Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman - Dragons Of Summer Flame

DRAGONS OF SUMMER FLAME

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TO SOJOURNERS IN KRYNN

May your Sword never break.

May your Armor never rust.

May the Three Moons guide your Magic.

May your Prayers be heard.

May your Beard grow long.

May your Life Quest never blow up in your face.

May your Hoopak sing.

May your Homeland prosper.

May Dragons fly ever in your Dreams.

-Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman

Made in the U.S.A.

The sale of this book without its cover has not been authorized by the publisher. If you purchased this book without a cover, you should

be aware that neither the author nor the publisher has received payment for this "stripped book."

Cover art by Matt Stawicki

Interior art by Larry Elmore

First Printing: February 2002

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2001089467

987654321

ISBN: 0-7869-2708-9 620-88551-001

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In southernmost country

where the kewall rises

in pale and seasonal sun,

where the legends freeze

in remembered dew and the dawned mercury,

they ready the long vats in memory's custom pouring gold, pouring amber,

the old distillations

of grain, of bardic blood and ice and remembrance.

And into the waters the bard descends

into gold, into amber all the while listening

to the dark amniosis

of current and memory flowing about him,

until the lung, the dilating heart

give way in the waters, until he fills with listening

and the world rushes into him

deeper than thought, and he drowns or addles, or emerges a bard.

In the north it is done otherwise:

wisely under the moon where the phases labor

out of darkness to the light

of coins and mirrors in abundant freedoms of air.

I heard you were strangers to the wronged country where the bards descend,

to the waters where faith

transforms into vision, to the night's elixir,

to the last drowning breath

given over to memory where poetry comes, solitary.

I heard you were strangers

in the merciful north, that Hylo, Solamnia,

and a dozen unnameable provinces

cleansed you past envy,

past loneliness. Then the waters told me the truth:

how much you remember your deaths

where the halves of a kingdom unite in a lost terrain,

how you pass like moons, red and silver,

your destination celestial west, an alliance of mercy and light.

From the outset the heavens

had this in mind, a passage through darkness and suspect country,

its vanishing point in sunlight

in the air and the earth's

horizons- not drowning, nor the harp's flood.

O you have never forgotten

the bard's immersion, the

country of sleep, the time preceding the birth of the worlds

where all of us waited

in the mothering dark, in the death that the card foretells,

but alone and together you ride

into the dying the dying the story that means we are starting again . . .

Book 1

I

The Landing Party. The Prophecy.

An Unexpected Encounter

t was hot that morning, damnably hot.

Far too hot for late spring on Ansalon. Almost as hot as midsummer. The two knights, seated in the boat's stern,

were sweating and miserable in their heavy steel armor; they looked with envy at the half-naked men plying the boat's

oars.

The knights' black armor, adorned with skull and death lily, had been blessed by the high cleric, was supposed to

withstand the vagaries of wind and rain, heat and cold. But their Dark Queen's blessing was apparently not responding

to this unsea-sonable heat wave. When the boat drew near the shore, the knights were first out, jumping into the

shallow water, laving the water onto their reddening faces and sun-burned necks. But the water was not particularly

refreshing.

"Like wading in hot soup," one of the knights grumbled, splashing ashore. Even as he spoke, he scrutinized the

shoreline carefully, eyeing bush and tree and dune for signs of life.

"More like blood," said his comrade. "Think of it as wading in the blood of our enemies, the enemies of our queen.

Do you see anything?"

"No," the other replied. He waved his hand without looking back, heard the sound of men leaping into the water,

their harsh laughter and conversation in their uncouth, guttural language.

One of the knights turned around. "Bring that boat to shore," he said unnecessarily, for the men had already picked

up the heavy boat, were running with it through the shallow water. Grinning, they dumped the boat on the sand beach

and looked to the knight for further orders.

He mopped his forehead, marveled at their strength and-not for the first time-thanked Queen Takhisis that these

barbarians were on their side. The brutes, they were known as. Not the true name of their race. That name-their name

for themselves-was unpronounceable, and so the knights who led the barbarians had begun calling them the

shortened version: brutes.

The name suited the barbarians well. They came from the east, from a continent that few people on Ansalon knew

existed. Every one of the men stood well over six feet; some were as tall as seven. Their bodies were as bulky and

muscular as humans,

I

but their movements were as swift and graceful as elves. Their ears were pointed like those of the elves, but their

faces were heavily bearded like humans or dwarves. They were as strong as dwarves, and loved battle as well as

dwarves. They fought fiercely, were loyal to those who commanded them, and-out-side of a few grotesque

customs, such as cutting off various parts of the body of a dead enemy to keep as trophies-the brutes were ideal

foot soldiers.

"Let the captain know we've arrived safely and that we've encountered no resistance," said the knight to his

comrade. "We'll leave a couple of men here with the boat, move inland." The other knight nodded. Taking a red silk

pennant from his belt, he unfurled it, held it above his head, and waved it slowly three times. An answering flutter

of red could be seen coming from the enormous black dragon-prowed ship anchored some distance away. This was

a scouting mission, not an invasion. Orders had been quite clear on that point.

The knights sent out their patrols, dispatching some to range up and down the beach, sending others farther

inland, where towering hills of chalk-white rock-barren of vegetation-rose from the trees like cat claws to tear at

the sky. Breaks in the rock led to the island's interior. The ship had sailed around the island; now they knew it

was not large. Their patrols would be back soon.

This done, the two knights moved thankfully to the meager shadow cast by a squat and misshapen tree. Two of

the brutes stood guard. The knights remained wary, watchful, even as they rested. Searing themselves, they

drank sparingly of the fresh water they'd brought with them. One of them grimaced. "The damn stuff's hot."

"You left the waterskin sitting in the sun. Of course it's hot." "Where the devil was I supposed to put it? There was no

shade on that cursed boat. I don't think there's any shade left in the whole blasted world. I don't like this place at all. I

get a j queer feeling about this island, like it's magicked or something." "I know what you mean," agreed his

comrade somberly. He kept glancing about, back into the trees, up and down the beach. All he could see were the

brutes, and they were certainly not bothered by any ominous feelings. But then they were barbar-ians. "We were

warned not to come here, you know."

"What?" The other knight looked astonished. "I didn't know. Who told you that?"

"Brightblade. He had it from Lord Ariakan himself."

DnaqoNS of summgu Flaiue

1"Brightblade should know. He's on Ariakan's staff, though I

hear he's asked to be transferred to a fighting talon. Plus Ariakan's his sponsor." The knight appeared nervous,

asked softly, "Such information's not secret, is it?"

The other knight appeared amused. "You don't know Steel Brightblade very well if you think he would break

any oath, pass along information he was told to keep to himself. He'd sooner let his tongue be ripped out by

red-hot tongs. No, Lord Ariakan discussed things openly with all the regimental com-manders before deciding to

proceed."

The knight shrugged. Picking up a handful of pebbles, he began tossing them idly into the water. "The Gray

Knights start-ed it all. Some sort of augury revealed the location of this island and that it was inhabited by large

numbers of people." "So who warned us not to come?"

"The Gray Knights. The same augury which told them of this island warped them not to come near it. They tried

to persuade Ariakan to leave well enough alone. Said that this place could mean disaster."

The other knight frowned, glanced around with growing unease. "Then why were we sent?"

"The upcoming invasion of Ansalon. Lord Ariakan felt this move was necessary to protect his flanks. The Gray

Knights couldn't say exactly what sort of threat this island posed. Nor could they say specifically that the disaster

would be caused by our landing on the island. As Lord Ariakan pointed out, disaster might come even if we did

nothing. And so he decided to follow the old dwarven dictum: It is better to go looking for the dragon than have

the dragon go looking for you."

"Good thinking," his companion agreed. "If there is an army of Solamnic Knights on this island, it's better that

we deal with them now. Not mat it seems likely."

He gestured at the wide stretches of sand beach, at the dunes covered with grayish green grass, and, farther

inland, a forest of the ugly, misshapen trees butting up against the clawlike hills. "I can't imagine why the

Solamnics would come here. I can't imag-ine why anyone would come here. Elves wouldn't live in a place this

ugly."

"No caves, so the dwarves wouldn't like it. Minotaur would have attacked us by now. Kender would have

walked off with the boat and our armor. Gnomes would have met us with some sort of fiend-driven fish-catching

machine. Humans like us are the only race foolish enough to live on such a wretched isle," the knight concluded

cheerfully. He picked up another handful of rocks.

"Perhaps a rogue band of draconians or hobgoblins. Ogres even. Escaped twenty-some odd years ago, after the

War of the Lance. Red north, across the sea, to avoid capture by the Solamnic Knights."

"Yes, but they'd be on our side," his companion answered. "And our knight wizards wouldn't have their gray robes

in a knot over it. Ah, here come our scouts, back to report. Now we'll find out."

The knights rose to their feet. The brutes who had been sent into the island's interior hurried forward to meet their

leaders. The barbarians were grinning hugely. Their near-naked bodies glistened with sweat. The blue paint, with

which they had cov-ered themselves, and which was supposed to possess some sort of magical properties such as

causing arrows to bounce right off, ran down their muscular bodies in rivulets. Long scalp-locks, decorated with

colorful feathers, bounced on their backs as they loped easily over the sand dunes.

The two knights exchanged glances, relaxed.

"What did you find?" the knight asked the leader, a gigantic, red-haired fellow who towered over both knights,

could have probably picked up each of them and held them above his head, and who regarded both knights with

unbounded reverence and respect.

"Men," answered the brute. They were quick to leam and had adapted easily to the Common language spoken by

most of the various races of Krynn. Unfortunately, to the brutes, all people not of their race were known as "men."

The brute lowered his hand near the ground to indicate small men, which might mean dwarves but was more

probably chil-dren. He moved it to waist height, which most likely indicated women. This the brute confirmed by

cupping two hands over his breast and wiggling his hips. His comrades laughed and nudged each other.

"Men, women and children," said the knight. "Many men? Lots of men? Big buildings? Walls? Cities?"

The brutes apparently thought this was hilarious, for they all burst into raucous laughter.

"What did you find?" repeated the knight sharply, scowling. "Stop the nonsense."

The brutes sobered rapidly.

"Many men," said the leader, "but no walls. Houses." He made a face, shrugged, shook his head and added

something in his own language.

"What does that mean?" asked the knight of his comrade.

"Something to do with dogs," said the other, who had led brutes before and had started picking up some of their

language. "I think he means that these men live in houses only dogs would live in."

Several of the brutes now began walking about stoop-shouldered, swinging their arms around their knees and

grunting. Then they all straightened up, looked at each other, and laughed again.

"What in the name of our Dark Majesty are they doing now?" the knight demanded.

"Beats me," said his comrade. "I think we should have a look for ourselves." He drew his sword partway out of its

black leather scabbard. "Danger?" he asked the brute. "We need steel?"

The brute laughed again. Taking his own short sword (the brutes fought with two, long and short, as well as with

bows and arrows), he thrust it into the tree, turned his back on it.

The knight, reassured, returned his own sword to its scab-bard. The two followed their guides. Leaving the beach,

they walked deeper into the forest of misshapen trees. They walked about half a mile along what appeared to be an

animal path, then reached the village.

Despite the antics of the brutes, the knights were completely unprepared for what they found. It seemed that they

had come upon a people who had been stranded in the shallows, as the great river Time flowed past them, leaving

them untouched.

"By Hiddukel," one said in a low voice to the other. " 'Men' is too strong a term. Are these men? Or are they

beasts?"

"They're men," said the other, staring around, amazed. "But such men as we're told walked Krynn during the Age of

Twilight. Look! Their tools are made of wood. They carry wood-en spears. And crude ones at that."

"Wooden-tipped, not stone," said the other. "Mud huts for houses. Clay cooking pots. Not a piece of steel or iron

in sight. What a pitiable lot! I can't see how they could be much danger, unless it's from filth. By the smell, they

haven't bathed since the Age of Twilight either."

"Ugly bunch. More like apes than men. Don't laugh. Look stern and threatening."

Several of the male humans - if human they were, it was so difficult to tell beneath the animal hides they wore-crept

up to the knights. The "man-beasts" walked bent over, their arms swinging at their sides, knuckles almost dragging

on the ground. Their heads were covered with long, shaggy hair; unkempt beards almost hid their faces. They

bobbed and shuf-fled and gazed at the knights in openmouthed awe. One of the man-beasts actually drew near

enough to reach out a grimy hand to touch the black, shining armor.

A brute moved to interpose his own massive body in front of the knight.

The knight waved the brute off, drew his sword. The steel flashed in the sunlight. He turned to one of the squat

trees. With their twisted limbs and gnarled trunks, the trees very much resembled the people who lived underneath

them. The knight raised his sword and sliced off a tree limb with one swift stroke.

The man-beast dropped to his knees, groveled in the dirt, making piteous, blubbering sounds.

"I think I'm going to vomit," said the knight to his comrade. "Gully dwarves wouldn't associate with this lot."

"You're right there." The knight continued his inspection. "You and I between us could wipe out the entire tribe."

"We could, but we'd never be able to clean the stench off our swords," said the other.

"What should we do? Kill them?"

"Small honor in it. These wretches obviously aren't any threat to us. Our orders were to find out who or what was

inhabiting the island, then return and make our report. For all we know, these people may be the favorites of some god,

who might be angered if we harmed them. Perhaps that is what the Gray Knights meant by disaster."

"I doubt if that could be the case," said the other knight. "I can't imagine any god treating his favorites like this."

"Morgion, perhaps," said the other, with a wry grin.

The knight grunted. "Well, we've certainly done no harm just by looking at them. The Gray Knights can't fault us for

that. Send out the brutes to scout the rest of the island. Let's go back to the shore. I need some fresh air."

The two knights walked back to the beach. Sitting in the shade of the tree, waiting for the other patrols to return,

they passed the time talking of the upcoming invasion of Ansalon, discussing the vast armada of black

dragon-prowed ships, manned by minotaur, that was speeding across the Courrain Ocean, bearing thousands and

thousands more barbarian war-riors. All was nearly ready for the two-pronged invasion of the continent, which would

take place on Summer's Eve.

The Knights of Takhisis did not know precisely where they were attacking; such information was kept secret. But

they had no doubt of victory. This time the Dark Queen would succeed. This time her armies would be victorious. This

time she knew the secret to victory.

The brutes returned within a few hours, made their reports. The isle was not large, perhaps five miles long and as

many miles around. The brutes found no other people. The tribe of man-beasts had all slunk off, probably hiding in

their mud huts until the strange beings left.

The knights returned to their shore boat. The brutes pushed it off the sand, leaped in, grabbed the oars. The boat

skimmed across the surface of the water, heading for the black ship that flew the standard of the Knights of Takhisis:

the death lily, the skull, and the thorn.

The knights left behind an empty, deserted beach.

But their leave-taking was noted, as their coming had been.

The Magical Isle. An Urgent Meeting.

The Decider.

he black dragon-prowed ship vanished over the hori-zon. When no trace of it could be seen, the

watchers climbed down from the trees.

"Will they come back? Is it safe?" asked one of the man-beasts of another, a female.

"You heard them. They've gone to report that we are 'harm-less/ that we pose no threat to them. And that means,"

the female added, after a moment's thought, "that they will be back. Not now. Not soon. But they will return."

"What can we do?"

"I don't know. We came together to live on this isle to keep our secret safe. Perhaps that was a mistake. Perhaps it

would have been better to remain scattered throughout the world. Here we are vulnerable to discovery and attack.

There we could at least hide among the other races. I don't know," she repeated helplessly. "I can't say. It will be up to

the Decider."

"Yes." The male appeared relieved. "That is true. And he will be awaiting our return with impatience. We should go

quickly."

"Not like this," warned his companion.

"No, of course not." He gazed unhappily back out to sea, peering through unkempt shaggy hair. "It's all so terrible,

so frightening. Even now I don't feel safe. I keep seeing that ship looming on the horizon. I see the dark knights. I hear

their voic-es - the spoken and the unspoken. Talk of conquest, battle, death. Surely ..." He was hesitant. "Surely we

should warn . . . someone on Ansalon. The Solamnic Knights perhaps."

"That is not our responsibility," the woman returned sharply. "We must look out for ourselves, as we have always

done. You can be certain," she added, and her tone was bitter, "that in a similar circumstance, they would have no care

for us. Come, return to your true form and let us go."

The two muttered words of magic, words that no wizard on the continent of Ansalon could understand, let alone

speak: words every wizard on Ansalon would have given his very soul to possess. None ever would or could. Such

powerful magic is born, not acquired.

The shambling, filthy husk of the man-beast fell away, as the ugly shell of the chrysalis falls away to reveal the

beautiful dusk-

faery imprisoned within. Two extraordinarily beautiful beings emerged from the disguises.

It is difficult to describe such beauty. They were tall, slender, delicate-boned, with large, luminous eyes. But there

are many on this world who can be described as such, many on this world considered beautiful. And what may be

beautiful to one is not beautiful at all to another. A dwarf male considers a dwarf female's side-whiskers most alluring;

he thinks the smooth faces of human women are denuded and bland. Yet, even a dwarf would realize these people

were beautiful, no matter that they did not embody his idea of beauty. They were as beautiful as the sunset on the

mountains, as the moonglade on the sea, as the morning mist rising from the valleys.

A word transformed the crude animal hides they wore into fine-spun, shimmering silk. Another word altered the

very tree in which the two had been hiding, relaxed the contorted limbs, smoothed the gnarled trunks. The tree stood

straight and tall; deep green leaves rustled in the ocean breeze. Flowers exuded sweet-smelling perfume. At another

word, all the trees under-went this same transformation.

The two left the beach, headed inland, following the direction the knights had taken to reach the mud-hut village.

The two did not speak; they were comfortable in their silence. The words they'd just exchanged were probably more

than either had spo-ken to another of their race in years. The Irda enjoy isolation, solitude. They do not even like to be

around each other for long periods. It had taken a crisis to start a conversation between the two watchers.

Therefore the scene the two found, on their return, was almost as shocking as the sight of mud huts and clay

cooking pots had been to the knights. The two Irda saw all their people - several hundred or more - gathered beneath

an enormous wil-low tree, a circumstance almost unparalleled in the history of the Irda.

The ugly, misshapen trees were gone, replaced by a dense, lush forest of oak and pine. Built around and among the

trees were small, carefully conceived and designed dwellings. Each house was different in aspect and appearance, but

few were ever larger than four rooms, comprising cooking area, meditative area, work area, sleep area. Those dwellings

that were built with five rooms also housed the young of the species. A child lived with a parent (generally the mother,

unless circumstances dic-tated otherwise) until the child reached the Year of Oneness. At that time, the child moved

out and established a dwelling of his or her own.

Each Irda household was self-sufficient. Each Irda grew his own food, obtained his own water, pursued his own

studies. Social interchange was not prohibited or frowned upon. It sim-ply didn't exist. Such an idea would never

occur to an Irda or- if it did-would be considered a trait peculiar to other, lesser races, such as humans, elves,

dwarves, kender and gnomes; or the dark races, such as minotaur, goblins, and draconians; or the one race that

was never mentioned among the Irda: ogres.

Irda join with other Irda only once in their lives, for the pur-pose of mating. This is a traumatic experience for

both male and female, for they do not come together out of love. They are con-strained to come together by the

magical practice known as the Valin. Created by the elders of the race in order to perpetuate the race, the Valin

causes the soul of one Irda to take possession of the soul of another. There is no escape, no defense, no choice or

selection. When the Valin happens between two Irda, they must couple or the Valin will so torture and torment

them that it may lead to death. Once the woman has conceived, the Valin is lifted, the two go their separate ways,

having decided between them-selves which would be responsible for the child's welfare. So devastating is this

experience in the lives of two Irda, that this rarely happens more than once in a lifetime. Thus few children are born

to the Irda, and their numbers remain small.

The Irda had lived on the continent of Ansalon for centuries,

ever since their creation. Yet few members of the other, more

prolific races knew of the Irda's existence. Such wondrous crea-

tures were the stuff of legend and folk tale. Each child learned at

mother's knee the story of the ogres, who had once been the

most beautiful creatures ever created, but who-due to the sin of

pride-had been cursed by the gods, changed into ugly, fear- |

some monsters. Such tales were meant as moral lessons. '

"Roland, if you pull your sister's hair one more time, you'll turn into an ogre."

"Marigold, if you keep admiring your pretty face, you'll look

into the mirror one day and find yourself as ugly as an ogre." !

The Irda, so legend had it, were ogres who had managed to escape the gods' wrath, and so remained beautiful, with

all their blessings and magical powers intact. Because they were so pow-erful and so beautiful and so blessed, the Irda

did not hobnob with the rest of the world. And so they vanished. Children, walking into a dark and gloomy wood,

would always look for >

an Irda, for-so legend had it-if you caught an Irda, you could force him or her to grant you a wish.

This had about as much truth to it as did most legends, but it did encompass the Irda's primary fear: If any of the

other races ever discovered an Irda, they would try to make use of the pow-erful magic to enhance their own ends.

Fear of this, of being used, drove the Irda to live alone, hidden, disguised, avoiding all contact with anyone.

It had been many years since any Irda had walked on Ansalon- in dark and gloomy woods or anywhere else.

Following the War of the Lance, the Irda had looked forward to a long reign of peace. They had been disappointed.

The various factions and races on Ansalon could not agree on a peace treaty. Worse, the races were now fighting

among themselves. And then there came rumors of a vast darkness forming in the north.

Fearful that his people would be caught in yet another devas-tating war, the Decider made a decision. He sent out

word to all of the Irda, .telling them to leave the continent of Ansalon and travel to this remote isle, far beyond the

knowledge of anyone. And so they had come. They had lived in peace and isolation on this isle for many years. Peace

and isolation, which had just been shattered.

The Irda had come together here, beneath the willow tree, to try to end this threat. They had come together to

discuss the knights and barbarians, yet they stood apart, each separated from his or her fellows, glancing at the tree,

then askance at each other, uneasy, uncomfortable, and unhappy. The tree's severed branch, cut by the knight's cold

steel blade, lay on the ground. Sap oozed from the cut in the living tree. The tree's spirit cried out in anguish, and the

Irda could not comfort it. A peaceful existence, which had been perfected over the years, had come to an end.

"Our magical shield has been penetrated." The Decider was addressing the group as a whole. "The dark knights

know we are here. They will return."

"I disagree, Decider," another Irda argued respectfully. "The knights will not come back. Our disguises fooled them.

They think we are savages, on the level of animals. Why should they return? What could they possibly want with

us?"

"You know the ways of the human race." The Decider coun-tered, his tone heavy with the sorrow of centuries. "The

dark knights may want nothing to do with us now. But there will come a time when their leaders will need men to fill the

ranks of their armies, or they will decide that this island would be a good location for building ships, or they will feel

the need to put a garrison here. A human can never bear to leave anything alone. He must do something with every

object he finds, put it to some use, take it apart to see how it works, attach some sort of mean-ing or significance to it.

So it will be with us. They will be back."

The Irda, always living alone, in isolation, had no need for^ any sort of governmental body. Yet they realized that

they need" ed one among them to make decisions for all of them as a whole. Thus, as far back as ancient time, they

had always chosen one from among their number who was known as the Decider. Sometimes male,

sometimes female, the chosen Decider was nei-ther the eldest nor the youngest, neither the wisest nor the

smartest, neither the most powerful mage nor the weakest. The Decider was average and thus, being average, would

take no drastic actions, would follow a median course.

The present Decider had proved far stronger, far more aggres-sive, than any of the Deciders before him. He said it

was due to the bad times. His decisions had all been wise ones, or at least so most of the Irda believed. Those who

disagreed were reluctant to disturb the placidity of Irda life and had thus far said nothing.

"At any rate, they will not return in the immediate future, Decider," said the female who had been one of the

watchers on the shore. "We watched their ship disappear over the horizon. And we noted that it flew the flag of

Ariakan, son of the late Ariakus, Dragon Highlord. Ariakan, like his father before him, is a follower of the dark

goddess Queen Takhisis."

"If he were not a follower of Takhisis, then he would be a fol-lower of Paladine. If not Paladine, then one of the

other gods or goddesses. Nothing changes." The Decider folded his arms across his chest, shook his head. "I repeat,

they will be back. For the glory of their queen, if nothing else."

"They spoke of war, Decider, of invading Ansalon." This came from the male watcher. "Surely that will occupy

them for many years."

"Ah, there, you see?" The Decider looked triumphantly around at the assembly. "War. Again war. Always war. The

rea-son we left Ansalon. I had hoped that here, at least, we would be safe, immune." He sighed deeply. "Apparently

not."

"What should we do?"

The Irda, standing apart, separate from each other, looked questioningly at each other.

"We could leave this island, travel to another, where we would be safe," suggested one.

"We left Ansalon, traveled to this island," said the Decider. "We are not safe here. We will not be safe anywhere."

"If they come back, we'll fight them, drive them away," said one of the Irda-a very young Irda, newly arrived at the

Year of Oneness. "I know that we've never, in our entire history, shed the blood of another race. That we've hidden

ourselves away in order to avoid killing. But we have the right to defend ourselves. Every person in the world has that

right."

The other, more mature, Irda were regarding the young woman with the looks of elaborate patience adults of every

species adopt when the young make statements embarrassing to their elders.

And so they were considerably astonished when the Decider said, "Yes, Avril, you are correct. We do have the

right to defend ourselves. We have the right to live the lives we choose to live in peace. And I say we should defend

that right."

In their shock, several of the Irda spoke simultaneously. "You are not suggesting that we fight the humans, are you,

Decider?"

"No," he returned. "I am not. Of course, I am not. But neither am I suggesting that we pack up our possessions and

leave our homes. Is that what you want?"

One spoke, a man known as the Protector, who had occasion-ally disagreed with the Decider and had occasionally

made his disagreement known. He was, consequently, not a great favorite with the Decider, who frowned when the

Protector started to speak.

"Of all the places we have lived, this is the most congenial, the most lovely, the best suited to us. Here we are

together, yet apart. Here we can help each other when there is need, yet remain in solitude. It will be hard to leave this

island. Yet ... it doesn't seem the same now. I say we should move."

The Protector gestured to the neat, snug houses surrounded by hedgerows and lovingly tended flower gardens.

The other Irda knew what he meant. The houses were the same, unchanged by the magic that had supplied the illusion

of mud huts. The dif-ference could not be seen, but it could be felt, heard, tasted, and smelled. The birds, normally

talkative and filled with song, were silent, afraid. The wild animals, who roamed freely among the Irda, had vanished

back into their holes or up into the trees. The smell of steel and of blood was strong on the air.

Innocence and peace had been ravaged. The wounds would heal, the scars disappear, but the memory would

remain. And now the Decider was suggesting that they defend this home-land! The very thought was appalling. The

idea of moving was catching hold, gaining supporters.

The Decider saw that he had to swing around, take another tack.

"I am not suggesting we go to war," he said, his tone now gentle, soothing. "Violence is not our way. I have long

studied the problem. I foresaw disaster coming. I have just returned from a trip to the contirtent of Ansalon. Let me tell

you what I have discovered."

The other Irda stared at their Decider in amazement. So iso-lated were they-one from the other-that no one realized

their leader had even been gone, much less that he had risked walk-ing among outsiders.

The Decider's face grew grave and sorrowful. "Our magic-blessed vessel took me to the human city of Palanthas. I

walked its streets, listened to the people talk. I traveled thence to the stronghold of the Solamnic Knights, from there

to the seafaring nations of Ergoth. I passed into Qualinesti, the land of the elves. I entered the gates of Thorbardin,

realm of the dwarves. Invisible as the wind, I slipped over the borders of the cursed elven land of Silvanesti, walked

the Plains of Dust, spent time in Solace, Kendermore, and Flotsam. Finally, I looked upon the Blood Sea of Istar and,

from there, passed near Storm's Keep, from whence came these same dark knights.

"Over twenty-five years-in human time-has passed since the War of the Lance. The people of Ansalon hoped for

peace, hope that was in vain, as we could have told them. As long as the gods war among themselves, their battles will

spill over onto the mortal plane. With these dark knights to fight for her, Queen Takhisis is more powerful than ever.

"Their lord, Ariakan, son of Highlord Ariakus, had the nerve and the temerity to point out to the Dark Queen

wherein her weakness lay. 'Evil turns in upon itself.' The War of the Lance was lost due to the greed and selfishness of

the Dark Queen's commanders. Ariakan, a prisoner of the Knights of Solamnia during and after the war, realized that

the Solamnic Knights had achieved victory through their willingness to make sacrifices for the cause-sacrifices that

were epitomized in the death of the knight Sturm Brightblade.

"Ariakan put his ideas into practice and has now created an army of men and women committed body and soul to

the Dark Queen and, more importantly, to conquering the world in her name. They will give up anything-wealth, power,

their own lives-to achieve victory. They are bound in honor and in blood to each other. They are an indomitable foe,

particularly since Ansalon is, once again, divided against itself.

"The elves are at war with each other. Qualinesti has a new ruler, a boy, the son of Tanis Half-Elven and the

daughter of the late Speaker of the Sun, Laurana. The boy was first tricked and then constrained into accepting the

role of king. He is, in reality, little more than a puppet, whose strings are being pulled by some of the old order of elves,

isolationists who hate everyone different from themselves. That includes their Silvanesti cousins.

"And because these elves have grown in power, the dwarves of Thorbardin fear attack and are considering sealing

shut their mountain once again. The Knights of Solamnia are building their defenses-not in fear of the dark knights,

but in fear of the elves. Paladine's Knights have been warned against the dark paladins of evil, but they refuse to

believe that the tiger could have altered his stripes, as the saying goes. The Solamnics still believe that evil will turn

upon itself, as it did in the War of the Lance, when Dragon Highlord Kitiara ended up battling her own commander,

Highlord Ariakus, while the black-robed wizard Raistlin Majere betrayed them both. That will not happen this time.

"The balance is once again shifting in the Dark Queen's favor. But this time, my friends"-the Decider gazed around

at his people, his eyes going to each in turn, gathering them all in "-this time, it is my belief that Queen Takhisis will

win."

"But what of Paladine? What of Mishakal? We pray to them now as we have done in the past. They protect us."

The Protector spoke, but many others were nodding in agreement.

"Did Paladine protect us from the evil knights?" asked the Decider in stern tones. "No. He permitted them to land on

our coast."

"They did us no harm," the Protector pointed out.

"Yet," the Decider said ominously, "the gods of good, on whose protection we have so long relied, can do little for

us. This terrible incident has proven that. Our magic, their magic, has failed us. It is time we rely on something more

powerful."

"You obviously have some idea. Tell us," the Protector said, his voice grim.

"My idea is this: That we use one of the world's most powerful magical artifacts to shield us-once and for all-from

outsiders. You know the name of the artifact to which I am referring-the Graygem of Gargath."

"The Graygem is not ours," the Protector said sternly. "It does not belong to us. It belongs to the peoples of the

world."

"Not anymore," the Decider stated. "We were the ones who sought out this artifact. We found it. We acquired

it and brought it here for safekeeping."

"We stole it," the Protector said. "From a simpleminded fish-erman who found it washed up on the shore, who

took it to his house and kept it for its sparkling facets and the delight he took in showing it off to his neighbors.

He made no use of it, knew nothing of its magic, cared nothing for its magic. And so, the Graygem could make no

use of him. Perhaps he was intended to be its keeper. Perhaps, in taking it from him, we have unwit-tingly thwarted

the plans of the gods. Perhaps that is why they have ceased to protect us."

"Some might call what we did theft." The Decider stared very hard at the Protector. "But I say that, in

recovering the Graygem, we did the world a favor. This artifact has long been a problem, wreaking havoc wherever

it goes. It would have fled the sim-pleton as it has fled so many others before it. But now it is bound by our magic.

By holding it here, under our control, we are ben-efitting all of mankind."

"You told us, as I recall, Decider, that the Graygem's magic would protect us from incursion from the outside

world. That is not, apparently, the case," the Protector said. "How can you say now that its magic will shield us?"

"I have spent long years studying the Graygem and have recently made an important discovery," the Decider

answered. "The force that propels the Graygem, causes it to roam the world, is not peculiar to the stone itself, but

is, I believe, hidden inside the stone. The stone is only a container-a vessel-which holds and constrains the power

within. This magical force, once released, will undoubtedly prove to be immensely powerful. I propose to the

assembly that we crack open the Graygem, release the force within, and use it to protect our homeland."

The Irda were clearly unhappy. They did not like to take action of any kind, preferring to spend their lives in

meditation and study. To take such drastic action was almost unthinkable! Yet, they had only to look around them

to see the damage done to their beloved homeland, their last refuge from the world.

The Protector ventured a final protest. "If there is a force trapped inside the Graygem, it must, as you say, be

very power-ful. Are you certain we can control it?"

"We are able to control the Graygem itself quite easily now. I j see no difficulty in our controlling this power and

using it to defend ourselves."

"But how can you be sure you're controlling the Graygem? Perhaps the Graygem's controlling you, Decider!"

A voice-harsher than the musical tones of the Irda-came from somewhere behind the Protector. The Irda all turned

their heads in the voice's direction, drew back so that the speaker could be seen. It was a young woman, a human

woman of inde-terminate age, somewhere between eighteen to twenty-five human years. The young woman was, to

the eyes of the Irda, an extraordinarily ugly creature. Despite her homely looks-or maybe because of them-the Irda

cherished the young woman, doted on her, spoiled her. They had done so for years, ever since she had come-an

orphaned infant-to live among them.

Few Irda would have dared make such an impertinent state-ment to the Decider. The young human should know

better. All eyes turned disapprovingly to the Irda who had been placed in charge of the human-the man known, for

that very reason, as the Protector.

He appeared considerably embarrassed, was speaking to the young woman, apparently endeavoring to convince

her to return to their house.

The Decider assumed an expression of extreme patience. "I'm not certain what you mean, Usha, my child. Perhaps

you could explain yourself."

The young woman appeared pleased at being the center of so much attention. She shrugged free of the Protector's

gently restraining hand, strode forward until she stood in the center of the circle of Irda.

"How do you know the Graygem isn't controlling you? If it was, it wouldn't be likely to tell you, now, would it?"

Usha glanced around, proud of her argument.

The Decider conceded this argument, praised the human's cleverness, and carefully kept from smiling. The idea was,

of course, ludicrous, but then the girl was human after all.

"The Graygem has been quite submissive since taken into our presence," he said. "It rests on the altar we

constructed for it, barely even glimmers. I doubt if it is controlling us, Child. You need have no worries along that line."

No other race on Krynn was as powerful in magic as the Irda. Even the gods-so some of the Irda, the Decider among

them, had been known to whisper-were not as powerful. The god Reorx had lost the gem. It was the Irda who had

discovered it, taken it, and now held it. The Irda knew the stories of the Graygem's past, how it had spread

chaos and havoc wherever it went throughout the world. The Graygem was, so legend had it, responsible for the

creation of the races of kender, gnomes, and dwarves. But that was before the Irda had been in charge of the gem. It

had been in the care of humans. What could you expect?

The meeting continued, the Irda trying every way possible to wriggle out of this situation without resorting to any

sort of drastic action.

Usha soon grew bored-as humans easily do-and told her Protector she was going back to their house to fix dinner.

He looked relieved.

Walking away from the meeting, Usha was inclined, at first, to be angry. Her notion was a good one, had been

dismissed all too quickly. But being angry took a lot of energy and concentra-tion. She had other matters on her mind.

She walked into the wilderness, but not to gather herbs for the evening meal.

She walked instead to the beach. When she reached the shore-line, she stood staring down, fascinated, at the

footprints left in the sand by the two young knights. Kneeling down, she rested her hand in one of the prints. It was

much bigger than her small hand. The knights had been taller, bigger than she. Picturing them in her mind, a

pleasurable and confusing tingle coursed through her body. It was the first time she'd ever seen another human, a

human male.

They were ugly, certainly, compared to the Irda, but not as ugly as all that... .

Usha remained on the beach, dreaming, a long, long time.

The Irda reached a decision, decided to leave the matter of the Graygem in the hands of the Decider. He would know

how best to handle this situation. Whatever he determined needed to be done would be done. This concluded, they

returned to their dwellings, anxious to be alone, to put all this unpleasantness behind them.

The Decider did not return immediately to his dwelling. He summoned three of the eldest of the Irda, drew them

apart for a private discussion.

"I did not bring this matter up publicly," the Decider said, speaking softly, "because I knew the pain it would cause

our people. But there is one more action we must take in order to ensure our safety. We are immune to the temptations

generated by the Graygem, but there is one living among us who is not. You all know of whom I speak."

The others-by their dismayed and forlorn expressions- knew.

The Decider continued. "It grieves me to have to make this decision, but we must cast this person out. You all saw

and heard Usha today. Because of her human blood, she is in danger from the Graygem."

"We don't know that for certain." One ventured a meek protest.

"We know the stories," the Decider said sharply. "I investi-gated and discovered them to be true. The Graygem

corrupts all humans who come near it, filling them with longings and desires they cannot control. The sons of the war

hero Caramon Majere nearly fell victim to it, according to one report. The god Reorx himself had to intervene to save

them. The Graygem may have already seized on Usha and is trying to use her to cause dissension among us.

Therefore, to ensure her safety as well as ours, Usha must be sent away."

"But we've raised her since she was a baby," another of the elders protested. "This is the only home she has ever

known!"

"Usha is old enough now to live on her own, among her own kind." The Decider relaxed his stem tone. "We have

commented before on the fact that she is growing restless and bored among us. Our studious, contemplative life is not

for her. As do all humans, she requires change in order to grow. We are stifling her. This separation will be as much to

her advantage as our own."

"It will be hard, giving her up." One of the elders wiped away a tear, and the Irda do not easily cry. "Especially for

the Protector. He dotes on the child."

"I know," said the Decider gently. "It seems cruel, but the swifter we act, the better it will be for all of us, including

the Protector. Are we all agreed?"

The Decider's wisdom was honored. He went to tell the Protector. The other Irda hurried back to their separate

homes. 3

Farewells. The Protector's Parting Gift.

eave?" Usha stared blankly at the man she had always known as Protector. "Leave the island?

When?" "Tomorrow, Child," said the Protector. He was already going about the small house they shared, gathering

up Usha's things, placing them on the bed, preparatory to packing them. "A boat is being readied for you. You are an

adept sailor. The boat is magically enhanced. It will not overturn, no matter how rough the seas. If the wind quits, the

boat will never lie becalmed, but will sail on, sped by the current of our thoughts. It will carry you safely across the

ocean to the human city of Palanthas, which lies almost due south of us. A journey of twelve hours, no more."

"Palanthas . . ." Usha repeated, not truly comprehending, not even knowing what she was saying.

The Protector nodded. "Of all the cities on Ansalon, I think you will find Palanthas most suitable. The population is

large and varied. The Palanthians have a greater tolerance for cul-tures other than their own. Oddly enough, this is

probably due to the presence of the Tower of High Sorcery and its master, Lord Dalamar. Though a mage of the Order

of Black Robes, he is respectful of the-"

Usha didn't hear any more. She knew Prot, knew he was talking out of desperation. A silent, reclusive, mild, and

gentle man, those words were the most he'd spoken to her in months, and he was likely speaking these just to comfort

Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman - Dragons Of Summer Flame

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