A ram bleated, with a clatter of rocks, and Lectral looked up to see the creature skipping with uncanny precision along a lofty cliff. But something else moved above it, and in the instant of that awareness, he threw himself forward, wings extended to catch an immediate lift.
Tombfyre appeared seemingly from nowhere, attacking with a blast of fire that cruelly seared Lectral’s tail. The silver dragon careened wildly down the mountainside, avoiding craggy outcrops, barely airborne. A crimson shape swept past, roaring in triumph and glee.
What a fool I was! Lectral rebuked himself furiously. He had been alone and careless, lost in his pathetic musings, making a splendid opportunity for a vicious and implacable enemy. If not for the bleating of the frightened mountain sheep, the battle would have ended at once-a fatal ambush leading to a solitary and anonymous kill.
Struggling for equilibrium, Lectral saw the ground whirling upward and knew he was about to crash into the mountainside. With a quick word of magic, he teleported high into the sky, pulling out of his spin as Tombfyre roared a fiery ball of frustration below.
But then the red dragon disappeared, and the silver whirled in sudden alarm, ready for a magical attack from above or behind. There was no sign of Tombfyre anywhere in the sky, until Lectral cast another spell, one that allowed him to see objects masked by a spell of invisibility. His enemy stood clearly revealed, the mask of magic ripped away as the red dragon strived higher and higher through the air.
Replying in kind, Lectral blinked out of sight behind a spell of his own invisibility. Tilting his wings, he angled toward the infuriated red. From the fixed nature of Tombfyre’s glaring eyes, the silver knew that his enemy wasn’t fooled by the spell. No doubt Tombfyre, too, possessed the ability to detect objects concealed by invisibility magic.
The silver dragon circled at a lofty height, as high as he had ever flown before. He watched the red laboring through the thin air, striving to reach him, and once more Lectral knew the pure joy of soaring even above the birds. He felt a serene sense of calm, knowing now that this was a proper destiny for him and his clan.
Finally Tombfyre reached that great altitude, and the two dragons swept together, jaws gaping, widespread wings sweeping forward in a mutual but deadly embrace. Combined roars echoed like thunder from the surrounding heights while the serpents rushed toward a violent merging.
No longer would Lectral try to evade his archenemy; neither would he flee nor give chase. They would meet here, a mile or more above the mountaintops, and they would resolve a fight that had been waged over thousands of years. Here, now, it would be finished.
Lectral filled his lungs, started his blast of frost as he saw the first tongues of flame erupt from Tombfyre’s horrible maw. A blast of cold and fire mingled with thunderous force as the two ancient wyrms smashed together. Tombfyre’s fireball encircled Lectral, while the blast of frost exploded outward to envelop the hateful crimson wyrm. Locked in a clench of claw and fang and serpentine tails, the pair of monstrous fliers plummeted downward.
Lectral was sorely hurt, and he knew his wings had been seared beyond their ability to carry him in flight. His enemy, too, had been crippled by the deadly expulsion. The silver dragon clenched his jaws tightly over Tombfyre’s throat, preventing any sound, any attempt at spellcasting that the red dragon might make. Silver talons punctured scarlet scales, ripping into the red dragon’s flesh, clutching him in a merciless embrace.
Tombfyre squirmed frantically, desperate now as he sensed his enemy’s intention. Wind whistled past their scales, soothing the burned flaps of Lectral’s wings as the ground suddenly seemed to rush upward with blurring, reckless speed.
At the last moment, Tombfyre made a frantic twist, a final, desperate try to escape. But Lectral just pulled him closer, and together they completed their final dive, merging with terrible violence into the world of their ancestors.
Epilogue
352 PC
The clans of Paladine’s dragons dispersed with the scattering of the Dark Queen’s armies and the final failure of Takhisis herself. Ariakas stood at the gate, but he died before he could witness his queen’s frustration-and the freeing of the Golden General. As the tower of Neraka collapsed, the dragons of good and evil took wing, once more flying free in the skies over Krynn, unbound by oath or pledge, by master or mistress.
Many of the metal dragons who had borne riders remained in the company of those humans, elves, or dwarves, aiding them in the strife that still raged across the face of Ansalon. Battles continued to rage in many places, but these were mere skirmishes by comparison to the vast campaigns of the war.
The brass dragons, led by Kirsah, resumed their social interaction with mankind. Many of the golds returned to their studies, and the coppers, vengeful until the end, hunted the evil wyrms throughout Ansalon. Some of the bronzes continued to fight as well, while others went back to their lairs beside the sea.
Two silver shapes flew side by side through the Khalkists, fighting chromatic dragons wherever they could find them, though for the most part the surviving wyrms of the Dark Queen took pains to avoid the massive, vengeful serpents of argent. Always the two flew slowly, one or the other carefully studying the ground.
After a long search, Dargentan and Darlant came around the shoulder of a smoking volcano to spot a mighty shape lying in the valley below. The two adult silvers settled beside the body of their great sire, still entangled as it was with the twisted remains of Tombfyre.
A tattooed figure emerged from concealment, coming forward to bow to the two mighty wyrms.
“I was waiting here, watching” said the wild elf brave, a warrior who bore the ram’s horn at his waist. “I knew you would come.”
Carefully the two silver dragons pulled their sire free, and with a spell of alteration, they rendered his body into that of a wild elf brave. It was a fitting tribute for now, and even more important than his appearance, it rendered the mighty ancient into a form that one of the dragons would be able to carry aloft.
“We shall bear him home,” Dargentan told the wild elf.
But that home would not be in the north, did not exist on the pastoral isles waiting off the coast of the continent. Without discussion, the two silver scions took wing, Dargentan carefully bearing the body of his sire in his mighty foreclaws. Their course took them over the plains, past the victorious armies of the Golden General.
For the first time in their thousand years of life, and the last time in the history of their mighty sire, they were going to their true home-home to the High Kharolis.