Homecoming

	This story, as so many others, starts with conflict.  A rather
large conflict, in fact ... a fierce fight between two groups of dragons
for control of the Dominance.  Baxil thought he was defending the Dominance
that day ... but his actions soon grew to have consequences far more
serious than that ...
	... discovering his past.

	Note: This story originally got started from a role-playing thread
in alt.fan.dragons entitled "Defending the Dominance".  Robert Marks 
(4rbm2@qlink.queensu.ca) was the originator of this thread.
(His contributions, all in the Prologue, are in italics.)

Prologue

  Near the western mountains of the Dominance a vortex forms, noticed by a 
  scout.  The vortex is huge, and grows with every second, soon visible to
  many scouts.  Enormous bolts of lightning emanate from the vortex, and
  the power released is felt by all.

	Baxil watches this second vortex complete its journey to the 
ground and bows his head.  "So....it starts."  He takes wing and soars 
high into the air.  Having gained several hundred feet, he closes his 
eyes in concentration; anyone watching sees his form slowly fade into 
nothingness as his spell of invisibility takes effect.  The last thing 
seen of his form is of him orienting himself towards the west, and 
towards the newly-formed vortex.

  The army begins to move, flying to engage D'Sargon.  As they come to 
  D'Sargon's position, they see that his vanguard has been pulled through 
  the rift, some 700 Dragons, and the vortex is losing power and disappearing.

	From his position high above the battlefield, Baxil looks down at 
the army pouring out of the vortex.  "Dragons..." he gasps inaudibly.  
"It has been so long since one dragon has raised a talon against another 
in hatred....what have we done?  what have they done?" His [invisible] 
head bows in shame and he continues his flight towards the west with 
renewed determination.
	He suddenly notices that the vortex is fading away rapidly.  "By 
the Gods," he swears, and pulls into a sharp dive to increase his speed.  
By now he is past the main body of the fighting; his only enemy is Time.  
It is a battle that he strains to win with every muscle in his body.  His 
wings quiver with the tremendous force involved in maintaining his glide 
path.  The vortex looms larger and larger before him; he flies directly 
into its gaping maw.  Scant seconds after he feels himself pass through 
into the storm, there is a terrible wrenching feeling and he can feel the 
bottom of the vortex lose its grip on the earth of the Dominance.

 	Above the sound of the winds, Baxil hears a distant cry of surprise, 
or pain, or something.  But he's not sure if the sound was real or imagined, 
and before he can do anything about it anyway, the vortex swallows him. 

	Baxil looks down to find his body visible.  "Jyhanhen's tooth!"  
he curses.  "I should have suspected that this much magical energy would 
nullify my spells..."  Suddenly a greater danger catches his eye: He 
feels himself falling.  His face whitens.  "...But my ability to FLY?" he 
mutters.  "This could be trouble..."
	He struggles to keep his wings from crumpling up under the sudden 
pressure of the air.  *They were designed for mid-air maneuvering, not 
flying!* he thinks.  Eventually the pressure is too great, though, and he 
feels his wings bend back and upwards as he starts plummeting.

Chapter 1
	After a number of seconds of sheer terror, the storm suddenly
breaks and he finds himself in a strange world.  Baxil looks down to find
the ground less than two hundred feet beneath him.  Fortunately, he feels
power surge from within him; the magical power that seems to have deserted
him in the vortex has returned.  Straining his willpower with all his
might, Baxil manages to slow himself before he hits the ground, to the
extent that he can hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud rather than a
fatal splat.
	He looks around, his head swimming somewhat, to find himself 
staring at a number of dragons.  They stare back hostilely.  Baxil blinks 
and tries to size up the situation.
	*These dragonlords...* he thinks.  *I was expecting humans who 
controlled dragons.  Not dragons themselves!  I can't possibly fight them 
all.*  He looks from dragon to dragon.  There are about six or seven; one 
carries a staff with an enormous glowing crystal at the top.  This dragon 
speaks, in an authoritative voice:
	"He's not one of us.  Get him."
	Baxil immediately snaps into action, drawing power from his 
talisman and from inside himself.  A transparent, shifting shield springs 
into existence around him.  The nearest three dragons advance on him.  
The shield takes on a reddish tinge.  The dragons pause slightly but 
continue to advance.  The nearest one leaps; Baxil seems frozen in place, 
not moving, his head not even tracking to follow this threat.  The dragon 
brings his foreclaws down in a vicious slash.  The shields part like 
butter -- as does Baxil's form.  The entire company of dragons has time 
for a slight double-take before there is a furious explosion of magical 
energy from the torn shield.  The attacker screams and crumples on the 
ground.
	Before anyone has time to figure out what is going on, four more 
dragons, each about fifty feet long, burst through the vortex with fire 
in their eyes.  The four dragons remaining around the one with the staff 
immediately jump forward to face this new foe.  The staff-holder, though, 
merely turns around, his back now to the vortex.  He laughs and raises 
his staff, pointed at empty air.  A bolt flares from the tip of the 
staff.  About thirty feet away, it explodes outwards in a fiery burst of 
brilliance and a previously-invisible dragon goes flying backwards, 
landing on his back and on his previously-strained wings.  There is a 
sickening snap and Baxil gasps as the sky above his now-prone form swims 
with a lurch.  He feels himself slide to a stop and struggles to his 
feet.

	Baxil assesses his wounds, wondering why he was still alive...it was 
like the staff-holder hiccuped or something as he released the bolt.  
Luckily the energy blast was just a bit off the mark...enough to allow the 
green to live.

	The eight dragons near the portal are mixing it up in a confusing 
battle.  *Even more confusing,* Baxil notes passingly, *since my four are 
illusions...*  The remaining two who were advancing on him earlier have 
now turned around and are moving to flank his new location.  Baxil's left 
wing hangs uselessly, and his right is not in much better condition.  
And, perhaps worst of all, the dragon with the staff is facing him with 
an evil grin.  He speaks for the second time.  "A worthy opponent," he 
says with a dark glimmer in his eye, "but your illusions will not save 
you.  And nothing you summon can hurt me."
	Baxil turns to him, desperately hoping that the two dragons to 
his sides will give him enough time to catch his breath.  

	A metallic flash appears between the two oncoming dragons, and a 
voice like a mischievous Mr. Spock taunts them.  "Oh now, come on!  Why waste 
your time on that crazy green when you can have ME for lunch?  C'mon you 
human smelling, toe licking, booger eating pieces of mutated dog poo!"
	Infuriated, the two dragons leave their prey to the wizard and turn 
to the new threat.  Keeping an eye on Baxil, the mysterious dragon finds 
himself dodging breath weapons and flying for his life.

	Baxil speaks to the staff-holder.  "Why would I need to hurt you?"
he says, throwing a mocking tone into his voice.  A desperate idea flashes
into his mind.  "And, besides, what makes you think that I could hurt you
even if I wanted to?"  He steps towards the staff-holder, closing the
distance between them to twenty feet.  "Everything I've done so far has
been an illusion.  Why....not......me?" he says, with malicious emphasis. 
Just then, the staff-holder feels a tap on the back of his right shoulder.
	He turns to look.
	Baxil leaps forward.
	As Baxil makes a desperate snatch for the staff, the dragonlord 
figures out that there is nothing save air behind him.  With a snarl 
bearing more malice than can be conveyed by mere words, he whips back 
around, a sword suddenly appearing in one huge claw.
	Baxil grabs the staff with both foreclaws and wrenches it out of 
the dragonlord's grasp just as a terrible pain shoots through his left 
side.  He gasps and looks up.  The dragonlord re-readies his weapon.  
Baxil closes his eyes in terrible pain, and, in sheer panic, releases a 
wild-surge of energy.  The world around him swims.  Then fades.  Baxil's 
mind is gripped by the fear that his spell did nothing, that he is simply 
losing consciousness, but he realizes with utter relief that the spell 
has teleported him.
	Somewhere.
	Somewhere where it's night.
	He feels something cold at his feet and looks down to see water 
gently washing over his toes and tail.  The water is being slowly stained 
with red, becoming opaque in the gentle moonlight.
	Filled with a sudden dread, he throws the staff far towards the 
center of the great body of water.  It lands with a terrible splash.
	Baxil's head starts to swim.  The sword blow, combined with his 
recent wounds from Narlaq's enemy, start to take their toll.  He notices 
a shore a few feet behind him and crawls painfully up onto dry land.  The 
soil at his feet is marshy, with grass growing from it, of a type that 
he's never seen before.  Trees dot the bank in front of him.  He can't 
recognize any of them, either.
	He musters up the energy to cast a healing spell.  The bleeding 
stops but the pain continues.  He finally yields to the pain and closes 
his eyes, sinking to the ground.  The world fades again...a bit more 
permanently this time.

Chapter 2
	As Baxil collapses there is another tremendous splash as a very 
exhausted, well-done feeling Electrum dragon drops in.  'Lucky I was able to 
catch on to the end of that spell' he thinks wearily.  
	'Hmmm...what's this?' he reaches out and picks up the dragonlord's 
staff (he's under water quite a ways).  He tucks the staff in his teeth and 
begins to walkcrawlswimstruggle toward shore, since he really can't swim.  
Finally his head emerges, and he finds himself face to rump with Baxil.  He 
sputters and spits out a few gallons of water and coughs, depositing the 
staff on the sand.
	"Not good, not good.  Uh, you okay??"  He drags himself out of the 
water, up to the greens head.  "Hmm, out cold.  Maybe I can help..."
	The Electrum suddenly blinks in surprise, then moans in agony.  
Delayed pain reaches his mind, and he shudders and looks down at himself.
	Long scorch-marks reach from the 40' dragons chest to his tail, the 
arteries and veins melted closed.  Exposed ribs stick out grotesquely, and the 
dragon fights down the bile in his throat.  His wings aren't much better than 
Baxil's, and lay in the sand, motionless.
	"Not good, not good," he mutters again.  He feels weakness stealing 
up, and quickly grabs the small, plain bag hanging from his neck.  Reaching 
inside he withdraws a scrap of paper, and lets it fall to the ground.  As the 
paper returns to the shape and size of a drow elf, The dragon himself falls 
to the ground unconscious.
	"Not good, not good," the drow murmurs, pulling his holy symbol out 
and kneeling to pray.  Looks like he's in for a long night.

	"About time," is the first thing Baxil hears as he finally raises 
his head from the damp sand.  He blinks and tries to focus in on the 
source of the sound.  His eyes refuse to give him a clear picture.  
Frowning, he (with some effort) raises the membranes that protect the 
eyes during flight.  The world de-fogs a little and becomes a bit less red.
	The source of the voice is a small humanoid, who looks a bit 
elvish. He is holding some sort of religious symbol.  Baxil tries to 
swing his head around to look at this unexpected sign of life.  He gasps 
in agony; the movement of his head and neck causes pain to shoot down his 
left side.  Out of a corner of his eye he catches a metallish flash.  
*Another dragon?* he has time to think before the elf (?) speaks again.
	"Between you and Albert I thought I was going to wear out my holy 
symbol," he grumbles tiredly.  "It's good to see that you're up -- maybe 
now I'll have something more interesting to talk to than the trees."
	"Who---wha---where am I, I mean, where are we?" Baxil asks.
	The elf shakes his head.  "I thought you were going to tell me..."
	Baxil makes a sudden leap of intuition.  "You're from the 
Dominance?  You followed me here?"
	"Well, I didn't.  He did, I guess," the elf says, and motions
towards the metallic form Baxil noticed earlier.  "The first thing I know,
we're in an unfamiliar land, I've got two dragons to heal, and then the
staff disappears.  I've been waiting for someone to tell me just what's
going on."
	"Staff?  What staff?"  Baxil asks.
	The elf shrugs.  "I dunno.  Just sitting on the ground there, 
nice and pretty, then *poof!* Gone all of a sudden.  So...you don't know 
where we are?"
	"No," the dragon responds.  Baxil closes his eyes and makes a 
concentrated effort to lift his head.  He manages, despite the pain, to 
turn his snout around; he opens his eyes to look at his draconic 
companion.  He winces immediately.  "Ow," Baxil says.  The form in front 
of his is somewhat recognizable as Albert.  It looks as though he's been 
hit with napalm; his whole side is noticably lacking in mass, and many of 
the electrum scales have melted together.
	"Looks pretty bad, eh?"  the elf says.  "Don't worry, he'll 
live.  Might be a bit before he wakes up, though."
	"So...What now?"  Malakai continues.  Baxil blinks once or 
twice.  "I have no idea..."  He closes his eyes, and tries to rest until 
Albert wakes up...

        It's not until the next morning that Albert's eyes flick open, their 
brilliant color clouded with pain.  He takes a deep breath and winces, 
refusing to look at his body again.  Raising his head he groggily looks 
around, sniffing the wind, frowning in the confusion that comes when someone 
sleeps in a strange place for the first time.  He hears a throat clearing 
nearby and turns, coming face-to-face with Baxil.  He immediately remembers 
what's happened.
        "How do you feel?"  The green asks, looking better but still 
notsogood. Albert smacks his lips, trying to unglue his tongue from the roof 
of his mouth.
        "snufld smgiem gmmb.  PHEWIE!  I mean, like I had a bath in sulphuric 
acid, then got salt poured on my open wounds.  Other than that, I think I'll 
live."  He looks around again.  "Where's Malakai??"
        "Who?  Oh, the elf.  He's off that way somewhere, praying or 
something."  The green shrugs, then wishes he hadn't.  "Any idea where we 
are?"
        Albert's eyes, clear now, turn back to the landscape, and his brow 
wrinkles with effort.  He looks left, then right, then turns around 
v-e-r-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y and considers the lake and the mountains beyond.  He 
tilts his head and bites at his bottom lip.
        "Maybe..."he says reluctantly, a bad feeling in his stomach, kinda 
like he just ate the Goodfeathers and they're fighting over who's 
fault it was.  He looks at the mountains for a long moment and says, voice 
heavy with regret,
        "I think we might be in my Homeland."
        Baxil looks at Albert, then at the mountains, a chilly feeling in his 
gut.  As they stare, they each entertain the thought that maybe they should 
have stayed at Tay's Bar. . .

	Baxil winces with pain as he cranes his neck around to try and take 
in the geography.  His left side still hurts like fire every time he moves 
his neck, and neither of his wings will respond to much more that a twitch.  
He stares at the range of mountains that Albert was just looking at.
	"I can't say I recognize any of this...but I do have the strangest 
sense of deja vu," Baxil says.  "Where is your Homeland?  In the Dominance?"
	"No, no," Albert says emphatically.  "Another world entirely.  Far 
away.  I'd never have gotten out of here if I hadn't--"
	"Sssh!" Baxil interrupts.  He furrows his eyeridges.  After glancing 
around, he shrugs.  "I thought I heard something," he says.  "how 
is your homeworld populated?  Anything beside dragons?"
	"Oh, yes!"  Albert nods emphatically.  "Humans, elves, dwarves, even 
winged creatures that look like tiny humans.  There are even. . ."
	Baxil narrows his eyes.  "You know, I don't remember my
homeworld," he says, interrupting Albert without meaning to.  "I woke up
on Earth one day.  About eighteen years ago.  Since then, I've lived the 
life of a human....it's only been recently that I remembered that I was a 
dragon at all, and only within the last year that I was able to change 
back into my natural form and visit the Dominance.  You're lucky to 
_have_ a homeworld...." Baxil trails off.  "I only have the world in 
which I was born."

	Just then, Malakai comes running out of the bushes.  "I saw another 
dragon!"  He grins, white teeth a sharp contrast to his ebony skin.  "I 
thought all the dragons on our homeworld had been killed off, Albert?"
	Before Albert can answer, Baxil's head springs up eagerly.  "Another 
dragon?"  he grins.  "They're likely to help us, especially if they recognize 
you.  C'mon, Malakai, Albert, let's try to flag them down.  None of us can 
fly right now, so it might be difficult, but it'll be worth it.  I'm sure 
they'll be glad to help us. . ."
	Albert looks suddenly afraid, frowning and swallowing, a shiver 
running through him.  He looks to Malakai.
	"What color was this dragon, Malakai?"  The drow shrugs.
	"All I saw was a glimpse...it was silhouetted against the sun.  Why??" 
 	Albert looks skyward, searching almost frantically.  As he speaks, 
he backs toward the treeline, burying himself in shadows.  "We should hide 
until we find out if its a friend or foe. . ."
	"Why would a dragon turn against one of his own kind?" Baxil 
asks, confused.  "The one thing I've seen that all dragons have in common 
is a great honor and respect for their fellow dragons..."
	At that moment a loud screech of anger shakes the air, and lighting 
erupts, striking the ground next to Baxil.  The injured green jumps, wincing 
from his wounds, and looks up.  His eyes grow wide with astonishment.
	Baxil, weak though he is, musters up the energy to at least raise 
his shields; he drags himself as quickly as his pained body will let him 
out of the open and underneath tree cover.  *I can't handle this, not 
now!* he thinks.  *Not wounded like I am...*
	He squints up through the branches overhead.  The form is 
definitely draconic.  Baxil's heart sinks.  "Never mind that last bit," 
he mutters.

	"YOU!!"  The voice is cold with menace, and comes from straight above 
the trio.  "YOU DARE RETURN TO THIS LAND, YOU PITIFUL EXCUSE FOR DRAGONKIND?  
FOR THIS YOU WILL DIE!!!"
	Baxil's heart drops through his chest into his stomach, and for a 
moment he's too stunned to speak.
	And _then_ it hits him that the newcomer is addressing him.
	Imagine having just had a two-ton anvil dropped on your head.  
Imagine it hard.  Now imagine that the World Trade Center has now just 
landed on TOP of that anvil.  That's a good approximation of what Baxil's 
reaction is.
	"_Me?_"  he whispers.  "What?"
	A silhouette spears downward, and Albert turns his head away as a an 
immense dragon lands almost on top of Baxil. When he looks out from his 
hiding place all he can see is the two dragons, one green and one a towering 
blue, faced off, ready for battle.  
	As the unfamiliar blue dragon lands, murder in his eyes, Baxil 
decides to give the truth a shot.  "I have no idea who you are, sir, or 
what in Jyhanhen's name you're talking about," he says quietly.
	The blue snarls.  "DON'T FEIGN IGNORANCE WITH ME."  He advances 
on Baxil menacingly.  "YOUR FACE IS TOO FAMILIAR.  YOU WON'T FOOL ME IN 
THAT MANNER."
	Albert looks from his friend to the stranger, and back again.  Then 
his face goes blank, like someone flicked off the power switch.  
	"I've never been here before in my life," Baxil protests, blanching 
white more than a bit.  "Albert can confirm that.  Right, Albert?"  Baxil 
trails off, looking back to his compatriot for support, and sees the 
strange expression on Albert's face...
	Albert gets a nasty taste in his mouth as fear rolls up. . .and he 
thinks to himself,
	"I know this dragon!"
	"Uhmmmm, *hem* RIGHT, Albert?..." [as the blue dragon advances 
menacingly -- and those claws of his are looking mighty sharp...]

Chapter 3
	The blue dragon roars, the sound deafening to Baxil.  The green 
swallows the huge lump that forms in his throat and tries to ready himself.  
The blue leaps forward ... Baxil tenses himself ...
	... and the attacker is slammed to the side by a metallic body.
Baxil's knees give way and he slumps with relief.  Albert stands between
the two dragons, facing the blue.  Showing all his teeth he rumbles,
	"TIRIN!  RELAX, WILL YOU??"  The blue does a double take and sits on 
his haunches.  In a calmer voice Albert continues.  "Take a breath, blue.  
It's me, Albert."
	"What the...how...why..."the blue tries again.  "How the **** did you 
get here and WHY ARE YOU SAVING THE LIFE OF THIS FRACKING MURDERER???"
	Albert *blinks* a couple of times, then looks at Baxil, then at 
Tirin, then at Baxil...who is looking at Albert with the same look that Timon 
gave Simba when he didn't kill Nala after she tried to eat Poombaa...
	Baxil looks at Albert.  Then looks at Tirin.  Then looks back 
at Albert, and shrugs with a hopelessly lost expression on his face.
	Albert confronts Tirin.  "What in the heck are you talking about, 
brother?"
	" 'Brother'?"  Baxil asks in disbelief.  "Jyhanhen's tooth...." 
he moans, sure that his fate's just been sealed.
	Tirin ignores him and turns to face Albert with a snarl deep in 
his throat.  "You don't recognize him?" he asks in disbelief.  "Or maybe 
you just don't remember who it is.  That's the same green who robbed me 
of my mate half a century ago.  The green who started this whole blasted 
war between us and the humans, the war that's killed off almost all of our 
race.  You mean to tell me the name T'eras means nothing to you?!"
	Albert blinks.  Baxil blinks.  Tirin looks at both of them and 
turns on Baxil again with a snarl.
	"My name," Baxil says with relief flooding through his body, "is 
Baxil.  'Back-heel'.  I have absolutely NO clue what in Jyhanhen's name 
you are talking about.  I swear on everything I hold dear.  Dragon's honor."
	The fury contorting Tirin's face causes Baxil to shrink back -- but 
after a few seconds of utter and complete tension, the big blue lets out 
his breath in a slow growl and turns back towards Albert.
	"I am NOT wrong about this," Tirin says slowly.  "It is he.  I'm 
certain of it.  But...the green _does_ seem not to know what he's done..."
    Albert rubs his jaw thoughtfully, then shrugs.
	Tirin looks over at Baxil again accusingly.  "Don't think that 
your ignorance is an excuse, murderer..." he says, then stops and cocks 
his head to the side.  The area falls silent...except for voices entering 
the area from the side away from the lake.  "Damn!" Tirin curses.  
"Humans..."
	"Humans?"  Albert asks confusedly.  "But they've always left us 
alone..."
	"Haven't you been listening at ALL?!" Tirin snarls in a low 
voice.  "This ... this ... miserable excuse for a dragon made them hate 
us.  He killed one, and they haven't left us alone since."
    Albert turns to his friend, eyes wide with surprise.  "You did WHAT??"
    Baxil looks back at the electrum, tears forming in his eyes.  The
look of utter hurt confusion on Baxil's face makes Albert reconsider
pressing the issue.
	Baxil looks back at Tirin.  "That's not true.  That can't be
true," he says, trying to appear calm, but his voice betraying his
agitation.
	"You lie, murderer," Tirin sneers, above the sounds of human voices
in the background. 
	Baxil's eyes widen.  "NO!" he shouts.  "Jyhanhen's tooth, don't 
you know who I am, how I've lived?  I've been living as a human -- in 
their culture -- for eighteen years now!  I don't know about any of the 
rest of this -- but I wouldn't _kill_ anyone, much less a human!"
	"Shut up!" Tirin hisses at Baxil.  "It's not enough that you've 
killed your mate and your father -- you're going to slay us all too by 
your inability to keep quiet?"
	"Mate?!"  Baxil stutters.  "F-f-father?!"
	"Okay, so maybe not your father," Tirin snarls.  "He's just 
missing.  Kalin I've seen dead."
	Baxil's eyes grow wild.  "No.....no......NO!!!!" he screams, and 
completely ignoring his wounds, he turns and dashes into the forest, 
crashing through the underbrush wildly, leaving huge trails gouged into 
the dense scrub growth.
    Albert's face pales.  "Now look what you've done!" he shouts at
his brother.  "You and your big mouth!  Can't you see he doesn't know what
you're talking about?  You are as big an idiot as you were twenty years
ago!!" 
	Tirin shrugs.  "He deserved it."  The blue tenses his leg muscles 
to leap into the air, and narrows his eyes to look back at Albert.  "I'm not 
going to let him get away a second time!"
	"Wait!!" Albert shouts.  But Tirin leaps into the air, taking off 
after Baxil.
	The voices from the forest are getting louder.  Albert passingly 
wonders where Malakai has gone, then realizes that he likely doesn't want 
to be around when the humans get there...
    Albert gathers himself into a tight bunch, and leaps toward Tirin,
trying to knock the dragon from the sky.  At the last moment he remembers
his wounds, remembers that he can't fly, and begins to fall... 
	"This is going to hurt"  he thinks.  He closes his eyes...
	
Chapter 4
	Out of the corner of his eye, Tirin sees his brother ready
himself to jump.  He's momentarily torn between going back to aid Albert
and chasing Baxil through the forest...and then he notices where Baxil is
heading.  With a triumphant snort he wheels around in mid-air, muttering
to himself, "There will be time to catch T'eras later...I knew he'd go home."

	Albert jumps just as Tirin pulls into his sharp turn -- just as a
band of humans bursts into the clearing below.  "A dragon!" one shouts.
"An' he's wounded!" another comments.  "Looks like they've been fightin'!"
	Tirin turns at the new voices, but sees his brother falling back
to earth...so he swoops down, and..
	...and Albert feels claws encircle his body, feels himself lifted. 
Opening his eyes he looks up at the blue body above him and nearly passes
out in relief. 
	"Thanks, Tir."  In answer the blue lets a lightning bolt fly
toward the humans below, missing them on purpose but successfully
scattering them.  He flies out over the water, toward the distant
mountains.  Albert realizes the blue is taking him home. 
	After about thirty minutes Tirin deposits Albert on the sandy
shore and settles next to him.  He looks at the Electrum as if for the
first time, and he grows a bit pale at the injuries covering Albert.  His
concerned expression passes before it was really there, and he snarled
again. 
	"How could you, after all this time, come back NOW, and with HIM?? 
Wasn't it enough that you disappeared after we returned that damnable
artifact to the humans?  If you had stayed, maybe, just maybe, T'eras, or
Baxil, or whatever the **** his name is wouldn't have..." 
	"Take a breath, Tirin."  Albert slumps to the sand, relishing the
cool wetness against his burns.  After a moan of relief he looks up at his
younger clutch-mate. 
	"We didn't come here by choice, you know."  He quickly recaps the
past events to the blue, mentioning D'Sargon and the fact that he had
chased Baxil, T'eras, or whatever, into the nexus.  "I was lucky to get
in, and even luckier that I was knocked into his last spell...and trust
me, Tir, that was a wild magic surge if I ever felt one. 
	"Next thing I knew, I was face to butt with Baxil, there on the
shore where you found us.  I called Malakai, and then. . .****!  Where is
Malakai??" 
	"You still carry that black elf with you, brother?  I thought he
would have died long ago."  Tirin glances around, even picking up each
foot to look under them for squashed drow, but to no avail.  Shrugging, he
looks skyward. 
	"I'm outta here, Al.  Thought you might want to visit the old
place, though most of it has been looted and collapsed by the humans."  As
he gathers himself, Albert stands and puts a claw on his brothers
shoulders. 
	"Tirin...promise me you'll leave T'eras alone, at least for a
while.  If it IS T'eras...he has a lot on his mind.  Just let him come to
you, okay?" 
	The blue turns to his brother with a fierce look and clenched teeth.
"It IS him, I tell you!  You'd best hear the story someday, brother ... 
maybe then you'll understand..."
	The look on Albert's face made the blue shake his head in disbelief.
He shrugged off the claw and took to the air.  As he flew off, his words
reached the Electrum's ears. 
	"I'll leave him alone.  For now."

	Albert turns toward the mountain behind him and searches closely,
finally spotting the opening.  With a sigh he limps forward, still
wondering where his drow has gone...and feels the magic tingle around
him...the protection spell still intact.  As he emerged into a large
cavern, light began to glow, a welcome sight.  With a sigh he drags
himself to his hoard and curls up. . . 
	"I'm home."

	"Albert is right about one thing," Tirin thinks to himself as he
flies off.  "I can't kill T'eras now.  Maybe he's got amnesia or
something, but whatever it is, he doesn't remember all the pain he's
caused me."  Tirin snarls as he corrects his course to compensate for the
wind.  "Or any of us.  But if he really *was* going back to his cave, up
there on the plateau..." he smiles at his own unfinished thought, and
flies on, the shadows of his wings slowly lengthening in the late
afternoon sun...

Chapter 5
	After what seems like an eternity of crashing through low tree
branches, flattening large (and prickly) bushes, screaming in pain every
time something gets momentarily entangled in his wing (and quickly
disentangled, at the velocity he's running at)...and during which Baxil
notices that the ground is gradually starting to slope upwards... Bax
finally collapses on the ground from sheer exhaustion.  His lungs ache
like they're on fire, the wound on his left side has re-opened and is
starting to bleed heavily again, his head is swimming from the sheer
momentum of careening off of trees....and the impact of Tirin's words has
finally begun to sink in.
	"Father?"  he sobs, gasping for air.  "Mate?  Finally, some link
to my past..." he mutters through clenched teeth... "and they're dead.
Dead by my actions!"  He starts to laugh hoarsely, overwhelmed by the
sheer incredibility of the whole situation, but the laugh quickly turns
into a hacking cough.  Baxil takes a few shuddering deep breaths and
finally looks around.
	His trail of devastation (hey, a 40'-long dragon cuts a pretty
big path through anything...) leads back towards the water, downhill.
He is on the edge of a clearing, with a few fire pits scattered about and
signs of recent human habitation gracing the area.  Uphill, directly
across the clearing from him, a forty or fifty foot cliff slopes steeply
up the side of a small plateau.  A small ladder runs up the side of the
cliff.
	Some deeper self-preservation instinct kicks in, and Baxil
realizes that to stay here would be akin to suicide -- after all, those
firepits are still smoldering...  He looks around.  But there's really
nowhere to run...except the plateau.
	He hauls himself to his feet (wincing at the fresh pain from his
chest) and lumbers over to the cliff.  Its face is made of soft
sandstone, and it juts nearly straight up -- too weak to support him, and
no way he's going to try to fly now!....Then he remembers the ladder.
It's human-sized, but it will do...
	Baxil closes his eyes and sits up on his haunches, steadying
himself against the face of the cliff.  His form begins to shimmer and
shrink, and soon, a 6'3" male human stands in the dragon's place.  The
human glances down at his chest.  The left side of his shirt is soaked in
blood.
	"Better get that fixed again," the human mutters.  He closes his
eyes and furrows his brow; putting his right hand over the injured area,
he focuses all the healing magic he knows with all the power he has
left.  The effort seems to help; he, at least, stands a little steadier.
	He starts to climb the ladder.  Every time Baxil reaches up for a
rung with his left hand -- or starts to, at any rate -- he winces in pain
and is forced to drop his arm.  He finally manages to work out a sort of
a three-and-a-half-handed climbing style -- bracing himself with his
left hand, reaching up with the right, then step, then step  ... and rung
by agonizing rung, the cliff drops underneath him.  Somehow -- perhaps
more out of desperation than anything else -- Baxil manages to dismount
the ladder at the top and almost literally roll onto more solid ground
away from the edge of the cliff.  He summons the energy to shift back to
his natural draconic form with a gasp of thanks to whatever gods were
watching out for him.
	He thinks he hears human screams in the distance, but his head is
far too muddled to register anything other than the fact of a noise...
For the second -- and more final -- time, Baxil sinks into blackness.

	Consciousness comes slowly to the Electrum, but finally his giant
head raises up and he looks around, disoriented for a moment.  With a sigh
of rememberance, he rises, stiff and sore, and glances at his wounds.  The
terrible gash in his chest has closed so that there are no bones showing. 
Trying his wings he winces....he won't be able to fly for a while yet. 
	Standing Albert looks fondly at his hoard...."hmmm," he thinks.  "I'd
better take this with me....now I can build a lair on Dominance....if we
ever get back."  Ambling off the respectable mound of coins, jewels,
statues, armor and weapons, Albert goes to the left, where at one time his
library stood.  Unable to loot the spell-protected hoard, the humans had
plundered and burned the one thing more prescious that wealth for the
dragon.  A sadness grips his heart, and Albert whispers "Oh, Baxil....what
have you done???" 
	Albert shakes his head, stands up straight, a look of
determination in his eyes.  "No.  I don't care.  I don't care if Bax is
T'eras or not.  He is my friend...and I have lost too many friends because
of misjudgements and stupidity..."the sadness returns in his eyes once
more. "Only Tirin forgave me...the only one I thought who wouldn't.  The
others...but that's long past.  It's time to....WAITAMINUTE!!!" 
	The electrum scrambles among the burnt books and shelves,
frantically searching for something.  He gives no mind to the fact that he
is tearing up shreds of books that might have been salvagable...only one
thing is on his mind. "It has to be here.  Nothing could hurt
it....nothing could destroy it.  Noone but I could touch it....except for
Malakai.  WHERE IS IT?  It's the one thing that can get us HOME!!" 

	... the image of the Electrum dragon was dim in the pool of water, but
the watcher didn't care.  He was enjoying seeing the dragon in such a
state...the little fool.  Behind the watcher, dark shapes moved, peering
over his shoulder curiously.  Snarling he sent them scuttling back. 
Chuckling, yellow eyes narrowed in evil pleasure, he smiled. 
	A black hand moved over the water, and the view changed.  There was the
green, he thought.  Pitiful.  Such a simple minded creature to be so
dangerous. Sitting back a frown settled over face.  He would have to do
something about these two...and the blue, as well.  That one could be more
trouble than the others combined.  But, one thing at a time, he reminded
himself.  One thing at a time.
	He continued watching for many hours.  As he soaked up all the
happenings, his black hand stroked the slightly singed binding of a spell
book... 

Chapter 6
	The town was a busy town; at least, it was busy that afternoon. 
True, it was market day, and farmers, scholars, and entertainers had
flooded into the town from far across the valley to sell their respective
goods and services, but the town that day seemed just a bit more crowded,
perhaps a bit more tense.
	A lone man threaded his way through the crowd, a bag of books
slung over his shoulder.  He seemed in no hurry.  At many points, when a
crowd of people were all walking the opposite direction, he simply stood
still and let them flow around him before starting to walk again.  At a
number of stalls, he stopped to examine the wares laid out on the table. 
At one, he bought a handful of fruit with a single gold piece laid out on
the table and a quiet admonishment to "keep the change".  The farmer,
having made more in thirty seconds than he was used to seeing all day,
stared at the man in astonishment until he disappeared from view around a
corner.
	It had been a good day for book-buying.  He had picked up two
magical tomes and a few old texts on philosophy.  Their weight on his back
was a comfort; occasionally, he came into town for the bi-weekly fairs and
returned home with nothing to show for it save some of the hot gossip
about the local nobility.  Although, come to think of it, ... Diel had
been awfully quiet and worried today.  He normally was full of juicy local
tidbits.  The man frowned.  Diel's concern was a matter he would have to
investigate at some point; it made no difference for the moment. 

	What happened next came with no warning.  The man felt a hand
touch his shoulder.  Before he could react, he felt the world spinning
around him, and the ground rushed up towards his face.  He instinctively
threw his hands up to protect his face; the bookbag fell out of his grasp,
and books tumbled to the damp earth.  The man twisted himself around
madly, and finally managed to sit up, face to knees with the man who had
thrown him down from behind.
	He looked up, stomach starting to gnaw in panic.  The crowd had
instinctively melted back a number of feet, clearing a small circle around
the ensuing confrontation.  His assailant, a tall man with thick facial
hair and well-decorated black clothing, was standing over him with a look
of rabid hatred on his face.  Those were all the details he had time to
notice.  Already, the man was speaking:  "This has gone on long enough,
strange one!  Your life of lies ends today!"
	The man in black snarled and started to draw a menacing-looking
longsword.  The man on the ground's eyes widened.
	He knew!  He must know!  That much was obvious.  But how?!
	The longsword came out of its sheath and the man on the ground had
no more time to think about it.  There was only one thing he could do to
save his life -- and he did it. 

	Narrowing his eyes, he called silently upon ancient, arcane power,
and released it through his body.  His muscles stiffened as he felt the
shapeshifting spell take hold of his form.  The town square, the crowd of
people, his attacker, all seemed to shrink around him.  Great wings burst
and unfurled from his back.  His skin wrinkled and hardened into brilliant
green scales.  His vision dimmed a bit as the membranes grew out around
his eyes.  His nostrils, becoming more sensitive, screamed the
overpowering smell of "Humans!" at him.  Great claws sprang out from his
fingers.  A lithe tail whipped back and forth behind him.  He had assumed
his natural form.
	...In the middle of a square crowded with townspeople.  Screams of
panic and shouts of fear erupted from the back of the crowd, and there was
a general stampede away from the 40' form now whirling to face the man in
black.  There were a few cries of pain as one or two young children fell
to the ground in the rush and were stepped on by townspeople intent on
escape. 

	The man in black, however, held his ground.  A new light of fear--
practically terror -- glistened in his eyes, but his body didn't move,
other than to raise the sword in a defensive posture.
	Summoning some inner reserve of last-ditch courage, the man took a
deep, steady breath and shouted at the dragon.  "This town has lived under
your reign of fear for long enough!  Today we cast off our bonds and
proclaim our freedom!"  Gripped, as it seemed, by desperation, he raised
his sword to strike at the green.
	*Reign of fear?* the dragon thought passingly as he jumped back a
step to avoid the human's swing.  *What a crock of.....I come here twice a
month to buy books! What is he talking about...?*
	The human continued triumphantly (perhaps buoyed by the notion
that he had faced a dragon this long and as yet hadn't perished), "By the
Gods which guide me this day, and by my sword Kroth'or'ak, you will die!"
He leapt forward with a battle cry and another vicious swing at the
dragon's chest, which the dragon evaded by shifting his weight to his two
back legs and sitting up, changing his stance from quadrupedal to bipedal.
	*A named sword?* the dragon thought wildly.  He focused his inner
sight on the sword and gasped.  *A sword of soul slaying...!  If he kills
me...*
	The dragon knew then that one of the two would not survive the
day.  His heart sank, but a strange resolve flooded through his system. 
He would not die, not now, not in this way!... 

	"T'eras?"

	would not die, not now, not in this way!...

	"T'eras!"

	would not die, not now...

	"Gods!  He's stirring.  Oh, please, T'eras..."

	don't die, not now...

	T'eras?

	T'eras backed cautiously away from the man.  He had no desire to 
let a sword of soul-slaying pierce his hide.  The human, gradually 
gaining courage, finally screamed a battle cry and leapt forward.
	The dragon moved then so quickly that none of the townspeople 
still scattered in the square saw anything more than a quick blur of 
motion.  In the blink of an eye, the man in black's battle cry had 
changed to a scream of pain, and the sword clattered to the ground 
harmlessly.  He glanced down at the teeth which had punctured his chest, 
the great green jaw encircling his shoulder, and his eyes went wide.

	"T'eras!  Can you hear me?"

	The dragon opened his jaws slightly and felt the sickeningly warm 
drip of fresh blood inside his mouth.  He quickly disentangled his head 
from the man's mangled body and looked around the square.  As the man's 
body collapsed to the ground to lie motionless in a crumpled heap, T'eras 
felt liquid drip from his muzzle.  He looked down and saw small red 
droplets littering the ground and the bile rose in his throat.  He stared 
around in disbelief, and then glanced over to the sword now laying 
harmlessly on the ground.
	A few rustles of movement caught his eye from around the square, 
and he saw some of the young men of the town grabbing weapons.  In utter 
disbelief at what he had just done, the dragon spread his great wings and 
leapt, in panic, into the sky.

	"T'eras?  T'eras!  Jyhanhen's tooth..."

	The normally-short flight back to his lair stretched out into a 
period of pure hell.  No matter how he spat and coughed, he couldn't get 
the sick taste of human blood out of his mouth.  Worse, he knew that he 
had killed -- and changed from his human form into a dragon one! -- in 
front of hundreds of people.  His days of studying human culture were 
over, period.  And he knew enough about them to realize that the first 
thing the humans would try to do would be to kill him in return.  His 
eyes blurred with moisture as he considered the thought of everything he 
had ever known disintegrating in front of his eyes.
	The familiar sight of the plateau up above the valley containing 
the town was the most welcome sight he had ever seen.  By the time he had 
come close enough to see the cave entrance, Kalin had noticed his arrival 
and stepped out onto the plateau to welcome him back.  T'eras flared his 
wings to slow his descent and touched down lightly in front of her.  
Kalin opened her mouth for a question, then stopped as she noticed 
T'eras' obvious panic, bloody jaws, and tear-stained eyes.
	"Gods, love, what happened to you?" she asked, eye-membranes open 
in obvious concern.  T'eras broke down in a fit of sobbing and hugged her 
tightly.  The story came out in fits and starts, as the two sat there, 
entwined around eachother, in the still air of the late afternoon.
	"Jyhanhen's tooth," Kalin whispered as the story ended.  "We'd 
better see the Elder about this one..."
	T'eras closed his eyes in pain and nodded, stifling a sob.  He'd 
never been much of a fighter; he was still in shock over having killed...

Chapter 7
	"T'eras?"  That voice again.  A pain tearing through his shoulder 
as it was prodded.
	The dragon opened his eyes slowly to see the glittering scales of
a gold dragoness hovering over him in the still atmosphere of the late
afternoon.  A slight breeze started blowing in from the lake over the
plateau; his eyes wavered, either in pain, or with some trick of the light
in the humid air.
	"Gods!" the dragoness whispered in relief.  "What happened to you?"
	He stared at her, some faint spark of memory igniting.  "Kalin?" 
he asked her, voice rasping through a dry and injured throat.  Then he 
knew his guess to be wrong; Kalin was a red dragoness, not a gold.  He 
looked up in confusion, down at himself and his bloody green scales, and 
memories started returning.
	"No," the gold answered tenderly.  "I'm not Kalin..."  She paused 
and looked at him with worry crossing her face.  "You don't remember me, 
T'eras?"
	T'eras -- Baxil? -- looked up into her eyes.  He glanced again at 
his own body.  "No," he finally admitted.
	The gold sighed.  "It's been over forty years," she said slowly.  
"I guess I couldn't expect you to have remembered me all this time..."  
Her eyes dropped.  "Where have you been?" she asked, bewilderedly.
	Baxil looked around the plateau -- at the cave to his right; at
the human camp (Human camp?  There hadn't been a human camp there when he
flew in! ...But wait...he hadn't flown in! Had he?) at the base of the
plateau, far to his left; at the lake in the valley in the background; and
at the town, which stood out fresh in his memory.  He looked back at the
dragoness.  "Who are you?" he asked.
	"Synol," the gold answered.  She stared at Baxil as if she expected
the name to mean something.  Baxil looked back at her blankly.  Synol 
lowered her head and a tear started to form in one eye.  "We ... we were 
good childhood friends," she explained.  "Tsarhan's tears, T'eras," she 
said, stumbling over the unexpected alliteration, "What happened to you?  
Nobody sees a scale of you for decades...and suddenly, one day, you're 
back at your cave, two-thirds dead..."
	"More than that, I'd expect," Baxil said weakly.  "It's a long 
story ... I will tell you.  But right now ... I need some information,"
he pleaded, a chill running through his body with the memories of the
fight in the town square.  "I'm really T'eras?"  Synol nodded.
	"And Kalin's dead?" Baxil continued; Synol nodded again.
	"And the humans have been killing our kind for thirty years?" 
	Synol looked at Baxil questioningly, raised her eyeridges in
confusion, and commented, "I wouldn't have expected you to ask that."  She
sighed.  "But then again, I have no idea what's happened to you."
	Baxil looked up at her, his eyes blank and empty, and answered, 
"Neither do I, Synol, neither do I...."

	"It's GOT to BE here!"  Albert's voice is strained as he digs
through the rubbish that was once his immense library.  For a moment or
two he looks like a dog digging in the back yard, with stuff flying out
between his back legs.  He becomes increasingly frantic, busts a few
pieces of furniture that have survived, and finally sits down, resting his
head in his claw.  Taking a deep breath he tries to calm himself.
	"It might be the only thing that can get us home..."
	A thought strikes him.  How am I supposed to get home when I can't
even get off this island?  Tirin was my only way out...
	"AAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" he wails in frustration.
	Then he stops.  Something glints in the corner, and he stands,
knees weak from his former exertion.  He approaches the object and lifts
it, eyeing it with wonder.
	"How did you get here?" his words are whispered to a tiny (for a
dragon) silver bottle with a rune on its side.  "You aren't even mine! 
You were Sham's...."  His mind briefly recalls the face of the tiny
crystal dragon who was his hatching mate.
	He considers a moment, weighing the possibilities of the potion
within the bottle.  Then, with a nod to himself, he unstoppers it and
downs it in a swallow.  Almost immediately there is a change.
	It begins in his belly, and he feels the warmth of magic flowing
through his body.  Looking at himself he sees that a blue sparkling aura
is blanketing him, wrapping him in its warmth.  It progresses up his
smashed and useless wings, and over all of his wounds.  When it reaches
his head his eyes open in shock as new knowledge enters his brain.
	He feels his tail stretch and grow, feels muscle and sinew bulge
with new power.  His claws double in size...in fact, his entire body seems
to grow, skin bulging as though it were a sheet and there were a puppy
beneath it, trying to find its way out.  His mane, a juvenile length
before, extends, the three horns around his face sweeping back to become
nearly eight feet in length.  His eyes grow a deeper green, his teeth
sharper and stronger.  And his wounds are mended cleanly.
	After a few moments Albert begins breathing again, looks at his
new body, flexes his now-huge wings. 
	"SMOKIN'!"

	Somewhere, there is a curse, and dark figures scurry too and fro. 
Another figure, cloaked in black, paces angrily back and forth, a faded
and singed book in his hand.
	"Where in the name of the Abyss did that potion come from!!!" Not a
question, but a curse in itself.  Reptilian eyes flash in anger as the
creature whirls and dispatches another, lesser one, with a quickly drawn
dagger.  Fury sated only slightly, the drow turns to the others.
	"Prepare the portal.  We must act quickly.  I will inform our lord
of our progress...and that of Albert and that damnable T'eras!"
	Without another word the figure turns and leaves.  The corpse
remains untouched as the others rush to do Malakai's bidding. 

	Synol sighed and paced over to the edge of the plateau, streaks 
of the late afternoon sunlight rippling down her gold scales as she 
moved.  "Oh, T'eras...it's just so good to see you again, even after this 
long ... I keep wanting to ask what's happened to you ... but you're in 
no condition to talk.  We've got to find some way to heal you."
	"Please," Baxil said weakly from his position on the ground near 
the entrance of the cave, "Call me Baxil.  'Bakh-heel'.  I guess I was 
T'eras before...but things have changed."  He shifted, uncomfortably; the 
sword wound through the left side of his chest was making it hard to 
breathe.  *It's a damn shame that powerful healing magic won't work on its 
caster!* he thought with a wince of pain.
	"Bach-heel," Synol stumbled through the unfamiliar name.  "Does 
the name mean anything?" she asked, curiosity dancing in her eyes.
	Baxil shrugged, then closed his eyes as pain flooded through his 
shoulder, and wished he hadn't.  "A human friend of mine gave it to me 
when she found out I was a dragon.  As you can tell, I really don't know 
a whole lot about my past, and that even includes who I was...Until the 
last year or two, I've been living as a human on a world with little 
magic, a place called 'Earth'."
	"It's good to see you back on Terranen," the gold said with a sad 
smile.  She looked to the west to see the setting sun casting long 
shadows across the plateau.  "We'd better move you inside..."

	The pair did so, very carefully, and lapsed into silence as the
sun went down;  Baxil watched the sunset with a bit of awe and a great
deal of deja vu.
	*It's so familiar,* he thought.  *And yet I've never seen it 
before.  Not as 'me', anyways...*  He looked around at the comforting walls 
of the cave that had once been his home.  *And I lost this.  Lost it 
all.  My home.  My mate ... maybe even my father... not to mention all 
the other dragons who died in the war I started.*  Dim images began to 
flit through the back of his mind as his eyes darted around the cave.  
Some vague memory -- of the warmth of a lithe, red body stretched out next 
to his -- sent a chill down his spine, as he realized how much he missed 
the dragons he'd never known.  *Kalin...* his voice echoed through his 
head, and he felt a tear trickle down the side of his cheek.
	"T'eras," Synol said softly, then caught herself.  "..uhh, 
Bach-heel..."
	"Mmm?" he managed to grunt, pain flaring up in his ribcage.
	"I think we both need a good night's sleep...please, please don't 
hesitate to wake me up if you need anything."
	Baxil nodded slightly in assent, and Synol walked up to the front
of the cave.  With a few gestures of her foreclaws and mumbled words, she
set up an invisible ward of some sort, and then retreated deeper into the
cave.  "To keep the humans out," she explained to Baxil on her way back
from the entrance.  He nodded, and shifted his head slightly to look out 
at the stars.
	As expected, he couldn't identify any Earth constellations, even 
though the stars shone brightly, with no bright city lights to blot them out.  
He stared blankly at the stars for a number of minutes -- occasionally 
staring at one of the two moons visible from his vantage point, and 
vaguely aware of Synol's breathing in the background slowing and becoming 
more regular -- and a certain pattern of stars, framed by the cave 
entrance, finally registered in his mind.
	"Jerom," he whispered to himself.  "The tooth.  Jyhanhen's 
tooth."  Baxil stared at the bright V slightly above the horizon, and 
smiled.  He'd always wondered where that expression came from.  He'd have 
to ask Synol who exactly Jyhanhen was, in the morning.  He chuckled 
softly but helplessly; for some reason, he found the fact that he 
remembered the constellation extremely funny.  *And heaven knows,* he 
thought passingly, *I needed the laugh.*

	Baxil's attention was suddenly drawn to the cave entrance once
again by a shadow dropping down from above.  As the Tooth disappeared
behind the dragon silhouette, Baxil's heart sank.  His fears were
confirmed as the visitor slipped easily through the wards and walked over
casually.
	Tirin sat down a few feet from Baxil's head, folded his wings 
casually, and smiled, more than a bit ominously.  He spoke in a 
level, measured tone:
	"Welcome home, T'eras."

Chapter 8
	"So, Little Murderer, you have come home..."  The blue's teeth
snapped together menacingly.  Baxil, heart in his stomach, clenched his
teeth to keep them from chattering.  It felt like he'd swallowed Fort
Knox.  He knew, in his condition, that he could not hope to win if it came
to a fight.  Not by himself, at least...He glanced back at Synol, deeper
in the cave, her gold scales almost glowing in the soft moonlight.
	"Oh, don't worry, T'eras," Tirin continued, voice condescending.
"Synol, that easily deceivable dragon, won't hear a thing.  I've taken
care of that.  She will wake up in the morning and find your cold body
lying dead on the floor."
	With the last word the big blue suddenly lunged forward.  Baxil
jumped to the side, his panic giving him strength, and Tirin found his
teeth snapping in the air where only a few seconds before Baxil's neck had
been.  Whirling around, the blue dove again, and this time Baxil, too slow
from his recent wounds, found his neck in the grip of Tirin's jaws.  But the
blue didn't squeeze.  He held Baxil there, making sure the green knew he was
about to die.
	Baxil glanced about wildly for anything that might save his
life.  He caught a glimpse of Synol through the corner of his eye;
despite Tirin's earlier boasts, she seemed to be stirring.  But not soon
enough, he thought ... by the time she saw what was going on, his neck
would be broken.  *If I'm going to survive,* Baxil thought wildly,
*I'm going to have to do it myself.*  A fatalistic determination burned
in his soul, and he clenched his jaws, biting the pain down.
	Twisting around, Baxil managed to get a hold on Tirin's wing with
his claw, ripping it badly.  With an angry bellow, muffled by Baxil's
neck, Tirin's jaws begin to close.
	"TIRIN!!"  DROP HIM!!"  The voice held such authority that the
blue, taken aback, turned to face the lair entrance, dragging Baxil
sideways a few feet.  The sight of an immense metallic dragon, teeth bared
in fury and green eyes flashing warning, caused Tirin to comply.  Baxil
hit the floor with a thud as Tirin stepped away to confront his brother.
He coughed, unsteadily, and collapsed against the side of the cave.
	"YOU DIHONORABLE, CONNIVING, SELF-INVOLVED HATCHLING!!  WILL YOU
NEVER CHANGE, BROTHER??"  Albert's voice is shaking in fury, and quicker
than the eye can follow he pounces, pinning the shaken blue to the floor
with his talons.  With his teeth inches from the blue's ears, he roars
menacingly, 
	"IF YOU SO MUCH AS LIFT ONE TALON AGAINST BAXIL AGAIN, I WILL HAVE
NO PROBLEM STRINGING YOUR GUTS UP LIKE PARTY STREAMERS!!!  UNDERSTAND??"
	Tirin's eyes go red, and with one movement he is up, slipping out 
from under Albert's body like a snake.  He attacks, teeth bared, a mad 
look on his face.  He seems almost desperate as he strikes repeatedly at
the electrum's neck.  But Albert, fed up with his brother's asinine 
actions, almost succeeds in pinning the dragon again.  At the last moment
Tirin bursts past Albert and takes off, a trail of blood flowing behind
him from a his mangled wing.  
	As Tirin fled into the night, an angry roar came from the back of
the lair as Synol stepped into view.

	One look was all the gold needed to know that something was
amiss.  The wards at the front of the lair had been punched through --
twice, apparently -- and T'eras (Baxil, she reminded herself!) was lying
against the wall of the cave, apparently freshly injured.  A dragon she
didn't recognize was standing in the middle of the entryway, staring out
into the night, breathing hard from recent exertion.  She found herself
roaring in anger at this stranger; she leapt forward between Baxil's body
and the new dragon's, and screamed, quivering with rage, "What have you
done with him!?"
	The electrum whipped around at the first roar, startled.  At her
question, seeing the fire in her eyes, he took an uneasy step back.
*Tirin brought backup!!* he thought wildly.  His eyes narrowed to feral
slits as he squared himself for more combat.  "The same thing that I will
do to anyone who threatens my friends," he snarled, casting a worried
glance over at the green, collapsed against the cave wall.  Damn it ... the
gold was between him and Baxil.  There would be no avoiding this
confrontation .. and Tirin had landed a few good blows earlier.  Despite
his newfound strength and size, Albert's head was swimming, and he'd need
a minute or two of rest to catch his breath, especially after the arduous
flight to get here.
	"He was no threat!"  the gold snarled back as she advanced.  "Try
taking on someone who will fight back."  She reared back, spreading wings
for balance, and brought back her powerful forearms, ready to strike with
her front claws.
	"Who are you kidding?!"  Albert growled in disbelief.  "Tirin
would have taken Baxil apart completely if I hadn't arrived.  That counts
as a threat to me."  He backed up a few steps, trying to stay out of
range of those claws -- at least, until he could get his balance for long
enough to prepare himself similarly.
	Synol gasped involuntarily midway through Albert's words.
"Baxil?"  she asked curiously.  Taking a few steps back, and returning to
all fours cautiously, she examined Albert in the moonlight shining in from
outside.  "Who are you?"  she asked, backing towards the injured green
protectively.  "I have only heard the name Baxil from him" -- she
indicated the green behind her -- "until just now.  All dragons from this
world know him as T'eras."
	Albert let himself relax slightly when the gold in front of him
moved back to a more non-threatening stance.  "A friend of Baxil's," he
answered.  He sidestepped a few paces, trying to edge closer to Baxil
without getting in range of those claws.  He blinked once or twice
without saying anything more, then softly asked, "What are _you_ doing here?"
	"I've known -- Baxil -- since before the human wars," Synol
responded softly.  "I'm staying here for the night to make sure he sleeps
safely.  Obviously, others have different ideas."  She narrowed her eyes
and crouched back into a battle stance again.  "Why did you attack him?"
she snarled.
	Realization flooded through Albert as the reason for the gold's
hostility became clear.  "It wasn't me!"  he said, with a note of relief
in his voice.  "That was my brother Tirin.  I arrived only slightly after
he did, thank the heavens, or Baxil wouldn't be alive right now.  Tirin
took off just before you awoke."
	Synol mulled over that for a few seconds and nodded.  "Give me
dragon's honor you won't hurt Baxil," she demanded.
	"Dragon's honor," Albert stated confidently, making a quick
crossing motion with his right-hand claws over his heart in the Terranen
tradition.  "And you?"
	"Dragon's honor as well," Synol said with a quick nod of her head
and the same crossing motion.  "My name is Synol.  And you are...?"
	"Albert," the Electrum said in introduction.  "Now, may I suggest
we make sure Baxil is alright?"

	It took Baxil a number of minutes to realize that the blackness
around him was lightening back into the conscious world.  He blinked back
a few involuntary tears at the sudden light, and set his mind to figuring
out why.  It finally hit him:  There was no pain.  He had gotten so used
to waking up to the agonizing heave of his wounded chest, the pounding
headache of blood loss, and the general ache of the hundreds of small
cuts and scratches of combat and thick undergrowth, that he had nearly
come to rely on it as a sign of re-awakening.
	No pain.  A slight discomfort from one of his wings, but even his
breathing -- he'd gotten used to taking shallow breaths to minimize the
anguish from what must have been a punctured lung -- felt totally
normal.  He tried to focus his eyes and separate the light into separate
images.  Gold and silver glinted out from the muddy brown surrounding him.
	"You awake, Bax?" he heard someone ask.  It sounded like Albert.
Baxil nodded, somewhat weakly, still trying to get his bearings.  He
squinted, and the silver form resolved itself into the electrum he'd come
to know over the last few weeks.
	He tried his voice.  "I'm awake," he said, his throat rasping
more from dryness than injury.
	"Good to hear.  How are you feeling?"  the electrum continued.
Through the rapidly clearing haze in his eyes, Baxil could see Synol
stirring as well.  He glanced out the cave entrance; it was, apparently,
early morning.
	"Too good for words," Baxil said, as he craned his neck back to
look at his left side.  No sword wound.  "What happened?" he asked as he
struggled to his feet.
	"After I took care of Tirin, you mean?  Well, once Synol and I came
to terms with eachother, she got me to stay and guard you while she went
back to her lair," Albert explained.  "She brought back some
industrial-strength healing potion for you.  We ran out about midway
through the wings.  Are they alright?"
	"No worries," Baxil said, flexing them uneasily as he took a few
steps towards the lair entrance.  Once he had passed into the morning
sunlight, he turned around and lay back down, facing inside.  "Remember,
my kind doesn't use the wings for lift during flight.  Only steering.  By
the time I need them, they'll have healed on their own."
	"You've been sleeping for two days," Synol broke in.  "I've had
to practically hold Albert back.  He kept wanting to wake you up.  I had
to insist that we wait for the healing potion to do its work."
	Baxil nodded.  "Thanks."  He glanced at both of his friends, and
smiled gratefully.  "Thank you both.  I .... I'd be dead by now if you
both hadn't helped me.  I'm in your debt."  He frowned suddenly.
"Speaking of killing ... Albert, what happened to Tirin?"
	The electrum's face grew serious.  "He ran," Albert explained.
"After he knew I had the upper hand, he lit out like a scared rabbit.  I
don't think he'll be back.  But we've got other things to worry about..."

Chapter 9
	Baxil looks at Albert, his heart sinking at the worried look in 
his friend's eyes.  Behind the electrum Synol's face grows serious and
her eyes cloud over in anger.
	"I told you it's too early to tell him, Albert.  Let him rest." 
Her voice is full of warning.  Albert turns his head and casts her a 
grim look.
	"It can't wait, Synol.  It's getting too dangerous."
	"What's getting too dangerous?" Baxil cuts in.  Synol snorts and
shakes her head.
	"Fine.  If you insist on this madness, I will have no part in it.
You are an idiot, Albert, to think Te ... Baxil can do anything now. 
And you," she eyes the green with that 'scolding mother' look, "are a 
fool if you try."  With that the dragoness turns her backside toward the 
males and stalks into the cave, fading as far back as she can.  They hear 
the sound of her body *thump*ing onto the floor as she pouts.  Albert
sighs, shaking his head, thinking 'women!'
	"We could have used her help down there. . ." he voices.
	"Um. . .Albert?  You want to let me in on this secret?"
	Albert looks closely at his friend, concerned for the green's health. 
Bax seemed tired to him, but determined.  It was time to get to business.  
	"There is something happening in the town. . .people are getting 
riled up by someone.  They look like they are getting ready for war.  And I
mean WAR.  I don't know what's going on, and have no way of finding out. 
I can't transform into human form. . ."
	"But I can."
	"Right.  Synol and I found out about this by accident.  Those humans
who were camped at down in the valley suddenly packed up and left.  I tailed 
them and caught some of their conversation.  I didn't get specifics, but there
is a single mind behind the hostilities.  We have to find out who it is."
	"Okay.  I'll do it.  I guess now is good enough. . ."  The green starts 
to rise, but Albert stops him with a clawed hand on the shoulder.  Baxil looks 
up at his companion and sees the electrum has something more to say. .
.something
apparently not good. He feels his stomach knot up in apprehension.
	"Bax. . .you need to know.  The town. . ."  Here Al looks toward the 
sulking gold.  "Synol wanted me to warn you. . .It. . .it's the town from your
past. . ."
	Baxil's throat grows dry, his heart beats wildly.  A million things go 
through his mind.  What if it happens again?  Maybe, through one act, he could
undo what he did so long ago.  But WHAT IF IT HAPPENS AGAIN??

	The evening sun cast long shadows on the plateau in front of Baxil's
lair. Baxil lay in the fading light, head drooped over the edge of the
plateau, gazing out onto the remains of the human encampment that had,
until recently, lay below.
        "Baxil?" he heard from behind him, and turned to see Albert walking
out of the cave.  "Is something on your mind?" the electrum asked
worriedly. Baxil sighed, and nodded his head in reply.
	"The town," Baxil said, with a glance down into the valley below the
two dragons.  "The humans."
	"That's what I thought..." Albert said, glancing down at the ground
in guilt.  "Maybe I shouldn't have brought it up.  Synol was right..."
	"Don't worry about it," Baxil said, getting to his feet with a
glance at the sunset.  "I've gotta face up to my past someday.  And if I'm
going to go back there, it might as well be to help save the lives of
other dragons."  His tail twitched back and forth.  "It's only fitting."
	"Baxil..." Albert looked at his friend worriedly.  "Nobody's making
you do this..."
	"I know," Baxil said, glancing once again at the lights of the city
in the distance.  "But .. I can't run forever.  And, besides, who's going
to do it if I don't?"
	Albert looked at his friend worriedly for a few seconds.  "Okay,
if that's how you really feel..."  He shrugged.  "I think I'm going to go
to bed.  See you tomorrow morning..."
	Baxil nodded.  "Dream well."
	Albert turned to head inside, but some nagging question made him 
pause.  He cleared his throat softly.  "Baxil..."
	"What?" the reply came from the edge of the plateau.
	"What made you so interested in humans in the first place?  It's 
not a common attitude for a Terranen dragon at all..."
	Baxil glanced back at his friend.  The electrum looked curiously 
at Baxil.  The green sighed and shrugged.
	"I don't honestly know, Albert," Baxil said.  "I remember nothing 
of Terranen before we arrived ... nothing except that last trip into town."
	Albert nodded.  "Never mind.  Just curious."
	"Fair enough," Baxil said, turning his attention back to the 
valley below.  "Good night."
	Albert walked back inside Baxil's cave, and Baxil turned his gaze
back towards the western horizon with a sigh.  He watched the sunset for a
long while, until the fiery orb sank below the hills in the far distance
beyond the lake.
	"Oy," he muttered to himself.  "I could have sworn I'd never seen
this place before a week ago, and that town brings back such memories..."
he said with a shake of his head.  "I killed one human in self-defense. 
It wasn't my fault they retaliated by slaughtering the other dragons!..."
Baxil told himself bitterly.  He sighed.  "Who am I kidding?  If I'd
stayed here with my mate instead of going down there to buy books all the
time..."
	He blinked.  "If I'd stayed here with my mate .. I'd never have
gone to Earth.  I'd never have lost my memories.  I'd never have been born
into a human body and suffered through being different for sixteen years
before I managed to regain my true form.  On the other hand, I'd have
never found the Dominance ... never made all the friends I have today." 
With a pained edge in his voice, he added, "But I'd still have a mate, a
family."  After a few seconds thought, he muttered, "All I can conclude is
that it's been a mixed blessing, overall...the story of my life."
	"What was that?" a female voice asked from the mouth of the cave. 
Baxil brought his head up and turned back to look at the speaker.  Synol's
gold form glinted, even in the steadily deepening shadows.
	Baxil met her eyes for a moment, then looked away.  "Nothing
much," he admitted.  "Just talking to myself about the future I left
behind..."
	She nodded sagely.  "Wouldn't have been much," she said bitterly. 
"There's only a few of us left.  Maybe five that I know of ... eight, with
Tirin, you and Albert.  Everyone else died when the humans started
attacking us."
	"Don't remind me," Baxil said, shielding his face with a wing.
	Synol's frown of pain turned to one of concern.  "I'm sorry,
Baxil," she said tenderly.  "I didn't mean to sound like I was blaming you
... I understand now what happened."  She walked up to Baxil and gave him
a hug.  "It couldn't be avoided.  You just happened to be their scapegoat
... if not you, then something else would have touched the humans off."
	"That doesn't stop it from hurting..." Baxil sighed.  "I lost a
mate.  I lost a father.  Then I lost everything I had left to lose."
	"So did I," Synol said in a near-whisper.  Baxil turned to her in
confusion.  "A mate, I mean," she added. 
	Baxil nodded.  "What was my father like?" he suddenly asked.
	Synol glanced, eyeridges raised, at Baxil.  "Don't you remember?"
	Baxil shook his head.  "The only memories I've gotten back are of
the day I went back into town..."
	Synol shrugged.  "I'd assumed you'd have at least remembered when
you left ... You and Kalin visited him that evening ... the evening after
your fight in town, I mean," she explained.  "He flew around the area the
next day, telling all the dragons he found what had happened.  By then,
you were gone."
	"No ..." Baxil told her.  "The last memories I've got of Terranen
are of flying back here after I killed the human ..." he sighed.  "So, what
happened afterwards?"
	"I was one of the dragons your father found," Synol said
hesitantly.  "He flew to my cave ... and warned me ... my mate was out
hunting.  We lived about as close to the city as you did ... so I took his
warning seriously."  Synol closed her eyes and let out a deep breath.  "I
went out to find my mate and let him know.  But ... before I could track
him down ..." she said, voice breaking.  "... he ..."  The gold choked back
a sob.  "The humans ..."
	"Jyhanhen's tooth," Baxil said, horrified.  He put a comforting arm
around Synol's shoulders.  "I'm sorry," he told her.
	Synol sat there quietly for a few moments before replying.  "It's
been thirty years," she said quietly.  "The memories have faded."
	"But the pain's still there," Baxil finished for her.  "For you as
well as me.  Which is why I'm heading down to the city tonight."
	Synol snapped her eyes open in shock and jerked her head up to
look at Baxil.  "You WHAT?"
	Baxil turned away, unable to meet her gaze.  "Somebody's gotta
find out what the humans are planning.  And the only way I can face up to
what I did thirty years ago is to help repair the damage by keeping the
surviving dragons alive."
	Synol stared at Baxil in disbelief.  "You can't ..." she told him. 
"They'll recognize you in an instant ..."
	Baxil shook his head.  "These are humans we're talking about,
remember.  Not dragons.  They've only got a lifespan of about 70 years. 
The only ones who'll be alive to remember me are the ones who were young
when I was last there.  And they'd remember my dragon form, not my human
one.  Just in case ..." he paused ... "I have worked out a few wards.  When
I change back to human form, it's going to take a mage to distinguish me
from a born human.  And my appearance has changed ..." he said, crouching
down.  His body shimmered and glowed slightly in the fading twilight as he
shrunk down to a human.  He turned to face Synol again, indicating his
form.  "This is what I look like on Earth.  My last Terranen form was
three inches shorter, more heavily built, and had a thick beard."
	Synol nodded dubiously.  "Well ..." she said slowly.  "You do seem
prepared.  But still ..." she said, eyes narrowing as she lowered her head
to look at the human form in front of her.  Coming to a sudden decision,
she sat back on her haunches and reached back to her neck with her
foreclaws.  Fumbling a bit with the clasp, she removed a piece of jewelry
from around her neck, handing it to Baxil gingerly.
	He took it from her claws and examined it.  "The chain's a bit
long," he observed.  "For a human to wear, I mean."
	"Double it up around your neck," Synol suggested.  "I'd feel a lot
better if you wore it."  Baxil glanced down at the pendant on the chain. 
It was a simple seashell, pierced on one end to allow the chain to thread
through.  "It's linked to another similar necklace that's currently in my
lair," Synol explained.  "If you need help, you can call for me and
Albert.  We'll keep watch while you're in town."
	Baxil nodded.  "I'll do that.  Thanks."  He put the necklace
carefully on the ground, changed back to dragon form in a soft glow of
light, and picked it back up.  After fastening it around his neck, he told
Synol, "I'd better get some sleep.  I don't want to fly down there after
sunrise ... by the time you two get up in the morning, I'll be in town."
	"Then I'd better go back to my lair and pick up the other
necklace," Synol said, unfolding her wings.  "Dream well, T'er -- I mean,
Baxil."
	"You too," Baxil told her.  "See you soon."
	Synol nodded, gravely, and walked up to the edge of the plateau. 
Extending her wings fully, she leapt off the edge and soared away into the
night.
	Baxil watched her leave, glanced down at the pendant she had
gifted him, and turned to stare at the cave behind him.  Tomorrow he'd be
leaving the relative safety of his old lair.  To walk back into human
civilization.  The civilization that, thirty years ago, had started a war
that had almost wiped out Dragonkind, and caused him to leave the planet
entirely.
	A chill ran down his spine.  The humans that had killed his mate.
	What did he have left to lose this time?
	Baxil glanced up at the sky.  Jyhanhen's tooth shone above, its
bright stars arranged in a sharp 'v' pointed down at the horizon.  Down at
the lights of the town in the valley below.
	And he wondered...

Chapter 10
	Albert stirred in his sleep, senses alerting him to movement in
the lair. Cracking open a green eye, he saw Baxil headed for the cave
opening. Grunting to his feet, the electrum followed Bax into the darkness
of early morning.
	"You're going now?"  His voice was low, mindful of the sleeping
Synol. But the gold was already awake, and she soon joined the two out on
the ledge.  It was cramped, so Albert backed into the cave, leaving only
his head and neck to converse.
	"It's time.  If I wait any longer, they will see me approach."  He
looked at his friends with a wry smile.  "I don't think we want to do
that."
	"It's not too late to change your mind, you know."  Albert put a
hand on Bax's shoulder, squeezing it ever-so-slightly.  "We can figure
something else out."
	"No."  The green was steadfast.  "It has to be done this way.  I'll
be alright."  He wasn't convinced, it sounded.
	"You'll be careful?"  Synol's voice was full of fear for her friend.
	"Dragon's honor.  I have the Amulet, you know."  The dragoness
nodded.  She embraced the green for a long moment, then let him go
reluctantly.  Albert followed suit.
	"May God grant you a swift and safe journey, my friend.  Come back
to us in one piece."
	Baxil looked at his friends a moment longer, then he turned to the
village. With a deep breath he opened his wings, set his teeth, and
launched into the air.  He was soon invisible in the night.
	Albert re-emerged from the cave, wincing in pain at the stiffness
in his joints.  The growing pains of the aging potion had caught up with
him, and combined with the exertion of fighting Tirin, he felt as though
he'd been trampled by a thousand Dymus' on their way to a chocolate
factory.  He stretched out his wings gingerly, testing them.
	"What are you doing?"  The gold eyed Albert with reproach.  "You're
not following him."  Albert shook his head, admiring Synol's devotion to
Baxil. 
	"No.  I'm not following him.  I'm making sure that he is left
alone.  I'm going after Tirin."
	"What if Baxil needs us?  How will you hear him?  I have the mate
to his amulet."  Albert reached out and touched the amulet around the
gold's neck.  He smiled, removing his hand.  Withdrawing his bag of
holding from its hiding place, he opens it and pulls out a shell, similar
to Synol's. Muttering in an arcane language, Albert traces patterns in the
air.  A moment later the shell glows, and the electrum grins again.
	"It isn't perfect, but it should do it.  It's a clone of yours,
now.  I'll hear him."  Looking toward the village, he nods.  "I'll hear
him." 
 
	"TIRIN!!  I KNOW YOU'RE HERE, BROTHER!  TIRIN!!!"  Albert stood at
the entrance to Tirin's lair, eyes narrowed in determination.  At his feet
were the unmistakable footprints of his brother, leading into the cave. 
No prints led outwards. . .the blue was here, skulking in his cave. 
Albert began to move into the lair, but stopped, detecting a noise from
within.
	"Tirin?  Answer me!"  From deep in the cavern a voice floated
forward, and Albert's eyes widened in shock.  It was Tirin ... but he
sounded as though he was weeping!
	"Go away."  The shaky voice was barely discernible.  Snorting,
Albert stepped further into the cavern, his eyes quickly adjusting to the
pale magical light illuminating the area.  Tirin lay with his tail toward
Albert, his ninety foot form resting on a massive pile of gold, silver,
jewels and bones.  The blue's hide was criss-crossed with the wounds and
scars of many battles, and for the first time the electrum noticed that
nearly a quarter of Tirin's tail was gone, long healed. 
	"Stand up and face me, brother.  You've got to face up to what 
you nearly did."
	"For the last time, go away, Albert."  The blue's voice was more
steady, but he still didn't move.  Albert sat down, keeping his distance
from Tirin's hoard.  He remembered well his brother's territorialism
towards treasure.  He remained silent, waiting.
	Finally, Tirin turned around, his maneuvering sending the pile of
wealth skittering out in a cascade of gold.  When he met his brother's
gaze, Albert gasped.  There was such sorrow in the blue's eyes that Al
forgot himself, his heart full of compassion, and he reached out to
comfort.  Tirin snorted and pulled away halfheartedly.  His orange eyes
met Albert's green ones steadily, and he sighed.
	"What do you want, Albert?  An apology?  An excuse??  You know me
better." The tone was wistful, almost longing.  The blue shook his head.
	"Why?"
	It was silent for a long time in the cavern, the dragon's eyes
locked together.  Finally Tirin lowered his gaze, a mild oath escaping his
lips. He lay down, head low, one claw covering his face.  Albert had to
lean forward to hear the muttered reply.
	"I had no choice."
	"What do you mean?"  Albert blinked.  Tirin's head snaked up, his
eyes holding a bit of their old fire.
	"I was an idiot, okay???  I had a dream ... a dream where I saw
T'eras standing over her body, his fangs dripping blood.  I was furious!! 
That's when a figure appeared, some old geezer that said T'eras was back,
and that he could give me the power I needed to destroy the green.  In the
dream I accepted.  When I woke up ..."  He stopped, slumping into his
gold.  His voice was calmer when he continued.  "When I woke up, I found
to my surprise that I was healed.  Albert ... I haven't been able to fly
in twenty years! Look!!" 
	The blue stretched out a wing, and again Albert gasped in
astonishment. The membrane of the appendage was tattered, ripped and dry,
with the appearance of an old shredded sheet dangling in the wind.  The
electrum swallowed down the bile in his throat.
	"The other one doesn't even move, brother!  I have been earthbound
so long, I jumped at the chance to fly again!  This happened in the Great
Battle, when all but eight of us died.  I barely escaped with my life! 
One minute I'm flying along, torching humans like so many marshmallows
when BLAM!  I feel my skin begin to wither, to crack.  A mage, you see.  A
mage did to me what you did to yourself ... only he aged me without
letting me grow!" Tirin sighed, seeming suddenly tired.
	"Do you know what its like to have everything you've ever had
ripped away from you?  I fell like a rock when my wings went, and then
battled the humans on the ground.  They took my tail.  And my left foot. 
I finally ran, ran for my life.  You ever think I'd retreat?  I did ...
with what was left of my tail tucked and my anger gone.  They took my 
dignity, and they broke my spirit.  I've been hiding here ever since,
conjuring myself food whenever I felt like it."
	Albert let all of this soak in, trying to grasp that the obviously
ancient and crippled dragon before him was his brother.  Setting that
aside, he looked in Tirin's face again.
	"Yesterday you were whole and young."
	"Yeah, the good it did me!"  The dragon was bitter.  "The old
geezer in my dream, remember?  It's like he undid the spell ... he gave me
everything back.  Everything ... including anger!  It burned inside me,
eating at me until I couldn't stand it.  That's when I left, that's when I
started tracking T'eras down.  That first time, you made me think.  I was
willing to give T'eras -- Baxil -- the chance.  But as I flew off, the anger
started gnawing again ... I couldn't control it.  When I got to his lair
... I didn't want to be there.  I loathed it!  But I couldn't control
myself, Albert!"
	"I cast a dispel magic when I got to the cave.  That's what
happened ... you were under another spell."
	"You gave me control back.  I felt the aging begin, and knew I had
to leave.  I was afraid, Albert.  Afraid that if you saw me like this
you'd pity me, and not kill me.  I wanted to die ... but I was too
cowardly.  I ran again."  The blue sank lower into his hoard, his eyes
fluttering closed. Albert retreated to the cave opening, and regarded the
mid-morning sun with thoughtful eyes.  His thoughts went to Baxil, and he
swallowed.  Something wasn't right, here.  Something was definitely not
right. 

Chapter 11
	The door creaked open, and Cesbitt glanced up from his writing. 
The blue eyes under his thick shock of whitening hair widened in surprise. 
He sat up with a start, spilling ink everywhere, and grabbed for the
crossbow he kept behind the desk for emergencies.  He stood up, pointing
the bolt straight at his visitor's heart.  "Take one more step, demon," he
said, ashen-faced, "and you're dead."
	Malakai smiled and closed the door behind him.  The drow elf's
eyes narrowed in concentration for a moment, and he took a deliberate step
forward.
	Cesbitt pulled the trigger.
	The bolt flew towards Malakai -- and in a flash of magic, passed
through him and shattered against the door, suddenly brittle as china.  He
chuckled.  "Old man, put down your weapons.  I am here to talk."
	Cesbitt stared in disbelief at the dark-skinned figure in front of
him.  A feeling of fear gnawed in his gut despite the drow's offer.  After
all, he had been protecting the town from non-humans for over three
decades now.  Now one was standing here, in his office, and had
neutralized his primary defense.  His mind raced for a moment and he
decided that his best chance lay in talking.  "Fine," he growled
suspiciously, laying the empty crossbow down on the desk and picking up
the chair he'd been sitting in.  "Speak quickly."
	"I am here because I think we can benefit eachother," Malakai
continued, eyes shining strangely in the dim light from the morning sun
outside the window.  "You have ... something I can use.  I have
information of value."
	Cesbitt snorted.  "That's no deal." he said sneeringly.  "I get
news from everywhere.  And usually for a gold coin or two.  And I don't
have to deal with demons to get it," he said pointedly.
	Malakai ignored him, just as pointedly.  "Information about an old
foe of yours."
	Cesbitt showed interest for the first time since the dark-skinned
one had arrived.  He paced around the desk, one eyebrow raised, and
stated, "The dragon."
	"The same," the elf said with a nod.  "Rather ... interesting
news."
	Cesbitt shook his head in disbelief.  "It's been thirty years
since we chased 'im out of town.  He's dead by now."
	"He's very much alive," Malakai responded calmly.  "And he's coming
back to town."
	Cesbitt's eyes widened momentarily, then his pragmatic instincts
kicked in.  The eyes narrowed back down to near-slits.  "And what is this
going to cost me?"
	"A mere piece of jewelry," the elf said.  "For which I will, in
return, provide you with everything you need to kill him.  All you need to
do is find the dragon."
	"Jewelry?" Cesbitt harrumphed.
	"That one on the wall, specifically," Malakai said, pointing to a
pendant that looked almost like a magnifying glass on a chain.  The glass,
however, was a deep blue, with little silver flecks that occasionally
would catch a ray of light and sparkle.
	"You can't be serious," Cesbitt said, looking at the elf.  "That's
mage jewelry.  I picked it up off of Westor when he died taking on the
blue."
	"And I suppose you've got some use for it?" Malakai challenged.
	Cesbitt was quiet for a moment.  "To keep it out of the hands of
demons like you," he said slowly.  "To protect humanity."
	Malakai shrugged.  "I don't care a whit for your humans," he said. 
"I'd use the pendant to leave this accursed world and return to my
master's side."
	Cesbitt sat down, slowly.  Fear and hatred burned and fought
across his face.  Hatred finally won.  Hatred of the dragon his forces had
never gotten to slay.  "Deal," he said.  "You get the pendant when the
dragon's dead."
	"Fine," Malakai said.  It didn't make a difference.  He could have
stolen the pendant with nearly no effort.  He would probably end up doing
so, anyhow -- his schedule grew tighter by the minute.  He was just here
to make sure Baxil died.  Then Albert would be next. 

	A tall, thin man pressed his way through the crowds on the main
road in and out of town.  A few coins jingled in his pocket -- the few
he'd been able to carry when he decided to leave his dragon-sized backpack
stashed safely outside of town -- and he glanced around nervously every
few seconds.
	"Well, where do I start?"  Baxil muttered.  "I know there's some
funny business going on in town, but it's not like I could just walk up to
someone and ask about the human's plans ..."  He noticed that his path was
taking him through the town's main market square, and a chill ran down his
spine.  The three-decade-old marks of his last, fateful combat had been
long since erased, but in his mind's eye he could almost see the
bloodstains on the ground.  Baxil nervously fingered the shell amulet
Synol had given him and tried to edge his way to one side of the square.
	He glanced around the town and shook his head.  "Everything has
changed ..." he said softly.  "Maybe even ... ?"  He picked up his step and
started off in another direction, one he'd travelled many times before.
	But, no, the bookstore was still standing.  *Well, why not?* he
thought with a smile, and pushed open the door.
	"Good day," the clerk behind the counter said with a smile, a young
man who Baxil thought he vaguely recognized.  "Can I help you find
something?"
	"Someone, maybe," Baxil said slowly, searching his memory.  "Is
Diel in?"
	The clerk looked at him oddly.  "Gods, man, you don't look old
enough to have even known him," he said.  "Dad passed on over ten years
ago.  More like fifteen."
	"Oh," Baxil said simply.  *He wouldn't have recognized me anyways,*
he thought passingly.  "Diel was ... a friend of my father's," he lied. 
"I haven't been in this town since heaven knows when."  That much, at
least, was true.
	"Well, any friend of my dad's is a friend of mine," the clerk said
with a smile.  "So, can I interest you in any books?"
	"I'll find a few, I'm sure," Baxil told him.  "I would like to
know, though, what's been going on around town."  He mentally crossed his
fingers and hoped that Diel's shop was still the rumor mill it used to be.
	Diel's son shrugged.  "Lately, nothing much," he said casually. 
"Cesbitt's on one of his rampages again.  Got guards all over the town. 
I'm not sure what's spooked him so, and nobody's telling."
	"Cesbitt?" Baxil asked.
	"Head of the Guard," the young man said.  He leaned towards Baxil
conspiratorially.  "If you ask me, the man's too bloody xenophobic.  And
he's going senile in his old age.  Can't get his mind off the dragons,
even though they haven't been a threat for decades."  He leaned back and
looked thoughtful.  "Although there was that incident last week..."
	"What?" Baxil asked, a sinking feeling in his heart.  *When will
the dragons stop getting attacked because of me?* he thought painfully.
	"One of Cesbitt's patrols ran across three of 'em out in the
wilderness," the young man explained.  "I guess two of them were wounded. 
The official rumor is that they'd been hurt while attacking Ticari, way up
north.  The patrol nearly got slaughtered, though, by the uninjured blue. 
After that, Cesbitt called all his men back to town."
	Baxil nodded, trying to stifle a knowing smile.  That explained
quite a bit.  "That would bring the old obsessions back, I'm sure," he
mused.
	"Indeed it has," the clerk said with a nod.  "They've even got
guards at all the city entrances, looking for medium-sized, thin, bearded
men.  I have no idea what they're up to.  Must think that dragons can
shapeshift or something."
	Baxil couldn't quite keep back a chuckle this time.  They were
looking for him, alright, but they were looking for T'eras.  Not Baxil. 
He let himself relax inwardly.  "Actually, they can," he told the young
man.  "...Your father used to tell me stories, way back when.  One of his
favorites was about the dragon who came into town thirty years ago.  He
never found out until the wars started, but that dragon was a regular
customer of his.  Visited the bookstore at least once a week," he said,
cloaking the truth just enough to keep himself safe.
	"Cool!" the clerk said, a smile lighting up his face.  "Gods, I
wish I'd known...I've always wanted to meet a dragon."
	"You may get the chance someday," Baxil said with a wry smile. 
"And, Cesbitt's warnings aside, they're not at all harmful, unless you try
to hurt them first."  Baxil headed towards the door with a friendly wave. 
"I hope to be back soon," he said.  "But I've got some business to attend
to."
	The clerk waved back with a grin.  "Do come back, friend."  Baxil
nodded and walked out into the midday sunshine. 

	*Well, that's a lead, at least,* Baxil mulled.  *So a man named
Cesbitt's behind all this.  And he knows I'm back.  And remembers me.*
Baxil smiled.  *Remembers my dragon form.  Not like I had any intention of
changing back.* He stepped to the side of the road for a moment, lost in
thought.  His stomach growled.  *I suppose I should find an inn
somewhere,* he thought.  *I can get some food and ask about Cesbitt at the
same time.  Kill two birds with one stone.*

	Malakai chuckled, looking around the woods he'd stepped into
outside of town.  He fingered the blue medallion he had stolen from
Cesbitt's office.  "Finally," he said to himself.  "Baxil will die. 
Albert doesn't have the skill to make it back to the Dominance by himself. 
Those two are out of the way..." he brought up the medallion and admired
it ... "and I've got a pendant of gating.  It's only a matter of time now
before my lord and I fulfill our plans of conquest."  He laughed evilly
and disappeared into the wilderness.

	Cesbitt snarled.  "He's in town.  I can feel it..."
	"But, milord, we've searched everywhere!  There is no-one who
matches the description."
	"Well, he's obviously in disguise, then," Cesbitt said, looking
darkly at the captain.  "The demon gave us a name.  Use it."
	"Right away, Sir," he said with a salute, and headed out to the
streets, shouting orders as he went. 

	The bartender looked suspiciously at the coin.  "What manner of
currency is this?" he said, glancing up at Baxil's face.
	"Gold," Baxil said simply.  "The coin's realm doesn't matter, just
the metal."
	The bartender clamped the coin between his teeth, and brought it
back out to see toothmarks.  "Very well," he said.  "This will pay for the
meal, then.  Don't be expecting any change."
	Baxil shrugged.  "Fair enough."
	"Take a seat," said the barkeep.  "I'll get your food in a few
minutes."  He turned to some other customers.
	Baxil sighed.  Except for the name Cesbitt, he'd had no luck
finding information.  Everyone seemed to know who he was, but nobody could
tell him what the man was up to.
	He took a seat at an empty table and fingered his medallion idly. 
"Synol?" he said, quietly enough so that he couldn't be overheard.
	It took a few moments, but he heard a voice respond in the back of
his mind.  *Is everything okay, Baxil?*
	"Fine so far.  I'm just checking in.  Not much to report, except
the name Cesbitt."
	*He's the one who was after you thirty years ago.*
	"I know."
	*Well ... good luck.  Keep me informed.*
	"Okay."  Baxil sighed and glanced around the bar.  It was pretty
empty; he'd come in between the lunch and dinner rushes.
	He was sitting, waiting for his food and letting his mind wander,
when he realized that someone by the door was calling his name.  "Baxil?"
a male voice said questioningly.  "Is Baxil here?"
	"That's me," Baxil said, turning around.  "Wha..."  He broke off
abruptly as he realized that the voice belonged to one of a pair of
guardsmen at the door.  They had been turning to leave...at least until
he'd spoken up.  *Bloody hell!* he thought.  *Everyone here knows me as
T'eras!  How the...?*
	"That's him!" the first guard shouted triumphantly.  "Don't let him
leave this room!"  He grabbed for a crossbow at his belt, as did the
second.  Baxil's heart sank.  He upended his table with a surge of panic
and dove behind it.  There were shouts and scrapes as the guards ran
across the room towards him, flinging furniture out of the way.  He
realized that there was only one way to get out of the building safely. 
And he didn't like it.
	As the guards neared the overturned table, the front one dropping
his crossbow in favor of a sword, they were suddenly met by a roar as a
large green form burst from behind the table.  The first guard glanced
straight up into the eyes of the dragon and screamed, dropping his sword
in panic as he scrambled backwards.  The second had the presence of mind
to fire his crossbow before he, too, jumped for cover.
	The bolt hit Baxil's neck with a thunk.  Baxil winced at the
sudden sting, but snarled and charged for the exit.  He ran across
tabletops, scattering dishes and breaking glasses -- the alternative was
to wind through the tables on his way across the room, and he couldn't
afford that much time.  In seconds, he had scampered to right by the door,
and there was a soft flash of light as he resumed human form, hitting the
ground running.  He whirled around the doorway and started sprinting up
the street.
	"Synol!" he gasped as he ran.  "They've found me!  I don't know how
.. but they've found me!"
	*WHAT?* she asked incredulously.  *How?*
	"They asked for me!" he said bitterly.  "For Baxil!  Nobody here
knows me as Baxil!"
	*Hang on!* Synol told him.  *I'll be right in!*
	He heard shouts from behind him.  "Stop that man!"  He glanced
backwards.  The two guards who had entered the inn were chasing him
through the somewhat-crowded streets.  He turned back around and saw a
patrol of guardsmen up the street turn at their fellow's call for aid. 
Baxil looked around, in a panic, and ran into a wide alley to his right.
	He had already taken a few steps when he realized that the alley
ended half a block away.  There were some doors, presumably back doors to
stores or houses.  He yanked at them one by one.  Locked.  And there was a
wall in front of him, and nearly a dozen guardsmen behind him.  So be it. 
Baxil took a deep breath, and triggered a change back to his natural,
dragon form.
	Pain exploded from the small wound in his neck, passing through
his body in a shockwave like an explosion.  He half-felt his body hit the
ground as his senses returned, numbly.  Baxil glanced at what he could see
of his body as his sight returned.
	Still human.
	*Gods!  The crossbow bolt!* he thought.  *What in Jyhanhen's name
did they PUT on that thing...?* He sat up and touched his neck, feeling a
small drop of blood come off onto the flesh of his finger.  He glanced
down at the blood.  Some dark flecks tinged the red fluid.  He sniffed it
gingerly.  "Some sort of poison?" he muttered.  "Dragonsbane?  But ...
where the heck would they have found any?  It's not native to Terranen!"
	"There he is!" came a shout from the entrance of the alley.  He
glanced up to see a number of guards standing there, crossbows leveled at
him.  Baxil froze, still reeling a little from the aftereffects of the
rejected transformation.  They weren't firing.
	He found out why in an instant.  A white-haired, highly-decorated
guard stepped out to the front of his band.  Baxil guessed that this was
Cesbitt.
	The man fluidly drew a long, wicked-looking black sword from its
scabbard.  Baxil's eyes widened as a name leapt through the ages back into
his mind.  "Kroth'or'ak..." he whimpered.
	"That's right, dragon," Cesbitt said with an evil leer.  "This
sword has been waiting for thirty years to destroy you."  He stepped
forward, sword lowered.  "As have I."  He walked calmly towards Baxil. 
"And now that you're stuck in your disguise, you have no claws or teeth to
protect you."  He stopped and smiled, a jubilant laugh escaping from his
lips.  "Revenge will be sweet.  Do you know who you killed thirty years
ago?  Do you even remember?"  Cesbitt calmly advanced again.
	Baxil leaned forward into a crouch and stood up slowly, backing
away towards the wall.  "He attacked me without provocation," Baxil said
defiantly, trying to keep his voice from trembling.  "I wasn't about to
stop and ask his name."
	"He attacked you to keep the town safe!" Cesbitt snarled.  "And you
killed him in cold blood!"  He narrowed his eyes and advanced on Baxil
again, closing the distance between them to a mere couple of yards. 
"Corden was his name.  He was a deep friend of mine and my predecessor as
Chief Guard."
	"I was a threat to the town?" Baxil asked incredulously.  "It must
be a lot of weight to carry around all those lies after 30 years..."
	"You are a threat to humanity," Cesbitt snarled, eyes wild.  "This
town has always been a peaceful town.  We do not want your corrupting
influence here."
	"You're mad," Baxil told him.
	"Damn straight I'm angry," Cesbitt said, lifting the sword to point
at Baxil's chest.  "Look at how far downhill this town has gone since you
slipped in with your sweet words and easy gold!"
	Baxil shook his head.  "I've been gone three decades.  You'll have
to find another scapegoat for your political problems."
	"Shut up!" Cesbitt shouted, raising his sword.
	Anger and desperation flared up within Baxil.  He jabbed a finger
in Cesbitt's direction and narrowed his eyes.  Cesbitt screamed as the
front of his shirt burst into flames.  Kroth'or'ak clattered to the
ground.  The guards raised their crossbows.
	"KILL HIM!" Cesbitt screamed, rolling off to the side to beat out
the flames.  "KILL HIM!"
	Baxil's heart jumped to his throat.  What magic could save him if
all nine pulled the trigger? 

Chapter 12
	"Tirin?"  Albert's voice was gentle, kind.  He had misjudged his
brother, and was ashamed.  He nudged the form with his snout twice before
the golden orbs flickered open.  The blue head rose wearily.
	"What now?"  The irritation in the voice gave Albert's heart hope
that somewhere, inside this tattered, broken body, was the Tirin of old. 
The electrum grinned ruefully.
	"Tell me what this mage of yours looked like.  I need to know. . ." 
A sigh escaped from the scarred neck, and Tirin's forehead wrinkled in
concentration.
	"He wasn't too tall, you know?  Kinda short for a human.  His voice
was like ... like honey dripping from a spoon.  It was tempting, luring. 
Hard to resist.  But the thing that got me, you know, after all this
happened and I had time to think about it?  It was his eyes ... evil eyes. 
Red with yellow vertical iris'.  Like a snake, a poisonous snake ..." His
voice trembled, his body shuddering with fear.  "Those eyes haunt me,
Albert. Every time I close mine, I see his ... even now."
	Albert's heart had grown cold as ice as the blue spoke.  Throat
tight, he trembled, himself, recalling having seen such eyes before.  Many
times before.  In the face of ...
	"Synol!" Baxil's voice was desperate, echoing from the amulet
around Albert's neck.  "They've found me!  I don't know how ... but they've
found me!"
	*WHAT?* The response was an echo of Albert's.  *How?*
	"They asked for me!" he said bitterly.  "For Baxil!  Nobody here
knows me as Baxil!"
	No one, Albert thought, except me.  And Malakai ...
	Albert scrambled toward the cave entrance, his claws raking sparks
from the stones.  He gasped a short explanation to Tirin as he hauled
butt, then was airborne and gone.  Behind him, the blue's eyes suddenly
glowed, the mention of the drow's name ... the name of his enemy ... 
giving spark to the fire nearly dead in Tirin's soul.  Slowly and
painfully the blue rose, following Albert's trail out of the cave.  He
gazed after his brother, panting hard from the exertion of getting to the
entrance.  Digging deep into his spirit the dragon murmured a word,
gathered himself, and leapt, his useless wings flapping helplessly.  But
his spell held, allowing him to float.  He just prayed that it would last
long enough. 

	Baxil shuddered, the nine crossbows aimed at his chest.  If only
he could get into his natural form ... even if he couldn't get airborne he
could better withstand the bolts.  The wound in his neck stung again, and
he knew it was useless.  The guards shifted, and their leader cried out
again.
	"KILL HIM!  HE WOULD KILL YOU IF HE COULD!!"  
	It seemed they were about to comply, but a sudden gust of wind
made them look up ... and their eyes widened and their aim faltered.  A
roar shattered the air and Synol reached out with a back claw, grasping
Baxil by the scruff.  She inhaled, and Baxil shouted.
	"NO!!  DON'T KILL THEM!"  Unable to stop her exhalation, Synol
turned her head, the building next to them exploding in flames.  She glared
down at Baxil, and he could read her thoughts.  They would have killed
them both with no second thought ... but it had to end somewhere.  The
dragoness lurched upward, out of range, but not soon enough.  Five bolts
sailed after them, one striking Baxil in the thigh, the others pricking
dragon skin. Then they were gone, heading away from the town, away from
death and prejudice.
	"Albert, I have Baxil.  He's fine."  Synol's less than pleased
voice drifted down to Baxil, and he sighed.  From his own amulet he heard
his friend's response.
	"Thank God!  Don't go back to the lair, it's too dangerous."
	"What do you mean?" Baxil decided to join the conversation.
	"I know who is behind this, but I don't know why yet.  It's
Malakai."
	Baxil recalled the name, and the strange elf who had 'helped' them
in the beginning.  So that's why he hadn't healed them more ...
	"I'm trying to find him now.  We've got to stop him ... if he's
found a way to leave here, he'll head back to the Dominance.  Heaven only
knows what he'll do once he's there ..."
	"Albert, Baxil is injured."
	"It's nothing.  I'm fine."  Baxil winced at the throbbing in his
leg, but pushed it away.  First this world, now the Dominance was in
trouble.  When would it end?
	"He's stuck in human form, Albert.  They got him with Dragonsbane
... I smelled it a mile away."
	"I've got something in my pack that will help that ... let's link
up.  I'm headed south from the lake ... AHA!"  Albert's voice was grim. 
"I found that little bastard.  He's at the Stone Circle."
	"I know where it is.  We'll be there."  Baxil remembered the
Circle ... engraved in a bed of granite, the pentagram was a place of
great magic, good and evil.  They had no time to lose now. 

	Malakai was joyous.  His black heart was trembling with
excitement.  He stood in the circle, casting the spell that would open the
gate to the Dominance.  At his feet lay the Book that would give D'Sargon
all the power he needed to conquer the pitiful little realm.  And from
there, the universe!
	He completed the spell, and the portal stood waiting.  On the
other side he could see his master, staring intently at him.  What a
reward he would get for this!  He bent to retrieve the book, and when he
stood, D'Sargon was no longer looking at him.  Turning he followed his
master's gaze and snarled a curse.
	"You were to eliminate them, Malakai!  You disappoint me!"  The
drow blanched, and he shook his head.
	"No!  They will die, Lord!  Now!!"  
	Albert, Baxil (now flying after a mid-air healing) and Synol
landed, approaching the Circle with caution.  Albert's eyes flicked once
to the Portal, then back at Malakai.  His voice was full of disgust.
	"Why, Malakai?  Why?"  The drow laughed, and the electrum lunged,
jaws open, ready to end this before it was too late.  There was a loud
crack as Albert's head hit a force-field, one of his upper canines
splintering off. He was thrown back a dozen yards, and stood, anger in his
eyes.
	"As if I had come this far to let you win now?  I think not, you
sniveling worm!  You have lost!  Lost it all because of my Lord D'Sargon. 
He has won, and with this he will conquer your precious Dominance and wipe
out all of your friends there!"  He held up the book so that all could
see.  Albert's heart froze, and Baxil saw the look in his friend's eyes
and did not doubt the drow's words. "Ah, you recognize this, eh, worm?  The
spell book of Amerstine, the dragon elder.  You know what's in here!"
	"Malakai!  If you give that book to Sargon, what will keep him from
destroying you as well as all creation?"  Baxil was desperate.  They had
to get that book away from him ... no longer was it just the two worlds at
stake.
	"What indeed?  You see, my green pet, D'Sargon is my father!"
Malakai's shout of glee was full of mocking.  His eyes flashed, and his
body twisted. Wings sprouted from his shoulders, his face grew longer and
more pointed, two tiny horns sprouting from his temples.  He remained
upright, his legs lengthening and becoming cloven hooves, a forked tail
sprouting from his rear.  It seemed Cesbitt was right.  Malakai was a
demon.

	Time stood still.  No one said a word.  Behind Malakai, D'Sargon
was laughing, knowing at last he would be triumphant.  The laugh died on
his lips, and the sudden silence was as frightening.  Malakai's evil
eyes widened as he looked up.
	Tirin was out of breath and out of strength by the time he arrived
at the circle.  He saw what was happening, and inhaled sharply.  Then,
with a fervent prayer to whatever god was listening, he dove.  His eyes
met Malakai's, and locked.
	The bolt of lightening hit the shield with enough force to throw
the three dragons back fifty yards.  The shield shattered, and Tirin
smiled.  An instant later, unable to slow his momentum with shattered
wings, his body slammed into the ground at full speed, burying the demon
beneath him.
	D'Sargon cursed, then smiled as the Book, dislodged in the blow,
was flung through the portal.  Before anyone could move the Portal closed,
and it was over.
	Baxil looked at the blue, not understanding what had just
happened.  Synol was as stunned, blinking and looking from Baxil to Albert
to Tirin.  Albert approached his brother with something like reverence.
	"Tirin?"  The blue was barely breathing, but he looked up at Albert
and smiled.  His gaze went to Baxil.
	"For ... forgive me ..."  Baxil blinked, finally knowing who this
was.  He nodded.
	"Of course."  The green approached, sorrow in his eyes, and
grimaced at the wounds on the blue body.  "Let me help ..." Tirin sighed. 
He moved a hand, dragging it across the ground with effort.  In the claw
was the Pendant of Gating. 
	"It's too late for me ... go save ... your world ..."  The pendant
dropped into Baxil's claw and the blue shuddered and was still. 
	"Dream well, my friend." The green bowed his head, heart full of
sadness and guilt.  How many more would die because of his stupidity?  How
many more??
	Albert raised his head and made the piercing, warbling keening
that told all dragons in all realms of the death of a great warrior. 
Synol and Baxil joined him, paying tribute to a hero.

Baxil's Epilogue
	Three silhouettes flitted through the air, backlit by the ominous
crescent of the world's red moon.  The grey moon near the horizon,
half-full tonight, cast long shadows on the plateau that was the front of
Baxil's old lair.  The three shadows veered towards the plateau, touching
down one at a time and walking silently towards the cave.
	The shape in front felt around on the lair's floor for a small
rock.  He mumbled a small spell of light on it, and as the rock started to
glow softly, he placed it in a small alcove high on the wall, green scales
glittering in the low illumination.  The faint light revealed that all
three dragons had the streaks of recent tears down their faces.
	Nobody spoke for quite a while.  Baxil, head bowed in pain, crept
silently to the rear of the cave, where the light was dimmer, and lay down
with a sigh.  Synol, her gold scales blending in with the muddy cave
walls, glanced back and forth between Baxil and Albert before trudging
over to join the green.  Albert, fresh tears still trickling down his
snout, settled down to the ground in front of the light and tried to
distract himself by watching his shadow.
	The cave was silent for many moments.  Baxil shifted uncomfortably
and looked around.  Synol put a comforting forepaw on his shoulder.
	"Why'd he have to do it?" Baxil asked in a broken voice.  "Why did
Tirin sacrifice himself?"  He leaned against the wall and stared at the
stars framed by the cave entrance.
	Albert shifted around to look at his companions.  "He was doing
the best thing he could think of," he explained.  "He finally got his
revenge."  Albert's voice took on a bitter tone.  "At first, he wanted
revenge against you, Baxil, for what you'd cost him.  But when Malakai
cast that spell on him ..."
	Baxil shook his head as Albert's voice trailed off.  "I could have
healed him.  He didn't have to die."
	"He didn't want to live."
	Baxil looked down, at a loss for words.  He fingered the amulet
that Tirin had given him as a dying action.  "But ..."
	Synol cut him off gently.  "Let it go, Baxil.  Tirin is finally at
peace with himself."
	"Fat lot of good it does him.  Fat lot of good it does Terranen."
	"And would you rather that he continued to suffer in a world which
had taken everything away from him?"  Synol asked sharply.
	Baxil shook his head silently.  "I guess you're right.  But it
still hurts."
	"You've got to stop blaming yourself for everything bad that
happens," Synol said reproachfully, giving Baxil a hug.  "And get some
sleep."  The green nodded, and lay down his head.  As he closed his eyes,
one final tear for Tirin trickled down his cheek. 

	Baxil was awakened from a dreamless sleep by a choked cry from
Synol.  He jumped to his feet almost instantly and glanced outside of the
cave, from where he'd heard the sound.
	She was leaning over the edge of the plateau, squinting in the
early-morning sun.  Baxil and Albert both scrambled outside to see what
the gold was looking at.
	Baxil glanced down and his eyes widened.  "By the gods ..." he
started, blinking once or twice.  "It can't be."  He took a closer look. 
"Jyhanhen's tooth, it is."  He jumped from the plateau, gliding down on
his still-healing wings, and landed next to the object of their attention. 
A human body.
	"Who is it?" Albert asked, puzzled.
	"Cesbitt," Baxil said, astonished.  "It looks like he was climbing
and he fell."  The green prodded the body with a claw.  "Dead."
	"Good thing, too," Synol exclaimed.  "He brought that named sword
of his.  The one you mentioned ... what was its name?"
	"Kroth'or'ak," Baxil recalled.  He gingerly picked up the black
blade, looking at it in dread.  "Gods.  He'd have killed us all."
	Albert's eye was caught by the ladder which was still resting
against the side of the cliff.  "How did he fall?" he asked, puzzled.
	Baxil glanced at the ladder, then looked up.  "I've heard that he
hasn't been a very ... stable ... man lately," he mentioned.  "Perhaps he
just snapped, or had a heart attack, or something."
	"The bloodstains are pretty old," Synol pointed out.  "He might
have missed a rung in the dark, if he'd come last night."
	"Either way ... he's dead," Baxil said.  He smiled in relief. 
"Maybe now the humans won't attack the dragons so much.  Cesbitt's been
keeping their paranoia fueled almost single-handedly for three decades."
	"It looks like he came alone," Albert exclaimed, gliding down from
the plateau to examine the body.  "There aren't many footprints around."
	"Maybe nobody supported what he was doing anymore," Baxil
suggested.
	Albert turned the body over with a claw, revealing a crossbow bolt
sticking out of Cesbitt's back.  The bolt had been snapped by the impact
of the fall.
	"Or maybe someone just wanted to continue the war ... in their own
way," Albert said quietly.
	Baxil shuddered.  "That's as may be ..." he said nervously. 
"Regardless, I'm throwing this damned sword in the lake."  He spread his
wings and carefully grabbed Kroth'or'ak by the hilt.
	"In the middle of the day?" Synol asked, worried.
	"To get rid of this vile thing, it's worth it," Baxil said with a
shiver.
	"Wait a second, Bax," Albert said.  "Then let's not come back here. 
Chances are we'll be followed if someone spots us in the sky.  Let's head
to my lair -- the humans can't follow us over the water."
	Baxil nodded.  "Sounds good.  Are you coming, Synol?"  he asked.
	She glanced down from the top of the plateau, looking troubled. 
The gold opened her mouth to say something, paused (seemingly to
reconsider), thought for a few moments, and nodded.  She spread her wings
as well, and the trio took off into the sky. 

	"... I still don't understand," Baxil said as his claws sunk into the
sand outside Albert's cave, "what those guards were doing with dragonsbane
on their arrows."
	"What do you mean?" Synol asked.
	"It's not native to Terranen.  Is it?"  Baxil said.
	"It wasn't ... when you left.  And it doesn't grow in this climate
very well.  My guess is that Cesbitt must have gotten ahold of some thirty
years ago, and he's been cultivating it ever since."
	Albert thought for a second, and added, "I'd always thought the
stuff was legendary.  You know, it's one of those things that every
hatchling hears about, but nobody really pays attention to ..."
	"It's a real plant," Synol said with a shake of the head. 
"Poisonous to dragons.  It just has never grown here.  He'd have had to
travel to another dimension or another world to find any."
	Albert and Baxil nodded, both recalling their own experiences with
travel between worlds.  "He probably hired a mage to get some," Baxil said
with a shrug.
	Albert glanced up at the mid-morning sun.  "It's getting hot," he
said.  "I'm going inside."  The electrum turned and trudged into his lair.
	Baxil was about to follow when he glanced at Synol.  She was
staring out towards the ocean with a worried look on her face.
	"Are you okay?" Baxil asked quietly.
	Synol jumped slightly and turned to look at Baxil.  Her snout
curled into a frown.  "No ..." she admitted in a whisper.
	"What's wrong?" Baxil asked with obvious concern.  He moved over to
Synol's side.
	She glanced at him and turned away, holding back tears. 
"Nothing," she said desperately.  "Don't worry about it."
	Baxil's face fell.  "Please, Synol ..." he said agitatedly.  "Don't
do this to me.  I have enough problems without worrying about you, too. 
What is it?"
	She turned to him, eyes reflecting an inner struggle.  They were
silent for a few seconds.  "You're leaving, aren't you?" Synol asked
slowly.
	Baxil looked surprised.  "How did you know ..." he began.  Synol
stared at him silently.  Baxil looked down guiltily.  "It's not really by
choice," he explained meekly.  "When I left the Dominance, it was being
threatened by an evil fellow named D'Sargon.  I have no idea whether it's
been conquered or not."
	"The Dominance?" Synol queried.
	"A land of dragons," Baxil explained.  "A wonderful place.  My home
of late."  He looked worried.  "But if it's been taken over by D'Sargon
... and even if it _hasn't_, it's still in trouble now that he's got the
book..."
	"I see," Synol said with a nod.  "You have your world to take care
of."
	"It's not like that!" Baxil protested.  "I'm not abandoning
Terranen.  I have to go check on the Dominance -- because I'd be abndoning
THEM if I didn't -- but I'll be back.  Dragon's honor."
	"It doesn't matter," Synol said bitterly.  "You'll be gone."
	Baxil stared at Synol incredulously.  "Are you saying ... ?"
	She nodded, glancing at Baxil, then turned away, both eyes
brimming with tears.  "I'm going to miss you, T'eras ..." she said,
anguished.
	"No!  Don't say that!" Baxil pleaded, putting a foreclaw on her
shoulder.  "Come with me."
	"I can't."
	"Then to heck with the Dominance.  I'll stay."
	"You can't."
	"Who's going to stop me?" Baxil asked in obvious disbelief.
	"I've been thinking about this for days," Synol whispered.  "If I
had come up with a single solution ..." She sighed.  "It's not going to
work out.  It just isn't."  She looked up to face Baxil, who promptly
turned away and pawed the sand nervously.  The gold took a shuddering
breath and continued.  "I can't leave.  I have a duty to Terranen.  There
are only seven dragons left ... and two of them are leaving soon."
	"Then why can't I stay?" Baxil asked again, meeting Synol's stare.
	"Because the other four are ready to kill you," Synol answered
brusquely, watching Baxil's stunned reaction.  "Remember Tirin?  He was
living just for revenge.  The other four ... they're no different.  You've
been away too long to understand, Baxil.  Three decades ago ... As far as
I'm concerned, the dragons died that day.  Those left are a bitter and
aging bunch who lost everything they had.  They are the ones who somehow
escaped."  Synol lowered her head and whispered.  "The humans did a
thorough job.  It wasn't just a mate I lost ..."
	Baxil looked at Synol in expectant silence.  She glanced up, a
tortured look in her eyes.  "F-f-f ..." she started, breaking down into a
sob.  Baxil hugged her gently.  Synol gulped down a breath of air. 
"F..four eggs ... and a h..hatchling."
	Baxil's face turned pale.  "Gods, no ..." he whispered.
	"T..those who remain ... many lost ... t-the same.  But they didn't
know you.  Many listened to Tirin's accusations.  Some just needed a
scapegoat.  I've been holding on to your innocence for thirty years ... but
nobody else could.  Perhaps Kalin, or Barion, but they're both long
gone ..."
	Baxil mulled this over for a little while.  "You're right," he
said quietly.  "I'd hurt the remaining dragons by staying.  My presence
would tear any remaining sense of community apart.  Gods," he said, his
face turning positively white, "they might go after you for defending
me ..."
	Synol nodded.  "I think you see.  Terranian dragons are a sad lot,
these days ..."
	Baxil sighed, resigned to his fate.  "Then I must go.  And you're
staying.  So I guess this is goodbye ..."
	Synol closed her eyes and nodded, turning back to the ocean. 
"Please, leave.  Don't draw this out.  It'll just hurt more."
	Baxil walked around to stand in front of the gold.  "Not yet. 
First, I need to thank you."  He threw his arms around her shoulders and
she returned the embrace.  "For standing guard over me.  For healing me. 
For backing me up in town.  For saving my life at least three times."  A
tear trickled down his snout.  "For believing in me and my innocence."  He
took a breath.  "For finding it in your heart ... to love me."
	Synol smiled, tears running down her face as well.  "Thank _you_,
Baxil."
	"For what?"
	"For coming back.  For proving me right after all this time."
	They lapsed into silence and just held eachother in the warmth of
the midday sun. 

Albert's Epilogue
	Albert looked around his lair slowly, remembering how it used to be, not
the destroyed state it existed in now.  Soon after his hatching (only a
hundred years) he had dug this cavern out, painstakingly carving it with his
bare claws.  It had taken years, but for a dragon, that is nothing.  He'd
carved alcoves, a fire pit, even a small but servicable bathing area, all
for his future companion, his kindred-bond, the creature--usually human or
elf--that would be his closest companion, friend, and student.  
	Albert sighed, a look of great sadness crossing his features.  Malakai had
been all of that at one time.  It was the elf. . .demon, Al corrected
himself. . .that had brought the majority of books to the bookwyrm.  Mal had
bought the tables, chairs, and bookshelved that had made the lair so homey.
He'd brought the very book that now threatened Dominanace. . .
	
	**. . .Albert was sleeping soundly, his soft (for a dragon) snores
echoing throughout the cavern.  He stirred, his snout creasing into a grin.
Malakai stood before him, a leather-bound volume in his ebony hands.
	"What's that, Mal?  Why so smug??"
	"I found it."  The drow's voice was low, a whisper.  "The Tome of the
Ancients.  This holds all of the power of the ancient dragons.  And I found
it ..."  Eyes wide with surprise, the electrum reached out a hand, and the
drow handed the book to him.  He opened it, flipping through quickly.  Most
he didn't understand, but he saw enough ... this was indeed the Tome.
	"Where did you find it, Malakai??  It's been lost for eons ... I can't
believe it ..."  The dragon didn't seem to notice that the drow didn't
answer the question.
	"We will keep it here, safe, where it won't be lost again."  The drow took
the book, walked to Albert's hoard, and lay it reverently on the blanket of
gold and mithril.  "There.  No one but you or I can go near the hoard.  It
will be safe from thieves ..."
	"We should tell Amethist we've found it."  The drow shook his head.
	"No.  If the need for it arises, we will tell it then.  The fewer that
know it exists, the less chance of attempted theft ..."**

	Another sigh excaped the dragon's throat, along with a rumble of grief at
his own stupidity and gullibility.  All along, Malakai had been waiting for
the day to use the book ... to give it to his father.  Another memory came
unbidden, and Albert shuddered again, a moan of despair accompanying it.

	**"... The dragons are losing, Malakai!!  We have to help, to stop this
madness ..."  Albert stood near his hoard, his body shaking with fear and
excitement.  Malakai went to the Tome, picked it up, and nodded.
	"You're right.  It's time we used this.  C'mon, then.  Let's see what good
we can do."  Together, Malakai on his back, the two took to the sky,
launching themselves toward the battle.  It was the early days of the war
against the humans. . .only a week had passed.  But the future looked grim
for the great leviathans.  Somehow, the humans were winning.  Albert knew
that the Tome, if taken to the Elders, would make victory -- and survival
-- a surity.  Without it, who knew??
	They had come into a battle zone, the Elders busy fighting a horde of
flying ships.  Malakai opened the Tome, and extended his hand.  He began 
speaking, Albert bracing himself for whatever, and the air in front of his
exploded, one of the ships tumbling from the sky in flames.  Albert turned
and grinned at the drow ... that was the only spell from the Tome the drow
had been able to learn.  They headed toward Amethist, the Eldest, and
suddenly Albert's chest exploded in pain.  The twenty foot dragonet stared
in disbelief at the giant ballista bolt protruding from between his front
legs.  He screamed and began to fall.  The world swirled. . .and darkness
enveloped him.**
	
	That had marked the beginning of a twenty year journey through time and
space.  A half a dozen worlds, three wars and much destruction finally led
the pair to the Dominance.  Malakai had lost the Tome when Albert had been
struck, and all that had saved them was the drow's teleportational
abilities.  Al had known of the Malakai's ability, but knew, too, that the
drow could not control the destination of the spell.  Now the electrum
doubted that.  
	"We were probably collecting information or objects for 'Sargon.  I was a
fool ... how blind can one be??"  His head drooped.  "And now the Dominance
is threatened because of my ignorant, blind trust!  I was so STUPID!!"
	"Join the club, my friend."  Albert turns as Baxil enters the cave.  The
green suddenly sees himself in his friend.  The guilt, the pain in the eyes.
He approaches, and embraces Albert, and they stand there for a long moment,
the mutual comfort helping a great deal.  Finally Al pulls away, and they
sigh as one.
	"Time to go, I guess.  You ready for this?"  Albert reguards Bax solemnly,
and the green nods.  Baxil speaks a word, invoking the amulet, and the Door
opens.  Through it they glimpse home, and Albert's heart beats wildly.  The
electrum turns, opening his bad of holding, and scoops in his hoard in three
tries.  Tucking the bag among his scales, he steps forward, watching Baxil
disappear through the portal.  With a final backward glance the electrum
nods and steps through.  A moment later the portal closes, and Terranen once
again becomes part of the past.

	**Inside Albert's bag of holding there is a slight sparkle.  Three pages,
covered in the flowing script of the ancient tongue, lay among the gold and
jewels, as they had for countless years.  The magic within the pages bound it
to the hoard, and though the remainder of the Tome was gone, these three
remained bound.  With another sparkle they are covered by the shifting
treasure, to be discovered some time in the future.  And from southern
Dominance a rumbling curse shatters the quiet, heralding the return of two
very tired, very worried, dragons.**

* * * * *

...And a big "thank-you" to Albert (bookwyrm@mastnet.net) for all the help in co-authoring these chronicles. :-)

Last modified (edited) on 11-8-96.

Baxil (contact me)