Callak thought for a moment about debating this point, but in the end, he deferred to his kin-dragon, knowing that the grotto held nothing for them now. And he understood instinctively that the power of her dream was not a trifling thing.
“We must separate, as Aurican said,” the silver male declared. “But we cannot forget each other. Remember, in our differences are we strong.”
“I will keep the fires of vengeance burning,” growled Tharn. “That we, or our children, shall know the price our nestmates have paid… and shall one day exact an accounting.”
“And I shall record the history of our grotto, and our leaving, so that none of our wyrmlings may ever forget.” Auricus made the statement, and they all knew that it was a solemn oath.
“The humans must learn what has happened,” Dazzall announced. “And I shall tell them to insure that they remember us.”
“Be strong, my nestmates,” Brunt declared, his thick, wedged head dipped into a bow. “For in strength, we will survive.”
“But for now, we must fly,” concluded Callak.
The mountain range was abandoned under the clear skies and bright full moon of the spring equinox. As Callak took to the air, with Daria by his side, he saw that the landscape of the High Kharolis was still a blanket of uniform white, sparkling glaciers and pristine snowfields reflecting the dazzling brightness of the midnight sky. Even the lake where his mother was buried had vanished beneath the layer of whiteness.
The wyrms of metal flew for a long time under the full moons, circling the high ridges in their matched pairs. Fate had seen that the ten who survived could still plant the seeds of future generations, for their numbers included five males and five females, a single pair of each precious metal color.
Finally they winged upward and away, soaring over the ridges of mountains that encircled their sacred realm. To an observer, it might have seemed that each pair of dragons chose a different point of the compass for its destination. Yet there was no such calculated plan to the dispersal. The divergent courses were merely the result of the good dragons seeking refuge in far quarters of Ansalon, places where the vengeance of the evil wyrms could never reach them.
Many years remained to pass before these young serpents would breed, produce eggs, and eventually restore the numbers of their kind. They would need to make new lairs, to hide themselves in such wilderness as remained in the world, seeking to live that their descendants might someday have a chance to be born.
Yet in their survival, they knew hope, and in their memories were the tales that would fashion their history and their destiny.
And perhaps, in the unknown future, that destiny might lead them to revenge.
Chapter 27
2688 PC
Three robed figures gathered in the highest chamber of the Tower of Stars, Silvanost’s loftiest promontory. Aside from the colors of their robes, which were black, white, and red, respectively, the trio of figures might have been stamped from a single mold. Each was hunched low, grimly taut in posture, with the cowl of his robe pulled forward to hide face and features.
Although the clear skies allowed the light of a million stars to illuminate the room, the three remained fixed upon the floor, almost as if they were unwilling to regard the heavenly brightness. A pattern of arcane symbols was barely visible on the tiled surface, glowing slowly brighter until a pattern of illumination passed like a web though the room.
“Do we dare?” asked Parys Dayl, he of the white robe. “We have no way of knowing what effect the spell of wild magic will have, beyond that of capturing the wyrms of the Dark Queen.”
“What else matters? If the chromatic dragons are allowed to come on unchecked, everything is lost,” declared red-robed Fayal Padran.
“Yes.” Kayn Wytsnal’s voice was a hiss. “And since the dragons of metal have failed, there is no other hope. Our power may wrack the world, but if the serpents of the Dark Queen are defeated, we shall be well rewarded.”
Another figure came into view. His golden hair, gone slightly white with age, glowed softly in the starlight that filtered through the tall, crystal windows. The three wizards looked at him expectantly and with obvious respect.
“How fares your council?” asked Silvanos. Though the elven patriarch’s voice was as dry as parchment, the three listeners knew this was not because of age, but rather due to the profound nature of the proposal now being considered.
“Bah!” Kayn’s voice cracked like a brittle twig, snapping from beneath the black cowl of his robe. “They know what must be done, and yet they are afraid to do it.”
“And you are not afraid?” asked Silvanos, gently raising an eyebrow.
“Of course I am, but I am afraid of the results. They fear to take the chance, while I clearly recognize that we must cast the spell. We have no other choice.”
“And you?” Silvanos asked, turning to Fayal.
“I fear my colleague is right, though he cares little for the effects that may result. Magic could wrack much of Silvanesti, even the whole world.”
“And the dragons?” Silvanos inquired patiently.
It was Fayal who replied. “All the portents indicate that, whatever else its effects, the casting will seize the chromatic dragons and draw them into the fundament of Krynn. They will be entombed.”
“And that is the only effect that matters!” Kayn declared. “Anything else can be survived! For if we do not cast this spell, our barriers will inevitably collapse-perhaps within the next winter or two. Then Silvanost, and everything else, will be lost.”
“And the spell will work?”
“That is a good question,” Parys admitted. “We have aligned the poles of wild magic so that they have a powerful attraction for the wyrms of Takhisis. We think it will work. But in truth, all we can do is hope the summons will be enough to drag them down, to trap them.”
“But the defensive barriers will otherwise fall… this is a certainty?” inquired the elven patriarch.
“Aye,” said Fayal, with the other two mages nodding in agreement.
“Then it seems that we have no choice,” declared Silvanos with a finality that the others could only respect.
Deathfyre had wasted no time in renewing his onslaught against the elven realm, for he knew that the Silvanesti would be able to recover and rearm far more quickly than the dragons of Paladine could possibly hope to restore their depleted numbers.
So it was that the evil army returned its attentions against the south. Relentless hordes of ogres and bakali marched, led by ruthless minotaur raiders. Dragons of blue and black, of crimson, green, and white dotted the skies, answering to the mighty Deathfyre’s commands.
Coss, a great, acid-spewing black serpent, and Spuryten, an ancient blue, were Deathfyre’s chief lieutenants. The trio of dragons led three great spearheads converging onto the elven capital of Silvanost. And all the wyrms of Takhisis took wing against elvenkind, drawing in an ever-tightening noose about the besieged city on its once- pastoral island. Still, the barriers of the brother mages held them off, foiling every attempt to complete the conquest, to carry the destruction into the crystal city itself.
And the campaign progressed with relentless savagery and irresistible might. Bakali swarmed through the marshes of Silvanesti, driving the elves from the well-watered lands that provided so much of their food. Ogres bashed at the walls of every fortified strong point, often aided by the crushing power of dragonbreath. Gradually the doomed outposts were destroyed one by one, leaving increasingly large stretches of the forested elvenhome a bleak
