Legends of the Dragonrealm - Softcover

Firedrake

1

Below, toward the great Tyber Mountains, they came. Some in pairs, some alone. Fierce dragonhelms hid all but the eyes; eyes that, in most cases, burned bloodred in the coming darkness. Each was armored in scaled leather, but anyone testing that protection would find it stronger than the best of mail. Flowing cloaks, like wild specters of the night, made the riders appear as if they were flying and, in truth, any onlooker would have believed such were possible for these men.

If men they were.

Eleven they numbered, gradually coming together in one group. There were no words of acknowledgment or, for that matter, the simple nod of a head. They were known to each other, and they had traveled this way countless times for countless years. Sometimes their numbers were different, but the path had always been the same. Though each counted the others as his brethren, feuding was common among them. They thus rode silently for the entire journey, ahead of them the Tyber Mountains, stretching to the heavens, beckoning.

At long last, they reached the first of the mountains. Here appeared to be an end to their travels. No path wound through the mountains; rather, the road ended abruptly at the base of one of the largest of the leviathans. Nevertheless, the riders made no attempt to slow. They seemed intent on charging into the very earth itself. The mounts did not question their masters, but merely pursued their course as they had always done.

As if bowing to their defiance, the mountain seemed to melt and shift. The impregnable barrier of nature disappeared, and a vast path now led through. The riders, ignoring this fantastic act, continued on at their hellish pace. The horses snorted smoke as they passed the barrier, but showed no sign of fatigue. This journey was nothing to their kind.

Through twisting and turning road they moved. Icy trails and treacherous ravines did not slow the group. Again, though things not of man's world hid and watched, the riders were not hindered. Few creatures would be so foolish as to confront them, especially knowing the travelers' nature.

Quickly looming up was the great sentinel of the Tyber Mountains, Kivan Grath. Few humans had ever seen it up close, and fewer still had ever attempted to climb it. None had ever returned. Here the path led. Here the riders came. They slowed their animals as they neared the great Seeker of Gods, as its name translated. At its base, they stopped and dismounted. They had reached their goal.

Buried in the mountain was a great gate of bronze that seemed as ageless as the land. It towered over the onlookers, and on the face were carvings ancient and undescribable. One of the riders walked up to it. Beneath his helm were eyes like frost. What little of his face that was visible was also white. Grimly, he raised his left arm, fist clenched, and pointed it at the gate. With a groan, the huge, bronze door slowly opened. The pale warrior returned to his companions. The riders led their mounts inside.

Torches provided the only light inside the cave. Much of the cavern was natural, but the work in expanding it would have left even the hill dwarves overwhelmed. It made little difference to the riders; they had long stopped paying attention to their surroundings. Even the sentries, only shadows, but ever present, were ignored.

Something dark and scaled and only barely humanoid crawled up to the riders, its clawed, misshaped hand outstretched. Each of the cloaked travelers turned his horse over to the servant.

The riders entered the main cavern.

Like some resplendent but ancient temple, the citadel of their host gave forth a feeling of tremendous power. Effigies of human and inhuman form stood here and there. All were long dead, and even history had forgotten their kind. Here, at last, did the riders show some measure of respect. Each knelt, one at a time, before the great figure seated before them. When all had done so, they formed a half circle, with their host before them.

The serpentine neck arced. Gleaming eyes surveyed the group. A bloodred tongue lashed out momentarily in satisfaction, the tremendous, membraned wings stretching out in full glory. Despite the dim light, the gold sheen of the dragon's scaled body completed a picture of pure majesty, befitting the king of his kind. Yet there was just the slightest note of something akin to insecurity. Whether the others noted it or not was hidden in their own thoughts.

In a voice that was a hiss, yet caused the very room itself to vibrate slightly, the Gold Dragon spoke.

"Welcome, brethren! Welcome and make this home yours!"

Far spread apart, each of the riders became blurred, as if they had become nothing more than illusion. Yet they did not disappear. Rather, they grew; their bodies became like quicksilver, their shapes twisting. Wings and tails sprouted, and arms and legs became clawed, leathery appendages. The helms melted into the faces of their wearers until they had, in actuality, become the faces. Mouths spread back into maws, rows of long, sharp teeth glistening in the dim light. All traces of humanity disappeared in the space of a minute.

The Council of the Dragon Kings came to order.

The Gold Dragon nodded. As emperor, King of Kings, he was pleased to see that the others had followed his command so readily. He spoke again, and this time smoke issued out as he did.

"I am pleased that you could make it. I feared that some of you might have let emotions overrule you." He stared momentarily at the Black Dragon, monarch of the sinister and deadly Gray Mists.

The Black Dragon did not speak, but his eyes blazed.

The Emperor of the Dragon Kings turned his attention to the nearest of his brethren. The Blue Dragon, more sea serpent than land creature, bowed his head in respect.

"The council has been called due to the request of the master of Irillian by the Sea. He notes strange happenings and wishes to discover if such events exist in the lands of his brothers. Speak."

Sleeker than most of his kind, the Blue Dragon resembled a race animal, his movements fluid, as was appropriate for a being who spent much of his life in the seas of the east. The smell of salt and fish filled the room as he spoke. A dusty, tan dragon, Brown, wrinkled his nose. He did not share his brother's fondness for the sea.

"My liege. Brethren." He studied all around him, especially the Black Dragon. "In the years gone by, my domain has been very placid. The humans have remained quiet and my clans have had good hatchings."

This time there was a grunt from the Brown Dragon, who was lord of the Barren Lands in the southwest. Since the end of the wars with the Dragon Masters, he had seen his clans decrease. Most claimed it was the work of the self-styled Masters themselves, but no one was sure what sorcery the warlocks had used in their attempt to defeat the Kings. They had caused the Barren Lands, but whether they had caused the loss of fertility in the Brown clans was open to speculation in private. Brown was still the fiercest of fighters.

The master of Irillian by the Sea ignored the slight outburst and continued. "Recently, however, things have changed. There is unrest -- no, that implies too much. There is...a feeling. That is all I can call it. Not just among the humans. It appears to affect others, even the wyverns and minor drakes."

"Ha!"

The remark was followed by a wave of bone-numbing cold. A slight frost settled wherever the Ice Dragon's breath had reached. The Gold Dragon stared disapprovingly at him. Gaunt to the point of being cadaverous, the king of the Northern Wastes laughed again. Of all the dragons, he was one of the least seen and the least loved.

"You are becoming an old dame, brother! Subjects always become unsettled. One merely places a restraining claw on a few and crushes such thoughts."

"Speaks the monarch of a land more empty than that of Brown."

"Speaks the monarch who knows how to rule!" A blizzard threatened to erupt from within the Ice Dragon.

"Silence!"

The thundering roar of the Gold Dragon overwhelmed all else. The Ice Dragon fell back, his snow-colored eyes averted from the brilliance of his emperor. When the King of Kings became angered, his body glowed.

"Such infighting nearly brought calamity on us once! Have you forgotten that so soon?"

All held their heads low, save for the Black Dragon. On his massive mouth was just the barest hint of pleasure. The Gold Dragon looked at him sharply but did not reprimand. In this instance, the king of the Gray Mists was justified.

Drawing himself to his full height, the Emperor of Dragons towered above the others. "For nearly five human years did we fight that war -- and nearly faced defeat! Our brother Brown still feels the aftereffects as he watches his clans dwindle! His problem is the most evident; yet we all have scars from the Dragon Masters!"

"The Dragon Masters are dead! Nathan Bedlam was the last, and he has long since perished!" bellowed the Red Dragon, who ruled the volcanic lands called the Hell Plains.

"Taking the Purple King with him!" Black could restrain himself no more. His eyes became like beacons in the night.

The emperor nodded. "Yes, taking our brother with him. Bedlam was the last and deadliest of the Masters. With his final act, he crippled us. Penacles is the city of knowledge, and Purple was its master, he who planned our strategy." The last was said almost reluctantly, for Gold did not care to remind his brothers who had really led in those days.

"And now his lands have been usurped by the Gryphon! How much longer must we wait before we strike? Generations of man have since come and gone!" Black shook his head in anger.

"There is no successor. You know the covenant. Thirteen Kingdoms, thirteen kings. Five and twenty dukedoms, five and twenty dukes. No one must break the covenant..." For now, the emperor added to himself.

"While we wait for a successor, Lord Gryphon plots. Remember, he was known to the Masters."

"His time will come. Perhaps soon."

Black eyed his lord warily. "What does that mean?"

"As custom, I've taken Purple's d...