Malystryx shrieked angrily as the barren land streaked by beneath her. She flew high over the Desolation, the wind roaring in her ears. Far ahead of her lay the parched bones of the Kenderwood. A black, smoky finger stuck up from its midst, pointing defiantly toward the empty, blue sky. She stared at it balefully, knowing she looked upon the downfall of Kurthak the Black-Gazer’s horde. She knew, too, that the kender were still alive.
“Not for long, miserable wretches,” she sneered. “You have won nothing. I will turn your bones to ashes.”
She soared onward, the Kenderwood inching steadily closer.
His arms burning, Riverwind lowered himself toward the floor of the cavern. Eight feet above the ground, he lost his grip and fell, landing hard and grunting with pain. He lay on his back a moment, his chest heaving, then forced himself to stand.
“You all right?” Kronn called from above, his voice echoing hollowly off the walls of the cave.
Riverwind nodded weakly. “Yes,” he lied, his face contorting with agony as he clutched at his stomach.
“All right,” the kender declared. “Look out below. I’m coming down.”
Wrapping the rope about himself, he swung over the ledge and started to descend. He rappelled down, pushing off the cavern wall as he slid recklessly down the rope. In less than a minute he stood on the ground beside Riverwind, panting and flushed.
“Whew,” he said, grinning. “I forgot how dizzy that makes me.” He crouched down, clutching his knees as he cleared his head. After a moment he knelt, then plucked a small, leathery shard from the floor of the cave. He held it up as he stood, showing it to Riverwind. “Eggshell,” he said, and gestured across the floor. The edges of the cave were littered with such fragments. “Just like you said-she laid a whole clutch of them, then destroyed all but one.”
Together, they looked across the cavern at the ash-heap and the abomination nestled in its midst. “The strongest one,” Riverwind said.
They stood still for a moment, then exchanged determined glances. Kronn reached over his shoulder and drew his chapak from his back, smiling grimly. “All right,” he declared.
“Let’s be done with this.”
Riverwind and Kronn crept across the cavern floor. As he walked, the old Plainsman stole a furtive glance up at the ceiling. The cleft in the rock was empty. Squaring his jaw, he looked toward the egg.
It was even more repulsive up close than it had been from above. Its leathery shell gleamed dully, and it seemed to pulse as they approached. The stink of brimstone that hung about it was almost suffocating. The ash pile surrounding it rippled, and glints of light danced about it, faster with every step, bobbing like a multitude of golden will-o’-wisps.
They stopped at the edge of the ash pile. Riverwind reached to his belt, his fingers clasping about the handle of Brightdawn’s flanged mace. Drawing the weapon, he stepped forward.
The instant his foot touched the ashes, the flitting motes of firelight stopped moving. With a noise like a distant blast of wind, they blazed brightly and began to coalesce. He stared in horror as they gathered together, forming a lithe, wriggling shape.
The serpent was fifty feet long, and its red-gold scales glittered as it coiled protectively around Malys’s egg. Its hooded head rose above Riverwind and Kronn, baring a mouthful of long, needle-sharp fangs and hissing like water thrown on hot stones. Two bright, blood-red spots glowed malevolently in the depths of its eye sockets.
“Branchala shave me bald,” Kronn swore devoutly.
In an eyeblink, the serpent’s head surged down, toward Riverwind. He tried to leap away, but its jaws clamped fast around his right ankle, fangs sinking deep into his flesh. Gagging with pain, he swung Brightdawn’s mace, bringing it down on the serpent’s head. The blow bounced harmlessly off the monster’s skull. Then the serpent raised its head again, jerking Riverwind off the ground.
The old Plainsman flailed his arms in the air, hanging upside down from the fiend’s mouth. Beneath him, Kronn raised his chapak and struck at the serpent’s body with all his might. Its scales turned the blow harmlessly aside. Tightening its grip on Riverwind’s leg, the serpent began to shake him violently, frying to snap his spine.
Riverwind fought ferociously, battering the serpent with his daughter’s mace. Each blow was strong enough to crush a man’s ribs, but the serpent ignored them completely, continuing to thrash him back and forth. At last the mace fell from Riverwind’s hand, landing with a puff in the bed of ashes. He continued to struggle, beating at the serpent with his bare fists.
Kronn swung his chapak again and again, trying to penetrate the serpent’s scales. Every time, the axe glanced off harmlessly-until, finally, an errant swing grazed part of the serpent’s soft underbelly. Burning blood dripped from the wound.
Kronn glanced at the wound, then looked up at Riverwind. The serpent was still shaking the Plainsman, who had gone limp in its jaws. Furiously the kender raised his chapak high and buried its head deep in the serpent’s throat.
The first blow didn’t kill the monster, nor did the second or the third. Kronn struck the serpent’s throat again and again, like a lumberjack trying to fell a tree. The monster’s blood scorched Kronn’s skin, but the kender ignored the pain and continued to chop at the serpent.
Kronn cleaved the monster’s flesh a dozen more times, laying open its innards. At last, it stopped shaking Riverwind, then slumped over and died.
The old Plainsman lay motionless, his ankle still clamped in the serpent’s jaws. Then he raised his head and looked at Kronn, his hair and clothes dusted with fine, powdery ash.
Kronn breathed a sigh of immense relief. “How bad are you hurt?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Riverwind answered, staring at his wounded leg. “I can’t feel anything below my knee.”
Together, they pried open the serpent’s viselike jaws. Blood welled from the old Plainsman’s leg as the monster’s fangs pulled out of his flesh, but he did not wince or moan. As soon as he was free, the serpent’s shimmering body turned dull black, then crumbled into a shapeless heap of soot.
“I should have known Malys would put a ward on this place,” Kronn muttered, angry with himself. “She’d want to protect her egg.”
The serpent’s teeth had shredded Riverwind’s leather boot, then had done the same to his skin. The flow of blood, strong at first, was choked off by the rapid swelling of the wound. Working quickly, Riverwind drew his dagger and cut off his pantleg at the knee. The wound darkened, the flesh surrounding it puffing up until it was the size of a kurpa melon. At last, however, it ceased to swell, though it continued to throb angrily, oozing thin trickles of blood. Kronn stared at it, sickened, as the old Plainsman extended his hand toward him.
“Kronn,” Riverwind said plaintively, “help me stand.”
It was difficult-Riverwind could barely bend his knee, and his numb foot had trouble supporting his weight-but Kronn took the Plainsman’s hand and pulled him upright. Plowing a furrow in the ash pile as he dragged crossed the cavern floor. He stopped when he reached the rope, then turned. The Plainsman still faced him, smiling.
“Goodbye, Riverwind,” Kronn said, his voice trembling.
“Farewell, Kronn-alin. You have been a good friend.”
Swallowing, Kronn turned toward the cavern wall. He slung his chapak across his back, grasped the rope with both hands, and began to climb.
Riverwind watched him ascend, his face grave. It took the kender several minutes to reach the ledge. Finally, Kronn scrambled nimbly onto the stone balcony, looked down at the cavern floor, and waved his arm above his head. Riverwind raised his hand in reply. Then Kronn was gone, walking swiftly back down the obsidian tunnel.
Sighing, the old Plainsman turned back toward the egg. He looked at it silently for nearly a minute, then crossed the warm ash pile, walking swiftly to its side. “Goddess give me strength,” he whispered. “Guide my hand.”
Slowly, deliberately, he raised Brightdawn’s mace high above his head. He held it poised a moment, then swung downward, striking the egg’s ruddy shell.
The Kenderwood was very close, only a few scant miles away. Malystryx glared down at it, her blood burning with hate. She could see Kendermore clearly now, still blazing brightly in the midst of the wide, lifeless meadow. Beyond it, still far in the distance, her keen eyes spotted the fleeing kender, shadows flitting westward through the skeletal woodland.
“You will not escape,” she hissed at them. “I will make this forest a holocaust. You will die screaming my name.”
Her wings pumping mightily, she began to rise, gaining altitude so she could swoop down on the Kenderwood and blast it with her breath. The ground fell away beneath her.
Then, suddenly, a violent shock jolted her, nearly knocking her from the sky.
She fell a thousand feet before she recovered enough to move, then struggled to keep herself aloft. Her wings strained, the membranes snapping taut, as the Desolation spun up toward her. Finally she arrested her fall, flapping to put empty air between herself and the ground. Blood pounded in her ears, and she screamed balefully, her head snaking about to gaze upon the burning mountain, many leagues behind her.
With great effort she focused her mind, reaching toward Blood Watch. Yovanna, she thought. Someone is with the egg. Protect it.
Yovanna’s mind eluded her, however. She reached out, searching, but she soon realized her servant was dead-and then she knew that the fire serpent she had set to guard her nest was dead too. The egg was unprotected.
Another shock hit her, and she dropped again. This time, however, she recovered quickly, then rose higher. A bright star of rage burning within her, she turned back the way she had come, streaking away from the tinder-dry forest. The kender fled behind her, forgotten.
The egg would not break. Again and again Riverwind struck it, Brightdawn’s mace rising and falling as he beat a cadence of frustration upon its shell. Though its surface looked and felt like stiff leather, it was as hard as iron, refusing to crack even when he swung the bludgeon with both hands. His arms blazed with pain from the exertion, and he fought valiantly to keep from losing his balance as his benumbed leg tried to give way beneath him. The mace’s flanges bent, and its head began to loosen as he pounded. A loud, thunderous boom sounded with every blow.
“Give, damn you!” he snarled through clenched teeth. He could sense Malystryx’s wrath bearing down on him, growing with every hammering stroke. She would be here soon, emerging through the rift, thirsting for his blood. If the egg didn’t break before then, he would fail.
He could not-would not-let that happen.
Shouting incoherently, he brought the mace up with both hands and slammed it down with all his might. The force of the blow knocked him off his feet, sending him sprawling. The mace flew from his hand as he fell, its haft splintered. He writhed on the ground, gasping for breath, for long moments before he found the strength to turn his gaze toward the egg.
A long fissure marred the shell. Thick green ichor seeped from it, darkening the ashes where it dripped.
Riverwind stared at the crack a moment, then heaved himself upright and stumbled toward the egg. Steel rang as he jerked his sabre from its scabbard. Carefully, he wedged the sword’s tip in the fissure and leaned upon it hard. The membrane within the shell resisted for a long moment, then yielded. His sabre slid into the egg.
Green, sticky albumen spewed forth, soaking his anus. It stank of brimstone and putrescence, but he fought back his rising gorge and kept his grip on the hilt of his sword. Singlemindedly, he sawed the blade back and forth, slitting open the egg along the length of its shell. Then, weakened by his efforts, the shell burst, breaking open and drenching him from the chest down in slime. The ichor poured over the ashes, soaking them. Riverwind’s sabre trailed strings of albumen as he jerked it out of the egg.
Then, ulcerating out of the ruined egg like suppuration from a festering wound, the embryo slid free. It landed with a wet smack at his feet.
He stared at it, gagging with disgust. The baby dragon was nearly four feet long, from nose to tail, but it was completely helpless, not yet fully formed. Its body was shriveled and dark, shaped like a tadpole that had just begun to turn into a frog. Its legs and wings were useless stumps; its eyes were large and dark, covered by thin, ruddy membranes; its mouth gaped wide, revealing a single, barbed egg tooth. The baby wyrm twitched wretchedly, fighting to stay alive. Riverwind sank to his knees beside it, his guts wrenching with nausea.
At that moment, a deafening scream rang out from beyond the shaft in the cavern’s ceiling.
Red fury filled Malys’s mind as she dove toward Blood Watch. The last shock had wracked her body, filling her mind with pain. The egg, she knew, was destroyed. Her child was dying, helpless, and she couldn’t save it.
But she could avenge.
The volcano loomed before her, incredibly close. She spread her wings wide, slowing her descent slightly. Then the stone trembled as she landed next to the entrance to her nest. Moving with crazed purpose, she climbed into the shaft and began to wriggle through it toward her lair. Scales tore from her body as she slithered, ripped loose by jagged stones, but she ignored them, pulling herself along with claws that shredded the rock like loose earth. She heaved herself forward until she saw the dim orange glow of firelight beneath her. Snarling, she took the last fifty yards to the end of the shaft at a single lunge.
She caught herself at the lip of the shaft, talons driving like pitons into the stone. Her head snaked downward, her golden eyes flaring with rage as she stared down at the floor of her nest, far below. She saw the ash pile, stained green by the egg’s juices. She saw the egg, split nearly in half and dripping with slime. She saw the embryo, quivering miserably on the ground. And then she saw the old Plainsman, kneeling beside the baby dragon’s side, sword in hand. He looked up at her, his lips curling into a victorious smile.
Malystryx shrieked, shaking Blood Watch to its very roots.
Riverwind only heard the first few seconds of the dragon’s screech, then the noise burst his eardrums, deafening him. Pain roared in his head, but he kept his eyes fixed on Malystryx. She clung to the rocks high above, her mouth open wide. An avalanche of stone showered out of the rift as the shaft behind her collapsed from the force of her rage.
I was wrong all those years ago, Riverwind thought as he stared up at her. Death’s wings aren’t black at all. They’re red as the vanished moon.
Suddenly, the dragon’s mouth snapped shut. The mountain continued to tremble beneath Riverwind for a long time. Malys glared at him, unreasoning hatred in her eyes. The dragonfear was horrifically intense, clawing at his sanity. He swayed as it beat down upon him but fought it off valiantly. Glaring up at the enormous wyrm, he reversed his grip on his sabre so its blade pointed downward, then raised it high in both hands. He held the sword poised for an instant, then drove it downward, through the helpless embryo’s breast. With one last, miserable shiver, the baby dragon died. He let go of the sabre, leaving it buried in the embryo’s stilled heart.
Her eyes shining ferociously, Malystryx hunched her shoulders and sucked in a long, deep breath. Not taking his eyes off her, Riverwind reached beneath his fur vest and locked his fingers around the Forever Charm. He yanked, and the medallion’s chain snapped as he pulled it from around his neck. He squeezed its two interlocked circles, feeling their steel edges cut his flesh. Blood welling between his fingers, he thrust his fist above his head.
“Goldmoon,” he whispered as flames surged up the dragon’s throat.
Kronn-alin Thistleknot waited for hours, crouching low on the ridge opposite Blood Watch. The mountain shook again and again as Malystryx thundered her rage, deep within its heart. A gout of smoke spewed from the volcano’s caldera, and rivers of glowing lava poured down into the valley below. Sheets of stone broke loose from its sides, smashing to pieces as they struck the ground.
Finally, around dusk, the noise and the tremors died away. Blood Watch fell silent. The dragon did not emerge.
Kronn stayed where he was a short while longer. Then he rose and walked away, toward the setting sun.