D& D - Mystara 02 Dragonking of Mystara

by Thorarinn Gunnarsson

  "Perhaps four," Thelvyn corrected him. "And perhaps as long as two weeks before all our forces are here and everything is ready. If the dragons come sooner than that, and I expect they will, then there's really nothing else I can do.

  I'll challenge their leaders and fight for as long as I can. Then I'll submit. You've always said that dragons are usually magnanimous to their enemies in defeat."

  "Surely it won't come to that," Alessa insisted as she joined them. "Part of our forces will be here soon. Then we'll be able to hold out for a time, and more help will arrive."

  "When the battle finally does come, it's not likely to last long," Thelvyn told her. "Even if we were as ready as possible, the dragons are still going to have the numbers to overwhelm us. I still see no hope for victory. My main goal is to put us in a strong enough position to negotiate to our best possible advantage. It would certainly help if we could give them back their treasure."

  "We still haven't discovered any clue as to its whereabouts," Sir George admitted. "I'm beginning to suspect that Kalestraan had the treasure taken somewhere outside the Highlands. And of course there's something else the dragons will demand."

  "I'm prepared to surrender to them under the proper terms, if that's what you mean," Thelvyn said. "If I'm going to influence their future according to the prophecy, I'll eventually have to go among them. The obvious way for that to happen will be as their prisoner."

  "I should be able to go with you, under the circumstances," Sir George said.

  "You can't be expecting defeat so easily," Alessa protested. "I always understood the Dragonlord was invulnerable."

  Thelvyn paused to stare out from the wall across the fields. "The problem is that the dragons still have the advantage of speed, mobility, and numbers. I expect that several hundred, perhaps even several thousand, dragons will gather for the siege. If I'm forced to surrender, it won't be to save myself."

  "But you should be able to do something," she insisted.

  "I still have some hope of negotiating a new truce," Thelvyn said. "I'm prepared to offer them the promise that I will remove myself completely from the affairs of the outside world if they will do the same, and from then on we'll keep our disagreements entirely between ourselves. I realize now that I should have kept myself isolated from the first."

  "So that's the reason why you were so reluctant to become king," Sir George said. "I say, you do seem to have things thought out fairly well. What you say just might suit the dragons after all. We just have to be careful that things don't turn against us, and the best assurance of that is to be as prepared for this battle as we can be. It would help a lot if some of the nearby countries could send us support."

  "I'm not even sure our own army will get here in time," Thelvyn said. "The dragon army could leave the Wendarian Mountains at any time and be upon us within hours. How much time they give us is entirely up to them now."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The gold dragon Marthaen rode the cool winds above the Wyrmsteeth Mountains in the wilds of Norwold on his way to the hidden city of Windreach, the citadel of the dragons, hundreds of miles northeast of the Highlands. In spite of his concerns about the threat of war in the west, he was dreaming of autumn. The high, rugged mountains, most of them still wearing a cap of white even into the middle of summer, would all be buried deep in fresh snow. The winds would be cold and brisk, and a dragon could ride the swift currents in and out among the peaks and valleys. Hunting was actually easier in the winter, when elk and deer, driven by hunger out into the open, would stand in plain sight against the fields of white.

  Marthaen was soaring through the mountains, letting the warm southerly winds carry him the final miles of his long flight home. He did not regret his journey to the Wendarian Mountains above the Highlands; he could appreciate the attraction of that ancient land, especially the old, forgotten forests on the north side of the mountains where men did

  not come. There was an ancient sanctuary hidden deep in the wooded hills of Wendar, an uncomfortable memory of a time when the dragons had denied the Great One. The red dragons, always fierce and quick to anger, had turned on the clerics for prophesying the return of the Dragonlord, yet they had refused to help seek him out. The Wendarian Range had been a place of trouble for dragons ever since.

  But Marthaen was more clever than any red dragon, and even they deferred to the wisdom of his leadership. He recognized the deeper meaning of things. For one thing, he knew that if the clerics of the Great One refused to actively oppose the Dragonlord, then there must be a good reason. He would never ask his sister Kharendaen about the secrets of her order, but he had seen enough to know that the Great One still maintained some contact with his clerics. If the Great One had simply gone away without a trace or a word of explanation, as most dragons believed, then there would be no further need for his clerics. Why, then, were those same clerics still so busy?

  Some questions found their own answers. Marthaen could see that the Great One had protected the dragons from themselves, from their violence and lust and the same desire for power that drove the renegades insane. The Great One had given them their one great city and had forced them to sit together in parliament, gently guiding them away from any action that was ultimately not to their best advantage. Intentionally or not, the Great One had left the dragons to make their own decisions at a time when those decisions would be especially critical, and Marthaen felt that it was his responsibility to make certain that they chose correctly.

  The question of the Dragonlord both intrigued and frustrated him. The obvious answer to the problem he presented was to find some way to slay the Dragonlord and capture or destroy that accursed armor. Yet even that wasn't as simple as it seemed. If killing the Dragonlord was the proper solution, then why did the clerics refuse to help? He realized he was trying to determine the Great One's will by inference rather than making a decision for himself, but the matter was simply too important to risk making a mistake. He wished he could talk to Kharendaen about it, not necessarily to get direct answers but just to seek her advice. But Kharendaen had been called away by her duty, proof enough that the Great One still played some part in this affair. And while Marthaen was loath to distrust his sister's judgment, he knew that her heart was filled with love and devotion for Thelvyn Fox-Eyes.

  As Marthaen came out through the mouth of a wide, forested valley, he could see the great peak of Windreach rising into the sky directly before him. From this distance, the peak appeared to be nothing more than the snow-covered summit of an especially tall, steep mountain rising from a group of high, rugged peaks. In truth, the city of Windreach was built within the ring of an ancient volcano. The white cap wasn't snow but the spires and towers of the great buildings, all built of purest white marble, that stood on the floor of the ancient volcano.

  Marthaen rose steadily as he approached, finally passing low over the rim of the volcano before he began to circle wide, searching for the wide ledge of his home. Windreach was a large city, especially since everything was built on a scale to accommodate dragons, but it was large even by draconic standards. Individual lairs had been carved deep into the stone of the wall of the volcano, with openings like large balconies. The lairs were all interconnected by passages and vast chambers within the mountain itself.

  The floor of the volcano was occupied by a city of great beauty, with simple, elegant buildings of carved white marble. The center of the city was dominated by the towering Hall of the Great One, easily the largest structure in the known world, with great towers and slender spires rising above the top of the ring of the volcano's caldera. Other great edifices clustered about die Hall of the Great One, each as impressive as the next. The dragons had erected their own school of magic and science, mostly under the direction of the golds and a few of the more clever reds and blacks. There was a magnificent library containing books from a time unknown to scholars and wizards of the outside world.

  Marthaen found the ledge of his home and banked sharply,
descending with long, slow backsweeps of his wings before dropping onto the wide shelf of stone. He folded his wings, then turned his head and looked back for a moment across the city. Windreach seemed curiously empty and quiet, with only a few dragons gliding among the white towers. Many of the dragons were already away in the west, especially the young dragons eager for adventure, waiting to see if they would invade the Highlands and fight the Dragonlord. He opened the wide door and stepped inside, crouching to clear his wings, then paused a moment to slide the door shut behind him.

  The interior of his apartment was large and comfortable, even by gold dragon standards. Contrary to the rough-hewn cave dwelling of human legend, these apartments were of dressed, polished stone, with floors and fixtures of the hardest marble. The marble had been cut and brought to the mountain, since marble doesn't occur naturally in volcanic lands. The ceiling of the main chamber was high enough for Marthaen to sit back on his haunches, using his claws to release the straps on the harness that carried his weapons and pouches.

  Setting the harness aside, he left his lair through the inner door to follow the interior passages to the bathing chambers. He spent some time soaking in one of the great heated pools deep within the volcano, feeling the tired muscles in his shoulders and chest relax after his long flight. He was still young for a dragon of his authority, but he was no longer an adventurous and carefree adolescent. He still enjoyed short visits to the wild, but he no longer relished sleeping on cold stone night after night or eating venison cooked in his own dragonfire.

  When Marthaen returned to his own lair, he wasn't surprised to find the old wizard, Alendhae, waiting for him. Alendhae wasn't a dragon but one of the Eldar, the most ancient of elven races. The Eldar were more heavily built and taller than other elves—taller even than most men—with black hair and large, dark eyes. They were also extremely long-lived, their average lifespan closer to the thousands of years of the dragons rather than the mere hundreds of other elves. Their kind had been all but forgotten by the other elves and were thought to have disappeared long ago. The last remaining survivors of their race lived with the dragons of Windreach.

  "How are things in the west?" Alendhae asked.

  "Confusing," Marthaen admitted. "There seems to be no need for us to fight the Flaem. For now, they seem to be too busy killing each other."

  "We heard news to the effect that some wizards had taken the form of dragons and had tried to slay their king and the Dragonlord."

  "They succeeded in killing their king," Marthaen said. "They tried to kill the Dragonlord by some means that restricted the enchantments of his armor, but their magic proved not strong enough. At times like this, I wish we had a more effective way of knowing what is happening. Life was easier when Kharendaen was among the Flaem to tell us everything we needed to know."

  "So the king of the Highlands is dead?" Alendhae asked as he seated himself in a chair on one side of the chamber. Because Marthaen had frequent guests of both dragons and elves, he had furnishings adapted to fit both. "That must change things considerably."

  "I'm still not sure if it changes anything," the dragon admitted as he lowered himself to the ground. "The Dragonlord was in command, and he had already ordered his forces to draw back from the northern border in an obvious gesture of appeasement. Now he is withdrawing his forces all the way back to their capital. I interpret the message to be that the Dragonlord and the Flaem no longer wish war, but if there is to be one, then they want it to be fought on their own ground. They are fortifying their city and concentrating their forces even now."

  "Yes, but they have half the Nation of Dragons staring at them from the north."

  Marthaen laid back his ears and lowered his head. "The Dragonlord has put us in a position in which the decision to fight must be our own. Obviously we must weigh the advantages against the disadvantages. We want desperately to be rid of the Dragonlord, but I respect his abilities and I am fearful of how many lives a battle with him will cost us even if we do succeed in defeating him. Kharendaen insists that we can trust the Dragonlord as long as we do not make war unavoidable, and I am inclined to agree with her. I do not believe that the destruction of the Dragonlord is necessary as long as we can keep a solid truce with him."

  "Most dragons are not going to agree with your position," Alendhae pointed out.

  Marthaen sighed. "I know that. I doubt I can stop the dragons from going to war, and if I try to stop them, then my arguments must be very sound. But I must also weigh the consequences of an attack. We presently have a just claim against the Dragonlord and the Flaem. It hurts our pride, but we must face the fact that going to war with the Highlands is going to leave all other nations fearful of us and angry with our aggressions. Our reputation cannot bear much more harm. This action will have consequences for all dragons for a very long time to come."

  "The dragons are strong," the elf commented. "They could rule the world if they wanted to—or at least until the Immortals interceded. Only the Immortals are stronger than the dragons. With the return of the Dragonlord, I believe that the Immortals have already interceded once. Will they allow the dragons to defeat their champion?"

  Marthaen sighed again loudly. "Sometimes I think our size, our strength, and our powerful magic are also our curse. Even the Immortals fear and despise us."

  "The Immortals do not fear and despise you," Alendhae insisted. "But because of your potential for evil and destruction, you must prove to them that you can control yourselves. Perhaps that is what this Dragonlord has been sent to teach you."

  "If so, it is a lesson most dragons must be taught the hard way," the gold dragon replied. "Still, my first duty is to protect my people. If I can defeat the Dragonlord, and

  the price is not too high, then it must be done."

  *****

  The next morning, Marthaen stepped out onto his ledge and paused to look around. The sky above was clear and blue, although the depths of the crater remained mostly hidden in shadows, as they would until late in the morning. Just as he had the previous evening, he saw that there seemed to be only perhaps half the usual number of dragon flying over the city or sitting out on their lofty ledges. Windreach seemed strangely empty and silent, producing an almost disconcerting sense of abandonment.

  If he had been inclined to believe in omens, Marthaen might have taken that as a warning of the dire consequences of the decision he must make should it prove to be the wrong one. Dragons didn't normally believe in omens, and he suspected that if the Great One had something of such importance to tell him, he would have been considerably more plain. The truth was that most of the young dragons were away in the west preparing for war, which was ominous in itself.

  Marthaen stepped to the front edge of the shelf and spread his wings, then leaped outward into the air. He descended slightly until several powerful sweeps of his wings brought him level again, then glided swiftly over the deserted streets as he made his way toward the center of the city. As he came nearer the towering mass of the Hall of the Great One, he began to climb, rising steadily in a tight spiral just beyond the huge building's smooth, white walls. His destination was one of the lower halls. Spotting his objective, he turned suddenly and landed on one of the ledges.

  The passages of the Hall of the Great One were wide and the ceilings were high, offering ample room for even the largest of dragons to pass unhindered. This was important, since two dragons trapped together in a tight space would instinctively turn on one another. His own chamber was only a short distance inside, just around the corner from the ledge where he had landed. Although he hadn't expected it, he wasn't surprised to find the gold dragon Daresha was waiting for him. She lowered her head to rub her nose and cheek against his chest, a draconic display of affection he promptly returned. It was an extreme gesture of trust, since the base of one's neck was exposed to the teeth and horns of another dragon.

  "I trust that you will not be here long?" his mate asked,

  still pressing her cheek lightly aga
inst the side of his neck.

  "I must return to the west very soon," he answered, "perhaps as soon as this council has come to a decision. I do not trust all of those young dragons to be left alone for long with their enemy in plain sight."

  Daresha looked quietly amused. "You forget, you are still a young dragon."

  "I have concerns enough to make me old before my time," he told her.

  "Then I regret having to bring you yet another concern," she said, becoming serious as she lifted her head to look at him. "The report came during the night. The Dragonlord is to be proclaimed King of the Highlands this very morning."

  "King?" Marthaen asked, sitting back on his haunches. "That does surprise me. Kharendaen has always insisted the Dragonlord doesn't want that type of power. It was my own impression as well."

  "You know who and what he is," Daresha reminded him. "Considering that, is it really surprising that he would be tempted?"

  "Perhaps I have given him too much credit," Marthaen said. "I still cannot see that this makes any sense. Kharendaen has always said that he didn't want power or authority, and I trust her judgment. If he had wanted power, he could have had it years ago. What could have changed in the last few days?"

  "As I understand it, the death of the king and the wizards made it a matter of necessity," Daresha observed. "I would guess now that he has had a taste of authority, he has developed a healthy appetite for it. You will have a difficult time convincing the parliament that a peaceful solution is still possible."

  "I will have a difficult time convincing myself," he admitted. "I've been telling myself that we might be able to negotiate a new truce now that we hold a stronger position. But if the Dragonlord wants to make himself king, then he is becoming too ambitious for my peace of mind. I regret I do not have more time to ponder this."