“Malys knows,” Frost offered. “Malys told us how to gain power, before the Dragon Purge. Malys directed us to grab territory. Because of her we are overlords. If any among us would know of Takhisis’s return, it would have to be Malystryx.”
The Green cocked her head to the side. “I am an overlord because of my own ambition and power. What power, Malystryx, do you have that I do not? What power allows you to know of Takhisis’s return?”
Malys regarded the Green for several silent moments. “Perhaps rebirth would be a better term,” the Red purred.
Khellendros remained quiet, noticing that Frost and Ferno had moved closer to the great Red and that Sable was carefully watching Beryl.
“Rebirth?” the Green hissed.
Flames flickered about Malys’s nostrils. “It is a new Takhisis who will appear on Krynn, Beryllinthranox. That Takhisis will be me.”
“Blasphemy!” Beryl shouted.
“There is no blasphemy when there are no gods,” the Red sharply returned.
The Green arched her back. “And without the gods, we bow to no one, serve no one. We are our own masters—Krynn’s masters. Only gods are worthy of our deference. And you, Malystryx, are not a god.”
“Your gods left this world. Even Takhisis vanished.” The air grew warmer as Malys continued, and the flames about her nostrils rose higher. “As you say, Beryl, we are the masters now. We are the most powerful beings on Krynn—and I am first among us.”
“You are mighty, I will grant you that. Alone, none of us could stand up to you. But you are not a god.”
“I am not yet a god.”
“Not ever.”
“No, Beryl?”
Sable moved closer to Frost. The two had broken the circle, formed a line with Malys and her lieutenant, all facing Beryl, who was looking at Khellendros out of the corner of her narrowing eye.
Beryl wants to know where I stand, the Storm mused. The Green recognizes my strength and is looking for support. Malys is also waiting. She has been devoting her time to forming alliances, with the White and the Black. She is more clever and calculating than I thought. Paired with others, she cannot be challenged.
Khellendros cast a sidelong glance at Beryl, then moved to join the line, taking up a position next to Ferno and dwarfing the smaller red dragon.
“I will ascend to godhood before the year is out,” Malys hissed at the Green. “I will ascend with the heavens—and my allies—as my witnesses. Where do you stand?”
Beryl dug her claws into the baked ground, glanced for a moment at the myriad cracks she had added to the land, then tilted her head to meet the Red’s stare. “I stand with you,” she said finally.
“Then you may live,” Malys said.
3
A Dark Domain
“Decent people used to live here.” Rig sat heavily on a rotting willow log and swatted at the mosquitos swarming around his face. His dark skin glistened with sweat.
“How would you know?” Jasper asked.
“Years ago Shaon and I stopped here for a few days.” He smiled wistfully at the memory and swept his hand to indicate the small clearing they’d selected for a campsite. “This was once a town, here on the banks of the River Toranth. S’funny. I don’t remember the name of the place, but the people were friendly enough, real hard-working folk. Supplies were cheap. The food was warm— and good.” He took in a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Shaon and I spent an evening on the docks, which would have been somewhere over by that cypress. There was this old man; I think he passed for their barge master. Talked all night with him and watched the sun come up. He shared his flagon of Stone Rose Ale. Never tasted anything quite like it. Maybe never will again.”
The mariner scowled as he gazed over what was left of the place. Bits and pieces of wood were scattered here and there, poking out from under round, leafy buttonbushes and gaps in the thick sawgrass. A painted sign, so badly faded that “boiled oyst” were the only legible words, was wedged into a pale strangler fig.
Onysablet’s swamp had swallowed the town, as it had swallowed everything else as far as the eye could see. Parts of what had once been New Sea were choked marshes, stretching to the north. The water was so thick with vegetation it looked like an olive plain. In many places it was difficult to tell where the land ended and the water began.
Several days ago Silvara and Sunrise had deposited the travelers on the shore of the New Swamp, after flying across the navigable part of New Sea. Though the ride was unsettling, the mariner wished the dragons could have taken them farther. But the Silver and Gold had no desire to encroach on Sable’s realm. So Silvara and Sunrise left to take Gilthanas and Ulin to the Tower of Wayreth. Rig hoped the two sorcerers could pool their wits with Palin to discover Dhamon’s whereabouts.
“I’m hungry.” Jasper sat next to the mariner and gently deposited a leather sack between his legs. It contained the Fist of E’li, of which Jasper had volunteered to be the caretaker. The dwarf was still favoring his side, his breath was raspy, and he was also hungry. He patted his stomach, offered Rig a weak smile, then batted away a thumb-sized black bug that was inching too close for comfort. The dwarf pointed a stubby finger toward what he could see of the sun between breaks in the tree trunks. “It’s getting on toward dinner time.”
“Your belly’ll be filled soon enough,” Rig said. “Feril shouldn’t be gone too much longer. And I hope she brings back something other than a fat lizard this time. I hate lizard meat.”
The dwarf chuckled, patting his stomach again. “Groller and Fury went with her. Maybe the wolf will spook out a boar. Groller likes roast pig. So do I.”
“You shouldn’t be so particular, Rig Mer-Krel and Master Fireforge,” Fiona called over. “You should be appreciative of any fresh meat.” The Knight of Solamnia was busy picking through the more intact remnants of the town. She brushed back the leaves of a massive bladderwort, lifted up a decaying chair back and shook her head. Retrieving a moldy doll, she held it up, looked into its absent eyes, then carefully replaced it on the ground.
Fiona’s face and arms were gleaming with sweat, her red curls plastered against her high forehead, the rest of it piled in ringlets atop her head and held in place with an ivory comb borrowed from Usha. She’d taken off her metal arm and leg plates yesterday as well as her helmet, and was toting them around in a canvas sack. Though they were cumbersome and heavy, she refused to leave them behind. Neither would she completely surrender to the heat and take off her silver breastplate with its Knight of the Crown etching. “Even lizard is more nourishing than the usual rations,” she observed. “We have to preserve our strength.”
“The rations are a little more tasty as far as I’m concerned,” Rig muttered half under his breath. “Though not by much. Lizard. Yuck.” He kept his eyes on the Solamnic as she continued rummaging, moving farther away from them. “By the way, it’s just Rig, remember?”
“And Jasper,” added the dwarf. “Nobody calls me Master Fireforge. I don’t think anybody even called my Uncle Flint that.”
Fiona glanced over her shoulder, smiled, and resumed her search.
“Keep poking around all you want, but you’re not going to find anything worthwhile,” Rig called to her, “When the black dragon moved in, most of the sensible people picked up what they could— their children, valuables, mementos— and moved out.”
“I’m just browsing while we wait for dinner. Something to do. I just can’t sit around.”
“You like her, don’t you?” Jasper winked at Rig, keeping his voice low. “You’ve been watching her like a hawk since Schallsea.”
The mariner grunted in reply.
“Hmmm, there’s something here,” Fiona said. “Something solid under this mud.”
“She’s got spunk.” The dwarf nudged Rig. “She’s lovely for a human, polite, brave too, according to Ulin. He said she didn’t run when Frost attacked them in Southern Ergoth. Stood her ground and was ready to fight, even though it looked like certain death. She can handle that sword she totes, and...”