Summer, 666 BCE, western Gaul

  VORDILLAINSURA SAT IN his watery lair in the swamplands of western Gaul contemplating his situation.

  Yesterday, the call had come. A call to meet, in force, at the Prydein monument known as Stonehenge. He was left with no option but to comply, as this was one of the very few compulsory gatherings in their long history.

  As such, any who did not attend the council would be branded as renegades, which typically resulted in the offending dragon being hunted down.

  While that thought didn’t bother him as much as it had in ages past, he was not prepared to abandon the Council just yet.

  In time, perhaps, he thought. But not yet.

  Shaking his head in frustration, Sura considered.

  His plans had not yet come to complete fruition, the result of which being he did not have quite the support he needed. He had a fair number of wyrms backing him, and that number grew every day, but it just wasn’t enough. Not yet.

  With a final glance around his home, Sura turned from the slimy, black walls and hanging vines toward the entrance, half a league up the steady incline at the north end of the artificial cave.

  A strange sense of melancholy gripped him as he moved up the incline. The salty, brackish scent of his cave vanished as a gust of hot, humid wind blew through the tunnel from the entrance above. It reminded him once more that he was abandoning this place and might never return.

  Depending, of course, on what happens tomorrow. On if I’m right about the solution they have arrived at.

  Stepping from the open hole in the marshy ground, Sura touched his Apex and pulled forth several streams of arcane power. With them, he pulled vines from the trees around him and laid them in a crisscrossing latticework over the entrance to his lair. They would be strong enough and solid enough to keep almost any creature standing upon them from falling through to his lair below.

  That done, he used a second stream to shield his lair from arcane observation and locating.

  With a heavy sigh, he turned and leaped into the air. Immediately, he shrieked several times in rapid succession, using yet more power from his Apex to augment the strength of his voice.

  Within minutes, a trail of wyrms followed in his wake. There weren’t many dragons sharing the north-western swamps with him, as each dragon required an array of sizable food sources, so as not to deplete them. But of those who did, all had joined his cause. As he’d known they would. Most stone dragons weren’t any fonder of humans than he was.

  Few of them— with the obvious exception of Graayyyavalllia, who had been brought up by the foolish platinum female, Kwallindauria, which practically made the garnet a metallic herself —would tolerate being placed under the yoke of human rule.

  While the metallics, of course, would do anything in the name of peace. Therefore, few of them would ally themselves with him. The gemstone dragons, however, were another matter altogether.

  Not all of them would see things his way, that was so. Gemstones were a whimsy bunch, but many would see the wisdom in his plans and join his crusade. He prayed it would be enough.

  So far he hadn’t found many, as the gems mostly kept themselves aloof from the doings of both men and other dragons. But he’d convinced a diamond, an emerald, and two sapphires to join him so far. With luck, there would be many more at the council who would be amenable to his way of thinking.

  They needed to act, and soon.

  Sura was pulled from his thoughts by a bright, silvery flash from the center of a copse of black trees ahead. The hot, summer air in his eyes made it difficult to see, but the growls from the other stone dragons behind him informed him that his initial supposition was not incorrect.

  The silvery shape ahead could have been a silver wyrm, though what a silver would be doing here was beyond him. Though less likely, it could also have been a rather large steel dragon. They were known to frequently disdain the dogmatic approach of the other metallics.

  Flying on, however, he realized the creature ahead of him was neither silver nor steel. Nor was it a rare pyrite, cobalt, or hematite wyrm.

  No, ahead of him, hovering almost motionless, was one of the exceptionally rare, blue-silver platinum wyrms. The realization amazed him. What was a platinum doing here?

  The platinums had always been few in number, but conflicts in recent millennia had thinned those numbers even further.

  These days, he felt certain, there couldn’t have been more than perhaps three or four families of platinums left. The choices of whose wyrmling this could be was quite limited indeed.

  What was he going to do?

  The platinum wyrmling was sleek and slender, his small scales shining dully in the brilliance of Ryujin’s Blaze overhead. Blue-gray scales overlapped one another across the majority of his tautly muscled form, though the scales of his underbelly were more blue than gray. Almost azure.

  Although young— certainly at least a few centuries younger than Sura himself, based on the size and dull color of his scales —this wyrm appeared quite large. It was difficult to be certain at this distance, but Sura thought it likely the wyrm was larger even than himself. Not uncommon for a platinum, as the largest— yet least numerous —dragon breed. But it still galled Sura.

  His lip curled up in an expression somewhere between a snarl and a sneer. What did this plat want?

  Peace, my friend. Peace. I do not seek conflict, the deep, resonant voice sounded inside his head.

  Sura fought back the growl trying to sound in his chest. The other stones behind him were doing enough of that, there was no sense in adding to the chorus.

  What do you want?

  A mental smile passed through the telepathic link. Please, let us speak in person. You will be here in a few short minutes anyway.

  Sura nodded. That would be better. He didn’t like having a metallic in his head, as it was too easy to convey more than intended when speaking mind-to-mind. Never mind the details that could be missed if they were given with too much subtlety.

  Impatient now, he flew on. As much as he despised metallics, especially the platinums, who had no taste for battle whatsoever, he couldn’t deny that he was intrigued by the wyrm.

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  What was this all about? The fact that this wyrm was here alone spoke volumes. Obviously he wasn’t here to oppose Sura and the others. He would have brought a hundred dragons with him if that were the case.

  And it had to be related to the Council. Else, why come now, when all wyrms the world over had been summoned to take part in the Grand Council of Wyrms.

  He couldn’t possibly be here to help, or, Tiamat forbid, to join them, could he? Was that something a metallic would even consider? If so, what would lead him to such a choice?

  Sura had extreme difficulty imagining any situation in which a metallic would willingly go against his fellows in preference for joining with a force of stone wyrms intent on subverting The Council.

  Is it possible the metallics are more complex than I’ve ever given them credit for? he wondered.

  He shook his head, pushing the thought away. He would find out soon enough.

  “Sura,” a low voice growled from behind him, “what is–“

  “We shall see,” Sura said. “I’m not certain what he’s about just yet.”

  “You do realize who that is, don’t you?”

  In fact, he didn’t. Should he have recognized the platinum?

  “Of course,” he said, unwilling to admit to ignorance.

  “What is the Great Brat doing here?”

  “I told you we shall see!” Sura snapped.

  The other lapsed into silence, but Sura was mystified. Great Brat? What did that mean? Who was this wyrm?

  * * * * *

  The low swamplands of north-western Gaul rose into a grassy plain, flat and green for leagues around with nothing but the occasional tree or stream for decoration. It turned out that the plat only appeared to be within a copse of trees from a distance. In truth, he hovered lazily over a broad, open field.

  Sura hovered about a dozen wingspans from the sleek platinum when it finally hit him who the wyrm was. His jaw fell open and he almost forgot to flap his wings. What was the Great Brat doing here? Was he so stupid as to not comprehend he would not be welcome here?

  Sura slowed and angled himself upright to face the Platinum Brat on an equal plane. “What is it you want, Bratling?”

  “Oh, come now,” the platinum said, his voice dripping with scorn. “Is that any way to speak to one who comes to you with open claw and glad tidings?”

  “Open claw?” Sura asked suspiciously.

  “Of course. Lest you would never listen to my tidings.”

  Sura grunted. The Bratling had a point. With a sigh, he spoke the ritual words. “I see your claw is open. Show me what you bring within it, that I may accept your gift with a full heart.” Silently, he added, blasted rules of hospitality.

  The platinum smiled in what seemed genuine pleasure. “Thank you, my lord.”

  My lord, Sura thought. I like the sound of that.

  “Now if you please, my lord, I would prefer to land before showing you the contents of my open claw.”

  With a growl of annoyance, Sura nodded his assent. This better be worth it.

  The platinum circled around in a wide pattern and glided to the Earth. Sura followed suit, but signaled his followers to remain airborne with a gesture of his tail.

  Coming to a hard landing before the platinum, he waited impatiently.

  The lustrous dragon stood up on his hind legs and reached down to the scales at his belly. Lifting a wide patch of them with one claw, he gritted his teeth and slashed at the soft flesh underneath with a single talon from the other.

  Groaning in pain as silvery-blue blood pumped from the wound, the platinum thrust the claw into the wound.

  Sura’s eyes went wide. What in the name of the Queen of Chaos was this insane plat doing?

  The platinum claw seemed to be fishing around beneath his hide. Sura grimaced. He couldn’t help imagining the array of sensations the younger wyrm must be feeling.

  Though his eyes were riveted on the claw, still fishing about inside the platinum’s body, Sura imagined the pain that must be evident on the wyrm’s face just now.

  The platinum stopped and seemed to clasp something within his body. Sura couldn’t help wondering, through his horrified fascination, what it could possibly be. Did the wyrm have something secreted there? Or was he offering up a bit of himself?

  The platinum pulled the claw from his body, clutching a long, black shaft that dripped silvery blood. Sura couldn’t tell what the substance was, but he felt certain it was not a part of the platinum’s body.

  Incredibly, the shaft kept coming from within the platinum body, a new gush of the silvery-blue blood coming with each claw-width of the strange shape. The wyrm fully extended his foreleg then gripped the shaft at the wound in his flesh and kept pulling. How did embedding it in his body not kill him? And what was this thing?

  Another dozen claw-widths of shaft emerged, then it stopped. The platinum pulled again, but it wouldn’t move any farther.

  “Please.” Though the wyrm’s voice was fearful and pleading, he did not sound panicked. He seemed surprisingly calm. “I need you to help me pull the last of it out. I didn’t cut the opening wide enough, it would seem.”

  “You’re insane,” Sura breathed.

  The young platinum shook his head. “You will understand. Very soon, you will know.”

  Sura scowled, but gripped the shaft in both foreclaws and yanked. The platinum shrieked in agony, but the shaft did not move.

  After a moment, the platinum’s shriek died. He took several ragged breaths. “Again,” he rasped. “Harder. Don’t stop until it comes free.”

  With a shrug of his wings, Sura wiped the platinum’s blood from the strange black shaft and renewed his grip, grasping it closer to the wyrm’s body this time. He set his hind legs for better leverage and pulled.

  This time, rather than a single, hard yank he started softly, and leaned back a bit as he increased the force of his pulling, determined not to let go and not to stop until the shaft came free of the foolish platinum’s body.

  Harder and harder he pulled, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His muscles trembled. Still, he pulled harder, investing all his great strength into it.

  With each increase in force, the platinum’s response increased. First a whimper, then a groan. He grunted and growled in growing intensity.

  At last, with a sickening ripping sound which reminded Sura of hatching eggs and a horrid shriek from the platinum’s dry lips, the shaft came free with a huge spurt of silvery blood and he was thrown back from the wyrm. He rolled head over tail several times before the momentum died and he came to a stop against a rocky rise.

  Shaking his head to clear it, Sura stood, still clutching the shaft in both claws.

  Looking up and down the length of the peculiar thing, Sura’s breath caught in his throat and power surged through his Apex.

  The shaft itself, now devoid of the platinum’s silvery blood, seemed to be carved from an opaque black gemstone. Perhaps onyx or black opal. He could detect no seams in the material, lending credence to his theory that it was carved from a single piece.

  And what a piece of stone that must have been!

  The finished shaft was well over a standard wingspan in length. Just how the platinum had gotten it into his body in the first place, and without killing himself on top of it, was beyond Sura’s ken to determine.

  At the top of the shaft sat a huge chunk of fire opal carved in the rough shape of a dragon.

  A memory ticked at the back of Sura’s mind. He had heard of an item matching this description once, he was sure of it. If only he could–

  Yanking a stream of power from his Apex, Sura sent it surging into his mind to enhance his memory.

  He staggered with the strength of his effort. He hadn’t held back, he’d meant to use a lot of power, but this was so much more than he would have thought possible.

  He found he now held every memory in his mind as though he were living each and every one right now. He remembered hatching from his egg in the swamp lands of the far south-east. He remembered his time in the egg, humming to his dam’s wonderful singing as she placed his egg in its incubating swamp mud. He even recalled the very moment he first came into existence as a single cell when the tiny egg was fertilized within his dam’s womb.

  He had a vague sense of both Sire and Dam before then, of who they’d been and the passion which had led to his conception, but it was only vague sensations with no context.

  This. Is. Not. Normal! he thought.

  After a moment of confused overload, however, the memories calmed somewhat and he sifted through the legends he’d heard as a wyrmling and found the one he was looking for.

  The Dragon Scepter!

  According to the descriptions he had heard as a wyrmling, even down to the phenomenal enhancement of Apex and active arcane power, it seemed that was what he held in his claws. The Fabled Dragon Scepter. Most thought it nothing more than a myth. He surely had, up until this very moment.

  Only with tremendous effort did Sura finally order his thoughts enough to address the platinum with a coherent question. “Where did you get this?”

  The platinum grinned, though the slight tremble in his mandibular muscles told Sura he was still in great pain. “Begging my lord’s pardon, but that secret will remain my own. Suffice it to say I did not steal it, so no one will come looking for it.”

  Sura shrugged. That was enough. As much as his curiosity wanted an actual answer, he could make do without. It would have been nice to search the location for other fabled artifacts, though.

  “Alright, whelp,” Sura said briskly. “You have my attention. What are these tidings you bring?”

  The platinum’s expression narrowed to sly amusement. “I know what Baalhalllu’s plans are for the Grand Council. I know what he intends to force everyone to agree to.”