than a
 gnome,  I have  been the  Keeper. I  have never  seen outside
 these walls, save what I spy by the  doors and  windows." His
 broad pupils narrowed. "Do  you ever  question the  tenets of
 the  Knights'  Oath  or  Measure?  After  all,  the  Order of
 Solamnus was not revived after the Cataclysm."
 Sturm  folded his  arms across  his chest.  "If you  are well
 read,  then you  know the  Cataclysm was  not caused  by any-
 thing the knights did. They  accepted the  blame of  the com-
 mon  people, as  all preservers  of order  must do  when that
 order breaks down. Where did the Micones come from?"
 "They  were  created  to serve  me. The  Lunitarian tree-folk
 did not prove reliable." Cupelix flicked out his tongue. "Are
 you in love with the woman, Kitiara?"
 Cupelix's  pointed  query  threw  Sturm  off  guard.  "I have

 some affection for her, but  I'm not  in love  with her,  if you
 understand   the   difference."   The   dragon   nodded,  human-
 fashion.   Sturm   continued,   "So   the   tree-men   and   the
 Micones  were  created  in  succession  as  your  servants,  the
 tree-men being a failed effort. Who created them?"
   "Higher  powers,"  replied  Cupelix  evasively. "This  is won-
 derful! I wish people had  come to  Lunitari centuries  ago! But
 hark  now: If  you're not  in love  with the  woman, why  is she
 so   predominant  in   your  thoughts?   Behind  many   of  your
 spoken thoughts is an image of her."
   Drops  of  sweat  broke out  on Sturm's  face. "I'm  very con-
 cerned  about  her.  The  magical   force  that   pervades  this
 moon  has   invested  her   with  enormous   physical  strength.
 Her  temper  has  sharpened,  too.  I  worry  about   the  power
 getting control of her."
   'Yes, magic can cause problems. I studied Stutts, Birdcall,
 and Flash as the power changed them. It was most interest-
 ing.  So   the  woman   has  become   very  strong?   That  must
 "complicate  your  feelings.  I've  never yet  heard of  a human
 male who relished a female being stronger than he."
   "That's  ridiculous!  I don't  care -"  Sturm halted  his out-
 burst. Blast that sly  dragon. He  was deliberately  probing for
 a sore point.
   "My  turn  to  ask  something,"  Sturm  said.  "Why   does  a
 powerful,  magic-using  dragon  like  yourself   need  servants?
 What can they do that you can't?"
   "I cannot leave the obelisk; isn't that obvious? The door and
 windows are far too small to permit me to pass through."
   "Ah,  but  a  skillful  magic-user  could  overcome  a problem
 of mere size."
   Cupelix's  tail  swept  back,   thwack!  against   the  marble
 wall.  "I'm  not  allowed to  leave. I  cannot pass  the windows
 or  door,  and  have  not  been  able  to  break,  cut  or  bore
 through the  walls, nor  magic them  aside. I  am Keeper  of the
 New Lives, and such is my lot until darkness claims me!"
   "What new lives?"
   "All in good time, Sir Knight. A more pressing matter
 engages my attention: the matter of my freedom."
   'You need us to get you out," Sturm said.
   A wisp of fine vapor trickled from the dragon's nostrils.

 "Yes, I need you. Only  clever machines  can release  me from
 this stifling prison. Tree-men could not  do it.  The Micones
 will not. The  gnomes can.  You shall  have your  flying ship
 when I am free."
   The  vaporous  threads   thickened  until   they  enveloped
 Sturm. He felt the strength drain from his limbs. His eyelids
 drooped....  A  sleeping  mist!  Sturm's  legs   buckled.  He
 mumbled, "No magic, you said."
   "Not magic,  exactly," Cupelix  said soothingly.  "Merely a
 soporific  vapor  I  have  at  my  disposal. My  dear fellow,
 you're so full of suspicions. This will help you.  Sleep, and
 you will not remember  this distressing  conversation. Sleep,
 rest, dream. Sleep. ъest. Dream. Forget...."

 * * *                            * *

   Kitiara  woke  up.  She  had  that vaguely  troubled feeling
 that  often  went with  a sudden  return to  consciousness, as
 though  she'd  been  having  a  bad  dream  that  she couldn't
 remember.  She  was  lying  on  the  deck  of the  dining room
 aboard  the  Cloudmaster.  Below,   the  gnomes   snored  with
 the  regularity  of  a   water-driven  mill.   Kitiara  combed
 through her short curls with her fingers.  Her skin  was clam-
 my, and her hair damp with sweat.
   Outside,  the  air  was  cool. She  inhaled deeply,  but her
 breath  caught  when  she  saw  Sturm  lying  crumpled  on the
 stone  floor  some  yards  away.  Kitiara  hurried   down  the
 ramp  and  ran  to where  he lay.  Sturm breathed,  strong and
 steady, soundly asleep.
   Kitiara  became  aware  that  she  was  being  watched.  She
 whirled  and saw  Cupelix lying  on his  side along  the lower
 ledge. His neck was bowed and he held his tail off  the stone.
 When  he  saw  that  she  saw  him,  his  tail  came  down and
 began to twitch from side to side in a very feline manner.
   "When  did  this  happen?" she  asked, gesturing  to Sturm.
   "A  short time  ago. It's  not a  natural sleep,"  said the
 dragon.
   "He's been having  visions since  coming to  Lunitari. We've
 all been affected by the magic here."
   "Truly? Visions of what?" Kitiara firmed her lips, unwilling

  to  say.  "Come,  my  dear.  Master  Brightblade  has  no secrets
  from you, does he? A man always tells his lover of his dreams."
    "We are not lovers!"
         "That sounds definite. I see I'm guilty of inferring too
  much.  No  matter.  He has  told you  what he  visualizes, hasn't
  he?"
    She shrugged. "Scenes of home, on Krynn. His father,
  mostly, whom he hasn't seen in twelve years."
         Cupelix let out a dragon-sized sigh that swirled dust in
  Kitiara's face. "Ah, Krynn! Where  once thousands  of my
  kind lived, to fly the broad skies in absolute freedom!"
    "You've never been to Krynn?"
    "Alas,  never.  My  entire span  of days  has been  spent with-
  in the stone walls of this structure. Sad, isn't it?"
    "Confining, at any rate."
    The tip of Cupelix's forked tongue flickered out. 'You're
  not afraid of me, are you?"
    Kitiara lifted her chin. "Should I be?"
    "Most mortals would find me awesome."
    "When  you've  been  around  as  much  as   I  have,   you  get
  used  to  new things.  That, and  the fact  that those  who can't
  adjust quickly die."
    "You're a survivor," said Cupelix.
    "I do what I can."
    The  black  tongue  protruded  farther.   "How  did   you  hurt
  yourself?"  asked  the  dragon. Kitiara  described the  sled ride
  down the  cliff. "Ho,  ho, I  see! Very  clever, those  gnomes. I
  can heal your hurt."
    "Can you really?"
    "It's simply done. You'll have to remove the wrapping."
    Why  not?  Kitiara  thought.  She  fiddled  with the  knot that
  Sturm had tied, but  couldn't untie  it with  her left  hand. She
  pulled her dagger and slit the linen with a few deft strokes.
    "The mail, too," said Cupelix.
    She  raised  one  eyebrow  but  put  the  point  of  the dagger
  under  the  rawhide lacing  on her  shoulder. The  slightly rusty
  mail  peeled  back.  Kitiara  pulled  her  shirt off  her injured
  shoulder, exposing a hideous purple-black bruise.
    "Come  closer,"  said  Cupelix.   She  stepped   forward  once,
  and  was  prepared  to  go  farther,  when  the dragon  swung his

 head  down  on  his   long,  supple   neck.  The   black  tongue
 lanced  out,  just  barely  touching the  bruised area.  A shock
 jolted  through  Kitiara.  Cupelix  flicked  his  tongue  again,
 and a harder shock rocked her back on her heels.
   Cupelix reared back. "Done," he said.
   Kitiara ran  her hand  over the  site of  the sprain.  Not a
 trace  of  discoloration  or soreness  remained. She  worked her
 right arm around in a wide circle and felt no twinges.
   "Wonderful!" she exclaimed. "Many thanks, dragon!"
   "It  was  nothing. A  simple healing  spell," he  said modestly.
   Kitiara stretched  luxuriously. "I  feel like  a new  woman! I
 could best a hundred goblins in a fair fight!"
   "I'm  glad  you  are  pleased,"  said  Cupelix. "The  time may
 soon come when you can repay the favor."
   She stopped in mid arm-swing. "What is it you want?"
   "Good company, some philosophy, and words  with heat
 in them. Small things."
   "So talk to me. I have time to spare."
   "Ah, but the life of a mortal is a star falling from the heav-
 ens.  I  have  lived  twenty-nine hundred  years in  this tower.
 Can you  converse for  even half  that time?  A quarter?  No, of
 course  you  can't.  But  there  is a  way to  help me  do these
 things to the end of my days."
   Kitiara folded her arms. "And that is?"
   "Free  me  from this  obelisk. Set  me loose,  that I  might fly
 to Krynn and live as a dragon should!"
   "Men  and  elves would  try to  slay you."
   Cupelix said, "It is a  chance I  would willingly  take. There
 are great changes in the offing, deep stirrings  in the  tide of
 heaven.  You  have  felt  them   yourself,  haven't   you?  Even
 before you flew here,  didn't you  notice a  new tide  rising in
 the affairs of Krynn?"
   Fragments  of  thought  came  back  to  Kitiara.  Tirolan  and
 his elves on the high seas, in direct defiance of  their elders.
 ъobbers   and   wicked   clerics  plundering   the  countryside.
 Strange    bands    of    warriors    -    monstrous,    inhuman
 warriors  - crossing  the land,  intent on  some mission.  And a
 word muttered by the elvish seamen: Draconians.
   "You see it, don't you?"  asked Cupelix  softly. "Our  time is
 coming again. A new age of dragons is about to begin."

                   Chapter 21

                  Wood to Burn

      As Kitiara pondered Cupelix's words, Wingover
 appeared, yawning, at the ship railing.
 "G'morning!  When's  breckfiss?" he  asked, thick-tongued.
 "You ate not five hours ago," Kitiara chided.  She slipped
 her shirt and mail back on her shoulder.
 ъoperig and Fitter stood in the hull door. ъoperig's hand
 was still firmly fixed to  his apprentice's  back. "Hello,
 dragon!" he said heartily.
 "Hello!" added Fitter.
 "Did you sleep well, little friends?" asked Cupelix.
 "Very well indeed, thank you. I - We thought we might
 go outside and take in a bit of fresh air," said ъoperig.
 "Stay  close,"  Kitiara  warned.  "Every  time one  of you
 gnomes does something on his own, he ends up putting us to

 no end of trouble."
    ъoperig  promised  not  to  stray, and  Fitter had  no choice
 but to agree. They strolled to the door of the obelisk in hilar-
 ious  misstep.  Small  cyclones  of  wind  swirled  through  the
 hollow interior of the obelisk. Kitiara  realized that  this was
 Cupelix  laughing.  She  couldn't  resist; small  chuckles burst
 out of her and changed to full-fledged guffaws.

 * * * * *

    Sturm  braced  himself  on his  arms and  shook his  head. He
 heard   laughter.   His   head   cleared,   though   his  memory
 seemed adrift in fog. He got to  his feet,  turned to  the sound
 of laughter, and was bowled down by ъoperig and Fitter.
        Kitiara hauled the gnomes off Sturm and held them up at
 arm's  length.  "What's  the  matter  with  you two?  Didn't you
 see Sturm standing there?"
    "But-but-but," stuttered Fitter.
    She shook them. "Well, out with it!"
    "It was an accident, Kit,"  said Sturm,  getting to  his feet
 once more. Poor Fitter was running in midair, his short legs
 churning. Kitiara set the gnomes on their feet.
    "Tree-men!" ъoperig exploded. "Outside!"
    "What! How many?"
    "See for yourself!"
    They  rushed  to  the  door.  Even as  Sturm appeared  in the
 outer opening, a red glass spear  hit the  pavement in  front of
 him  and shattered  into a  thousand razor-sharp  slivers. Kiti-
 ara  grabbed  him  by  his  sword  belt  and  hauled   him  back
 with one hand.
    "Better stay back," Kitiara suggested.
    "I  can  keep  myself out  of harm's  way." Sturm  pressed close
 to the right wall and peered  out. The  valley floor  around the
 obelisk  was thick  with tree-men  - thousands,  if not  tens of
 thousands  of  them.  They  began   to  hoot,   "Ou-Stoom  laud,
 Ou-Stoom laud."
    "What are they saying?" Kitiara asked, behind him.
    "How  should I  know? ъouse  all the  gnomes," he  told Kiti-
 ara. "I'll speak to Cupelix." Kitiara  got ъoperig,  Fitter, and
 Wingover to help her.

   "Cupelix?" Sturm called, for the dragon had vanished
 into the top of the tower again. "Cupelix,  come down!
 There's trouble outside!"
   Trouble? I dare say, there is trouble!
   A  great  rustle  of  brassy wings  sounded, and  the dragon
 alighted on one of the crossing pillars that ran from  one side
 of the obelisk to  the other.  Cupelix's metallic  claws closed
 over the marble pillar with a  clack. He  furled his  wings and
 started preening himself along either wing.
   "You don't seem very disturbed by this development,"
 Sturm said, planting his fists on his hips.
   "Should I be?" asked the dragon.
   "Considering the tower is besieged, I would think yes."
   "The  Lunitarians  are  not  very  intelligent.   They  would
 never have come here if you hadn't killed that  fool of  a mor-
 tal they made their king."
   "ъapaldo  was  mad.  He  killed  one   of  the   gnomes,  and
 would've killed others if we hadn't resisted," said Sturm.
   "You should feel flattered that they have  come all  this way
 to  kill  you.  That uncouth  phrase they  keep repeating  - do
 you know what it means? 'Sturm must die.'"
   Sturm's  hand  tightened  around  his  sword  handle.  "I am
 prepared to fight," he said grimly.
   "Your  kind  is  always  ready to  fight. ъelax,  my knightly
 friend; the tree-folk will not attack."
   "Are you so certain?"
   Cupelix  yawned,  exposing  teeth green  with verdigris.  "I am
 the    Keeper    of    the    New    Lives. Only a severe trauma would
 have compelled the Lunitarians to come here in the first place.
 However, they are not so bold as to trifle with me."
   '>le can't just let them blockade us!" Sturm insisted.
   "Shortly, the sun will set, and the  tree-folk will  take root.
 The Micones will awaken and clear them away."
   "The Micones come out only at night?"
   "No,  but they  are practically  blind in  sunlight." Cupelix
 pricked  up  his  ears  when  Kitiara  returned,   herding  the
 gnomes  ahead  of  her.  The  dragon  reassured  them  all that
 they were in no danger from the Lunitarians.
   "Perhaps  we  should  prepare  a  barricade, just  the same,"
 said Stutts.

   "I  think  our  time  would  be  better  spent  repairing  the
 Cloudmaster,"   said   Sighter.   "With   the  scrap   metal  we
 brought  from  ъapaldo's  keep,  we  ought  to  be able  to make
 repairs in a few hours."
   Birdcall  whistled  a  sharp  note.  Stutts   nodded,  saying,
 "We haven't the fire needed to work iron."
   "I  may  be  able  to  help you  there," Cupelix  said smoothly.
 "How much wood will you need?"
   "You're being awfully helpful," Sturm said. "Why?"
   The beast's  eyes narrowed  to vertical  slits. "Do  you ques-
 tion  my  motives?"  he  asked.  With his  long ears  laid back,
 Cupelix looked quite fierce.
   "Frankly, yes."
   The dragon relaxed. "Ho, ho! Very good! I blink first,
 Master  Brightblade! I  do have  a favor  to ask  of you  all, but
 first we shall see to the repair of your ingenious vessel."
   Already the light in the obelisk had subsided  to a  dusty rose.
 The hooting of  the tree-men,  muffled by  the thick  walls, faded
 with the sunlight. It was soon quite dark inside the obelisk. Kit-
 iara  complained  to  Cupelix,  while  the  gnomes  ranged noisily
 through the Cloudmaster in search of tools.
   "Oh,  very  well,"  said  the  dragon.  "I forget  your mortal
 eyes  cannot  pierce  the  simple veil  of darkness."  He spread
 his  wings  until  the  tips scraped  the surrounding  walls and
 bowed his neck in a swanlike curve.
   "Ah-biray solem! Creatures of the dark!
   Bring forth a fair and living spark
   To light the tower bright as day.
   Come, Micones! Solem ah-biray!"
   The  glassy  clicking that  they all  associated with  the giant
 ants arose  from the  holes in  the obelisk  floor. It  grew quite
 loud,  as  though  hundreds  of  the  formidable   creatures  were
 stirring below their feet.
   Something  stroked  Sturm's  leg.  He  was   near  one   of  the
 large holes in  the floor,  and a  Micone had  poked its  head out
 to  touch  Sturm  with  one  of  its  antennae.  He  recoiled, and
 the   giant   ant   emerged,   to   be  followed   immediately  by
 another,  and  another.  The  floor  rapidly filled  with Micones,
 all clicking and gently waving their crystalline feelers.
           "To your places, my pets," ordered Cupelix."The ants

  nearest  the  walls  climbed up  to the  lowest ledge  and hung
  there,  their  broad,  plum-shaped  abdomens  poised   off  the
  edge.  When  the entire  interior was  ringed with  hanging ant
  bodies,  the Micones  began rubbing  their bellies  against the
  smooth  marble  shelf.  As  they  did, their  translucent abdo-
  mens  glowed,  first  a  dull  red,  then warmer  and brighter.
  Like a mass of living lanterns, the ants  gradually illuminated
  the whole lower half of the obelisk.
    Sturm  and  Kitiara  stared.  No   matter  how   jaded  they
  thought  they'd  become  to  the  strange  wonders of  the red
  moon, something new and startling was always happening.
    "Better?" said Cupelix smugly.
    "Tolerable," said Kitiara, sauntering away.
    Sturm went to  the door.  The Lunitarians  were a  true for-
  est now, still and tall in the starlight. This  forest, though,
  was  arranged in  perfect concentric  circles around  the great
  obelisk that shielded the killers of their Iron King.
    Cupelix  withdrew  to his  lofty sanctum.  Not long  after he
  did,  Sturm  returned  to  the  Cloudmaster,  where  the gnomes
  were up to their elbows in repair work.
    When  he  descended  to  the  engine  room,  he found  to his
  shock  that  Flash,  Birdcall,  and  Stutts  had torn  apart the
  entire  engine,  searching  for defects.  The deck  was covered
  with  cogs  and  gears,  copper   rods  that   Wingover  called
  'armatures,'  and  hundreds  of   other  examples   of  gnomish
  technology. Sturm  was afraid  to enter,  for fear  of stepping
  on and crushing some delicate, vital component.
    "Uh, how goes it?" he ventured.
    "Oh,  not  to worry,  not to  worry!" Stutts  said blithely.
  "All  is  in  good order."  He snatched  a metal  curlicue from
  Cutwood  and  snapped  at  Flash,  "Stay  away from  the Indis-
  pensable  Inductor  Coil! It  mustn't be  magnetized!" Lunitari
  had finally bestowed its  'gift' upon  Flash; he  was intensely
  magnetic. Bits of iron and steel had begun to cling to him.
    Flash  meekly  stepped away  from the  Indispensable Inductor
  Coil. "We're trying  to find  what parts  were damaged  by the
  lightning strike," Stutts went on, "so they can be fixed, too."
    "Keep at it," Sturm said, trying not to smile. He knew the
  gnomes would find an answer of sorts - eventually.
    He  found  Kitiara  in  the  wheelhouse, sitting  in Stutts's

 chair.  She had  one leg  cocked over  the arm  of the  chair and
 was  drinking  from  a  tall  clay  tankard. "Dragon  ale?" asked
 Sturm.
    "Umm.  Want  some?  No,  of  course  you  don't."   She  drank
 some more. "All the more for me then."
    "The gnomes are hard at it," he said. '%le could be on our