After Dhamon and the others left the Window to the Stars, some of them vowed to continue their struggle against the overlords-in their own fashions. His beloved Feril returned to her Kagonesti homeland of Southern Ergoth, saying she needed some time alone to think matters over, and some time to study the White called Frost. For a time, he told himself that she would return and they would be together again. That thought helped to bolster Dhamon's spirits and keep his fire kindled against the dragons and their minions. But the weeks passed without any word from her, and then a few months strolled by carrying whispers that she'd found another.
Rig and Fiona, who'd sworn their love for each other and vowed to marry, traveled to the coast of the Blood Bay on the Blood Sea of Istar. Dhamon had made no attempt to stay in contact with them.
The sorcerer Palin and his wife Usha went to the Tower of Wayreth to pursue their studies of the dragon overlords. It was Palin who remained closest to Dhamon through magical and mundane messages and who asked the former Knight to assist with various tasks.
The kender Blister went to the Citadel of Light to study the healing arts under Goldmoon's expert tutelage. Dhamon had heard she was doing exceedingly well, but he had not visited her since they parted company after the Window.
Groller went to who knew where. The deaf half-ogre had his own personal demons to deal with. Dhamon suspected Palin knew where Groller was, but he never bothered to ask the sorcerer. It wasn't his concern.
And Dhamon… who went away on this mission prompted by Palin-a mission to slay a young green dragon who was tyrannizing the Qualinesti in this part of the forest-was so very tired. Just a few hours sleep was all he needed. A little time.
But there was no time to himself. No time to think. No time to forget about the dragons. Dhamon and his men were at the edge of the forest now.
"Sir?"
The lithe elf named Gauderic roused Dhamon from his musings. Gauderic was his second-in-command, and in the short time they'd been together the elf had earned Dhamon's respect and friendship.
"Windkeep is along that river." Gauderic pointed to the southwest, where a thin ribbon of dark blue cut through the trees. The setting sun sent just enough light through the canopy to fling sparkling motes of orange across the swiftly moving water. "Sir, we'll be able to get…"
"More mercenaries there, Gauderic, "Dhamon finished.
"I know. Forty or fifty, Palin told me. We'll be there before noon tomorrow. Get some rest."
The air was chill as they struck out before dawn, cold enough to make their cheeks rosy and to keep their bare hands buried deep in their pockets. Still, it was not near so cold as what they breathed on their arduous trek through the Kharolis Mountains to get here. The air smelled rich and so full of life.
The men would follow Dhamon without question, most admiring him to the point of hero-worship-he'd shaken off the mantle of a Dark Knight, dared to stand up to the Dragon Overlords, and was the chosen hero of Goldmoon and Palin Majere, two of the most powerful and influential people on the face of Krynn. Dhamon Grimwulf was a living legend, his deeds whispered regularly, and in his company they envisioned being part of some grand and glorious feat that would be the stuff of tavern tales. Their spirits were impossibly high.
However, it did not take long for those spirits to plummet.
Dhamon led his men into Windkeep and discovered that the elves who were to join them were dead-as were all the rest of the villagers. Nothing stood in Windkeep. The birch log homes, so lovingly constructed by their owners, appeared as so much wreckage. Bolts of fine cloth flapped like pennants amidst splintered furniture and broken dishes. Toys were pressed into the earth, as if the people had carelessly stepped on them in their panic-not realizing there really was nowhere to run. The dead were everywhere-old and young, innocent infants, dogs that had stayed with their masters to the very end.
At first glance, it looked as if the bodies that littered the area around what was once the great house had been dead for a few weeks. Dhamon and his second knelt by the corpse of an elven woman. Both fought to keep from retching. What was left of her tunic had practically melted into her colorless flesh. Her hair was oddly brittle, crumbling like spun glass when they touched it. Her exposed skin was bubbled and grotesquely scarred. Bone showed through in places where the flesh had been eaten away- not by animals or insects. No living creatures of any size could be found in the village remains.
"A dragon," Dhamon whispered.
