cries that nearly deafened me. But the sight of it, Kyra! I’ve
got to paint it!”
For days, then weeks, he worked on the image he had
seen. It consumed him. He had to finish it before he forgot
how it looked, how it felt, what it meant.
Kyra watched him work. At first she saw only dark
outlines, then the dragons appeared, one at a time. And each
of the dragons was more malevolent than the last. There
was danger in the picture. The Highlord and her
dragonarmy soldiers took shape with menacing faces, and
the sky was dark and forbidding. Kyra could feel the cold
wind from the wings of the huge beasts, sense the hot breath
from their snarling jaws, and she knew – all at once – that
the painting had captured the ineffable horror of their
conquerors.
Of course, they couldn’t sell the painting. If the
Highlord or any of her soldiers ever saw it, they’d cut off
Seron’s hands. Nonetheless, he wasn’t sorry that he had
done it. And neither was Kyra. They both hoped that
eventually the dark days would pass, and his picture would
be a valued – and valuable – reminder of this evil time.
More than that, they both hoped it would forever establish
Seron as Krynn’s pre-eminent artist.
They kept the bleak masterpiece hidden in a wooden
crate under their bed. However, it soon began to rankle
them both that Seron’s greatest work had no audience. What
was the point of having painted the picture if no one ever
saw it?
It was then that they conceived their daring plan to
smuggle the painting to Palanthas where it might be
prominently displayed in a gallery. But they would need
help.
“Let’s send word to Tosch,” suggested Kyra. “He could
fly here one dark night and take the painting away with
him.”
“Do you think Tosch would really do it; would he risk
his life for a painting?”
“We have nothing to lose by asking,” she said.
Two days later, the peddler who had bought a Seron
painting of Tosch carried a coded note out of the city and
into the mountain warrens. The note asked their friend to
come to them after sunset during the night when the two
moons were at their smallest. It was a great favor, and they
didn’t ask it lightly. And they said as much in the note. If
Tosch felt it was too dangerous, they said, he shouldn’t
come; they would understand.
But still they hoped he would glide down to them out
of the dark sky.
The nights passed as slowly as a gnome builds a
machine. The days were even longer. Eventually, though,
the moons went through their glowing phases. It was
almost time.
As the sun descended, sending long shadows across a
sad, beleaguered city, Kyra and Seron grew anxious.
Tonight was the night.
“Do you think the note actually reached Tosch?”
wondered Kyra.
“I don’t know.”
“What if the peddler were intercepted? If the Highlord
deciphered our message – ”
Suddenly a loud knock sounded at their door.
Instinctively, they both reached for each other. Neither of
them uttered a word. The worst, it seemed, had happened.
They had been found out.
The pounding on the door continued, matched only by
the pounding of their hearts. Seron took a deep breath and
kissed his wife lightly on the forehead. “Let’s try to be
brave,” he said in a voice that nonetheless betrayed his fear.
She nodded.
Seron got to his feet and opened the door.
“What did I do, roust you two out of bed?” roared Seron’s
brother, Long-Chin Cheb. “What took you so long to open
up? It’s not as if you had so far to go to reach the door,” he
added, glancing disdainfully at the walls of the tiny hut.
“We . . . we didn’t expect to see you,” said Seron,
catching his breath. “This is quite a surprise. What brings
you to Flotsam? Is – is anything wrong?”
“Must something be wrong for me to visit my only
family?”
“Seron didn’t mean that,” piped up Kyra in her
husband’s defense. “He’s glad to see you, just as I am.”