Amara’s feet constantly hurt from walking. It was annoying that Rynn kept such a fast pace. The ranger’s energy seemed boundless out under the open sky and with the wind in his hair. He spent many hours away from the group, mostly in the mornings, training his wolf companion, Ranna, and wandering the countryside to scout ahead.
Khaska’s mood had been sour as they left Hammerdine, for what purpose she could not understand. But as the trip had progressed, she had noticed he and Rynn speaking late at night, and Jenika and Khaska gravitated towards each other during the day, leaving Amara to speak with Akle, the wise-cracking gnome, or one of the other Faatin Merchant House’s employees.
Truth be told, though, she enjoyed talking with Akle. The shaved-head gnome seemed a little goofy as he had on their first trip, where he gleefully had attacked their enemies with his crossbow, but as she spoke with him she saw another side of him. The gnome was actually wise beyond his years, and a good conversationalist. He spoke of his many adventures, and was almost as good a storyteller as the bard Eleanor was. Amara got the impression that he was a genuinely nice person, and whose stints as a guard were just to pass the time and to stay on the move, possessed as he was by the wanderlust of his people.
By the end of July they were only about a week from the city of Laishtek. Amara and Khaska had discussed things that they might do, and it seemed that both of them were very much interested in visiting the Great Library of Laishtek, originally established by Tebbins Ferrick, the famed halfling explorer. It was said to be the best in the world, rivaling even the ancient elven libraries of Dreqorun.
Late one night, Amara was speaking of the library and its uses in general terms to Akle, who had visited the library on several occasions, by his own account. She did not want to reveal secrets that were not hers to reveal, especially pertaining to Tawru, but was probing the gnome for what kinds of things were there, hoping it would be of use to Khaska in his quests. Rynn, Khaska, and Jenika were further back in the caravan, at the other campfire. The sorcerer and the gnome were alone, for the moment, the closest person one of the lookouts smoking a pipe on one of the wagons a few yards away.
“I hear the elves libraries are much more boring,” Akle was saying. “If you want stories, go to Laishtek! That’s the word! Sometimes they even read the old scrolls containing the legends of Markus himself!” He grew a little quiet. “I was at one reading, when I was a very young lad. To hear the tales of the great Markus, astride Hyrmaphridion, vanquishing the general of the evil forces of Arkenos, well . . .” He sighed. “It was a great day for a young gnome. Made me want to adventure! And, well, here I am!” His smile waned a little. “I’m no Markus, though. And there are no more Hyrmaphridions left. Just the evil dragons and the Knights that control them.” He grew wistful. “There will be no more such tales sung from our little moon. Ever.”
“You seem particularly sad about that,” she ventured.
“Don’t you wish to see a silver dragon, riding through the sky on wings of light, shining in the sun? Or to hear the wisdom of a golden dragon?” He looked up at her. “Those stories, well, they’re gone now, aren’t they. And we just have to make do.” He was whittling something with a small dagger, a piece of wood that he had been working on for about a week now. He held it up so she could see it in the firelight mixed with the greenish moonlight from one of Pressen’s other moons. Amara could make out that the top was a sinuous neck capped with a reptilian head. “Been trying to carve a silver dragon for a long time, but I can never get the little frill on its head right. Too difficult for someone as inexperienced at carving as I am.”
“Let me see,” she said. He handed the rough carving over. “I think you’ve got a good start. But how do you know what a silver dragon looks like?” She handed it back. “The frill looks too thin to me.”
He shrugged. “Not in the pictures I seen. Looks more for decoration than anything else. Not like the horns of a black dragon or the ridges of a blue.” Then he dropped the carving to the ground and glanced up. The guard nearby, an gruff old dwarf, was on watch duty. “Hey, Leorry, you see anything?”
The dwarf looked at him, an unfriendly stare. “No. There’s nothing out there.”
“Yes there is.” The gnome ran over and clambered up on the cart. He grinned, and it was a grim look. “Get up!” he yelled. “Fey panthers!” He pointed at Amara. “Get to the back and help your friends,” he said as he twisted his crossbow from where it rested on his hip and aimed a bit towards the back.
Now that he had pointed them out, Amara could indeed see a pair of creatures approaching the back of the caravan. She pointed at them. “There they are!”
Their cover blown, the creatures roared and began to charge towards the camp.
Rynn and Khaska both managed to get shots off, but they went wide. Rynn blinked. He could have sworn that his shot actually passed through the one he was targeting. Amara had more luck, though, and an Acid Arrow sped through the air and landed on one, coating its face with acid, which began to smoke. Ranna howled and began to growl as Rynn ordered her to “defend” him. Then the creatures were on them. They rushed into the light of the campfire, long, black creatures out of some nightmare. Spiked tentacles grew from their shoulders, long, sinewy things that lashed out at those nearby. One growled as it leapt at Jenika, who had positioned herself in front. The other dove straight at Khaska.
Jenika punched the thing in the side and it cried out in pain. Khaska drew his scimitar while the other creature’s attack grated against his armor. The cleric hammered the thing hard with his scimitar as two of the guards ran into the fray with him.
“Akle, where are you going?” came a voice. Leorry was yelling after the gnome, but the dwarf had grabbed his battleaxe and was approaching where the fighting was happening, towards the back of the carvan. Rynn had just a glance to see the gnome rushing fearlessly into the dark, sword drawn, screaming bloody murder before he turned back. The creatures were so huge that Rynn was able to continue to fire at them even as they grappled with his friends. One shot buried itself deep in the flank of one, but another went wide. The creatures’ tentacles lashed out, hitting and this time they were successful. Jenika was hit hard in the face, the sharp barbs tearing at the skin around her face and neck as Khaska took a blow in a gap in his armor. Two of the guards were also attacked, one ducking at the last second but another taking a hit to his side.
Amara’s Magic Missiles arced unerringly through the air, dodging the melee combatants to hit one of the creatures. Jenika tried to land a kick the face of the beast attacking her, but it was if the creature appeared one foot to the side suddenly, and the attack failed to connect as the creature bit down on one of the guards, latching onto his arm. But the guards attacking with Khaska managed to stab that creature a few times. It howled in pain and lashed out at them. Another of Rynn’s arrows hit it, and the creature snapped forward, blood-stained teeth snapping shut at the guard to its left. Rynn guessed that it was bleeding internally. The creature looked pretty haggard as two more Magic Missiles hit it, causing it to drop closer to the ground, clearly quite injured. The other fey panther hissed malevolently and began to move closer to its companion.
“There are more!” shouted one of the guards. And sure enough, just coming into the firelight were two more of the creatures. One of them, however, was clearly a juvenile, and was much smaller. Still, the creature was a good five or six feet long, and its spiked tentacles looked just as deadly.
Khaska glanced over to where Akle had now vanished, disappearing into the darkness around the other campfire. “Crazy gnome. Going to get himself killed!”
“Ranna! Attack!” Rynn ordered, pointing at the beast snarling at Khaska. The wolf growled once and snarled as she sprang towards the other creature. She snapped her jaws shut on empty air, though, clearly frustrated as the leg she thought she was attacking was not where it appeared to her. However, another arrow from Rynn and a casting of Magic Missiles dropped the creature to the ground. Khaska took a deep breath and a sigh of relief, but just momentary, as the other creatures were fast approaching, and Jenika was still in combat with her original combatant. The cleric ran over and cast Heal Moderate Wounds on the monk, who immediately looked better, though her attempt to stun her opponent was unsuccessful. The other guards also attacked the creature, but failed to land blows. Ranna’s jaw snapped shut again on empty air, but Rynn buried an arrow in its side.
The creature lunged at one of the guards and crushed his hand in its jaws. The man cried out as it worried his arm, but then another set of Amara’s Magic Missiles smashed into it, and the creature also dropped to the ground. That was just in time, for one of the other beasts arrived at melee range. Rynn immediately shifted targets as the creature landed in the middle of the guards, lashing out at them with its tentacles. One of the guards was caught right in the face, the tentacle latching on, lifting him up, then slamming him into the ground. The man staggered up, and Khaska reached a hand out and also healed him.
Rynn’s arrows went wide, and Jenika missed with her flurry of blows. A crossbow shot from Amara also flew off into the darkness. One of the guards connected with his sword, though all three of the others failed. The creature hissed, a kind of laughing heh heh heh as it attacked Leorry. However, it had no better luck than any of them. The juvenile, rushing into the fray, also missed with both of its tentacles, Jenika nimbly dodging out of the way of both of them.
There was a huge roar from off to the side, from where Akle had run off. It was followed by a bloodcurdling shriek, clearly from some animal. Khaska’s ears flattened. Whatever it was, it was big.
“Kill the big one!” Rynn shouted. First things first. Whatever was going on over there . . . hopefully Akle was okay . . . they had to deal with what was in front of them first. But just as that happened a wave of fear washed over all of them. They found their attacks stymied and their courage blunted. Each of them felt unsettled from the crown of their head to their very toes.
“What’s happening?” asked one of the guards. He fell and began to weep, as Leorry and the others simply dropped their weapons and ran. Amara noticed Eleanor jumping from the back of one of the carts—had she been hiding?—and also fleeing.
“Keep attacking,” Amara yelled. “It’s just a spell!” What was more interesting, noticed Rynn, was that the fey creatures also were affected. The juvenile howled and looked into the night, clearly shaken. Whatever the spell was, it wasn’t picky with what it influenced.
“Courage, my friends!” said Khaska. But he too was affected.
Nobody had hit the adult fey panther in the few seconds it had been in the camp, and that worried Rynn. He loosed more arrows as Ranna moved in to attack. Again, luck seemed to favor this beast. Khaska and Jenika both completely missed with their attacks, as did all of the guards. Rynn grimaced before loosing another pair of arrows. Only one hit, but Amara launched another Acid Arrow which began to burn the creature’s side. The creature gave much better than it got, lashing out with its tentacles. One of them smashed into the cowering guard who, with a shriek, dropped to the ground, blood pooling around him. Another tentacle slapped Khaska upside the head, also drawing blood, and the creature wheeled and clamped down with its jaws on Ranna, who howled with pain and snarled, attempting to bit back. There was more shrieking from the other side of the camp, followed by a wet tearing sound.
The juvenile, taking a look at all of them surrounding the adult, lunged towards Amara. The sorceress reflexively cast another pair of Magic Missiles at it, and they both struck home as it clamped down onto her arm and tore away, teeth shredding through her as she cried out in pain. Khaska grimaced, blood pouring down his face, and he slashed viciously at the adult beast in front of him. He succeeded in striking again, sending a spray of blood into the darkness. Jenika finally managed to strike the creature in the face. Twice. It hissed at her as the acid from Amara continued to eat away at its flank. Both of its tentacles lashed towards the monk, but Jenika again dodged one attack, smartly blocking the other just below the spiked pad that was aimed at her face. It went for her again with its jaws, she had clearly angered it, but it missed as an arrow from Rynn buried itself all the way to the fletching in the creature’s eye. Without a sound, it dropped to the ground, dead.
Only the juvenile remained. As the entire group whirled on it, it knew that it was in trouble and hissed. But, undeterred, it jumped into the fray. Jenika intercepted it and with a vicious kick that knocked its head up and a follow up uppercut to its throat, the monk dropped the creature unceremoniously before anybody else could even reach them.
There had been no sounds from the other side of the camp, and they couldn’t see what was going on. Despite his fear from that spell, Rynn grabbed up a fallen torch and began to run in that direction as Khaska moved to heal the fallen guard. Rynn was ahead of the others and was the only one who heard a great, slow throbbing. It almost sounded like wings beating? Suddenly the spell left all of them, and the ranger found himself able to breath easily again. The guards stopped their mad panic as they were running away full-tilt from the camp.
All of the sudden two objects came flying into the light. One of them was quite large, helping Rynn dodge it as it landed on the ground. The other careened across the ground before slamming into one of the carts with a crunch.
Rynn stared at the huge thing lying in front of him. It was the head of a fey panther, and it had been torn cleanly off. But this wasn’t like any of the four that had attacked them. It was enormous. Twice the size of any of the three adults. Its eyes were glazed over, one slightly shut, and its tongue lolled out, saliva dripping to mix with blood on the ground. The ranger whistled.
“Akle!” shouted Amara. “Quick, come heal him!”
“By Markus!” gasped Leorry, returning to the firelight. The gnome had been hurtled clear across the camp. His broken gnomish body lay now in a heap by the cart he had smashed into.
With a speed that surprised even him, Khaska bounded over to the cart and reached down to touch the little man. Akle instantly revived, sucking in a deep, yet still wet and rattling, breath and then spitting out some blood. “By the dark moon! What was that thing?”
“That thing?” asked Khaska.
“There’s another over here! He’s bleeding out!” cried Leorry. Sure now that the gnome would not die from his wounds, Khaska left Akle with a glance and also came over to heal the guard. The man also revived as the magic knitted his wounds together, but he was still quite injured. The cleric cast another healing spell just for good measure.
Rynn was approaching, still staring at the enormous creature’s decapitated head, but the ranger reached into his pack and pulled out a healing wand. “I can help.”
The flow of magic from the wand seemed natural to Rynn. He had known that he would be able to use it, but still, it was a new sensation for him to be channeling such energy, even through a tool. His skills as a ranger were growing, but the magic that came with his connection to nature was still fairly new to him. Akle waved him off. “I’m fine,” the gnome said, standing up. “See to the others.” The gnome was limping a little. Amara reached over for him, to support him, but he slapped her hand away. “I can walk, thank you very much!”
Rynn used the wand to heal all of the others up a bit as well, including Ranna, whose tongue lolled out as her master healed her. “What happened on your side of the camp?”
“I saw the fey beasties coming,” Akle said. “At least, I saw that big one. Couldn’t miss it. A beastlord. Decided to attack it.”
“You decided to attack the big one on your own?” Khaska’s ears perked up. He was clearly surprised.
“Yeah, well, had to try to hold ‘im off while you dealt with the others.” Akle was walking past the beastlord’s head, the others following.
“I think quiet would be the best,” said Jenika, trying to hide herself behind the fallen head. The thing was large enough that she could get some cover from it—it came up just past her waist. Rynn nodded as he put the wand away and nocked an arrow, moving towards where the sounds had been coming from slowly. Jenika slunk alongside him.
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“She’s not kidding,” said Eleanor, swallowing, where she was walking back from the other side of one of the carts. “What was that?” She was holding her arms around her. “I felt like a frightened kid, for no reason.”
“A spell of some kind,” said Amara. “I’m not sure from what.”
“Scared me half to death!” the bard said.
“Well, you weren’t exactly helping with the combat anyway,” said Amara. “Not even a bardic Inspire Courage?” Eleanor looked away sheepishly.
“Bring a torch,” said Rynn. Leorry grabbed a torch and lit it in one of the campfires, following, but clearly following at the back. The light didn’t give much illumination, but Rynn was able to see Akle’s tracks running off from the clearing, the tell-tale sign of brush and broken twigs and branches from the shrubs he had run through. “And then what happened?” the ranger asked.
“I was fighting the thing when suddenly something hit the two of us. Seemed to come from above. There was this awful smell, and then I couldn’t move. I got knocked out, and next thing I know I’m being healed by Khaska.”
Jenika looked like she was ready to bolt as they came upon the beastlord’s body. Blood pooled all around it. The creature had gashes in it; they looked like they were made by claws of some sort. Ranna sniffed at the air. Rynn himself was able to detect a faint, dissipating odor of something. He took a deep breath. Rain. It smelled like rain. “Don’t come any closer,” he said. “I want to look at the ground without all your tracks interfering.” He grabbed the torch from Leorry, confident now that whatever had killed this beast was at least not in sight anymore. Everybody with a bow had it out and ready, though, and there was an air of wariness about the gathered group.
Rynn carefully walked around the site several times until he was sure of what he was seeing. Akle’s tracks ran directly towards the beastlord’s, but then something else had entered combat with them, but whatever it was, it hadn’t come from the ground. There were no other tracks leading towards the site, just Akle’s and the beastlords’s. There were, however, other tracks at the site itself. Large ones. There was a particularly well-defined track moving towards where they had been fighting the rest of the pack. The look of the thing was vaguely reptilian, and enormous, twice the size of the beastlord’s. That was one of the advantages of looking at these tracks. There were clearly three kinds—Akle’s boots, the large pawprints of the beastlord, and then these enormous mysterious third ones. They were three-toed and had a long claw at the end of each toe. The blood trail from the decapitated head led to the edge of the combat zone, which was a disaster with uprooted dirt and shrubs and rocks strewn everywhere, where it then trailed off to where the head now lay. The mysterious footprints moved in that direction, but then abruptly stopped after the one well-defined one.
The ranger beckoned them over to look at it. “I’ve gotten what I can from the tracks. Come and look at this.” He pointed at the ground as Akle approached. The gnome gave a whistle. “And whatever hit me, made that! Wow.” He grinned. “I’s lucky to be alive, no?” Then he grinned. “So, we gonna follow the trail of the beasts? Go raid their lair? I bet they’ve got some good stuff for us there!”
“You’re not even worried about other things out there?” asked Rynn.
“Oh bah. Whatever it was, it seemed to me to save my hide and then vanished! I bet we’re in the clear.” Akle seemed much more confident about this than anybody else, even as Rynn explained what he had found in more detail to the rest of them.
“So, a reptilian creature appears to have flown in, killed the beastlord, then threw the head towards us . . .” Khaska began.
“And me!” Akle said.
“And Akle,” the cleric said, a small smile stealing across his face. “Then flew off?”
“Dragon,” said Amara. She was staring down at the large track.
Khaska thought for a moment, but could think of nothing he had heard of that fit the description. “If it were true, that would be disturbing,” said the cleric. “Either the Knights are not in control of all the dragons, as they profess, or they are clandestinely following our movements. I know of no other thing it could be.”
“You mean a Knight of the Silver Dragons saved me!” said Akle. “Wow. My lucky day! But,” he paused, “then why didn’t he stay around to help with the others?”
“It might have been a Yrthak,” Amara said. “They are quite large and reptilian, as well. But . . . They attack with sonic abilities. They detect by sound. We would have heard it. And it would be hunting to eat, not to just kill like what happened here. Or a wyvern, but we’re pretty far from any mountains.” She pursed her lips. “It had to have been a dragon. What we felt earlier, that was the Frightful Presence that adult dragons have. But . . . if it was one of the Knights, why would they not stay and help us with the others?”
“Do any kind of dragons smell like rain?” asked Rynn.
“Rain?” the sorceress queried.
“That’s what it smelled like over here. Ranna and I both smelled it.”
A darkening suspicion stole over Amara’s mind. Her brow furrowed and her mouth grew tight as her eyes widened.
“What?” asked Jenika. “What is it?”
“Amara, what kind of dragons smell like rain?” asked Khaska.
“Silver dragons.”
The entire group grew quiet. Akle was the first to speak up.
“A silver dragon? Balderdash! There hasn’t been one on our moon for hundreds of years. That’s absurd! Where has he been all this time? Hiding? Then for no reason he appears to save little ol’ me and then runs away!” He snorted. The gnome turned to Rynn. “Are you goin’ to come with me to find this lair or what?”
Khaska suggested that the more stealthy members of the party should go, and Rynn said that perhaps they should move the camp a mile or so, to avoid the scavengers that would undoubtedly be attracted to the corpses. In the end, Rynn and Akle found themselves alone, the rest of the group helping to move the caravan away from the battle site. The ranger found the tracks easy to follow, and a few miles away they came upon a depression in the earth, a bowl-like area surrounded by dense trees— the fey panther lair. Rynn was able to search out the area and determine that there were no other tracks than those that belonged to the five dead creatures, so the lair would be clear. And it was a good thing too.
“Well well well!” said Akle, rubbing his hands together. “We should have brought more people! We can’t carry all of this stuff ourselves!”
Indeed, strewn through out the lair itself was the detritus of many fallen caravans, dragged back here after a successful attack, including the bodies of some livestock. Rynn was looking at a quiver he had found. “We can bring them back in the morning. I don’t think any of this is going anywhere.”
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Back at the camp Khaska was examining the site of the battle. The site was taking on an almost religious significance to him now. A sighting of a metallic dragon! His mind reeled with possibilities. The rest of the group was preparing to move the caravan, but he had kept the torch and was slowly going over the site. Though he was not as skilled as Rynn, he knew enough woodcraft to be able to follow the signs after the ranger had pointed them out.
He mentally reviewed the events of the night. Akle had seen the fey panthers, and then run off. The battle. The screams and roaring from Akle’s location. Well, he assumed it was Akle’s location. They couldn’t actually see over there, the firelight didn’t extend that far. Then the gnome and the head had flown into the camp right after they finished their combat with the rest of the pack. The poor little guy had been pretty bloodied up and bruised. Why had he gone off like that? And now that Rynn had pointed the tracks out, he could read them quite clearly in the damp earth. Akle’s boots, the beastlord’s padded tracks, and the large imprints of the dragon. He paused, again. “Was it truly a silver dragon?” he asked aloud.
“That seems to follow,” came Amara’s soft voice. He jumped and looked at her. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. We’re about ready to move.” He nodded, casting about with the torch one more time. She followed the light over to where the one very well-formed track was. “I’ll bet it took off from here,” she said. “Headed towards us. They can cloudwalk, you know. Silver dragons.”
He glanced up towards the sky. It had been mostly cloudy all night. “So he could still be up there, watching us?”
“Or she.”
The cleric smiled. “Yes, of course.” Amara took a few steps forward, then cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted a phrase in draconic before bowing deferentially to the sky. Khaska looked at her quizzically. “What did you say?”
“A greeting to my kin.”
“Kin?”
“Do not forget that both Ziranethsrana and Keldarian said it was I who tripped the wards back in Hammerdine, at that the chapterhouse of the Knights. I am of draconic descent from . . . somewhere back in my ancestry. It may even be a silver dragon.” She touched her pale hair. In this light, he believed that she might have silver dragon ancestry.
“And you trusted what they had to say? Two evil dragons?”
“Rider Reitman said they could not do anything he did not want them to, and I do not think he wanted them to lie to me or give me false ideas about where my power comes from.” With that, she turned to walk back to the caravan, where Kirza could be seen flying circles around the gathering wagons. “Looks like they’re ready to move.”
Khaska swung back and circled the site of the battle one more time. He was searching for more clues about what happened, but he could find nothing else aside from the tracks of the three figures. Slightly dejected, he walked back to where the caravan was beginning to recede into the light. He could follow them by the bobbing and weaving of their torches. As he passed by the head of the beastlord, a thought occurred to him. Glancing at the beast’s mouth, he pulled it open. Glancing around inside it, he felt a twinge of excitement as something caught in its teeth reflected the torchlight brightly. He reached in and with a little effort, worked it loose.
His breath caught as he held up the blood-stained object. This was it. Irrefutable evidence. Almost reverentially, he wiped it off using a rag, holding it gently as if it were a bubble.
A silver dragon scale.
It glistened in the torchlight, a beacon of hope shining in his mind as well as in his eyes. Strong as metal, the scale was about the size of his hand.
He knelt in the grass, not caring that his armor was getting gore on it from the cooled blood pooled around the head. He raised the scale up to the heavens, tilting his head back after the manner of Maha’i prayer, and said a prayer to Teresh, thanking him for this experience, and swearing that he would treasure it and remember it, and keep this good omen safe.
Once more, again, he went through the events in his mind. Refreshed by Amara’s brief conversation, and the experiences he had had with Zira and Keldarian, whose humanoid forms were elven and halfling, respectively. It had been an unusual thing, to see such a small halfling morph into a huge ancient dragon. Keldarian’s natural form was even more impressive than Ziranesthrana’s was . . .
A suspicion settled over him, and he felt a chill of excitement run up and down his back, his hairs standing on end. What if Akle had been the silver dragon? It fit the facts. He would run away from the light sources, morph into his true form, fight and kill the beastlord, then throw the head towards the camp while changing back to his humanoid form. The cleric glanced over to where the little gnome and Rynn had vanished. It was a good thing he was alone. His shock and surprise would have been evident to any of the party or the guards. It took him a few minutes to gather his composure, but then he tucked the scale away in his backpack and followed the disappearing lights of the caravan.
It was about two hours later when Rynn and Akle came back into camp. The gnome was holding a bag which he promptly dumped partially out in front of the rest of them. Coins and jewels spilled out over the ground. “And there’s a bunch a stuff back there we couldn’t carry!”
The gnome cheerily sat down to begin counting as Rynn detailed the rest of what they had found to the lair of the fey panther pack. Amara volunteered to go tomorrow with her Detect Magic and the other Faatin Merchant House guards were most interested in whatever loot they could find.
With trepidation in his heart, while the others were discussing going to the lair in the morning, Khaska approached Akle. “Akle.” The gnome looked up from the money, where several neat stacks had appeared. “I have a matter that I wish to discuss with you, but I do not think it wise to do so in the camp.” The gnome looked at him quizzically for a moment, then finished counting out another stack and stood, wiping his hands on his trousers and following along.
Khaska walked a good forty or fifty yards away from the caravan, outside the firelight. Ears flat against his head, he was unsure how to begin.
“What’s on your mind, Khaska?” Akle asked.
The cleric took a deep breath, then plunged right to the heart of his questions. “Judging by the evidence from the scene, I have reason to suspect that there was a silver dragon that aided us against the attack of these fey creatures.”
Akle responded immediately. “Nonsense! Why would a silver dragon have helped us? Helped me? And why now? Why hide all these . . . centuries?” He looked right at Khaska. “I’s not buying it.”
In response, Khaska pulled out the silver scale. “I know there was a silver dragon there. I found this.”
Akle’s breath left him in a rush and his eyes widened. He took a step forward, shock evident on his face. It was several moments before he could speak. “By all that is holy!” he breathed.
“Furthermore,” continued Khaska, “I suspect that you might be that dragon. If you are, and desire your identity and nature to remain secret, I swear on my mother’s name that I will not reveal you to any other living soul, save you permit it.”
Akle’s face became unreadable for a moment, the normal joviality now completely absent. “Khaska, my friend, I wish it were so. But I’s not a dragon. Just a gnome filled with wanderlust.” He closed Khaska’s hand over the scale. “You keep it. But, my Maha’i friend, thank you for showing it to me. It give me hope.” He looked down at the closed hand, then took a deep breath and smiled as he turned to go back. Then he paused, and once again turned to face Khaska. His face had grown serious. “Maybe it does not give me hope, though. That is not the scale of a small dragon. That means its owner is older. But what do I know of such things?” He paused again, frowning. “Likes I say before, theres no sightings of metallic dragons for hundreds of years. Why? What does a silver dragon need hiding from?”
Khaska looked troubled. “I have no answer to that question.”
“Well, perhaps Amara can. Her familiar been spying on us this whole time. Right, Kirza?”
The familiar squawked from where it was hiding in the bushes and flew away, heading back towards the camp and Amara.
Khaska’s eyes narrowed.
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Rynn was helping carry the last set of the spoils from the lair in the morning. As Rynn came striding out of the lair, carrying a magic quiver and a shortbow and longbow, Akle was waiting, his arms also laden with a few spoils, including a rather nice painting of some skyships sailing in front of one of Pressen’s moons. “That it?” asked the gnome.
“It is. We’ve got it all.”
“Good. We should get moving. We get the rights to such finds, but still, no sense in hanging around more than we gots to.”
As they walked, Rynn wondered if he should ask Akle about the previous night’s events. The gnome’s actions had worried Rynn. The situation could very easily have gone differently and gotten him killed.
“Akle, I wanted to ask you about last night?”
“You too?”
Rynn stared at him blankly. The gnome rolled his eyes. “Khaska thought that I a silver dragon. Ha!” He clearly thought it was ridiculous idea.
“Oh. Well, are you?”
“No! Anything else?”
“I just wondered why you ran off alone last night. That was pretty dangerous.”
The gnome sniffed. “It was. But you know, I can handle myself. Wasn’t expecting to have a guardian of some kind watching over me. Still, I would have gave a good accounting of myself.”
Rynn wasn’t sure what to make of this statement. “You would? Against a beastlord? That thing was enormous. And you . . .”
“And I’m not?” Akle smirked at him. “Let’s just say I’s working a little under my pay grade as far as my fighting skills is concerned. I’m in it for the journeying and the wandering, not the money. The Faatinns pay well enough for these kind of jobs, but, well.” He smiled. “I could get higher paying jobs if I wanted. If you ever want to spar, Rynn, I’s be happy to put you on your butt. I do favor the crossbow, but I can hold my own with my sword, too.”
“I see,” replied Rynn with a smile. “My apologies then. I won’t second guess your battle strategy. Just do me a favor and don’t get yourself killed.”
“Heh. I’s no desire to die, Rynn.”
----------------------------------------
It was later that night that Khaska decided to share his discovery with the rest of the party. After dinner, as the guards were spreading out to sleep, the cleric pulled his friends aside.
“I wanted to show you all this. I discovered it last night, lodged in the teeth of the beastlord.” And with that, he pulled out the handkerchief from which he gently pulled out the silver dragon’s scale.
“Wow,” said Rynn. “So there really was a silver dragon last night. Akle said that you thought it was him.”
“It fit the facts, but he denys it. Just a well-traveled gnome,” said Khaska.
“And a good fighter,” said Rynn. “He claims he could have held his own, more or less, against the beastlord. May I?” He held his hand out towards the scale, which Khaska passed over to him. The ranger briefly inspected it. “It looks like the scale of a large dragon. Not a young one, or anything like that.”
“Wyrmling,” said Amara. “Young dragons are called wyrmlings.”
“A good omen, I would think,” said Rynn. “But why would a silver dragon take an interest in our caravan?”
“I cannot presume to know the mind of such a being,” said Khaska. “What worries me more is your observation that it is an old dragon. That means likely it has been alive for many, many years. Akle wondered what such a dragon would have need to hide from.”
“Adult dragons aren’t that difficult to kill,” said Amara.
“You must be joking,” said Jenika. “Dragons are extremely difficult to kill.”
“I said adult dragons,” Amara shot back. “Older dragons are the ones from legend. The ones that can lay waste to entire armies and have lived for centuries. All of the dragons enslaved by the Knights are at least old dragons, probably more. I think Keldarian is a great wyrm. They don’t get more powerful than he is.”
“So is this an adult dragon scale?” asked Rynn. “I don’t know much about such things.”
Amara furrowed her brow. “I would think at least a mature adult, maybe larger.”
“So hard to kill, like I said?” asked Jenika.
“Yes, yes,” the sorceress replied, a bit dismissively.
“So the question remains,” said Khaska, cutting the two women off. “Why would a silver dragon of such power have been hiding all these years? Centuries, even? Are there evildoers who threaten him, who would hunt him down and slay him?”
“Perhaps they fear being dominated by one of the Knight’s dragon orbs,” Amara ventured.
“Would the Knights do that?” asked Jenika. “I thought the orbs were out of necessity to control the evil dragons. Wouldn’t such a silver dragon naturally be allied with, you know, the Knights of the Silver Dragons?”
“Keldarian and Ziranethsrana were both worried about the forthcoming Dark Times, and whether they would survive,” said Amara. “Desperate for resources, the Knights might do so. Also, perhaps others would wish to steal the orbs for their own uses.”
“Whatever the reason,” Khaska said, “I think it prudent to not mention this to anybody. This dragon obviously wishes to remain hidden, and we should honor that wish.”
“Small price to pay for saving our lives,” said Rynn.
The party talked for a few more minutes, speculating and thinking about the ramifications of Khaska’s discovery. In the end, though, speculation, myth, and legend were really all they had. It had been well over six centuries since the remaining chromatic dragons had been enslaved, so information on how that all happened was scanty and second or third-hand. Khaska spoke with Amara more about it the remainder of their journey to Laishtek, but in the end were right back where they began. There was at least one silver dragon on the moon, and it had rescued them. Where it was, why it had been hidden, and its motivation for saving them, all these questions were mysteries. Khaska still harbored suspicions that Akle might have known more than he was letting on, and that he may very well be the silver dragon. But neither he nor Amara, who also watched the little gnome, found any reason to confirm their suspicions. Khaska still, subconsciously, treated Akle with an extra measure of respect. The gnome seemed to appreciate this genuinely, but didn’t venture any further comment about the silver dragon on the rest of their trip.