D& D - Mystara 02 Dragonking of Mystara

by Thorarinn Gunnarsson

  "First Speaker Marthaen," she said, recognizing him. "Tell me if the rumors are true. Are the dragons going to war?"

  "The dragons are going to war," he told her, sitting on his haunches beside her couch. "It is now inevitable. Whether or not we are required to fight, however, remains to be seen. My hope is to avoid that if I can."

  "And how will you do that?" she asked.

  "I must find a way to place the Dragonlord at a disadvantage," Marthaen explained. "The dragons must somehow overcome the enchantments of his armor and weapons. We must find the means to fight the Dragonlord on our terms, not his, and if possible it must be a way that does not destroy him. For it seems to me that the Great One intends that he should play an important role in our future."

  "Does he indeed?" Saerna asked, feigning surprise. "I was under the impression that everyone believes that the Great One has gone away."

  "I pray you, do not be obtuse with me now," Marthaen told her plainly. "The future, perhaps even the survival of our kind, may be at stake, and there are not so many of us as it is. I believe that the Great One still communes with his clerics. The members of your order seem to have entirely too much to do for clerics who no longer have an Immortal to guide them. You cannot both maintain your secrecy and perform your duty."

  "You are a clever dragon," Saerna remarked. "Why did you not become a cleric yourself? You hear the voice of the Great One within you. What is the voice telling you?"

  Marthaen laid back his ears and lowered his head. "It tells me that I must not harm the Dragonlord."

  "And there is a problem with that?"

  "There remains one very large problem," he insisted. "I am compelled both to fight the Dragonlord and yet not to slay him. My hope is that the Great One can tell me how to accomplish what the wizards of the Flaem almost sue-ceeded in doing—nullifying the enchantments of his armor and leaving him vulnerable."

  Saerna looked uncertain. "I think you seek complicated answers when you already have a simple and obvious one. You know what the Dragonlord is."

  "I had hoped you would tell me his disadvantages rather than play games with me," Marthaen said impatiently.

  "You do not have to do anything to the Dragonlord except to tell him what he has always wanted to know," she explained. "He will not willingly make war upon the dragons after that, will he? Make his past known to him, and he will lose all heart for the fight. Tell him who his mother really was, and he will be forced to reconsider his service to the Immortals."

  Marthaen considered her words briefly, then looked up at the old dragon. "What you are saying is that I will not have to fight him at all, then. I can render the Dragonlord powerless with a word."

  "You will not have to fight him," Saerna agreed. "But you will inflict upon him the greatest pain that he will ever know."

  "I see," Marthaen said softly. "Is this the will of the Great One?"

  "Such an inquisitive dragon!" Saerna declared, indicating for him to leave. "I have said too much already. Go and do what you must."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  No matter how uncomfortable it made him, Thelvyn realized that it was time for him to do something he both regretted and detested. Since he was now the king of the Highlands, it was time to leave his comfortable home and move into the king's palace. He had a number of problems with that, not the least of which was that work on repairing the damage to the palace was proceeding very slowly because of the countless other demands caused by the preparations for battle. Dust was everywhere, a fresh cloud of it rising each day when more debris was cleared away, and there was still a vague smell of smoke throughout the central portions of the palace.

  Much to his surprise, though it probably shouldn't have been, he found that he missed Kharendaen even more when he was away from his own home. Since he would no longer be staying at home, he realized that the time had also come to dismiss the gold dragon Seldaek. The young cleric needed to withdraw from the Highlands so that his duty to the Great One would not be in conflict with his

  obligations as a dragon.

  Of course, moving into the palace had certain advantages as well. For one thing, he could give his various companions their own suites among the dozens of abandoned chambers, and things suddenly seemed much less close and cozy than they had at home. Better yet, Alessa Vyledaar would be moving back to the Academy. The death or disappearance of so many of the traitor wizards had left her much in demand as one of the most senior wizards in residence. She had many duties to attend to until a new head of her order could be elected. That came as something of a relief to Thelvyn, who preferred not to have temptation quite so close at hand. He still had enough temptation in the form of Sellianda, who at least seemed to feel that discretion was required in her role as an advisor.

  The situation with Sellianda remained unresolved for the present. She possessed a quiet, natural dignity, with great depth and maturity. She and Thelvyn were alike in many ways. Sellianda was dark, tall, and rather hearty for an elf, although she was actually more attractive to him for those qualities because of his own size and strength.

  At least their moving into new quarters brought a sense of life back to the king's palace, which had seemed dark and deserted since the night of the attack. Knowing that Byen Kalestraan and his wizards had gone through the palace from one end to the other, methodically twisting the necks of everyone there, was a decidedly uncomforting thought to a prospective tenant. Nevertheless, a regular staff and a garrison returned to the palace for the first time. Even so, it often felt like living in a house that was still being built.

  That same afternoon, Sir George came to Thelvyn's private chamber to take him out for a brief ride. When they came down to the north door, they found that not only Sir George's horse but Thelvyn's Cadence had been saddled and were ready. They rode alone through the streets near the west wall until they came to the north gate.

  Sir George led them through the gate and along the dusty road for over a mile, until they came to one of the higher hills in the fields north of the city. When they paused at the top of the hill, Thelvyn could see a line of wagons approaching along the road perhaps two miles in the distance, making slow yet steady progress as they rolled along in a cloud of pale brown dust. When he allowed his sharp eyes to cross the distance, he could see clearly that most of what he had taken for wagons were in fact mounted catapults, the key to Braejr's defense. Each catapult was drawn by a team of two draft horses, barely adequate for the task and even then only because the roads were dry and firm. With so many catapults being moved south, there were only two horses to spare for each.

  "How many catapults are there?" he asked.

  "I believe there are two dozen with this first group," Sir George answered. "A fair number of soldiers are in the train as well, and just now we need all the manpower we can get to help prepare the city for battle. If everything else is ready, we can roll the catapults into place as they arrive."

  "I just want to get as many catapults here as we can before the dragons attack. The problem is, I don't know when that will be," Thelvyn explained, patting Cadence's dusty neck to calm him.

  "I understand your concern. Frankly, it will probably be another week before the entire Highlands army can withdraw from the frontier. We should have more catapults and supplies arriving from the middle and southern Highlands sooner."

  Thelvyn shook his head hopelessly. "I just can't believe that's going to be soon enough. The dragons have to realize it's to their advantage to move against us as quickly as they can."

  "That depends upon how large a force they want to assemble before they make their move," Sir George said. "There aren't all that many dragons in the whole world, and they live somewhat scattered about. It could take a while for all of them to get here."

  "All of them?" Thelvyn asked. "How many do they think they need? No, I know the answe- to that. To destroy the Dragonlord, they probably would assemble every dragon in the world."

  "I'm not certain they can destroy the Drago
nlord," Sir

  George commented. "The enchantments of your armor are so powerful that there might not be anything they can do to you once you're inside it. I have this odd suspicion that, in the worst of all likely events, the entire city of Braejr will be reduced to rubble and all the dragons of the world will be dead or in full retreat, and only you will be left."

  "Oh, fine," Thelvyn remarked sourly. They turned their horses to ride back to the city. "I worry about you and Solveig. Neither of you have to be here, you know. The best thing for you would be to pack your bags and leave before the dragons get here."

  "Perhaps," Sir George said uncertainly. "But to tell you the truth, I still don't believe we'll actually have to fight this battle, no matter how close we might come to it. The Immortals are very much in control of these events if you ask me, especially your patron. They have their own goals in mind, but I don't think they want to see the destruction of either the Flaem or the dragons."

  "I wish I could have that much trust," Thelvyn said. "I still feel that I have to consider myself very much on my own in finding a way through this, and I have to be prepared for the worst."

  "Well, of course you do."

  The problem, of course, was that Thelvyn doubted that he would be given nearly enough time to prepare for the worst. He needed at least a week yet, and in spite of Sir George's assurances, he felt certain that the dragons didn't need nearly that long to prepare to attack. He suspected the question might be irrelevant no matter how much time he was given to prepare. He was afraid that all the resources of the Highlands, together with his own abilities, might not be enough to stand off an invasion of dragons.

  At least the people of the Highlands remained optimistic, and the preparations for battle were proceeding quickly. Thelvyn felt rather guilty about that; he needed their trust to be able to protect them the best he could, and yet he was afraid their trust would only be betrayed. His one assurance was in knowing how fiercely independent the Flaem were. They would prefer to do everything they could to prepare for a battle that they couldn't win rather than surrender or flee, not when it was their own homes they were defending.

  He thought it was time to decide upon a definite course of action so that he wouldn't be caught by surprise if the dragons came sooner than he liked. The time had come to make some very cold and deliberate choices. He preferred not to consult with any of the Flaem on this matter, knowing that the choices he intended to make would place their safety above their pride. For that reason, he chose to discuss it alone with Sir George, Solveig, and Sellianda that night in the king's private chamber, which was now also doing temporary service as their den. Sir George had already stocked the bar with bottles of cherry liqueur.

  "I don't know if I've ever seen you look so tired," Solveig told Thelvyn after she had taken one of the seats by the hearth. "Or so worried. I'm reminded of that time five years ago when we had something like two weeks to cross the western half of the continent in time to intercept the invasion of the rogue dragons. You didn't look nearly so worried then."

  "I was young and foolish," Thelvyn told her as he paced the floor. He understood now why Jherridan had always paced when he was thinking. "I was in the middle of a great adventure. I might have been frightened, but I didn't have to make the decisions. The most frightening part of something like this is when you have the responsibility to make all the choices, and they have to be right because the consequences are so great if you're wrong. I find myself wishing my patron was taking a more active part in directing me, sending me all the instructions and advice I need in dreams."

  "Even the Immortals don't want that responsibility," Solveig remarked in jest.

  "Either that, or they also don't know what to do," Sir George said as he prepared himself a drink at the bar.

  "I'm beginning to understand why the Immortals don't seem to like us," Thelvyn said darkly, then sat on the edge of his desk to stare at the elf maiden. "I don't suppose your patron is willing to let you know how things will turn out."

  "My word, no," Sellianda insisted. "That would take all the fun out of it. If you want such reassurances, then place your trust in the prophecy of the dragons. You are important to their future, and that would suggest that your involvement with them will not end here."

  "Meaning that it's still my problem," he said, taking the chair beside Sellianda. "That seems to be the trouble with being a cleric. First the Immortals decide everything about your life for you, and then they abandon you with the responsibility."

  "You are not a cleric," she insisted. "I've told you that before. You do not serve any of the Immortals; you are simply related in many ways to one of the Immortals. That is why you seem to have all the abilities of a cleric except the ability to commune, plus many powers that do not seem typical of a cleric. Your powers do not come to you through an Immortal; they are your own. You are a bridge, partly a powerful mortal and partly an Immortal of limited powers."

  "Are you serious?" Thelvyn asked, too startled to know what he should think.

  "That is the truth, as far as I know," Sellianda assured him. "But it still does not tell us just what you really are, or where you came from."

  Sir George looked surprised, setting aside die bottle he was holding. "That means he could become an Immortal himself, I suppose. You know, lad, between the enchantments of your armor and your own powers, you should be able to do just about anything you want."

  Sellianda nodded. "If he had been allowed more time, he could easily have been far more powerful than the first Dragonlord, and the dragons would never dare to confront him. Unfortunately, Thelvyn is still very young, especially by the standards of his race, and he will need more experience before he will be able to command his higher powers. And no mage or cleric can give him that experience—only a true Immortal."

  Thelvyn sat very still and listened, wondering if he was supposed to hear this. As vague as all of these hints were, he had still learned more about himself and what he would become this night than he had ever known. Once again he wondered about that strange and remarkable race to which he belonged, where they were and why beings who commanded powers second only to those of the Immortals were not better known in the world.

  Then he thought he understood. His race might not be of this world, like other unusual, powerful creatures that had come to haunt these lands. That would explain why his mother had seemed to come from nowhere into the wilderness of the mountains of Wendar. And it also explained why the dragons feared and hated him so—not just him personally but all of his race. The thought that he might indeed be the only one of his kind in the world was a rather lonely and frightening prospect.

  "Unfortunately, I have more to worry about than discovering the answers to the secrets of my origins," Thelvyn said at last. "I need to know what to do if the dragons come sooner than we can be ready."

  "Yes, I know that you're worried about that," Sir George agreed as he leaned back against the bar. "I think perhaps you're letting the dragons, or at least the reputation they have, intimidate you. Because they are so large, so powerful, and so fast, you assume diat they must be very sure of themselves. If you were in their position, you would attack right away while most of the Highlands army is scattered about in the wild. All you can see are the advantages that dragons possess."

  "I suppose you're going to remind me of just how frightened they are of me."

  "I don't know if you've ever understood just much they fear you," Sir George insisted. "The Dragonlord haunts their dreams. To fight you, according to all they know, means that they will be destroyed. Their fear of you compels them to fight in the hope of being rid of the menace you represent, but the terror of facing you in battle makes it almost impossible for them to act. I believe they will wait so long gathering their forces that they will give us all the time we need."

  "I agree," Sellianda said, nodding. "Do not assume the dragons are acting from a position of superior strength, for nothing that they have done shows that they are. In fact, it
's quite the contrary. Your two battles with the dragons, and the fact that they have stayed in the mountains this time rather than raiding the frontier, shows that they are afraid of you."

  "I'm not arguing," Thelvyn insisted. "Perhaps I have allowed events to make me see my situation as more desperate than it really is, and feeling so helpless trying to play politics has led me to forget the true power of my abilities. My strength lies in the ability to accomplish deeds that no mortal could otherwise hope to achieve."

  "Exactly," Sellianda agreed. "Also, you must remember just how frightened and irrational the dragons are, enough to cause them to fly headlong into their worst fear and make war inevitable. I must confess that the Immortals themselves are very concerned."

  What it all meant, Thelvyn realized, was that he was in the same position he had been from the start. He understood his own situation and that of the dragons better than he had, but he still had to prepare for the worst and hope for the best. He was still waiting for the dragons to take the first step, to see if they were indeed prepared to go to war with the Dragonlord. Granted, there were already a great many dragons in the Wendarian Range, and yet they had yet done nothing could be taken as their first response. If the dragons had been raiding throughout the frontier, he would have had a hard time justifying the retreat of his forces to Braejr.

  The others went to their rooms soon after that, although Solveig remained behind. After a time, she rose from her chair in the shadowed corner by the bookcase and stretched, then took her empty glass back to the bar.

  "I need to move about for a bit," she said suddenly. "My injuries are healing, but I'm still a bit stiff much of the time. Would you like to go for a walk on the wall with me?"

  Because the back of the king's palace rested directly against the west wall of the city, they could take one of the inner stairways all the way up to the roof of the palace and step out onto the walkway of the wall itself. A watch was now kept all along the city wall, but extra guards were stationed above the palace itself to make certain that no assassins would try to come in that way. Thelvyn was interested to see that stacks of Sir George's tiled screens were already there, waiting for catapults to be brought from the north.