provide food for timid, pointless creatures who would not have dared ap shy;proached her while she lived.
Khisanth would have liked to sink her friend into a swampy grave, a fitting tribute for a black dragon. Unfortu shy;nately, she knew of no marshes nearby, and felt it would be even more disrespectful to magically carry Jahet's body around the countryside looking for one. Jahet's soul would have to be content with a covering of rocks.
The black eagle was nearly blinded by a sudden, powerful flash of reflected sunlight from the ground. She waited for the spots of brightness to fade from her vision before shifting her position and squinting cautiously below again. There, covered in large part by broken branches, was the oddly twisted neck and head of Highlord Maldeev's soul mate.
Khisanth quickly descended. She could see only flashes of Jahet's black body through all the branches that covered her. After landing, Khisanth returned to dragon form and began to clear the brush away with her claw arms. She took great care not to further desecrate Jahef s mortal form with scratches from her talons.
Now that her view was clear, Khisanth could see that loot shy;ers had taken the saddle and Jahet's diamond nose stud. Despite that, it appeared that no creatures had ventured for shy;ward to taste their first dragon. Except for the odd twist to her neck, Jahef s body was intact, as if she were asleep.
'Well, Jahet, you were right and I was wrong. Maldeev is still pushing me to take a rider. Unfortunately, we were both wrong about who it would be.'
Khisanth leaned in closer to whisper conspiratorially, 'I think I may have to break my original vow to never take a human rider.' She grimaced slightly and shook her head. 'I can't shake the feeling that Maldeev is right, that this is the sign from Takhisis for which I've been waiting.'
'Thaf s right, I never told you about my meeting with our queen, did I?' The black dragon laughed without humor. 'I could tell you what the Abyss is like, but you probably know more about it now than I do.
'Takhisis told me that when I met the human worthy of my talents, I would know it,' said Khisanth. 'How else could I interpret the fates that placed me near you and Maldeev when you were struck down? Maldeev would have been dis shy;graced to lose his dragon, not to mention dead if I hadn't plucked him from the sky. Even I'm forced to agree that a highlord is worthy of me. This is my fate.'
Her problems seemed trivial compared to Jahef s. 'You're beyond such earthly concerns now, aren't you? What's it like to die?' Khisanth recalled the physical torment she'd suf shy;fered traveling to the Abyss while alive.
Almost without meaning to, Khisanth began to look for the killing wound. She ran her eyes over Jahef s length. The dragon could find only minor nicks and dents in the scales. There was no obvious wound here. Khisanth paused to remember her position to Jahet at the time of the dragon's death. She was certain that the side now turned skyward had been away from Khisanth, facing the knight Tate. Could Jahet have died from an earlier wound to her other side?
Before undertaking the immense task of turning the hefty dragon over, Khisanth had another idea. She retracted her talons and lay a gentle claw onto the body to examine the vulnerable skin between scales. Startled, she pulled her claw back. Jahet felt as smooth and cold as black glass, and equally as hard. Khisanth had touched enough dead creatures to know that they did, in fact, turn ice cold-but they were soft and bloated and squishy. Stiff after many days, yes, but never hard like glass.
The dragon's puzzlement deepened. She reached out with the intention of rolling Jahet over. Her claw again touched Jahet's glassy spine, but when she exerted the first trace of pressure, Khisanth heard a noise like the crackling, snapping sound of ice settling in winter. Without even conscious thought, she snatched back her claw, but it was too late. She had started a chain reaction that she was powerless to stop.
Before her stunned eyes, Khisanth watched a crack appear where she had touched Jahet. The crack raced forward and fractured into thousands of tiny lines, like the thin, silvery strands of a spiderweb. Within mere heartbeats, the entire length of Jahet's body, from snout to tail, had shattered like an impossibly large pane of glass. The fractured corpse caved in on itself and crumbled into a heap, sending the stunned dragon reeling back.
The deafening sound of breaking glass rang in Khisanth's ears for many moments as she tried to make sense of what had transpired. Almost absently, she noticed slivers of pink-veined rock just beneath the layer of black glass that had been Jahet. It looked like quartz. Blood.
Khisanth's mind turned to the obvious. Only magic could explain the odd and swift transformation of the dragon's body. Khisanth was certain she would have known before Jahet's death if there had been something inherently different about the dragon's magical abilities.
Impulsively, Khisanth cast a spell to tell if the glass were magical. She waited impatiently for the expected answer, and was surprised to detect only a negligible amount of magical energy, which would be the last vestiges of Jahef s nature or traces of Krynn's own elemental magic.
Poison? It was possible, considering Jahet's symptoms before death; she'd choked, then grew stiff and soundless. Khi shy;santh knew little about poisons, but she doubted any mun shy;dane poison was potent enough to instantly kill a dragon.
Out of the corner of her eye, Khisanth saw something floating above the shards, and she looked up slowly. A misty form was coalescing. It stretched and rose like thick white smoke to hover high above the splintered glass, reminding Khisanth of the tormented creatures she had encountered in the Abyss. The twisting, gyrating cloud was vaguely dragon shaped, if only from the suggestion of a tail and snout. There were two large black gaps in the white mist above the nose and one below-eyes and a mouth-which seemed to melt and sag in steady and unrelenting anguish.
Khisanth had seen enough in her life that she felt neither threatened nor surprised. Perhaps she had reached her capacity for amazement. 'Were you Jahet?' she asked calmly.
For an answer, the misty, swirling thing flared up high, a sharp contrast to the azure blue sky, then dropped back down to nearly Khisanth's height.
'Your death was unnatural, and because of it, you're in torment, aren't you?' The apparition flared again.
Khisanth closed her eyes and thought of Dela those years ago in the wagon. There would be no rocky grave for Jahet. With a cold, hard certainty forged in the fires of experience, Khisanth knew what she must do to end the suffering of Jahet's spirit. Bolts of white-hot fire surged from each of her six talons and bore into the pile of shards, with a hundred times the intensity of a glassmaker's torch.
Khisanth held the flames to the glass beneath the appari shy;tion until the shards began to melt. The faceted splinters turned shiny, like wet, polished stones. The dragon directed her flaming talons to the liquefying glass until her claw arms ached and the flames petered out, as if determination could inspire heat enough to fire up glass. When she could hold her arms aloft no longer, Khisanth sat back on her haunches and watched the red-hot glow of molten glass slowly recede, sinking into the earth from which creatures of magic first received their powers at the beginning of time.
As the slag dwindled, so did the ghostly apparition of Jahet's soul above it. Upon later refection, Khisanth was never quite sure if she had actually witnessed its vague expressions of torment turn to ecstasy, or if she had simply projected her own hopes onto the mists.
The dragon flew from the small glowing pile at dusk, long after the misty phantom had dissipated. Flight was painful, for the efforts of her claw arms had affected her wing mus shy;cles. She pressed on, anxious to put distance between herself and the memory of the strange abomination Jahet had briefly become.
Khisanth could not resist the temptation to look back at the softly glowing mound of hot glass. For one brief and explo shy;sive moment, a thin pillar of flame shot high into the twilight sky, as if trying to touch the constellations themselves. Then the flame was gone.
Chapter 24
The dark cleric's room in the basement of Shalimsha tower was small, cramped, and dark, just the way Andor liked it. As personal cleric to Dragon Highlord Maldeev himself, he rated a much larger space, even a room in the airy upper floors of the tower. But that would not have suited Andor's tastes, devel shy;oped as a youngster in a home carved into the base of an enormous vallenwood tree. Andor was a Qualinesti elf.
