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

  People did not doubt him, although they weren't so sure when he said he was now a traveling merchant who had come north to trade on the frontier. For one thing, although he was comfortably wealthy, no one in the village actually seemed to do business with him. He was away much of the time, often with strange warriors and wizards he called his friends, and the villagers thought privately that he must be an adventurer. But he was so generally well liked and respected that the matter of his profession was politely ignored.

  What the villagers did know about Sir George was that he was a wise and kindly man, and so well traveled that he seemed as knowledgeable of the world as a wizard. So it was that, when they found themselves with a matter on their hands that they didn't understand, they immediately sent for him. Someone came knocking on his door late that night. He set aside his book and downed his remaining cherry liqueur, then went to see who it was. At the door, he found the Kaarstel, the forester, looking very excited.

  "Sir George, the mayor was wondering if you might come right away," the forester began to explain, even before he was asked. "You see, this evening I found a strange woman wandering the slopes up in the mountains. She was pursued by a most unfriendly band of red dragons."

  "Dragons?" Sir George asked. "Now, what could she have done that got the dragons annoyed with her?"

  "We don't know that," the forester said. "The problem is that we have no language in common with her. We don't even know her race. So we were wondering if you might know, seeing that you've traveled a good deal. But the mage says that you must hurry, for he fears that she will die iinytime now."

  "Then the dragons got her?" Sir George asked, looking dismayed.

  Kaarstel nodded sadly. "The mage says she must have been whipped by a dragon's tail and that her back is broken, although her own magic must have kept her going. And she is so very weary. She has just had her child, you see."

  Sir George could see that there was quite a story here, ;ind it promised to be an interesting one at that, but he wasn't likely to get it all standing here on his doorstep. He hurried to fetch his hat and coat, and he followed the forester quickly down the dark street to the mayor's house. The walk provided only enough time for him to hear how Kaarstel had seen the dragons attacking in the mountains and had found the woman on the slopes below. Sir George knew at once that there was something alarming about this strange lady, who was apparently powerful enough to guard herself against an attack by a dozen red dragons, even though it might yet cost her her life. Unlike the forester, he knew better than to suppose she had just been lucky to evade such an attack. The mayor and the village mage came out to meet him in the front room when he arrived.

  "Evening, Ryde," Sir George said to the mayor. "It seems that you have something of a problem?"

  "It's the strangest thing I've ever seen, and I've been in Graez since it was settled," the mayor said. "The problem now is that this foreign lady seems likely to die and leave us with her child, and we haven't the first idea of who she is or where she came from."

  "Is she really likely to die?" Sir George asked. "I'm told that her back is broken."

  "That, along with other injuries," Heran Merstraan agreed. Although he was called the mage, he was in truth only a half-trained magic-user, otherwise a grocer by trade, who served the medical needs of the village for lack of anyone better. "She must be a sorceress of tremendous skill and power. She fought those dragons in a fierce battle and she won, although it may yet cost her life."

  "I had suspected as much myself," Sir George agreed.

  "A skilled healer might save her yet," the mage admitted sadly. "Unfortunately I have neither the knowledge nor the experience."

  "You can't be blamed for that," Sir George assured him, then turned his attention back to the mayor. "You say that you don't recognize her race?"

  "That's true, although I must admit that our people are new to this area of the world," Mayor Aalsten said. "She is copper-skinned like the Flaem, but her hair and her eyes are as black as night, and that's highly uncommon for our own folk. You might be inclined to think that she is some odd breed of elf, or perhaps half-elf, on account of those eyes and her ears, which are slightly pointed. Her clothes looked elven."

  "That could be," Sir George agreed. "There are elves to the south, even here in the Highlands, who are darker than the rest. But the elves that live across the mountains in Wendar are pale."

  "Perhaps, but I would swear that she is no elf at any rate," Mayor Aalsten insisted. "She's tall—taller than anyone in this room including yourself, Sir George. I would say she's six feet at least, maybe more. And she might be lean, but she's also strong and muscular, like a warrior. No elf I've ever heard of was nearly that tall, nor particularly brawny."

  Sir George shook his head. "There is an ancient stronghold of the elves far to the west and north of here, beyond the Hyborean Reaches, though I haven't heard that they look particularly different from other elves. She could not be of mixed breeding, a half-elf, for there is no such thing. Such a child would be either elf or human, depending upon the parents."

  "And I will swear that she is not," Mayor Aalsten said. "That child of hers has the same features, as if they were the qualities of their race."

  Sir George sighed loudly, as if he were expecting trouble. "I suppose the best I can do is take a look at this woman and talk with her if I can."

  They led him to one of the back rooms of the house, where the woman lay seemingly asleep in a great bed covered with a warm quilted blanket. She wore a white linen shirt, which must have been one of the mayor's own, probably the only clothing in the house large enough for her. She was exactly as they had described her—a tall, slender woman who might well have been an elf, except that she was nearly a head too tall. A more experienced eye would have seen at once that her features, although long and elegant, could not have been considered truly delicate. Her ears were slightly pointed and not entirely human in form, hut neither did they belong on an elf. Her eyes were large and dark, noble and expressive. Sir George had only seen eyes like that once before in his life.

  She opened her eyes and seemed startled for a moment to see him, almost as if she recognized him. She spoke to him in her strange language, unlike any they had ever heard, a language in which all words sounded ancient and noble, like some recited spell. Sir George answered her simply. She gestured to him, and he came close, pulling over a chair so that he could sit at her side. Although she seemed at the end of her strength, she spoke quickly, almost desperately, for there was obviously something she needed very much to say. Sir George listened intently, sometimes saying a word or two. The others could only wait patiently, feeling as they had from the first that this strange, remarkable lady was a mystery indeed.

  At last Sir George turned to the others. "I think she wants us to bring her the child, and I believe we should be quick about it."

  The mayor's wife arrived a moment later with the baby, wrapped snugly in a warm, soft blanket. Sir George stole a quick look out of curiosity. The child was awake, but quiet and seemingly content. As the others had said, he was clearly of the same race as his mother, his copper skin a dull, pale gray with black, wispy hair. He was curiously lean and rangy for a newborn, but perhaps for that same reason, he already bore much of the distinct, elegant features of his mother, including the same slightly pointed ears. His dark eyes looked even larger and more remarkable.

  The mayor's wife laid the child carefully into the lady's arms. She held him in silence for a long moment, looking happy and satisfied. Then she turned to Sir George a final time and said something in her odd language. He nodded and rose to leave, taking the mayor out of the room with him, leaving the strange woman in the care of Mage Merstraan and the mayor's wife. He closed the door quietly.

  "So who is she?" Mayor Aalsten asked eagerly.

  "Eh?" Sir George stirred himself from his private thoughts. "Oh, there is really very little that I can tell you."

  "You talked to her long enough."
br />   He shook his head. "I hardly understood a word she said, and I have no way to know if she understood me. But she seemed to feel a great need to talk, so I let her. Under the circumstances, it was the only favor I could do for her."

  The mayor looked nearly desperate. "You do know something, I hope, even if you are only guessing. Our people are new in this part of the world, and we are not yet familiar with its people and their history, especially some of the more distant or obscure folk. At this point, I value even your suppositions."

  Sir George nodded slowly. "I believe she belongs to an ancient and noble race, one little known to the world at large. You may surely consider her a lady, although I cannot tell you anything more of the titles she may have held or the power she may have once commanded."

  "Will her people come looking for her?" Mayor Aalsten asked.

  "No, I doubt that very much," Sir George told him. "Even if they do, you can expect only their gratitude. Your problem now is those dragons. They most likely think they killed her while she was crouched in some mountain crevice. I am not greatly concerned."

  The mayor didn't seem to find that very reassuring, but dragons made for bad enemies. A flight of them could descend upon a village in the night and devastate it in moments. The little settlement couldn't fight a dozen dragons no matter how much warning they might have. The edge of the mountains was the most dangerous part of the realm but also the least defended, and the settlers were very much on their own. Sir George wasn't willing to discuss the extent of the dangers at that time for fear the solid courage of the Flaem might be overcome by their practical, even self-centered caution. The mayor might have the strange lady and her child turned back out into the wild. It was really too late now to decide not to become involved.

  Too late indeed. For in the next moment, the mayor's wife came sniffing and fussing from die back room, carrying the child. Heran Merstraan followed slowly behind her, looking sad and perhaps a little angry at himself for his shortcomings. Sir George rose to take another glance at the strange child, with his large, dark eyes, feeling a little guilty himself. A child like that needed to be among his own kind and live the life meant to be his own, but there was nothing to be done about that. Taking him home would mean taking him through the ranks of enemies determined to slay him, and Sir George didn't even know where to look.

  "His name is Thelvyn," the old knight said. "I can tell you that much about him, but little more. Treat him well, in honor of the courage and the determination of his mother. And now, if you will excuse me, I've done what I can here, and I am off for home."

  "But what are we to do with him?" the mayor asked desperately.

  Sir George put on his hat, then turned to stare at the mayor. "I think you should know that better than I. You know I've never had a child, and I can't begin to tell you about caring for one."

  "But what should we do if the dragons come looking for the child or his mother?" the mayor insisted.

  "Send for me," Sir George said as he stepped out the door. "Don't try to handle them yourself."

  He walked away into the night, looking very unconcerned. But the truth was that he went home, settled into his favorite chair, and had three more cherry liqueurs while

  he sat up late thinking about dragons.

  *****

  Sir George was up early the next morning. The mayor came knocking on his door right away, but he had expected that, and so he had risen early and made ready to receive guests. Nor was he entirely surprised to see that the mayor looked rather worried, even a little frightened, and he seemed not to have slept well. Sir George brought him straight into the den and sat him down with a warm drink and a plate of reasonably fresh pastries close at hand, calculated both to distract him and to direct him toward a calmer mood. Mayor Aalsten stared at the exotic decor of the den, the core of a large house filled with odd and remarkable things. Like all the village folk, the mayor was always amazed by that house no matter how often he came to visit.

  "Ryde, what's worrying you?" Sir George began abruptly, as if launching a sudden attack against an unprepared foe. "Are you worried about that child, or the dragons, or both?"

  "Well, the dragons worry me more," Mayor Aalsten admitted.

  "I thought so."

  "There isn't really much I can do to protect the folk in the village against a dragon attack except to retreat to the main garrison at Aalbansford, and that would mean a long journey in the snow," the mayor explained. "So I've been wondering what you might be able to tell me about dragons, and how much danger you think we're in. Will the dragons persist in seeking out their prey?"

  "Oh, dragons can be very persistent," Sir George said, taking a seat on the other side of the fireplace. "They live a good long time—long enough to make even the elves seem short-lived. But unlike elves, they will not act slowly or put things off but will pursue any business at hand until it is done before they can rest easily. They can be especially single-minded if they are angry or frightened."

  Mayor Aalsten looked more fearful than ever. "Then you think that they will not ignore us?"

  Sir George shrugged. "Frankly, I believe that they are satisfied they have slain their enemy and have gone home. If they suspected that their prey had escaped, they would have been here long ago, this being a very obvious destination. At the very least, we would have seen them searching

  I lie mountains."

  "And if they do come here?" the mayor asked, slowly beginning to look reassured. "What can we do then?"

  "In that event, you do nothing except send for me as quickly as you can. I know how to talk to them."

  Aalsten looked impressed. "Do you think that you can deceive them?"

  "I have no intent of trying to deceive them," Sir George declared. "If they come here asking questions—and rest assured that they will inquire before they attack—then I will tell them the truth. The woman they seek died last night. That should please them, and they will go home."

  "What if they ask about the child?" the mayor asked.

  " Then I start lying." He dismissed the problem with a vague gesture. "If the woman is dead, what will they care about the child?"

  "Can you do that?"

  "Of course. As I see it, we have only three choices. Ivither we fight the dragons or we leave, neither option lieing entirely practical, or we convince the dragons to leave us alone. You don't see me packing to go, do you? If you don't mind my saying so, I expect that I am the only person in this village capable of talking the dragons into going away."

  "So that was why you told me last night to send for you if the dragons turn up," the mayor said, at last beginning to look pleased. "We're lucky to have someone like you, Sir George, who can lie well enough to fool even a dragon."

  Sir George elected to take that as the compliment it was intended to be. "So what are you going to do with the child?"

  "I suppose we will keep him here at the village and treat him as one of our own, unless someone with a better claim should happen to come along."

  "Has anyone expressed interest in adopting him yet?" Sir George asked.

  "Oh, no. He is to be raised as a ward of the village," the mayor said. "Perhaps you do not know, but ancient Flaem-ish law forbids adoption, to protect the rights of inheritance of true children who may or may not yet exist."

  "That seems a little extreme, considering a person like myself, who has no prospects of ever having a true heir."

  "Well, in such a case as yours, you can will a person to become your heir and take your name upon your death, but not before."

  Sir George was obviously involved in some deep struggle with himself, trying to decide whether to commit to a course of action that he either feared or detested. "Well, the child is not of Flaemish ancestry, and neither am I. You could just send him over to me and let a pair of benevolent foreigners make do together."

  "George, the good folk of this village would never allow me to get away with that, and I hesitate to think what Duke Aalban or the Wizards of the
Flaem would have to say about it," Mayor Aalsten said, apparently taken aback by Sir George's offer. "Our law is sacred to us. It's been with us since before our people came into this world, and it was one of the few things that we were able to bring with us. Rest assured that we will take good care of the lad and treat him as one of our own. Keep in mind that what he wishes to do with his life once he comes of age at sixteen is entirely his own affair."

  "Yes . . . there is that," Sir George agreed thoughtfully. "And I do have to be away much of the time."

  Actually, as he thought about it, he expected that everything would work out just as well that way after all . . . perhaps even better. He had never before remained in one place for very long, and so he hadn't expected to stay in this frontier settlement for that long. Still, he thought that perhaps he could wait. If nothing else, his curiosity was going to keep him close at hand.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Although Thelvyn had lived in the village of Graez all the years his short life, he didn't belong there and he knew it. The trouble was that he didn't have the faintest idea of just were he did belong, and the mayor wasn't likely to let him go there even if he did. And so he stayed right where he was and grew a little more frustrated with life every day, just as the village was becoming generally frustrated with him.

  Most younger folk, by the middle of their teenage years, get the idea in their heads that they don't belong wherever they are. They imagine that they are in fact the descendants of kings or lords, or perhaps sorcerers or heroic knights or some other such nonsense. And they are very certain that they will become amazing persons in their own right, overflowing with courage and wisdom and all manner of great and admirable qualities, if older folk would only stop telling them what to do and allow them to be in control for a change.