“There is more,” Silvara declared, her tone sterner, hopeful again. “A weapon of the ages, reforged again, ready to wield against our ancient enemy.”
“The Dragonlance…” murmured Lectral, suddenly understanding.
“The lances of Huma have been forged!” Silvara cried. “Who will fly at my side?”
Again Lectral saw Heart before him, saw the beautiful silver dragon who had been drawn to the love of a mortal. She, too, had pleaded with him to take up a rider, to bear a lance into battle with the Dark Queen’s legions.
And he had refused.
In a vivid instant of shame, he remembered his petty anger, the jealousy that had sent him away-and left him with a legacy of a thousand years of guilt.
“I will fly with you,” he said, and he added a silent plea to long-dead Heart, begging her forgiveness-and her understanding.
Amid the accolades of the other dragons, roaring and bellowing in a frenzy of battle-lust, Silvara heard his words, looked at him-and, for the first time since her return, she allowed her eyes to flare with a light of real and genuine hope.
Chapter 39
352 AC
The human knight was a young nun, powerful and lean and, to all appearances, quick to learn. Like his fellows, he was brave enough to volunteer to fly, was willing to place his life in the hands of a mighty winged serpent, to do battle with the evil dragons of the Dark Queen in the war-torn skies over Ansalon. Now he advanced with a walk of catlike grace, clearly a warrior of self-confidence and maturity.
Yet Lectral took an instant dislike to the first man he had met in something more than thirteen hundred winters. He looked down his great shining snout, glaring between the flexing apertures of his broad nostrils as the man strode boldly up to the great silver dragon. Only with an effort did he avoid a disdainful snort.
The towers of Palanthas rose just past this parade ground, and the lofty ridges of the northern Kharolis range, still limned in the whiteness of spring snow, formed the horizon beyond. Together with a multitude of metal dragons, he had made the flight from the Dragon Isles to this legendary city. Now Lectral had to force himself to lower his gaze, to confront this insignificant human when his eyes longed to fix upon the great mountain range.
The knight knelt, looked frankly at the ancient creature looming over his head, and then bowed his head and spoke in serious, dignified tones.
“Esteemed Ancient One, I beg to request the great honor of mounting your immaculate shoulders and of riding your mighty self into battle. I pledge to strive mightily against the foe of your people and mine. I pray to the Platinum Father that together we can do great injury to the Dark Queen’s hopes.”
“I don’t have ‘people,’ ” Lectral retorted sharply, though he was forced to admit to a certain approval of the knight’s bold words and his properly deferential air.
“I beg your forgiveness, Honored One. As you may have deduced, I am inexperienced in the ways of dragons. I can pledge that I will not make the same mistake twice.”
Lectral was becoming embarrassed by all the fuss. “It is a minor matter. But tell me, knight, how are you called?”
“My name is Allsar Dane, Knight of the Crown,” declared the warrior earnestly.
“You may address me as Lectral.” The silver dragon studied the human a little more closely than he had upon his first inspection. The man was tall and strapping, bearing the weight of his heavy plate armor with an easy grace that suggested he was a person of significant strength. He stood with dignity, yet had been able to ask for the dragon’s forgiveness without, apparently, feeling that he acknowledged any weakness in his own honor.
That was a lesson that more than one copper dragon might take to heart, Lectral thought with a chuckle. Then he reflected upon his own reaction of sourness at his first meeting of Allsar Dane, and he felt an uncomfortable flush of guilt. Perhaps age is making a bitter old nag out of me, he rebuked himself silently.
Finally he realized that the knight was still standing before him, waiting for a reply.
“Indeed, I agree to bear you in battle.” Lectral knew that he could carry the knight, though the thought was still strange. “But I warn you that holding on shall be your own affair, for my habits of flying, like everything else about my ancient self, are rather thoroughly ingrained.”
“Of course-if you will allow me the use of one of these rather simple saddles the cobblers of Palanthas have made for us.”
“Certainly.” Lectral had seen one of the seats, and it caused him to reflect upon the courage of the warriors who would ride them. The saddle was little more than a strap and a set of stirrups attached to a swiveling bracket upon which would be mounted the potent Dragonlance.
“Splendid! I have some skill with the lance, and we can only hope that we’ll get the chance to stick a few of the Dark Queen’s dragons!”
“Quite,” murmured Lectral, taken aback by the young knight’s enthusiasm. Still, it was a refreshing change, and he had heard many tales of the deadly lances during his time on the isles. It would be good to see one in action from a closer viewpoint. Again he thought of Heart with a pang and wished she could know what he did here today.
“Of course, most of my fighting experience has been gained with a fishing pole in my hands,” Allsar admitted sheepishly. “A rainbow trout is my favorite prey.”
“Ah, fishing,” Lectral agreed, remembering many pleasant experiences of his own. “Can there be a more perfect food? Myself, I always looked forward to the running of the salmon. Now, that’s a delicacy.”
As hostlers came forward and hesitantly wrapped the saddle around his chest and neck, Lectral raised his head and looked around. The high ridges of the northern Kharolis, and the High Clerist’s Pass, guarded Palanthas as they had through all of the ancient dragon’s life. When his gaze swept to the south, toward the lands that were lost in the dust of the plains and distant mountains, he reflected on an astounding piece of news he had heard following his arrival in the great city: that there was now a deep ocean slicing through the middle of the Kharolis Range, with open water extending eastward as far as Sanction.
“Can that be true?” he murmured softly, intrigued and amazed by the thought.
“I beg your pardon, Mighty One?” wondered the knight.
“What? Oh… I had heard of a great body of water to the south of here, dividing the middle of the Kharolis Range. Do you know of such a thing?”
“Indeed. It’s called the Newsea, though many generations of my people have lived since its creation during the Cataclysm. Perhaps you can remember what it was like before then.”
“A thousand years before.”
The knight was silent, regarding the dragon with a calm and appraising gaze.
“Perhaps we will fly there and see this ocean,” Lectral suggested.
“The fishing is said to be quite good,” Allsar Dane informed him.
“That’s intriguing news, I admit.” Lectral felt a little better about this man and was ready to fly. He looked around, saw the fluttering of metallic wings, lances upraised as the knights and dragons filled the plaza before the city.
Palanthas, of course, had seemed pretty much the same as ever to Lectral-that is to say, boring. It was a place keenly conscious of history and fate and magic, and naturally the gold dragons had always felt very much at home there. Yet to Lectral and his silver clan, it had always seemed to be one of the more staid and aloof of the human realms. Generally he had favored livelier places, such as Xak Tsaroth, Tarsis, or even Sanction, to the serene placidity of Palanthas.
Just a few days earlier, that fabled city had been the site of the arrival of the metallic dragons on Ansalon, a homecoming that was accompanied by great celebrations and optimism on the part of the inhabitants. As soon as they had overcome their initial terror, the humans had poured forth and gathered around, until every one of the metallic dragons had been draped with garlands and fed many draughts of fine wine.