Crossroads 04 - The Dragon Isles (39 page)

 
          
The
Temple
of the Sky was an elegant structure,
beautiful even with driving rain bouncing off its marble surface. A circular
colonnade surrounded a round hole in the temple’s floor. In the center of the
hole stood a carved pillar, scribed in an ancient language that Mik could
neither read nor recognize. Glowing orange light shone up from beneath the
pillar through the treasure piled high in the yard-wide pit surrounding the
column’s base. Diamonds, gold, silver and gems brimmed to the top of the
hole
—ancient offerings to the gods of Krynn.

 
          
The
radiance seeping up through the treasure echoed the volcanic glow on the far
side of the temple. The mountain’s great crater yawned just beyond the edge of
the structure: natural destruction waiting at the edge of civilized creation.
Fiery red light shone up from the lava in the heart of the mountain.

 
          
Atop
the pillar, amid the glowing treasure, rested the massive blue-white diamond
Mik had seen in his visions. It was twice as large as a man’s skull and cut to
faceted perfection. It shone with blinding brightness as the key drew near.

 
          
Mog,
key in hand, loped toward the diamond. Slender bolts of lightning danced from
the key to the surface of the great gem. Mog grunted with each electrical
flash.

 
          
Mik
darted forward, his feet nearly skidding across the rain-slick marble, an angry
scream on his lips. He aimed a deadly cut toward the back of the dragonspawn’s
neck.

 
          
Mog
spun and brought up his brass spear, holding the weapon with one hand. He
parried the scimitar, and the sword’s blade slid down the shaft of the
dragonspawn’s spear.

 
          
Mik
flicked his blade to the left, off the spear, and cut a long gash in Mog’s
right arm. The dragonspawn shrieked and swung his spear at the sailor’s head.
Mik ducked and thrust. The point of his sword struck the bejeweled key,
knocking it from Mog’s hand. The key scudded across the floor, stopping just
short of the silver stairway.

 
          
Tempest’s
minion roared with anger. Seizing his brass spear with both hands, he charged
at Mik. The sailor stepped nimbly aside, but his boot slipped on the temple’s
wet flagstones. He skidded across the chamber, nearly falling into the
treasure-filled pit surrounding the great gem. His head dangled over the edge
of the floor, and the light from the huge diamond dazzled his eyes. He felt the
heat of the volcano on the back of his neck.

 
          
Mog
stabbed at him, but Mik rolled aside just in time. He kicked the dragonspawn in
the legs, and Mog toppled backward and slid toward the edge of the stairs. Trip
had to dodge out of the way as he reached the top of the staircase, and the
dragonspawn nearly bowled him over.

 
          
“The key, Trip!”
Mik called. “Grab the key!”

 
          
The
kender reached down and picked up the artifact I while Mog struggled to right
himself. Before Trip’s small fingers could close around the key, though, Mog
swung his bronze spear and swatted the kender’s hand.

 
          
The
key flew through the air and bounced down die stairs and into the landing below
the temple. It tumbled across the rain-soaked plaza toward the final stairway
leading to the raging surf.

 
          
Just
as it neared the precipice, Benthor Kell stabbed out his hand and seized it.
Battered and bloody, Karista Meinor rose to her feet beside the brass lord. Benthor
Kell held the key tight, feeling the power throbbing within. Behind his bronze
helmet, a smile of triumph broke over his handsome face.

 
          
As
he and Karista gazed at the key, the ocean surged, and Tempest rose from the
depths once more.

Friends & Foes

 
          
As
the sea dragon broke the surface, her dragonspawn troops swarmed up the sides
of the volcano and into the
Temple
of the Sky. Though not as clever or powerful as Mog, these six
creatures still possessed sharp fangs and claws, as well as cunningly crafted
weapons.
In each of them burned their mistress’ unquenchable
thirst for blood.

 
          
Trip
didn’t spot the dragonspawn until they were almost upon him. With a startled
cry, he hopped away from the temple’s perimeter, keeping his daggers between
himself and the new menace. The Trip didn’t notice as Mog rose behind him and
aimed his spear at the kender’s back.

 
          
Mikal
Vardan scrambled to his feet and raced to his friend’s side. He turned aside
Mog’s thrust barely in time,
then
batted aside a
sword-cut from a second dragonspawn that had meant to disembowel him.

 
          
Mik
surged forward, slashing with his scimitar, driving
 
the enemy back. The dragonspawn
scrabbled across the wet flagstones, slipping and cursing. Mik smiled; these new
dragonspawn were clumsy on land.

 
          
Then
he noticed the dragon rising from the sea below the temple.

 
          
*
* * * *

           
Tempest towered above the waves,
gazing down at the brass-armored lord and the aristocrat. The Turbidus leeches
ringing her neck wriggled like obscene snakes waiting to be fed. Slime and gore
fell from the dragon’s scaly lips. The reflected glory of the
Temple
Key
flashed in her baleful yellow eyes.

 
          
Benthor
Kell drew his short sword. “Sell your life dearly,” he whispered to Karista.

 
          
“I
will,” Lady Meinor replied.

 
          
The
aristocrat pulled her dagger and plunged it into Kell’s breast, just below his
brief armor.

 
          
The
brass lord spun, stunned horror on his face.

 
          
Karista
pulled out the knife and pushed him away. As Kell toppled backward, she
snatched the bejeweled key from the shocked lord’s grasp.

 
          
Lord
Kell tumbled down the stairs and came to rest at the edge of the surf. Waves
washed over his prostrate form, staining the sea with his blood.

 
          
Karista
Meinor held the key to the
Temple
of the Sky high above her head. Slowly, she climbed the steps toward
the
Temple
above. The dragon kept her yellow eyes
fixed upon the blood-spattered aristocrat.

 
          
“S-see, my mistress?”
Karista cried. “Even without the
leech, I
still
do your will.”

 
          
*
* * * *

           
Ula’s tears mingled with the brine
as she searched the dark waters for the body of her friend.

 
          
Was
Shimmer dead?

 
          
If
so, she would avenge him.

 
          
She
spotted his body on a plaza below, nearly at the bottom of the silver stair. He
lay unmoving, the coral lance still protruding from his side.

 
          
“Shimmer!”
she cried, swimming down to him and kneeling on the coral flagstones.

 
          
His
orange eyes flickered open. “It’s a good thing,” he gasped, “that Lady Meinor
is no warrior.”

 
          
“She’s
near enough to have killed you,” Ula said, examining his wound. It was deep,
possibly fatal.

 
          
“Pull
out the lance,” he said.

 
          
Ula
shook her head. “It could do you more harm that good.”

 
          
“You
must,” Shimmer replied. “It is powerful. Not a dragonlance, hut perhaps enough
... to wound a sea dragon.” He shuddered and struggled for breath. “Tempest is
here; I feel her presence. Karista called her. Tanalish and the other dragons
are too far away.
You
must stop
Tempest.” He winced again, and his orange eyes dimmed. “Pull out the lance!” he
gasped.

 
          
Ula
gritted her teeth and took hold of the weapon’s long shaft. “Ready?” she asked.

 
          
“Never
.. .
readier
.”

 
          
With
a swift jerk, she pulled the lance from Shiman- loreth’s side.

 
          
Shimmer
groaned and clamped his armored hands over the bleeding wound. His blood turned
the water around them black.

 
          
“I’ll
get some seaweed to bind that,” Ula said.

 
          
“No
time,” he replied. “Go!”

 
          
Ula
nodded once, then turned and swam for the surface, not daring to look back lest
she lose the will to leave her old friend behind.

 
          
The
sea elf rose from the raging surf at the foot of the long staircase. She fought
against being toppled by the crashing waves and sucked back into the deep by
the undertow.

 
          
With
a final desperate heave, she pulled herself onto the silver stairway.

 
          
The
sea dragon towered out of the ocean nearby, poised like a serpent ready to
strike. Ula hunched down, fearing that Tempest might see her. The monster’s
attention was fixed, though, on the stairs below the temple, where Karista
Meinor held up the glowing key.

 
          
Ula
noticed people fighting within the temple, though she could not identify the
combatants through the rain and stormy darkness.

 
          
She
spotted the bloody form of Lord Kell, lying prostrate on the stairs nearby. She
knelt beside him, and was surprised when his eyes flickered open.

 
          
“Help
me . . . !” he gasped, fumbling to remove his enchanted helmet.

 
          
Ula
reached up and unfastened the brass and crystal headpiece from Kell’s armor. He
was pale—deathly so—and blood trickled from his lips.

 
          
“Thank
.. .
you
,” he murmured.

 
          
“Did
Karista do this?” she asked.

 
          
Kell
nodded. “The dragon controlled her at first, but— even after . . . her lust for
wealth and
power
. . . her fear of
death ... was too great. Too late for me ... I’m afraid,” Kell gasped. “You
must
. ..
protect
the isles.”

 
          
Ula
nodded grimly. “Karista and the monster will pay for what they’ve done. I’ll
see to that.”

 
          
He
nodded at her weakly, but said nothing.

 
          
Ula
stalked away from him up the stairs toward where Karista Meinor stood trying to
supplicate the dragon. The sea elf kept to the shadows as best she could she
could, to avoid attracting the dragon’s attention.

 
          
A
moment later, Benthor Kell rose and shambled after her.

 
          
*
* * * *

           
Mik turned, slashing and darting,
trying not to slip on the wet marble flagstones of the temple, trying to
protect Trip’s back. Seven against two was not good odds, even without the
dragon waiting below.

 
          
He
tried not to think about the fate of his friends. Kell and Shimmer were gone,
Kell’s guards dead, and the lost gods only knew where Ula was.

 
          
Anger
festered within Mik’s belly for all that this treasure quest had cost him. He
parried a blow aimed at Trip’s back and gutted the dragonspawn attacking his
friend. Stinging rain washed the gore from the sailor’s skin. The roaring
thunder and the crashing surf echoed the blood pounding in his ears.

 
          
A
slimy talon sneaked in under Mik’s guard, shredded his sopping shirt, and
traced a long gash across his ribs. Mik spun and sliced the offending claw from
its owner’s arm. The wounded dragonspawn screamed and tumbled off the temple
courtyard, over the cliff-like face of the volcano and into the whitecaps.

 
          
Trip
fought valiantly, but his sea serpent cloak slowed him out of the water. More
than once, he barely avoided being skewered on a dragonspawn’s spear.

 
          
“We
have to get the key from Karista before the dragon does!” Mik yelled.

 
          
“Too
late!” said Trip.

 
          
As
he spoke, Tempest spewed
a huge
gout of boiling steam
upon the aristocrat. Karista’s skin blistered and peeled away from her flesh in
long ribbons. Her eyeballs exploded, and she toppled to the ground, the meat
sloughing from her bones. The temple key landed with a soft plop in the middle
of the pool of bubbling ooze that had once been the most powerful merchant in
Jotan.

 
          
Tempest
laughed, her booming voice shaking the heavens. She began to dwindle and
change, shrinking—as Shimmer and Tanalish had done—until she stood only a foot
or two larger than a man.

 
          
Her
skin was pale, greenish, and slightly scaly. Writhing Turbidus leeches and dark
green seaweed dangled from her head—living hair, covering the decrepit curves
of her body. Her yellow eyes blazed with hatred. She sprang from the raging sea
and settled gently onto the steps below the temple.

 
          
Tempest
reached down, and her clawlike hand seized the key to the
Temple
of the Sky.