The Black Wing (12 page)

“You say you're a dragon, but you don't sound like one. If you were a true wyrm, you'd
know that dragons are not civilized. However, if you allow the absurdity of the term,
'civilized' dragons don't toy with each other this way. Either kill me,” the older dragon
challenged, “or douse the light so that I may see.”

Khisanth's fury rose. “Civilized dragons don't attack each other without provocation,” she
countered. “Of course they do. That's all they do. You really don't know a thing about
dragons, do you?”

“So you admit you destroyed my lair!” Khisanth accused. “Don't be ridiculous. I'm far too
old for that sort of young-bull-marking-his-territory foolishnesshaven't done anything but
hunt small mammals and find new lairs in years.” The old dragon's confusion seemed too
real to be dismissed. Besides, now that she could study him more closely, this old wyrm
didn't look like the dragon she'd seen silhouetted against the sky above her lair. “Who
are you, then?” “The light, please.” “Oh, yes.” Khisanth touched the maynus and silently
bade it to go dark. The area sank abruptly into soothing dusk, and Khisanth landed before
the cave. “Much better,” said the dragon. He blinked hard several times, opened his eyes
and sighed. “Are you still there? It'll take some time for the spots to go away.” He
squinted into the darkness at Khisanth. “Ah, there you are. A young one that explains a
lot. Among humans I was known as Pitch, but dragons call me Pteros.” He drew back
suddenly. “You haven't come to slay me and take my treasure, have you?” “No. I came to
learn why you attacked my lair. But if it wasn't you, who was it another dragon that lives
nearby?” Pteros looked thoughtful. “This dragon ... was its belly covered with scars? Did
it leave its mark on a treetwo straight talon tracks, with squiggles for tails? ”Yes and
yes! How did you know?“ ”That's Talon. I know because I've seen his marks outside lairs
for nearly a decade, which is how long he's chased me around the moor.“ ”What does he
want?“ ”Treasure.“ ”Why hasn't he just slain you and been done with it? And why did he
flee before fighting me?“ ”You give me little credit,“ Pteros grumbled, then shrugged.
”Talon hasn't managed it because I keep one step ahead of him, moving before he can corner
me.“ His wrinkled lids squinted. ”Frankly, I'm none too happy that you were able to find
me.“ ”It wasn't too difficult,“ snorted Khisanth. ”You left telltale claw marks on the
boulders. “Why don't you go kill this Talon instead of running?” “I told you, I'm too old
for that fighting-over-territory sort of thing.” “Sounds like you're doing just that,
whether you mean to or not,” observed Khisanth. “If you don't wish to fight, why don't you
just move from the moors?” “Where would I move to? There isn't another swamp as lush and
wide as this in all of Ansalon. Besides,” Pteros continued without guile, “now that he's
got you to focus on, he'll forget all about me. Nice knowing you.” With that, the
bejeweled old wyrm

stretched his arthritic wings and swung his heavy tail around to reenter his lair. “Wait a
minute!” cried Khisanth, annoyed that he had so blithely dismissed her. “Why shouldn't I
kill you and take your treasure?” Pteros stopped, turned his orange eye on Khisanth, and
tapped a sagging jowl, his expression thoughtful. “The last time a dragon asked me that
was at a battle with Huma during the Third Dragon War.” The dragon chuckled in fond
memory. “Now there was a battle. Not this petty squabbling over swampland.” Khisanth's
eyes grew wide. “You fought against Huma? The Huma? Huma Dragonbane?” “Was there more than
one?” “Just how old are you?” she asked, studying his toothless jaw and wrinkled skin with
new appreciation. “What season is it? Summer?” Khisanth nodded. “Then that would make me
one thousand three hundred seventy-eight human years, near as I can reckon.” At Khisanth's
gasp of awe, Pteros shrugged again, looking unim- pressed. “I got a bit of extra time from
the Sleep.” He rolled his eyes. “Don't get me started on that subject.” Khisanth wanted to
get him talking about everything that had to do with the dragons of old. Her mind reeled
from the possibilities. She could learn from such a venerable dragon. A wyrm from the old
days, when their kind had ruled by fear. One who had fought for their queen, Takhisis. “I
won't kill you if you agree to an arrangement.” Pteros used a sharp claw to scratch at a
long, white scar on his belly. “And what arrangement would that be?” “Take me on as an
apprentice. Teach me everything you know. Tell me about the old days, when dragons were
the rulers of all they saw.” “You've got that a little” “You look as if you've seen your
share of battles,” Khisanth cut in. With an admiring look she surveyed the other dragon's
scars, though the flabby muscles beneath them gave her pause. “In exchange, I'll get you
back in shape so that you can fight back against Talon.” “But I don't want to fight. I
just want to be left alone in my old age to enjoy my hoard.” “Your old age will end
prematurely if your luck runs out. You can't duck and run forever. Why should a dragon who
fought Huma run at all?” Pteros was strangely silent. “You're awfully sure of yourself for
one so young. What help could you give me against Talon? You know nothing of dragon ways.”
“I think you've seen an adequate display of my abilities. I managed to hold you at bay
with a beam of light. Besides,” she shot back with a smirk, “if you're any sort of
teacher, I'll learn the ways of dragons so quickly I'll be the one concerned about your
deficiencies when the time comes to face Talon.” Pteros answered her jibe with a toothless
smirk. “There's one thing you must first do to persuade me you aren't simply after my
treasure.” The old dragon extended a talon and scratched his other, withered claw arm.
Drawing blood, Pteros held the limb toward Khisanth. “We must blood-mingle in the
tradition of those who came before.” Khisanth did not hesitate, thrilled to be
participating in a ritual of her race. She tore open a scale viciously in her eagerness.
Blood welled up; Khisanth's bright red droplets ran with Pteros's and mingled between
their pressed arms. For long seconds, both creatures could see into the other's heart and
mind. Recognizing purity of purpose in each other, they drew back from the ritual almost
reluctantly. “The arrangement is sealed,” Pteros said with sudden sternness. “Never trust
a dragon with whom you have not blood-mingled.”

As steam rose from their blood on the chill night, the ancient dragon's words sounded
almost prophetic.

Pteros hauled his bulk from the pond and slithered onto the bank, the ground made warm and
marshy by an unusually muggy late-autumn day. “Have you been practicing your spells,
Khisanth?” Tiny green circles of algae clung to his scaly black body from snout to tail.
“How about the fireball you begged me to show you?” A smile of joy pulled up the corners
of Khisanth's leathery mouth. “Of course. I have a few bugs to work out, but I can conjure
a flame and toss it, though not very far. How about you? Have you been flying to
strengthen your wings?” “Of course. Don't I look trimmer?” Pteros stood on the bank and
preened, admiring his newly tightened muscles. The black dragons were cooling their scales
in the tepid pond outside Khisanth's lair. It had taken all of her skill in persuasion to
get the taciturn Pteros to partake of the pond's soothing waters. She had to talk him into
doing anything more strenuous than sitting in his lair and counting his treasure. Pteros
was proving to be fainthearted and rather joyless, as if he had already given up on his
life. Strangely, the old wyrm had opened up a whole new world for Khisanth. He knew,
though seldom used, a wide range of difficult spells. The dragon shared his secrets
willingly enough, but it was clear he could see little point in it. Khisanth was
determined to learn everything he knew, and she hoped to renew the great old wyrm's zeal
for life at the same time. Pteros was reclining now in the webby shadows cast by the bare
branches of a neighboring willow. The leaves of the tamaracks had turned color and tumbled
from the trees since the dragons had blood-mingled. The landscape was the color of rust
and mud. Brown cattails drifted apart in fuzzy white tufts. Plaintive, rhythmic honking
above signaled the departure of the last of the gray-and-white geese that inhabited the
summer moors. “Your skill with magic is rather obvious,” said Pteros from the shadows.
“You're fortunate the skill comes so easily to you. Human spellcasters must spend years
studying and memorizing words to perform even the simplest incantations.” “Yet another
sign of their inferiority,” sniffed Khisanth. The hot sun beat down on the dragon as she
slithered onto the bank, settling onto her haunches. She let her hind legs dangle in the
stagnant water. Her jaws snapped open to catch a large dragonfly. “I'm curious about
something,” said Pteros after a time. “How did you learn to shapechange? It's a very
advanced spell for one so young.” Khisanth saw no danger in telling the elder dragon about
the nyphidsto a point. “It's not a spell, really. It's more a mental discipline.” She
tried to explain qhen as best she could, assiduously avoiding any mention of Led or the
nyphids' deaths. “I'm too old to learn it myself. Just show me how you do it,” invited
Pteros. Khisanth spotted a red-winged blackbird springing from a withered cattail. The
dragon unconsciously hooked an eye-tooth over her lip as she concentrated. Her bones

contracted painlessly, her wings shrank, and her leathery hide changed to feathers.
Khisanth swooped around Pteros's head as a red-winged blackbird and settled her tiny,
clawed feet onto the webbing of his folded left wing. Pteros's face was filled with
admiration. “I've heard of a few dragons who could change shape, but they could never
become anything so small.”

Khisanth hopped down from Pteros's wing and reassumed her dragon form. Situating herself
in the shade, the dragon closed her eyes for a languorous moment and sighed with
contentment. “Your turn, Pteros,” she said, her voice lazy. “Tell me about the time before
the Sleep. Were you at the battle where Takhisis struck down Huma?”

“You mean when she betrayed us?” There was bitterness in his voice, which surprised
Khisanth. Her eyes turned skyward anxiously. “Aren't you afraid of her retribution for
such words?” Pteros shrugged. “Thinking, speaking, if s all the same to a god.” He pulled
his wings tight to his body and dived into the pool headfirst, surfacing with a snort and
a spray of water. The ancient dragon slithered onto shore again. “No, I wasn't at the
final battle with Huma. I was quite young. Even younger in experience than you now are.”
“Yet you were good enough to fight in the Third Dragon War?” “The geetnas pushed the young
wrymlings more in my time, knowing that the queen was gearing up for war. They emphasized
magical ability, as well as flight.” Pteros settled himself into a ball. “It was a
different time then, Khisanth. Dragons roamed freely, beloved children of the gods, and
humans were but links in the food chain. But that was before we were betrayed.” The
dragon's eyes took on a distant look. “Prior to the Sleep, one thousand thirty years
before what the humans call the Cataclysm, the Great Moors were nothing but sea. I lived
my young adulthood far away from here, in a small marsh to the west. My lair was at the
mouth of what is still known as the Vingaard River. ”The seasons had passed perhaps
ninety-six times in my life. I'd fought in fewer battles in the Third Dragon War than you
could count on a claw hand“ Pteros softly touched a claw to a long-faded scar ”when the
dragon elders announced our queen's defeat at the hands of the knight, Huma Dragonbane. In
truth, it was the dragonlance that bested Takhisis. Huma was simply a warrior who had
perhaps a bit more skill than most.“ The old dragon's expression turned bitter. ”The end
result was the same, though. Takhisis exchanged our freedom for hers, ordering us to go
underground and sleep. She was our goddess, and we had no choice but to obey, or die. “Now
I'm an old dragon,” he continued bitterly. “Most of my prime years were spent in slumber.”
With an oddly equal measure of satisfaction and sadness, he gazed at his own reflection in
the still water. “In the Sleep I did not age as I would have if awake, but those years are
still lost to me.” “You have plenty of years ahead of you, if you'd only stop thinking of
yourself as old and feeble,” said Khisanth. “I'm not certain I want to be useful in the
world that exists today,” muttered Pteros. “Nearly two hundred years ago I awoke
underground without explanation, along with a handful of other dragons who had turned old
while they slept. Each of us clawed our way to the surface, only to find Krynn a much
different place than we had left it. Instead of soaring above men and striking proper
terror in their hearts, dragons made pacts with ogres and their ilk,” Pteros spat, a
droplet of green acid escaping his jaws in his disgust. “Pacts with ogres?” Pteros nodded.
"These agreements are part of Takhisis's newest plan to rule. She appeals to the corrupt
natures of all creatures in an effort to recruit them. Once she attempted to dominate the
world with dragons alone as her soldiers, and she lost. Now

she thinks she needs more than her own children to defeat her foes.“ ”I've had no one to
ask this before, but I have wondered. How is it that she's returned now?“ ”Many human
years ago, Takhisis found a way to Krynn from the Abyss. She walked the land as a human,
awakening the elder dragons she'd known before the Sleep and telling them of her plan.“
”That could explain why I didn't awaken until recently, and why you're so much older than
I,“ mused Khisanth. ”I'd been little more than a wyrmling at the time of the banishment.
What happened to the other dragons who awoke with you?“ ”We went our separate ways. I
suspect most of them have joined Takhisis's armies.“ ”Why haven't you? Don't you want
dragons to regain control and rebuild the world as you remember it?“ ”Why haven't I?“
repeated Pteros. ”For the same reason I don't fight back against Talon I'm too old.“
Pteros snatched up a gopher that wandered too near in search of water, popping the silky
creature into his mouth and chewing absently. ”Frankly, I don't see victory for the Dark
Queen this time either. She's casting her fate with humans and other rot, the very same
creatures who engineered her last defeat.“ He spat gopher bones through the holes of his
missing teeth. ”So Takhisis is personally gathering these forces? Is there somewhere I can
go to see her?“ ”Yes,“ chortled Pteros. ”The Abyss, for the Dark Queen is trapped there
again.“ At Khisanth's puzzled look, Pteros searched for words to untangle the rumors he'd
heard over the years. ”After opening the portal to the Abyss, Takhisis was able to walk
the face of Krynn, her avatar a dark-haired young woman, though in that construct her
powers were minuscule compared to her five-headed chromatic dragon form. Then, suddenly,
inexplicably after ten years, the path was barred. She's sought a new one since, which is
really the crux of her newest plan. She seeks to recruit humans because she wishes to
control them, and through them her armies from the Abyss. She intends to reopen the portal
so she can return to Krynn in her powerful dragon form.“ Pteros gave Khisanth a
conspiratorial look. ”If I were Takhi-sis, I'd unite dragons of all colors and leanings,
appealing to their racial heritage to persuade them to overpower humans.“ Khisanth removed
a stone from between the talons on her right hind leg, considering Pteros's words. ”I've
heard that the humans in her army rise to power by uniting with a dragon mount.“ ”Yes,
I've heard that, too.“ Khisanth squeezed her eyes shut. She'd hoped Pteros would be able
to deny it. ”Surely, once the superiority of a dragon's skills are demonstrated, the
dragon and human in this arrangement have equal rank, if the dragon is not actually in
command,“ she said. Pteros simply shook his large, many-horned head. ”I would never
willingly subordinate my skills to any human,“ said Khisanth firmly. ”The rules would have
to change if I joined the army.“ ”Ah, the arrogance of youth,“ muttered the old dragon.
Khisanth didn't consider it as arrogance; she simply couldn't see herself being ruled by a
human. She believed there was always a way to turn a situation to her advantage. Like the
situation with Talon. She knew it was just a matter of time before he struck again. She
was preparing herself for it, learning new attack spells. Thoughts of the territorial
dragon brought a question to mind. ”Why hasn't Talon joined the army?“ ”You'd have to ask
him that. We haven't exactly chatted recently.“ Pteros touched the gems around his neck.
”I suspect he's too busy coveting the treasures I've acquired in my long life to volunteer
his services for free."

Khisanth admired the jewels around Pteros's neck. Her gaze clung to the pearl-and- ruby
diadem around his dark head. Those two items alone were certainly worth fighting for.
According to Pteros, they represented only a small portion of the treasure stored away in
his lair. Khisanth had never been allowed in that hallowed place. If the gems he wore were
any sampling, though, Pteros's treasure had to be beyond imagining in volume and value.

She caught the old wyrm admiring the maynus on her choker. “That's quite an interesting
piece. I can't identify the glowing gem.” Khisanth hesitated. Her first instinct was to
shield the globe and tell Pteros to mind his own treasure. She knew too little about the
maynus to tell him much, anyway. Her gaze lingered on the worldly, magically advanced
dragon. Struck with a thought, Khisanth made a quick decision. She told him all she knew
about the maynus. Pteros's wrinkled snout pulled up into the first expression of interest
Khisanth had seen.

“So it's an artifact, not a gem. You don't understand how it works?” he asked. Khisanth
shook her head. Pteros reached out a claw arm. “May I see it?” Khisanth hesitated again,
then tugged the maynus from the choker vine and, between cupped claws, handed her most
precious treasure to Pteros.

Pteros held the glowing globe reverently, turning it over and over. He peered inside.
“Lightning ...” He looked up at Khisanth. “Do you know where if s from? An artifact” s
origin can tell a lot about its function.“ Khisanth did know. ”Kadagan said something
about its coming from the elemental plane of lightning. That fact meant nothing to me at
the time.“ Pteros was frowning. ”It means nothing to me, either. I know of four elemental
planes of existenceair, earth, fire, and water, but not lightning. Perhaps this Kadagan
was confused.“ He continued looking into the globe closely. ”I don't know,“ said Khisanth.
”He was very specific.“ She looked over his arm into the globe. ”Do you think you can
figure it out?“ ”There's a fairly simple spell of identification that might tell us
something,“ Pteros said as if to himself, ”but it takes forever to cast. You say you've
used it several times by just telling it what you wanted?“ Khisanth nodded. Pteros
clutched the globe. His eyes took on a greedy gleam. ”Then let's give it a try.“ ”Wait!“
cried Khisanth. ”Do you think thaf s a good idea? I mean, we don't know what it will do.“
”And we never will unless we test its scope,“ said Pteros. He thumped his own chest. ”If
there's one thing I know, if s magic.“ Khisanth felt strange playing the timid dragon to
Pteros's brash one. She'd hoped, however, to see some spunk in the old dragon, so she
nodded her head in approval. ”Lef s see,“ said Pteros, his blue and orange eyes glittering
with enthusiasm, ”we'll try something relatively simple first.“ He closed his eyes and
said, 'Transport us to the meadow by the hedge of sumac.” Khisanth tensed involuntarily.
In the beat of a heart, she and Pteros stood exactly where he'd directed. “Not too
impressive, since we both already know how to teleport,” said Pteros. “I'll try something
a little more difficult.” Khisanth looked about the wide meadow. “First, get us back home.
I don't like standing out here in a field with a powerful artifact for Talon and everyone
to see.” “Right you are,” said Pteros. Holding the globe aloft, he intoned, “Maynus, take
us home.” The sphere flashed. Fingers of light stretched out and pierced the two dragons,
sawing through their bodies. There was no pain, only an intense tingling where the
twitching light passed. Suddenly Khisanth felt much lighter. She didn't know what was

happening and looked at Pteros for the answer. The older dragon tried to say something,
but no sound reached Khisanth's ears. As more and more fingers of light wrapped around
Pteros, Khisanth could see through him. The other dragon's black body dissolved into
sparkling motes and was drawn, or rather flowed, into the maynus in his talons! Khisanth's
astounded mind drew up a vision of Yoshiki Toba similarly disappearing into the maynus,
followed by the sight of his charred body tumbling to Led's feet. Frenzied, she raised
herself on her hind legs and flapped her titanic wings to get away from the device, but no
air beat against them. Her wings had no more substance than thistledown. Roaring
furiously, Khisanth, too, swirled away into the globe. Still roaring, the young dragon
found herself immersed in a maelstrom of light and sound. Enormous bolts of blue-white
lightning flashed all around her rematerialized body. Thunderclaps buffeted her so that it
was difficult to inhale. The air smelled heavily, even tasted strongly, of chlorine. She
could see Pteros next to her, his jaw moving in speech, but the thunder was so loud it was
impossible to hear anything else. Green clouds boiled past in every directionright, left,
above, even below. There was no earth nor water beneath her, only air. With that
realization, Khisanth dropped like a rock. She instinctively clawed and scrambled and
flapped her wings. Finally she rose, or at least was suspended. When she stopped the
motion of her wings for a moment, she plunged again. Khisanth wasn't at all sure that it
mattered, since there didn't appear to be any ground to crash into. Still, she strained
her wings to keep from falling. Nearby Pteros appeared to have caught on to the same
notion and was fluttering his wings, too. She saw him working his jaw again. A shimmering
cone shape radiated through the air from his snout. The wide end of the cone engulfed her,
and she suddenly heard Pteros all too well. “I've cast a shout spell!” he bellowed.
Khisanth clapped her claw hands to her ear holes, certain the drums would break. “Where
are we?” No cone of sound spread from her mouth. “Your voice isn't affected by my spell!”
he hollered in explanation. Khisanth winced from the ear-splitting sound of his voice. “I
presume you're wondering what happened, too! Frankly, I don't know” Pteros's deafening
words were cut off by the sound of breaking glass. Khisanth could see before Pteros that
the gems in his elaborate pearl-and-ruby diadem and sapphire necklace were shattering from
the vibrations of his tremendously amplified voice. She thought of her maynus. Raising a
talon to her choker, she remembered in a panic that she and Pteros were now inside the
globe. Before the riled young dragon could even put voice to the realization, an unearthly
sound cut through the thunder. “The thing you call 'maynus' is here.” The voice wasn't
painfully loud like Pteros's. Both dragons fluttered around to find the source of the
sound. A round object, or perhaps a creature, floated about a dragon's length away, though
distance was difficult to judge in the featureless ether. It was a sphere, about the size
of a dragon's head, and pearly. It was lit from within by flashes of multicolored light.
Spears of lightning shot and twisted outward from it as the object approached, seeming to
draw itself along as if the crackling branches were legs. The ball-like object passed near
the dragons, where it spoke in an airy, reverberating tone, “Follow, Khisanth and Pteros.”
Looking at each other in question, the two dragons found themselves drifting along behind
the odd creature. Something about it seemed vaguely familiar to Khisanth. It led them to a
blue, egg-shaped sphere and urged them to pass inside.