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.

"Sir?" His second stepped away from the corpse only to find himself staring at another body equally as ghastly, made worse on closer inspection because it cradled a dead babe to its rotting chest. Gauderic whirled and doubled over, vomited until he was weak. Several minutes later when he regained his composure, he found Dhamon kneeling by an uprooted tree, studying something on the ground.

Dhamon pushed himself to his feet, his hand pressing into the scale on his leg. The scale was tingling faintly. It was a warm sensation he dismissed as nerves. "The wind from the dragon's wings destroyed the homes and uprooted a few saplings. Its breath slew these people. I'd say it was recent, within two or three days."

"No large tracks," a young elf argued. "A dragon would leave tracks. Any creature that size would. I've seen dragon tracks! I don't think there's any…"

Dhamon padded away from the center of the village, careful not to step on any of the bodies. At the edge of the pines that ringed what was once Windkeep, he looked outward and motioned for the young elf.

"Out here." Dhamon pointed several yards away to a clearing. He headed toward it, the young elf silently on his heels.

"For the love of all the firstborn," the elf breathed. He was staring at a depression, a footprint nearly as long as he was tall. The clearing he gaped at, one filled with small trees and bushes, had been flattened by a great weight.

"The dragon stood here," Dhamon said, then he turned and pointed toward Windkeep. "And he managed to kill all those people."

"How?"

Dhamon gestured for his men to join him at the edge of the village. The troop of humans and elves stood at attention, their eyes-wide in disbelief-continued to scan the ruins and bodies. "This dragon is fairly small."

"Small?" he saw Gauderic mouth. The once-brave man had grown pale.

"I would guess from the footprint that he's less than sixty feet long. Palin was certain we could best him with all of you and the men who were to join us. I agree. He's far from an overlord, and he's not a brave dragon, taking on this village from such a distance. Perhaps he fears men. The hunting parties he has been attacking have been small."

"Sir!" It was one of the human mercenaries. Dhamon recalled the man had an elven wife, and though she was safe in their home in New Ports far to the north and on the other side of the mountains, she had close ties to this land. "If we turn back, the dragon will keep on killing. It's bad enough that the Green Peril holds this realm. But she…"

"Doesn't so wantonly slay her subjects. At least not anymore," Dhamon finished. "Aye. But perhaps this young one is simply beneath the notice of the Green."

"Or perhaps not," Gauderic muttered. "Perhaps the Green Peril does not care about her ‘subjects' and…"

Dhamon cleared his throat. "I say we press on and find this dragon and deal with him."

A chorus of murmurs from most of the men indicated they weren't eager to face a dragon without adding to their number. But Dhamon began issuing orders, and they nervously fell in line, some continuing to stare mutely at the bodies. Gauderic was quick to assign his two brothers and his friends the task of digging graves, using the few tools they could salvage. And the following morning, after a simple ceremony to honor the dead had been conducted, the mercenary band continued on.