Free Thrall Twilight of the Aspects by Christie Golden Page B

It wasonly when we heard the ancient ritual, of shaman to element, that we were awakened. By your actions, you saved us.”
    “The fire told me that it was trying to cleanse you. That it felt you were … impure,” Thrall said, trying to recall exactly what it was the fire elemental had communicated to him. “It said you were confused. You did not know what you knew, and what you knew was incorrect. I asked if you could learn what was correct, and the spirit of fire thought you could. That was why it agreed to cease burning you.”
    Thrall realized, now that the fire was no longer a threat, that some of the ancients had small creatures nesting in their branches. They looked like tiny dragons with delicate, vibrantly colored wings like a butterfly’s and feathery antennae adorning their bright-eyed heads. One of them flew out from the branches, fluttered about, and landed on Desharin’s shoulder, nuzzling him fondly.
    “They are called sprite darters,” Desharin said, petting the small creature. “They are not dragons, but they are magical protectors and defenders of the Emerald Dream.”
    And suddenly Thrall understood. He looked at the ancients, at their little magical protector, at Desharin’s green hair.
    “You are a green dragon,” he said quietly. It was a statement, not a question.
    Desharin nodded. “My task was to watch you.”
    Thrall frowned, the old irritation returning. “Watch me? Was I being tested? Did I perform to Ysera’s expectations?”
    “Not quite like that,” he said. “It was not an evaluation of your skills. I was to watch and see what was in your heart as you aided us, how you approached the task. You have a journey to make, Thrall, son of Durotan and Draka. We needed to see if you were ready to undertake it.”
    The ancients began to speak again in their strange, creaking language.“Long have we kept the memories of this world. Long have we tended knowledge that others have forgotten. But the spirit of fire was right. Something is amiss. The memories we bear are becoming hazy, confused … lost. Something has gone awry with time itself.”
    They must learn again what is true. Someone must teach them. If not, then burn they shall. Burn they must.
    “That is what the spirit of fire was trying to say,” Thrall said. “It knew that their memories were wrong, incorrect. But it thought they could learn the correct memories again. That means there’s hope.”
    Desharin nodded, thinking aloud. “Something is wrong with the memories of the ancients. They are not as we are; their memories cannot be altered unless the things they remember themselves were altered. That means that time itself has been interfered with.” He turned to Thrall, solemn and excited both. “This, then, is your journey. You must travel to the Caverns of Time. You must find out what has happened and help set the timeways right.”
    Thrall looked at him, stunned. “The timeways … so they do exist. I had suspected—”
    “They exist. Nozdormu and the rest of the bronze dragonflight manage them. And he is the one you must go to with this information.”
    “I? Why would he talk to me? Wouldn’t a fellow dragon be a better choice?” It was an almost overwhelming thought: to travel back in time, to alter or adjust history. He felt out of his depth. What had initially seemed like a trivial errand had now taken on dire significance.
    “I will accompany you if you like,” Desharin offered. “But the Aspect was adamant that you were important somehow. Do not take offense, but I am as puzzled as you are as to why she thoughtso.” He gave a sudden grin that made him look much younger than he doubtless was. “At least your skin is green.”
    Thrall started to bridle, then found himself chuckling instead. “I would welcome any aid and illumination you care to give, and I am honored that Ysera regards me in such a light. I will do my utmost to help.” He turned to the ancients. “Help all of you, if I can.”
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