Dragons of a lost star by Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman

Author:Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman [Weis, Margaret & Hickman, Tracy]
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy, General, Fantasy - General, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Krynn (Imaginary place), Fantasy fiction, Fiction - Fantasy, Fantasy - Series
ISBN: 9780786927067
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast
Published: 2002-03-01T05:00:00+00:00

He had been proud of his people in that moment and in the sorrowful moments that came after. Mates parted, one to go with the children, the other staying behind. Those remaining kissed their children lovingly, held them close, bade them be good and be obedient. As Gilthas told his people no lies, the elven parents told their children none. Those staying behind did not promise that they would see their loved ones again. They bade them do only one thing: Remember. Always remember.

At Gilthas’s gesture, the elves who had been in hiding slipped out from the shadows of the trees, whose leafy boughs had provided them protection from Beryl’s searching eyes. The forest had been quiet with the coming of the dragon, animal noises hushed, bird song silenced. All living things crouched, trembling, until Beryl had passed. Now that the dragon was gone, the forest came alive. The elves took their children by their hands, assisting the elderly and the infirm, and slid and slipped down the sides of a narrow ravine. The tunnel’s entrance was at the bottom, concealed by a lean-to made of tree branches.

“Hurry!” Gilthas motioned, keeping watch for the dragon’s return.

“Hurry!”

The elves hastened past him and into the darkness of the tunnel beyond, where they were met by dwarves, who pointed out the way to go. One of those dwarves who was gesturing and saying in Elvish, “Left, left, keep to the left, mind that puddle there,” was Tarn Bellowsgranite, King of the Dwarves. He was dressed as any dwarven laborer, his beard caked with dirt, and his boots covered in mud and crushed rock. The elves never guessed his royal stature.

The elves looked relieved at first when they reached the safety of the dark tunnel and they were glad to duck inside. As they confronted the line of dwarves, pointing and gesturing for them to move deeper below ground, relief changed to unease. Elves are not happy below ground. They do not like confined places. They like to see the sky above their heads and the branching trees and breathe the fresh air. Below ground, they feel stifled and closed in. The tunnels smelled of darkness, of black loam and the gigantic worms, the Urkhan, that burrowed through the rock. Some elves hesitated, glanced back outside, where the sun shone brightly. One older elf, whom Gilthas recognized as belonging to the Thon-Thalas, the elven Senate, turned around and started to go back.

“I can’t do this, Your Majesty,” the senator said to Gilthas in apology. He was gasping for breath, his face was pale. “I’m suffocating! I’ll die down there!”

Gilthas started to reply, but Tarn Bellowsgranite stepped forward, blocked the senator’s path.

“Good sir,” said the dwarf, cocking one eye at the elf senator, “yes, it’s dark down here and, yes, it smells bad, and, yes, the air is not the freshest. But, consider this, good sir.” Tarn raised one grubby finger. “How dark will it be inside the dragon’s belly? How bad will that smell?”

The senator looked down at the dwarf and managed a wan smile.

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