horns existed. That one was borne by the wild elves, and long ago Darlantan had told him its purpose: the Kagonesti could use the ram’s horn to summon help from the silver dragons, in a call that was audible to the wyrms of argent alone.
“Here come Callak and Auricus,” Agon noted, and the venerable gold saw that the pair were also flying upward, laboring hard toward the ancient’s lofty vantage. Both were stiff-necked, straining their wings in obvious urgency.
Immediately Aurican hurled himself into the air, and his wings responded as needed, sweeping outward to channel and guide the wind, easily steering his flight. Callak and Auricus fell into formation as the elder dived past them, trailed by Agon and Dazzall.
“Did you hear something?” Aurican asked the young silver.
“Yes, Grandfather-a horn, with a strangely compelling sound.”
“But you heard nothing?” the ancient demanded, turning to his golden scion. Auricus shook his head. “That seals it, then. What you heard was the ram’s horn of the Kagonesti. Gather the others. We have important matters to discuss.”
Before he could settle to the ground on the floor of the Valley of Paladine, Aurican was startled by a shimmer of magic below. A two-legged figure appeared instantly, and he realized that someone had teleported here. As he landed, the mighty gold saw that the newcomer was an elf. A river of blood trickled down the flank of the battered figure, and the dragon saw that his robes of regal silver had been rent and torn by cruel violence. The fellow looked up, took a weak step forward, and then fell to the ground.
Aurican scrutinized the stranger even as his gold dragon body shifted and shrank. Quickly the elder stood upright as he adjusted to his familiar elven body. He saw that the stranger had been gouged by a sword thrust to the side, and noticed by the irregular tears on the rich garment that the blade’s edge had been cruelly serrated-in other words, a weapon that no elf would wield.
“Greetings, honored elf,” Aurican said softly as Auricus and Callak came to rest behind him. They had not yet mastered the talent of the shapechange, and their metallic, reptilian heads rose over his shoulders as he regarded the battered newcomer. Dazzall and Agon held back slightly but also listened.
“Can you hear me? Do you come from Silvanost?” pressed the elder dragon. He had lived for a while in Silvanos’s city, already a legendary place of crystal palaces and towers rising from an island in the midst of a mighty river. Now Aurican pictured that pastoral place, which had been peaceful for centuries, and the golden serpent felt a shiver of deep, chilling alarm.
At the name, the elf’s eyelids flickered. His right eye was swollen shut, distorted by a purple bruise and cruel gouges on his cheek, but his left opened to regard Aurican with an expression of palpable terror.
“Again… she comes again,” croaked the elf, a spatter of bloody drool trickling from his lip.
“Who?” asked Callak and Auricus at the same time, urgency hissing in the words.
“Crematia,” declared Aurican, without any question in his voice. He looked again at the sword wound, then sniffed. The taint of acid was a sulfuric stench, faint but unmistakable, the effects visible in the holes that had been burned in the trailing edge of the elf’s robe. “And she has brought her kin-dragons, awakened from the heart of the Khalkists.”
The wounded elf arched his back, his jaws clenching soundlessly as he thrashed at an imaginary foe. Aurican leaned forward, touching him gently upon the forehead, and the fellow’s struggles immediately ceased. His good eye opened, but the madness was gone. Instead, he stared with a desperate, pleading intensity.
“They came from the sides… all of them, red and black and white and the rest. And on the ground, ogres, charging from the woods… and warriors like snakes, snakes with arms and legs, bearing cruel swords. Those came from the swamp and butchered all of us who tried to find shelter there. We fought them… we killed and we died… but there were so many…”
“What about Silvanos?” asked Aurican. “Does he live?”
“Aye, at last word before I was carried away. The three brother mages were there… the three robes… red and black-and the white one, too. Their magic was the only thing that enabled us to survive the first onslaught… walls of sorcery around Silvanost. The city stands, for now. They sent me here to find Aurican… to beg for help!”
The elf’s words burned with shame at the admission, but again the serene figure of the altered gold dragon laid a hand upon the injured messenger’s forehead. At the touch, the battered fellow once more drew a deep breath and apparently relaxed.
“You have done your job well, my friend. You must rest here, and grow strong. Know that I shall fly in response to your need.”
Abruptly Aurican was a dragon again, rearing high above the younger serpents behind him. He raised his mouth to the skies and, with a trumpeting bray, summoned the other nestmates from their hunts and meditations among the peaks of the High Kharolis.
“Who are these brother mages?” asked Auricus.
“Three elves I knew centuries ago,” the elder replied. Clearly he remembered the quest to the realm of gods, and the gifts that had led to spell magic on Krynn-and the three moons that, ever since, had loomed in the night sky. “They are still alive, and still mighty. Indeed, it sounds as though their magic is the best hope of elvenkind-at least, until I can get there.”
Soon the brood of his own offspring and his nieces and nephews had joined him, several dozen bright males and females of copper, brass, and bronze, together with Callak and his brother Arjen, and Auricus. One of the females, Dazzall’s sister Krayn, took charge of the wounded elf, bearing the messenger into the depths of the undermountain and its sacred grotto.
“I return to Silvanesti,” announced Aurican, fixing his stern glare upon the restless wyrmlings. “While I am gone, I expect that all-”
“We’re coming with you!” declared Callak, rearing up with a fluttering of silver wings, staring belligerently into the eyes of his ancient tutor.
The other wyrmlings cringed back, expecting an explosive response, but Aurican merely sighed heavily, sending a puff of warm smoke emerging from his nostrils.
“You cannot,” declared the elder. “You-all of you-are too young. Bold and brave, I know, but neither will keep you alive against the cruel dragons of the Dark Queen. And though our nest is here, we have no eggs, no clutch to guard. It is too great a risk, for we gamble with the whole future of our kind should I let you come to war.”
“What worth is a future if we allow the Dark Queen’s dragons to rule the world?” demanded Auricus quickly, raising a question with vexing logic as he came to his brother nestling’s aid.
Despite himself, old Aurican allowed himself a measure of pride in his youngster’s argument as he replied. “There is no cause to panic. It is not out of the question that I myself, with the aid of the brother mages, may deal with the threat.”
“But this is not your task alone!” asserted Callak. “Is not Crematia responsible for my father’s death, as well as those of our other patriarchs?”
“And you’ve told us how, during that war, the red dragon was not captured in the gem of life-trapping with the others!” silver Arjen insisted. “Now is our chance to slay her!”
“There are many wyrms of evil, are there not?” pressed crippled Agon, bobbing his head high to be heard in the midst of his silver siblings. “Surely you could use our help. At the very least, we could guard your back and warn you of ambush!”
“No more argument!” snapped Aurican sternly. “This is an affair of ancients, and my business to complete. Now go, all of you, and guard the grotto!”
“But there are other kin-dragons who don’t know about the danger,” Callak objected. “Flash and Brunt are gone, and Tharn! And my sister Daria, too…”
“Then that is your task! Find your nestmates and bring them here!” insisted the ancient gold. “I command you, in the name of the Platinum Father. Gather the kin-dragons to the grotto and await my word.”
Then, without a backward glance, he took wing toward Silvanesti… and war.
Chapter 21
