And then their leader let them know that the attack would soon begin.
Deathfyre gathered his two-legged captains on the ground before the city walls. He appointed a mighty ogre, Garic Drakan, as commander of the army, and bade the dwarves, bakali, humans, and other ogres to show the chieftain such fealty as they would to the red dragon himself. When the roars had risen to a deafening crescendo, Garic put his army to the march, leaving Sanction behind as the horde advanced like a tide of ink onto the plains of Solamnia.
“Do we strike against the elves?” demanded mighty Azurus as the dragons fluttered their stiff wings and craned their necks, ready to attack. All knew the grim history of the Silvanesti wars, and vengeance was a powerful compulsion among the wyrms of Takhisis.
“No. This time it will be the humans who feel the brunt of our onslaught!” declared Deathfyre. He clearly remembered his matriarch’s firmest lesson: Find your strongest enemy and kill him! “Solamnia has become the greatest realm, the strongest empire on Krynn, and thus it shall be Solamnia that feels the fury of our queen’s wrath!”
“I myself will burn a hundred of the enemy warriors!” boasted Tombfyre, who was already a large serpent, capable of expelling a huge gout of flame. He rose to his haunches and bellowed a great fountain of fire into the sky.
“Ah, my son,” declared Deathfyre. “I know that you will earn the praises of our queen!”
And when the dragons of evil took wing, they darkened the sky. Aided by their skyborne allies, Garic Drakan’s army swept forward on the ground, quickly subduing the realms around the mountains, squashing the peoples who dwelt in the foothills as if these minor kingdoms and duchies were so many villages and camps. Ultimately the great serpents led the invasions from Sanction onto the plains of Vingaard, a tide swarming westward toward the realm of the proud knights.
On the ground, the armies of the ogre Garic Drakan marched forth. Columns diverged across the prairie, destroying settlements, pillaging strongholds, battling any band of armed men that dared to raise a blade. Legions of mercenary horsemen preceded the brutal foot soldiers, making savage onslaughts against every city and town in their path. Bakali lizard men swarmed behind the riders, killing mercilessly, while the heavy ogres and tens of thousands of human footmen plodded relentlessly forward, a crushing wave of irresistible force that swarmed in a lethal tide.
In the face of this onslaught, the Knights of Solamnia rode forth from their castles to do battle. Companies of the Sword, the Crown, and the Rose all formed courageously. True to honor, duty, and the Measure, they faced attacks by overwhelming armies, until the dragons of the Dark Queen flew from the skies, driving the human warriors back with horrendous casualties.
But during these initial campaigns, mindful of the impetuous advance that had led to destruction in Silvanesti more than a thousand years before, Deathfyre held his legions to a more measured pace. Led by Tombfyre and Azurus, the mighty red dragon’s wings of flying serpents rarely flew far ahead of the troops on the ground, and those spearheads were held in check as well. Deathfyre insisted that his horsemen remain within supporting distance of the rest of the army, until ultimately the army of the Dark Queen plodded forward in a well-disciplined wave, relentlessly burying everything across a thousand-mile swath of ruin.
And always Deathfyre remained alert for reports of the dragons of metal. Surely they dwelt in the west and would learn of the attack. But where were they? When would they enter the fight? He couldn’t know the answer, and so he made certain that he was ready. In fact, this was one of the major reasons for the measured advance of his force. He didn’t want to expose a far-flung spearhead to annihilation at the hands of a sudden dragon counterattack.
Still, much of the pride of Solamnia bled and died on the plains of Ansalon. Dargaard Keep fell, and the mighty Vingaard River was crossed, with the castle of the same name besieged. Everywhere the army of Deathfyre met victory and left grieving, ruin, and destruction once the vanguard had passed.
But where were the dragons of metal? Until they flew, Deathfyre knew that his vengeance would remain incomplete.
Chapter 32
1029 PC
Flanking cliffs of white chalk rose from the mist-shrouded depths of a wilderness gorge, concealing an icy torrent of glacial melt that churned and eroded its way through the slash of deep channel. Most of the vast chasm was shrouded in nearly eternal shadows, a blanket of darkness broken only when the sun stood at high zenith. Moss draped the slick white rocks, and tributary streams flowed from constant springs and seasonal snowmelt, trickling down the steep cliffs in a myriad of splashing waterfalls, adding their contents to the raging flowage far below.
High on the north-facing wall of the deep gorge was a wide ledge, a shelf of white rock that remained exposed to sunlight throughout the day, during all seasons of the year. The chalk surface was smooth, though a number of curved indentations pocked the surface near the cliff wall. Furthermore, a steady stream of clear water trilled down the nearby cliffs, gathering in a wide, deep pool before spilling over the lip of the ledge to shower into the unseen depths of the gorge.
This perch was Lectral’s favorite place in all the High Kharolis. The flat surface was long enough for him to stretch to his full length and sufficiently wide that he could carelessly gather himself into a loose coil. The pool made for splendid drinking, and on exceptionally hot days, he could immerse himself all the way to his eyeballs in refreshing coolness.
As to the view, he was content to remain within the cool confinement of the white chalk walls. He enjoyed the sight of blue or gray skies overhead, and from within the gap of his secluded gorge, he observed the phases of the moons or watched the constellations as the stars wheeled by. He had learned to anticipate every nuance of lunar cycles, predicting when and where each of the three moons would appear along the overhead rim.
The familiar Kharolis skyline loomed to the east, and though Lectral couldn’t see the mountains from his ledge, he could call up their mental image anytime he chose. For now, he was content to let the memory suffice, to enjoy the smooth comfort and sheltered confines of his lofty ledge. Of course, he often left this place to hunt, and frequently those hunts took him over the crests of the High Kharolis. He always made a point to circle the deep mountain-guarded lake where his proud sire, the legendary Callak, was buried.
Yet it had been long since he had visited any of the two-legged folk who lived beyond those heights. He wasn’t really interested in that sort of society anymore-with the exception of the Kagonesti. And even then, his protector-ship of the wild elves had become an aloof and distant thing. Often he had observed the tribes throughout the forests of Ansalon, but he did so invisibly, or in the guise of a bird or perhaps a stag or mountain sheep. He held the ram’s horn in its sacred trust, but never had he had to use it or to answer its summons from the Kagonesti.
For long periods of time, Lectral remained on his chalk ledge, concealed within his white gorge by himself. Heart, ever his favorite companion and nestmate, had been absent from his life for many winters. He wondered if she were spending all of her time in the guise of human or elf, for even the griffons that regularly brought word of events in the world had heard nothing of the large silver female. With a flash of jealous memory, his thoughts returned to a sparkling moment: the chase of two wild elves through the forest and its untimely interruption by a band of ogres.