I was with my brother a dozen sunrises ago, and he has seen not so much as a single crimson scale.”
Still, the wild elf’s words reminded him of something else as well, something more hopeful than he would have believed ten winters earlier. Darlantan reflected on the success that Aurican and he had with the dragongems. The stones possessed a powerful allure, the fundamental essence of magic bestowed by the gods themselves. Aurican had never explained much about the harrowing quest that had brought them to the dragongems, only hinting that the cost might prove to be high.
Yet the stones of life-trapping had proven to be potent and effective, so long as the evil dragons could be lured close enough for the magic to take effect. To this end, Darlantan and Aurican had devised an effective tactic, one that had served them well in two distinct campaigns. Darlantan had located the wyrms and goaded them into a reckless pursuit. Aurican completed the other portion of the trap, waiting somewhere in ambush, concealed in his elven guise and waiting for his kin-dragon to lead the chromatic serpents to him.
As the enraged wyrms swept past, Aurican brandished the magical gem and worked the spell of life-trapping. Powerful sorcery exploded in a cyclone of magic, pulling the dragons into the stone. Twice the plan had worked to perfection, and the dragons of white and green had been imprisoned.
“Any word as to the black dragons?” asked the wild elf.
“There is some good news,” Dar replied, heartened by the prospects for imminent battle. “They are gathered in the mountains above Blacktusk, and the ogres are already marching against Sylvanos. Aurican is ready with the black dragongem. It is my plan to fly there from here.”
“Have a care, my friend,” Kagonos urged, his gray eyes serious within the spirals of his war paint.
“I shall. I am grateful that these serpents of black seem to lack some of the mastery of magic of Crematia and the blues.”
“I will join you later. Good luck,” said the elf.
“And to you, as well, my friend.”
In silence, the white-bearded sage tottered into the darkness. By the time Kagonos had curled up for a few hours’ sleep, silver wings parted the night air, and Darlantan soared toward the foothills and the gathered armies of the ogre Blacktusk and the elvenking Silvanos.
Before dawn, he passed the low, cratered mountain where Aurican was hidden. Darlantan marked the spot well, but did not fly too closely nor make any attempt to spot the gold dragon, who would undoubtedly be concealed in the body of the elven patriarch.
By then, the great mass of the ogre army had come into view. The monstrous horde swarmed over the plain like ants crossing a vast field, and even from his lofty vantage, Darlantan was impressed by the speed of their advance. Then he saw tiny forms soaring over the treetops far below and knew that the elven griffonriders were sweeping in to attack. More antlike figures emerged from the forest, and the army of Silvanos took up positions of defense.
But Darlantan’s eyes were fixed upon higher targets. He couldn’t hear the clash of weaponry, elven steel against ogre bronze, ringing from the melee below. The screams of the wounded and dying, the hoarse bellows of Blacktusk’s subcommanders and the lyrical trumpets of Silvanos’s signalmen-all were carried away by the wind long before they rose to Darlantan’s lofty vantage.
In any event, Darlantan knew those sounds and their attending violence were only peripherally important. The success or failure of this day would not be measured by elven and ogre dead, but by the results of his and Aurican’s efforts to entrap the dragons of black.