D& D - Mystara 01 - Dragonlord of Mystara Read online

  PROLOGUE

  There indeed was a tale, told in words to inspire the adventurous heart to overflowing with the glories and the sorrows of the mighty deeds of those elder days. These were the events that echo through the long corridors of history to shake the silent tombs of honored kings and the very foundations of nations, as familiar in the memories of some as their waking lives, to others all but lost and forgotten in the dust of ages. Here began the Age of Dragons, when that most ancient of races awoke from its long dream of death to find that it was wise and strong.There indeed was a tale, told in words to inspire the adventurous heart to overflowing with the glories and the sorrows of the mighty deeds of those elder days. These were the events that echo through the long corridors of history to shake the silent tombs of honored kings and the very foundations of nations, as familiar in the memories of some as their waking lives, to others all but lost and forgotten in the dust of ages. Here began the Age of Dragons, when that most ancient of races awoke from its long dream of death to find that it was wise and strong.

  It all began on a night when the mountains and valleys of the Highlands slept beneath the first snow of winter. Winter was long and came early to this northern land. The nights themselves were deep and deathly cold.

  On the evening our tale began, the sun set early behind the ridges and peaks to the west, spreading a false twilight as the mountains cast their long shadows across the valleys and the hills beyond. To the north stood the dark, silent shapes of greater mountains yet, beyond the farthest settlement, where no men dwelled nor indeed often ventured. These were wild lands that still belonged to themselves and to the dark and fearful creatures that were rumored to haunt them. From the north that evening came a wind of bitter cold, sometimes shaking a light cascade of snow from the laden branches of the pines.

  None would journey in the wild at such time by choice, but that evening there were four travelers in the heights. The snow had come unexpectedly early that year, and so the forester, Kaarstel, had gone up that day to the mines in the lower slopes of the mountains to fetch the miner and his sons back to the village, for fear that they might become trapped if the snows closed the steep trails. Although the night was clear and bitterly cold, snow could come again at any time.

  As it happened, the miner and his two sons had been hard at work in the depths of their longest shaft, living and working in the darkness, with no thought of the weather outside. They had been quite surprised when Kaarstel had turned up to rescue them, unaware that they were in need of being rescued. And so they closed up their mine and their cabin and followed the forester down the trails from the heights, even though they would not be getting back to the village until after dark.

  They were of the Flaem, an ancient race with a glorious past, now living in exile in a strange land, a quiet and hardworking folk desperate to build their future into the likeness of their past—which explained the dedication of the miner and his sons to their task. The Flaem had first come into the northern frontiers of the Highlands only eighty years or so earlier, when the forester had been a young man. It remained a wild and unfamiliar land even to those who had lived here all their lives.

  They were generally a very cautious folk, for they were very much on their own, with little protection. The duke's army in this region was measured not in companies but in small garrisons, and such wizards as they had were mostly self-taught. Goblins were known to be in the mountains to the north, and dragons were often seen as they soared above the mountain heights like immense eagles riding the winds. But the settlers had so far been left mostly alone, and for that they considered themselves lucky.

  The travelers did not care to find themselves out in the wild by night if they could help it. The forester's job was mostly to keep folk from straying into the woods and to fetch them back out again when they did. The people of the village held him in respect and a certain awe because he had been going into the woods for many years and he always returned safely, which was less remarkable than they seemed to think. But on that particular evening, he was not especially concerned. While it was a long way down to the village from the mines, this land was less wild than it seemed, with the farms and pastures just below. The various evil creatures, which were rare enough, would be kept confined to their lairs by the snow.

  A sudden crack of thunder broke somewhere in the heights just behind the travelers, echoing through the hills and ridges. Kaarstel stopped where he was, there on a steep and rough portion of the trail, and he indicated for his companions to keep absolutely still while he quickly looked around. The evening sky was growing dark, and the first stars had appeared, but there was not a cloud to be seen except for a few windswept banks hugging the mountains to the north. Nor was there any sustained rumble or plume of white in any of the higher valleys to suggest an avalanche. The forester thought that perhaps it had been a small rockslide somewhere just above, hardly more than a shift of massive boulders. Then they all saw a flash, like golden light, in one of the wide ravines above, not two miles from where they stood.

  In the next moment, the form of a dragon, black against the evening sky, came hurtling down from the ravine. They wondered briefly if they were about to die. Then the dragon lifted, rising in a wide circle with the slow beat of his wings, and dived back into the ravine. Almost immediately there followed another flash of golden light and a rumble of thunder.

  "A dragon," one of the miner's sons said in fearful wonder.

  "No concern of ours," Kaarstel said matter-of-factly. "That old fellow is just out hunting. He won't bother us.

  Dragons aren't animals, you know. Actually they're quite intelligent. They don't eat raw meat if they can help it. The ones that have flame use it to hunt, which not only brings down their prey but cooks it at the same time. They prefer elk."

  "You seem to know a good deal about dragons," the miner observed.

  "I lived in the south when I was young, near the settlements of the elves," he said. "They taught me much of what I know."

  "Elves?" the miner's eldest son said disdainfully. "What do elves know?"

  "They know a good deal about this land," the forester told him. The Flaemish settlers got along well enough with the elves who shared the same land, but most folk didn't know the elves well and thought them pale, fragile creatures. They never suspected that the elves held an equally low opinion of them.

  However, not one dragon but an entire pack hunted the heights that night. This fact became fearfully obvious as the flashes of dragonfire continued, often in rapid succession, while the thunder of the attack echoed like a summer storm through the range. The dragons circled the ravine, sometimes four or five together. The forester began to think that perhaps the dragons were fighting, apparently not among themselves but with something on the ground, or else they were looking for something and desperate enough to use any means to find it. Moreover, their attack seemed to be moving along the ravine. Soon it would be out on the open mountainside. If the dragons were that desperate, they might attack anything that moved in the rapidly diminishing light.

  "I'm not greatly worried, since they are still a long way off, but I think we should get down from this mountain with all due haste," Kaarstel told the others.

  "Should we head straight down the slope?" the miner asked. "If we follow the trail, it will be taking us closer to the ravine. If we go straight down, at least we would be hidden among the boulders."

  The forester shook his head. "They seem to be looking for something, and I don't want that to include us. We will make far better time on the trail under any circumstances. With any luck, we can be well down the slope b
efore they come near."

  They hurried along, all but running when the trail was flat enough to permit it, but all too often they were clambering between great boulders. This was no road, although it was the only trail leading up to the mines in the lower slopes. As such, it had to provide reasonable passage to horses with heavy packs when traders came up from the village. For that reason, the trail switched back on itself and circled wide around the more formidable obstacles.

  They all felt somewhat safer when they left the open hillside and reached the trees. The dragons were no longer attacking as often as they had, and the blasts of golden flame and reports like thunder had lessened, but they hadn't ceased. Now the great beasts could be seen searching the outside faces of the upper slopes, circling back and forth hardly a mile above the travelers. Sometimes, when one of the dragons made an especially wide turn, it would come directly over the trail, and all they could do was stay hidden beneath the trees until it had passed.

  Now that the dragons were moving out in the open, it was daunting to see just how many there were. There were at least a dozen. Often one of them would come in low to aim a jet of flame into some deep, hidden place among the stones, and in the flash of the flames, the forester could see that they were red dragons, a breed with a fearful reputation. Reds, greens, and blacks were the marauders, the dragons most given to violent ways, although that didn't mean that they were necessarily evil. The elves had told the forester that the gold dragons were noble and wise, and the whites and blues were peaceful unless crossed, although all dragons could be fierce, haughty, and dangerous if provoked. But he couldn't imagine what they could be looking for with such determination.

  Kaarstel paused, for he had seen something moving in the rocks above them, suddenly illuminated in a flash of flame. He stopped and stared hard. He wasn't entirely sure what he had seen, and he wondered if perhaps it had only been some wild animal fleeing the destruction above. Then he happened to be looking in just the right place at the next flicker of light, and he saw her standing there in the shadows, clinging to the snow-covered boulders perhaps a hundred yards above them. She was a tall, slender woman, perhaps elven, judging by her dress, although any lean figure in a hooded cloak might have been mistaken for an elf in this light.

  And yet it seemed inconceivable—a lone woman coming down from the mountain wilderness in winter, pursued by dragons. The forester paused. His first inclination was to rush to her assistance, but this was checked by caution. She was the object of a determined hunt by a dozen dragons apparently seeking to slay her, and he couldn't take such a danger back to the village. He glanced briefly over his shoulder, where the lights of Graez glittered in the cold air not five miles away. The dragons were searching well up the slope, apparently in the belief that she was still several hundred yards higher. Perhaps he could get her down to the trail without being seen.

  "You stay here. Don't move," he told his companions. "I'm going to get her down from there."

  He knew that it would take some time, for this was a steep part of the slope, rising almost like a wall above the trail and piled high with huge boulders. The strange woman had stopped near the top of the steep slope, seemingly at a loss to find a way down, although she may also have been injured or weary. The forester knew in a moment that he could find a way up that slope, and he felt certain he could get her back down again easily enough. The boulders offered hiding places in deep shadows, and that was most welcome, for there were few trees.

  Moving stealthfully, he almost startled her as he came upon her out of the darkness, and she turned toward him sharply, in a way that made him keep his distance. Her leather clothing and her cloak argued against her being an elf. Also, she was of no elven breed that he had ever heard of, for she was taller than he. Nor did she seem especially pale, although her black hair and dark eyes suggested that she wasn't of the Flaemish race either. There was a great sense of native nobility about her, bolder and more hearty than he would have associated with elves. Her clothes were singed from the dragonflame, although she seemed otherwise unharmed.

  Still, she bore herself as if she were indeed injured or perhaps at the end of her strength, either of which seemed likely enough. Then the forester saw that she was indeed pregnant. She spoke to him briefly, her voice clear and noble, but in words that he couldn't begin to understand.

  He shook his head. "I don't know your language."

  She shook her own head, obviously not recognizing his language in turn. He took her hand to begin helping her down through the snow-covered boulders, and she seemed willing to go with him. Perhaps she had found some new reserve of strength now that she knew help was at hand, for she made her way down the treacherous slope quickly and without complaint.

  The descent seemed to sap her failing strength, however, and only her determination kept her standing once they started down the trail toward the village. Although she bore no sign of injury, there was no question that her dire condition was due to more than just exhaustion. Kaarstel came to fear for her very life if she ever stopped running long enough to realize that she was in a desperate state. Fortunately the miner's sons were big strapping lads, and they were able to take turns helping her along the forest path.

  When the forester looked back some minutes later, he was encouraged to see that the dragons had given up their attack and were conducting a meticulous search of the more accessible ravines and valleys leading south along the mountains. He was greatly relieved, since his act of charity seemed unlikely to bring danger to the village.

  The forester had failed to consider that the folk in the village had seen the flames and heard the thunder of the dragons' attack. When Kaarstel came to a hill where he could see the distant cluster of houses through a break in the trees, he saw that the entire village was ablaze with lights, and a line of torches was moving swiftly up the road in his direction. It had to be the small garrison from the village, and

  probably every stout man the mayor was able to find as well.

  That was not a wise response to the presence of dragons, especially when a whole flight of the great beasts was lighting up the ridges with their fires, but the forester wasn't surprised. The Flaem were a calm, practical, and determined lot, but they could also be brave and fierce if necessary, not unlike the dwarves. Possibly just the sight of the locals turning out in force had encouraged the dragons to seek their prey farther down the range.

  Once the travelers came to the road, Kaarstel had the miner's sons set the lady down to rest. She looked more weary than ever, and she was breathing hard. Suddenly the forester had the uncomfortable thought that she might be about to have her child. He saw that the villagers would be there in a minute or so, and she would no longer be his responsibility. The mysterious lady tried to rise as the villagers approached, and Kaarstel hurried to assist her.

  The garrison soldiers rode up a moment later, and Mayor Aalsten was among them, wearing his stiff leather armor. He stopped before the forester and dropped down from his saddle. "We took stock and found that you were missing, so we suspected that the dragons must be after you."

  "I'm not worth the effort," Kaarstel said impatiently. "This lady does not speak our language, but she is not well, and I fear that she is about to have her child. I believe that we should get her to the village at once."

  "I daresay," the mayor agreed. "We will take her to my house. But I hope that we can find someone who has a language in common with her, since I would very much like to know why a band of dragons is chasing her across the mountains in the middle of winter. Aside from simple curiosity, our safety might depend upon it."

  The strange lady proved too weak to ride, and the soldiers cut branches to make a litter for her. While they worked, the mayor and the forester went to the top of the hill to have a look toward the mountains. Dusk had since deepened into night, and the heights were a jagged black wall rising abov them into the darkness. If the dragons were anywhere near, they were not to be seen. At least that

  terr
ible danger had passed for now, and with any luck, the

  dragons would not return.

  *****

  For Sir George Kirbey, it had been just another comfortable evening at home, mainly because he had been too involved with a book and a bottle of cherry liqueur to notice anything outside his own door. It was a shame, since he didn't get to see dragons nearly as often as he would have liked. He was actually quite fond of dragons, and he knew more about them than nearly anyone, certainly anyone in the village. There had been a time when he had known dragons very well, and he had even counted one or two among his friends, but he had been out of touch for a longer time than he cared to admit.

  Of course, he kept that very much to himself. For one thing, most folks weren't likely to believe an old man who claimed to have dragons for friends. And even if they did believe him, people who were friendly with dragons tended not to be very popular with other people, most of whom spent more time worrying about dragons than they should. Sir George was full of secrets that he kept very much to himself, a fact that helped preserve his relations with his neighbors.

  Sir George got along well with nearly everyone. In fact, he had made something of a business of getting along with people, for he had discovered long ago that if everyone liked him and he was generally honest and dependable, then everyone was likely to trade with him. Sir George called himself an old man, and he could, if he wished, look the part. He was large and solid and powerfully built, but he wasn't fat, and indeed he could be tremendously strong and quite spry. He had a round face and bright eyes and a great nose like the beak of hawk, so that he looked rather disarming and friendly, the sort of a character that most people couldn't help but like. Farmers and smiths and craftsmen loved and respected him, and he was quite at home sharing an ale or a wild country dance with them, but he could also be as civil and urbane as a southern lord.

  Everyone called him Sir George because that was what he called himself, and it seemed to fit. When asked about his past, he would say only that he had once been Sir George Kirbey, a Knight of the Order of the Roads in Darokin, and that he had retired some years ago after being wounded in combat. Sir George was indeed missing his left hand, although he always wore a leather cuff strapped tight to his arm, to which he could attach any number of tools and weapons. These, he said, had been made for him by the master craftsmen of the dwarves of Dengar in faraway Rockhome.