Dragonlance 09 - Dragons of the Hourglass Mage (4 page)

No one lived in that part of the great city. No one ever went there. Raistlin had never been there, but he knew the way well. He turned a corner. At the end of the empty street, surrounded by a ghastly forest of death, rose a tower of black, silhouetted against a blood-red sky.

The Tower of High Sorcery of Palanthas. The accursed Tower. Blackened and broken, the crumbling building had been vacant for centuries.

None shall enter save the Master of Past and Present
. Raistlin took a step toward the Tower, then stopped. “Not yet,” he murmured. “Not yet.”

He felt a cold and corpselike hand brush his cheek, and he flinched away.

“Only one of us, young magus,” said Fistandantilus. “Only one can be the Master.”

he gods of magic, Solinari, Lunitari, and Nuitari, were cousins. Their parents formed the triumvirate of gods who ruled Krynn. Solinari was the son of Paladine and Mishakal, gods of Light. Lunitari the daughter of Gilean, God of the Book. Nuitari was the son of Takhisis, Queen of Darkness. From the day of their birth, the cousins had formed a strong alliance, bound together by their dedication to magic.

Eons earlier, the Three Cousins gave to mortals the ability to be able to control and manipulate arcane energy. True to form, mortals abused their gift. Magic ran amok in the world, causing terrible destruction and loss of life. The cousins realized that they must establish laws governing the use of the power, and thus, they created the Orders of High Sorcery. Ruled by a conclave of wizards, the order established laws regarding the use of the magic that strictly controlled those who practiced the powerful art.

The Tower of High Sorcery in Wayreth was the last of the five original centers of magic on Ansalon. The other three towers, those
located in the cities of Daltigoth, Losarcum, and Istar, had been destroyed. The Tower of Palanthas still existed, but it was cursed. Only the Tower of Wayreth, located in the wayward and mysterious Forest of Wayreth, remained active and very much alive.

Since people tend to fear what they do not understand, wizards trying to live among ordinary folk often found life difficult. No matter whether they served the God of the Silver Moon, Solinari, or the God of the Dark Moon, Nuitari, or the Goddess of the Red Moon, Lunitari, wizards were generally reviled and mistrusted. Small wonder that mages liked to spend as much time as possible in the Tower of Wayreth. There, among their own kind, they could be themselves, study their art, practice new spells, purchase or exchange magical artifacts, and enjoy being in the company of those who spoke the language of magic.

Before the return of Takhisis, wizards of all three orders had lived and worked together in the Tower of Wayreth. Black Robes had rubbed elbows with White Robes, waging debates related to magic. If a spell component required the use of cobweb, was it better to use cobweb spun by spiders in the wild or those raised in captivity? Because cats pursued their own secret agendas, did they make untrustworthy familiars?

When Queen Takhisis declared war upon the world, her son, Nuitari, broke ranks with his cousins for the first time since the creation of magic. Nuitari loathed his mother. He suspected her flatteries and promises were lies, yet he wanted to believe. He joined the ranks of the Dark Queen’s army, and he took many of his Black Robes with him. The wizards of Ansalon continued to present a united front to the world, but in truth, the orders were being torn apart.

The wizards were ruled by a governing body known as the Conclave, which was made up of an equal number of wizards from each order. The head of the conclave during such turbulent times was a white robe wizard named Par-Salian. In his early sixties, Par-Salian was deemed by most to be a strong leader, just and wise. But given the rising disorder among the ranks of the wizards, there were those who began to say that he had lost control, that he was not fit for the job.

Par-Salian sat alone in his study in the Tower of High Sorcery at Wayreth. The night was cold, and a small fire burned in the grate—a real fire, not a magical one. Par-Salian did not believe in using magic for the sake of convenience. He read by candlelight, not magical light. He swept his floor with a plain, ordinary broom. He required everyone living and working in the Tower to do the same.

The candle burned out, and the fire dwindled, leaving Par-Salian in darkness, save for the glow of the dying embers. He gave up trying to study his spells. That required concentration, and he could not concentrate his mind upon memorizing the arcane words.

Ansalon was in turmoil. The forces of the Dark Queen were perilously close to winning the war. There were some glimmerings of hope. The meeting of the Whitestone Council had brought together elves, dwarves, and humans. The three races had agreed to set aside their differences and unite against the foe. The Blue Lady, Dragon Highlord Kitiara, and her forces had been defeated at the High Clerist’s Tower. Clerics of Paladine and Mishakal had brought hope and healing to the world.

Yet for all the good, the mighty force of the dragonarmies and the terrifying threat of the evil dragons were arrayed against the Forces of Light. Even now, Par-Salian waited in dread for the news that Palanthas had fallen …

A knock came on the door. Par-Salian sighed. He was certain it was the news he feared to hear. His assistant having long since gone to bed, Par-Salian rose to answer the knock himself. He was astonished to find his visitor was Justarius, the head of the Order of Red Robes.

“My friend! You are the last person I expected to see this night! Come in, please. Sit down.”

Justarius limped into the room. He was a tall man, strong and hale, except for his twisted leg. An athletic youth, he had been fond of participating in contests of physical skill. All that had ended with the Test in the Tower, which had left him permanently maimed. Justarius never spoke of the Test and he never complained about his injury, other than to say, with a shrug and a half smile, that he had been most fortunate. He might have died.

“I am glad to see you safe,” Par-Salian continued, lighting candles and adding wood to the fire. “I thought you would be among those battling the dragonarmies in Palanthas.”

He paused in his work to look at his friend in dismay. “Has the city already fallen?”

“Far from it,” said Justarius, seating himself before the blaze. He positioned his injured leg on a small footstool, to keep it elevated, and smiled. “Open a bottle of your finest elven wine, my friend, for we have something to celebrate.”

“What is it? Tell me quickly. My thoughts have been filled with darkness,” said Par-Salian.

“The good dragons have entered the war!”

Par-Salian stared at his friend for long moments; then he gave a great, shuddering sigh. “Praise be to Paladine! And to Gilean, of course,” he added quickly with a glance at Justarius. “Tell me the details.”

“Silver dragons arrived this morning to defend the city. The dragonarmies did not launch their anticipated attack. Laurana of the Qualinesti elves was named Golden General and made leader of the forces of Light, including the Knights of Solamnia.”

“This calls for something special.” Par-Salian poured wine for them both. “My last bottle of Silvanesti wine. Alas, there will be no more elven wine from that sad land for a long time, I fear.”

He resumed his seat. “And so they have chosen the daughter of the elf king of Qualinesti to be Golden General. The choice is a wise one.”

“A politic one,” said Justarius wryly. “The Knights could not settle on a leader of their own. The defeat of the dragonarmies at the High Clerist’s Tower was due in large part to Laurana’s courage and valor and quick thinking. She has the power to inspire men with both words and deeds. The knights who fought at the Tower admire and trust her. In addition, she will bring the elves into the battle.”

The two wizards lifted their glasses and drank to the success of the Golden General and to the good dragons, as they were popularly known. Justarius replaced the silver goblet on a nearby table and rubbed his eyes. His face was haggard. He settled back into his chair with a sigh.

“Are you well?” Par-Salian asked with concern.

“I have not slept in many nights,” Justarius replied. “And I traveled the corridors of magic to come here. Such a journey is always wearing.”

“Did the Lord of Palanthas ask for your help in defending the city?” Par-Salian was astonished.

“No, of course not,” said Justarius with some bitterness. “I was prepared to do my part, however. I have my home, my family to protect, as well as my city, which I love.”

He lifted his goblet again, but he did not drink. He stared morosely into the dark, plum-colored wine.

“Come, out with it,” said Par-Salian grimly. “I hope your bad news does not offset the good.”

Justarius gave a heavy sigh. “You and I have often wondered why the good dragons refused to heed our pleas for help. Why they did not enter the war when Takhisis sent her evil dragons to burn cities and slaughter innocents. Now I know the answer. And it is a terrible one.”

He was silent again. Par-Salian took a drink of his wine, as though to brace himself.

“A silver dragon who calls herself Silvara made the horrible discovery,” Justarius said. “It seems that years ago, sometime around 287 AC, Takhisis ordered the evil dragons to secretly creep into the lairs of the good dragons as they slept the Long Sleep and steal their eggs.

“Once their young were in her possession, Takhisis awakened the good dragons to tell them that she intended to launch a war upon the world. If the good dragons intervened, Takhisis threatened to destroy their eggs. Afraid for their young, the good dragons took an oath, promising that they would not fight her.”

“And that oath is now broken,” said Par-Salian.

“The good dragons discovered that Takhisis had broken
her
oath first,” Justarius replied. “The wise have speculated as to the origin of the so-called lizardmen, the draconians …”

Par-Salian stared at his friend in horror. “You don’t mean to tell me …” He clenched his fist. “That is not possible!”

“It is, I am afraid. Silvara and a friend, an elf warrior named Gilthanas, discovered the terrible truth. Through the use of dark and unholy magic, the eggs of the metallic dragons were perverted,
changed from dragons into the creatures we know as draconians. Silvara and Gilthanas attest to this. They witnessed the ceremony. They barely escaped with their lives.”

Par-Salian was stricken. “A terrible loss. A tragic loss. Beauty and wisdom and nobility transformed into hideous monstrosities.”

He fell silent. Both men knew the question that must be asked next. Both knew the answer. Neither wanted to speak it aloud. Par-Salian was Master of the Conclave, however. The discovery of the truth, however unpleasant, was his responsibility.

“I notice you said that the eggs were perverted through the use of unholy magic and dark magic. Are you saying that one of our order performed this monstrous act?”

“I am afraid so,” Justarius said quietly. “A Black Robe named Dracart in conjunction with a cleric of Takhisis and a red dragon devised the spells. You must take swift action, Par-Salian. That is why I came here in all haste tonight. You must dissolve the Conclave, denounce the Black Robes, cast them out of the Tower, and forbid them from ever coming here again.”

Par-Salian said nothing. His right fist unclenched, clenched again. He stared into the fire.

“We are already suspect in the eyes of the world,” Justarius said. “If people find out that a wizard was complicit in this heinous act, they would rise against us! This could well destroy us.”

Still, Par-Salian was silent.

“Sir,” said Justarius, his voice hardening, “the god Nuitari was involved in this. He had to be. He sided with his mother, Takhisis, years ago, which means that as head of the Black Robes, Ladonna must be involved, as well.”

“You don’t know that for certain,” said Par-Salian sternly. “You have no proof.”

He and Ladonna had been lovers, back in the past, back in their youth, back in the days when passion overthrows reason. Justarius was aware of their history and he was careful not mention it, but Par-Salian knew his friend was thinking it.

“None of us have seen Ladonna or her followers for over a year,” Justarius continued. “Our gods, Solinari and Lunitari, have made no secret of the fact that they were dismayed and angered when Nuitari
broke with them to serve his mother. We must face facts, sir. The Three Cousins are estranged. Our sacred brotherhood of wizards, the ties that bind us—white, black, and red—are severed. Already, Ladonna and her Black Robes may be poised to launch an assault against the Tower—”

“No!” Par-Salian said, slamming his fist on the arm of the chair, spilling the wine.

Par-Salian, with his long, white beard and quiet demeanor, was sometimes taken for a weak and benign old man, even by those who knew him best. The head of the Conclave had not attained his high position through lack of fire in his blood and belly, however. The heat of that fire could be astonishing.