Dragons of Fate

Chapter One

Dalamar the Dark was centuries distant from those who had been stranded in time by the destruction of the Device of Time Journeying. Yet he had them on his mind as he left the office of Astinus carrying the shattered remains of the Device in a black velvet sack.

He kept seeing over and over the moment when he had entered the Artifact Room in the Great Library of Palanthas at Astinus’s bidding to find the monk, Brother Kairn, standing motionless among the wreckage of the Device. The floor was littered with debris: cogs, wheels, jewels, metal shards, a broken chain.

“I ordered him not to move until you arrived,” Astinus had told Dalamar, “to see if you could salvage it.”

“But what happened to those who traveled with Brother Kairn? Lady Destina and Tasslehoff?” Dalamar had asked, aghast. “Where are they? What of the Graygem of Gargath the lady wears?”

“Brother Kairn returned alone,” Astinus had replied, maddeningly dispassionate.

Dalamar had used his magic to gather up the fragments of the Device and place them in this bag. Astinus had given him permission to take the remains of the Device to Justarius, head of the Conclave, to determine if it could be repaired and to tell Justarius about the catastrophe that had left four people and the Graygem of Gargath stranded in time.

Dalamar first returned to his own tower, the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas, to make certain all was well. His Shalafi, Raistlin Majere, was purportedly stranded in time. Knowing Raistlin as he did, Dalamar would not have been surprised to find his Shalafi once more master of the tower, and he was relieved when the Black Robes who guarded it reported nothing amiss had occurred in his absence.

“I am traveling to the tower of Wayreth,” Dalamar told them. “Close the magical portals to all except me. No one is to leave or enter.”

Having no idea how long he would be gone or what dangers he might face, Dalamar replenished his spell components and selected a variety of magical scrolls with spells that could be cast swiftly and at need.

As he worked, he considered reporting what he had learned about the whereabouts of the Graygem to the gods of magic. They knew Chaos was roaming the world, but nothing more. And the other gods did not know that much. The gods of good and those of evil all believed the Graygem was still in hiding, as it had been for thousands of years.

If Astinus was the god Gilean, as some believed, he alone knew it had gone back in time, yet Dalamar had no fear Astinus would intervene. He never intervened, but merely recorded what he saw as he sat with his hand on the Sphere of Time. When the world ended, the last sound would be the scratching of Astinus’s pen.

“Better if I deal with this disaster quickly and quietly without divine interference,” Dalamar said to himself.

He did not have time to send word to Justarius that he was coming. Walking the paths of magic, Dalamar arrived at the tower of Wayreth without warning and the sudden appearance of the master of the tower of Palanthas materializing in their entry hall threw the guardian mages into confusion and alarm.

Every master refurnished the tower to suit himself or herself. Since mages came from all over Ansalon to take their Tests at the Tower of High Sorcery in Wayreth, Justarius had designed the entry hall to be welcoming. Tapestries celebrating magic lined the walls. A rug carpeted the cold marble floor. The guardian mages were playing at khas on a board they had set up, when Dalamar’s arrival triggered the warning bell that sounded throughout the tower. The two guardians jumped to their feet, ready to defend their posts. Both immediately recognized Dalamar, who was the only elf archmage to ever take the black robes.

“I must speak to Justarius,” said Dalamar.

The guardians sent for the chief apprentice. Once she recovered from her shock, she approached him.

“Master, this is an unexpected—”

Dalamar cut her off. “I must speak to Justarius on a matter of the utmost urgency.”

“I fear the master is not here, sir,” the apprentice told him. “He has traveled to his home to dine with his wife and their new baby daughter.”

“Fetch him,” said Dalamar. “Now.”

“Yes, Master. Right away, Master.”

She escorted Dalamar to one of the antechambers where the students usually waited to take the Test. The small room was furnished with chairs and a table where nervous applicants could study their spells. Dalamar had forgotten until the apprentice mentioned dinner that he had not eaten all day. The apprentices served him bread with clotted cream and honey and brought a flagon of elven wine. By the time he had finished his meal, Justarius had returned.

Justarius was in a good mood following his visit with his family, but when he saw Dalamar’s expression, his pleasure evaporated.

“What has happened?”

Dalamar glanced about. The apprentices had disappeared, leaving the two alone. But the walls have ears, especially in magical towers, and he did not want to say more than necessary. “The Graygem.”

Justarius was grave. “We will go to my quarters. We can speak in private there.”

He escorted Dalamar to his private chamber.

People were always amazed that two men who were so vastly different and should have been sworn enemies were, in fact, extremely good friends. Both were dedicated to the magic and to the gods they served.

Justarius was a human in his early fifties who wore the red robes of those dedicated to Lunitari, the neutral goddess of the red moon. He walked with a crutch, for his Test in the Tower had left him crippled in body, though stronger in spirit and resolve. He was still hale and fit. Only the few strands of gray in his hair and beard gave evidence of his age.

Dalamar was a Silvanesti elf with black hair and almond eyes. He wore the black robes of Nuitari, the god of the dark moon. He was over a hundred years old and in the prime of his life. Acting as a spy for the Conclave, Dalamar had served Raistlin Majere after his Shalafi had claimed the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas. Raistlin had discovered his betrayal and Dalamar still bore the marks of his Shalafi’s wrath on his flesh.

The master’s quarters were designed for comfort rather than elegance, with several large, overstuffed chairs that were cozily shabby. The walls were lined with shelves of books. Justarius placed a warding spell on the door and, leaning on his crutch, turned to his companion.

“You spoke of the Graygem. You have news?”

“The worst possible,” said Dalamar grimly. “Lady Destina and the Graygem have traveled back in time to the Third Dragon War. Tasslehoff Burrfoot is with her, as are Sturm Brightblade and Raistlin Majere—both men very much alive. That is the bad news. This is what makes bad news worse.”

He placed the velvet bag on a table and opened it.

“Look inside.”

Justarius peered into the bag and saw a rod, two orbs, a chain, myriad jewels, and bits and pieces of broken metal. Justarius stared at the objects in what appeared to be confusion, then he realized what he was seeing and looked up at Dalamar in horror.

“Is that—” Justarius couldn’t finish.

“The Device of Time Journeying,” said Dalamar. “Or, rather, it was the Device. Right now, it is a collection of junk. It blew apart, leaving those who went back in time stranded.”

Justarius gaped at him, bereft of speech.

Dalamar sighed and ran his hand through his long black hair. “I was hoping you and I might be able to repair it. If so, we could send someone back to rescue them.”

“We can try to fix it,” Justarius said, but he didn’t sound hopeful. “Let us take it to my laboratory.”

The laboratory was the beating heart of the Tower of High Sorcery. Here mages conducted experiments to create new spells or worked to perfect or enhance old ones. The walls were lined with metal shelves containing jars and bottles and cannisters of spell components, all neatly labeled and placed in alphabetical order. Since the risk of fire was high, given the nature of some of the spells, no spellbooks were kept within the laboratory, although they could be brought inside. Those who worked or studied here sat on metal stools.

The familiar smell of spell components enveloped Dalamar as he entered: pungent spices, acrid chemicals, drying herbs, and the sickening smell of decay. He glanced swiftly about. He did not expect to see any secret experiments—Justarius was far too careful for that. But he might gain some idea of the field of study the archmage was pursuing. He saw nothing of interest, however.

Apprentices working in the laboratory jumped to their feet in respect when the two masters entered. Justarius ordered them away, shut the door, and cast a locking spell on it.

Dalamar carefully emptied the bag onto a marble worktable whose smooth surface contained no runes or any other symbols of magic that might interfere with the magic of the Device.

Justarius gazed in dismay at the pile of glittering jewels, the numerous tiny cogs and small wheels, the chains and orbs. “Did you find all the pieces? Is this everything?”