which he himself was a sterling example. The stinking, mud-encrusted figure before him was typical of his kind.
They were a contrast, these two, whose only connection was the fact that they, like all draconians, had been created full-grown by dark magic from the stolen eggs of metallic dragons, the so-called dragons of light. Baaz sprang from the eggs of the brass leviathans and their scaled hides showed a tarnished hint of that coloring. Pathetic in so many ways, Baaz had wings that would not even let them fly. They could merely glide. Once they had been the most numerous of the draconians, but as even the Dragon Highlords had seen their uselessness, many had perished fighting in the front lines in the War of the Lance. True, Baaz were more muscular than the taller, slimmer Bozaks, but they lacked the quick wit of the latter. Little wonder, since Bozak sprang from the magnificent bronze dragons and had been granted a great gift-the ability to wield magic in a manner that all the other draconians, (save the imposing Auraks, of course) could only dream about.
The Auraks. As much pride as Brudas felt concerning his own heritage, he dreamed of being as skilled and advanced as the tall, wingless ones. The Auraks were the epitome of draconian superiority, the creations of corrupted golden dragon eggs. They could cast better spells in swifter fashion, were taller, sleeker, and spoke eloquently, boasting intelligence and wisdom.
Brudas tried his best to emulate Auraks, even to the point of dressing in sorcerer’s robes and practicing his speech so he didn’t sound like one of the lesser draconian races. The Bozak felt, with some justification, that he could now number himself among the most gifted of his kind, yet still he felt inadequate in comparison to the Auraks. To add to his frustration, his sorcery had begun to fail of late, a horrible thing to happen to one born with the gift. He hadn’t told anyone, hoping that he might manage to find and ferret out a magical artifact for himself in the ruins of the city of Krolus. The expedition had to succeed…
“Get up, you imbecile!” he snarled at the crouching Baaz. Other races occasionally confused the two draconian types because of the similar coloring of their scales, a fact that always irritated Brudas. Could not the color-blind fools tell the difference between tarnished bronze and knavish brass?
The Baaz rose. Brudas recognized him as Drek, the lowliest of his lowly kind, perhaps the stupidest of the three draconians who accompanied him on this quest.
Drek had the ambition and intelligence of a rock, perhaps even less. To Drek, the Bozak tended to delegate the most menial and disgusting labor.
“Forgive me, Massster Brudasss!” Drek hissed. “I did not mean to disssturb you.”
The sibilant hiss annoyed Brudas even more than the Baaz’s blunt snout. Even though sitting, he managed to stare down his own sleek, narrow snout-more akin to a true dragon’s than Drek’s swinish nose-and, with perfect enunciation, he retorted, “You disturb me simply by existing, Drek! If you have something to report, report it and get out of my sight! I still hope to find out if one of these artifacts-” he waved a slim, taloned hand at the table, upon which lay nearly a dozen supposedly magical items- “has any latent power, something that will please our mistress!”
At mention of Sable, the Baaz cringed. His kind feared Sable utterly. Brudas feared her, respected her, and hoped to betray her when the opportunity presented itself-which was why he had suggested this odorous and, so far, futile expedition.
Something had happened to the magic of Krynn, to all spellcasters, not simply Brudas. The sorcerers and other mortal spellcasters had noticed it first. Spells began to falter, then fail completely. Attempt after attempt left nothing but the taste of futility in the wield-er’s mouth. The sorcerers, of course, blamed it on the overlords.
Soon, though, the overlords too began to complain of the loss of their abilities. Brudas still recalled how Sable had for weeks blamed one rival or another for her faltering spells-until she had learned that her fellow dragons were having troubles, too. With that realization, she had turned to the same desperate remedy sought by the sorcerers- Sable sent her minions out to find whatever magical talismans and artifacts they could so she could drain the relics’ power and use their ancient magic for her her own magic.
Only a handful of her most trusted servants knew the complete truth and, of them, only Brudas knew the full extent of his mistress’s weakness.
“Many, many apologiesss, Massster Brudasss,” Drek babbled again. “It’sss jussst I think I may have found sssomething!”
“You found something?” Quickly, Brudas’s ire faded. He rose from his chair, his nearly seven-foot frame towering over the more compact Baaz. “Where is it? What is it? Bring it in, you dolt!”
“We can’t! Not… not yet! It’s in a chamber. We’re still excavating the entrance, but-”
“Lead me to it immediately!”
“Yesss, Massster Brudasss!” Drek turned and darted out of the tent.
Seizing his staff, Brudas followed after him. The Bozak momentarily decided to forgive the lowly creature for not holding the tent flap open for him. If Drek and the others had found something of value, it would be the first silver lining to this black-cloud of an adventure since their arrival more than two weeks before.
Damp and gloom greeted the draconian as he stepped onto the soft, drenched soil. He had chosen the most stable patch of ground for his tent, but still the moisture tended to seep everywhere. Not for the first time Brudas wondered what fascination a dragon could have with such a muddy, bug-infested quagmire.
With great care, the two wended their way through the hazy marsh into the heart of what had once been a thriving city. Although Sable had transformed much of her domain into swampland, Krolus had been destroyed in the Great Cataclysm centuries before. As happened with so many other cities, the people who lived here had been caught entirely offguard. In the veritable blink of an eye, their proud city had been swallowed up by the cracked earth and shifting wetlands. In the years since, the swamp had only encroached further on the ruins. Sable herself could not have created a more nightmarish place.
The spiraled tip of a watchtower jutted out of the brackish water to their left. A pair of long, emerald serpents crawled over the tiled roof of a stone building- possibly an inn once. Brudas’s gaze fell upon a statue of some human warrior, its head gone, with great cracks along its body. An arachnid as large as the Bozak’s hand had spun a web between the body and an upraised arm.
Although it was midday, the sulfur-ridden haze made it seem more like twilight. A dim glow up ahead marked one of the oil lamps that Brudas had commanded the Baaz to spread over the vague path leading to their latest digging site. Searching for dry wood in this soggy domain would have been fruitless and so the Bozak had commandeered numerous oil lamps for their journey. However, their supply of oil had already dwindled drastically, and Brudas suspected they had three days’ of lamplight left-at best. Not good, considering how little the expedition had to show for its efforts so far. If Drek’s latest find did not pan out…
Rubble from a massive, broken arch forced them to take a more circuitous route to their destination, but Brudas held his impatience in check. Drek would not have disturbed him without a good reason. The Baaz knew the penalty for that.
Brudas’s clawed feet sank an inch or two into the ground with every step. Nothing remained dry long here. Those buildings and structures that had not sunk entirely into the swamp were covered with mold and moss. Even though many of the citizenry had failed to escape- as evidenced by die skulls lying amid the grass-those who had some link to magic evidently had been luckier than most. The treasure trove of relics that the Bozak had hoped to find had so far proved nonexistent.
Sable would not like that. More importantly, Brudas did not like that.
One of the most intact structures was, of all things, a temple of Mishakal, the goddess of healing. As they approached on what had once been the main thoroughfare of the city, Brudas noted that the temple now listed to one side even more than on the first day he had glimpsed it. Some of the columns had begun to crack. Too soon this monument to a departed goddess would join so much else under the water and mud of the black dragon’s domain.
Who was to say that, long ago, some relic had not made its way into the temple, perhaps brought there by a pious follower who feared the sinister ways of magic and sought to keep at least one artifact out of the ambitious hands of the old wizards? Some of those magical artifacts might still remain within…
Yet, Drek led him past the temple, where the three Baaz were supposed to be digging, heading instead to the far quarter of Krolus that had suffered the worst destruction.
“You were supposed to finish exploring the temple!” Brudas snapped.
Drek looked even more miserable than usual. “Found nothing there, Brudasss!” he replied, forgetting to call the Bozak by his title. “We gave up yesssterday.”
