Chapter 1

IN THE BEGINNING, there were dragons … or … maybe not. …

Every author starts out as a reader, generally a voracious one. I was no exception. The moment I learned the written word, I devoured one story after another. I read mysteries, science fiction, humor, and more, but what most fascinated me was epic fantasy … and what fascinated me most in epic fantasy was dragons.

It probably helped that I was heavily into dinosaurs, too—that’s another story—but whatever the overall reasons, my initial story attempts had to include dragons … but not just big, lumbering, fire-breathing beasts. Oh, those were handy, but I liked my dragons a bit different. Yes, they were intelligent and yes, they were shapeshifters—things done in the past and that will continue to be done in the future—but I didn’t just seek to make their society and hierarchy different. The truth is …

Well, that’s, hopefully, for another volume.

so it seems like everyone is getting bored so i should better start the story...

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BELOW, TOWARD THE great Tyber Mountains, they came. Some in pairs, some alone. Fierce dragonhelms hid all but the eyes; eyes that, in most cases, burned bloodred in the coming darkness. Each was armored in scaled leather, but anyone testing that protection would find it stronger than the best of mail. Flowing cloaks, like wild specters of the night, made the riders appear as if they were flying and, in truth, any onlooker would have believed such were possible for these men.

If men they were.

Eleven they numbered, gradually coming together in one group. There were no words of acknowledgment or, for that matter, the simple nod of a head. They were known to each other, and they had traveled this way countless times for countless years. Sometimes their numbers were different, but the path had always been the same. Though each counted the others as his brethren, feuding was common among them. They thus rode silently for the entire journey, ahead of them the Tyber Mountains, stretching to the heavens, beckoning.

At long last, they reached the first of the mountains. Here appeared to be an end to their travels. No path wound through the mountains; rather, the road ended abruptly at the base of one of the largest of the leviathans. Nevertheless, the riders made no attempt to slow. They seemed intent on charging into the very earth itself. The mounts did not question their masters, but merely pursued their course as they had always done.

As if bowing to their defiance, the mountain seemed to melt and shift. The impregnable barrier of nature disappeared, and a vast path now led through. The riders, ignoring this fantastic act, continued on at their hellish pace. The horses snorted smoke as they passed the barrier, but showed no sign of fatigue. This journey was nothing to their kind.

Through twisting and turning road they moved. Icy trails and treacherous ravines did not slow the group. Again, though things not of man’s world hid and watched, the riders were not hindered. Few creatures would be so foolish as to confront them, especially knowing the travelers’ nature.

Quickly looming up was the great sentinel of the Tyber Mountains, Kivan Grath. Few humans had ever seen it up close, and fewer still had ever attempted to climb it. None had ever returned. Here the path led. Here the riders came. They slowed their animals as they neared the great Seeker of Gods, as its name translated. At its base, they stopped and dismounted. They had reached their goal.

Buried in the mountain was a great gate of bronze that seemed as ageless as the land. It towered over the onlookers, and on the face were carvings ancient and undescribable. One of the riders walked up to it. Beneath his helm were eyes like frost. What little of his face that was visible was also white. Grimly, he raised his left arm, fist clenched, and pointed it at the gate. With a groan, the huge, bronze door slowly opened. The pale warrior returned to his companions. The riders led their mounts inside.

Torches provided the only light inside the cave. Much of the cavern was natural, but the work in expanding it would have left even the hill dwarves overwhelmed. It made little difference to the riders; they had long stopped paying attention to their surroundings. Even the sentries, only shadows, but ever present, were ignored.

Something dark and scaled and only barely humanoid crawled up to the riders, its clawed, misshaped hand outstretched. Each of the cloaked travelers turned his horse over to the servant.

The riders entered the main cavern.

Like some resplendent but ancient temple, the citadel of their host gave forth a feeling of tremendous power. Effigies of human and inhuman form stood here and there. All were long dead, and even history had forgotten their kind. Here, at last, did the riders show some measure of respect. Each knelt, one at a time, before the great figure seated before them. When all had done so, they formed a half circle, with their host before them.

The serpentine neck arced. Gleaming eyes surveyed the group. A bloodred tongue lashed out momentarily in satisfaction, the tremendous, membraned wings stretching out in full glory. Despite the dim light, the gold sheen of the dragon’s scaled body completed a picture of pure majesty, befitting the king of his kind. Yet there was just the slightest note of some-thing akin to insecurity. Whether the others noted it or not was hidden in their own thoughts.

In a voice that was a hiss, yet caused the very room itself to vibrate slightly, the Gold Dragon spoke.

“Welcome, brethren! Welcome and make this home yours!”

Far spread apart, each of the riders became blurred, as if they had become nothing more than illusion. Yet they did not disappear. Rather, they grew; their bodies became like quicksilver, their shapes twisting. Wings and tails sprouted, and arms and legs became clawed, leathery appendages. The helms melted into the faces of their wearers until they had, in actuality, become the faces. Mouths spread back into maws, rows of long, sharp teeth glistening in the dim light. All traces of humanity disappeared in the space of a minute.

The Council of the Dragon Kings came to order.

The Gold Dragon nodded. As emperor, King of Kings, he was pleased to see that the others had followed his command so readily. He spoke again, and this time smoke issued out as he did.

“I am pleased that you could make it. I feared that some of you might have let emotions overrule you.” He stared momentarily at the Black Dragon, monarch of the sinister and deadly Gray Mists.

The Black Dragon did not speak, but his eyes blazed.

The Emperor of the Dragon Kings turned his attention to the nearest of his brethren. The Blue Dragon, more sea serpent than land creature, bowed his head in respect.

“The council has been called due to the request of the master of Irillian by the Sea. He notes strange happenings and wishes to discover if such events exist in the lands of his brothers. Speak.”

Sleeker than most of his kind, the Blue Dragon resembled a race animal, his movements fluid, as was appropriate for a being who spent much of his life in the seas of the east. The smell of salt and fish filled the room as he spoke. A dusty, tan dragon, Brown, wrinkled his nose. He did not share his brother’s fondness for the sea.

“My liege. Brethren.” He studied all around him, especially the Black Dragon. “In the years gone by, my domain has been very placid. The humans have remained quiet and my clans have had good hatchings.”

This time there was a grunt from the Brown Dragon, who was lord of the Barren Lands in the southwest. Since the end of the wars with the Dragon Masters, he had seen his clans decrease. Most claimed it was the work of the self-styled Masters themselves, but no one was sure what sorcery the warlocks had used in their attempt to defeat the Kings. They had caused the Barren Lands, but whether they had caused the loss of fertility in the Brown clans was open to speculation in private. Brown was still the fiercest of fighters.

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