D& D - Mystara 02 Dragonking of Mystara

by Thorarinn Gunnarsson

  PROLOGUE

  A warm fire flickered and snapped in the hearths at cither side of the wide chamber, filling the nearest portions of the darkened room with a warm, golden light. The gold dragon, Marthaen, slipped quietly into the chamber, leaving the massive wooden door open behind him. He paused for a moment to sit up on his haunches to release the buckles of his harness, slipping out of the leather straps that held his weapons and pouches. The winter night was long and bitterly cold, and he was glad to retreat to the comfort of his lair. For the moment, he laid the harness on the wide bed in the center of the room, which was in the darkest part of the room, midway between the two fires, where the few furnishings cast long shadows. He stretched his long, slender back, then crossed the room to seat himself in the warm glow of the fire.

  The winters seemed as long and cold as death in the Wyrmsteeth Range, and here it was all the colder for being so high in the forbidding mountains of that northern land. Marthaen turned his head, staring out the wide, low bank of windows looking out from the heights. The night was misty cold, and snow danced on the fitful wind. Through the storm, he could see only a few pale lights in the distance. The hidden city of Windreach seemed almost deserted. Many of those who dwelled there returned to their own lands during the depths of winter, or else, retreated into the comfort and seclusion of their own lairs. Game was scarce, and hunting was poor. His one compensation was that winter was a quiet time.

  He glanced toward the bed in the center of the room. Pale light shone from the fires, but it was enough for him to see the black form of some immense creature, curled up as if asleep, in the center of the bed. The dark figure moved, and a narrow head rose slowly on a long, powerful neck, turning to peer up at him. The slender, triangular face was crowned by the horns and crest of a dragon, with large eyes glittering in the darkness. Then the dragon glanced briefly aside, silently casting a small spell, and the enchanted lanterns that hung in brackets along the walls began to glow with a soft golden light. The warm light revealed a gold dragon, a young female who was still somewhat small for her breed, slender and graceful. She blinked, then yawned hugely.

  "Did I wake you?" Marthaen asked.

  "I was only waiting for you to come," Daresha insisted.

  Daresha rose, stepping down from the bed, and Marthaen candidly admired her beauty and grace. Her face was long and narrow, with large, dark eyes glittering above a slender muzzle. Her crest was deep and full, sweeping down a delicate neck that was exceptionally long and thin. Her body was small and lithe, and she carried her broad wings tightly against her back. She was, Marthaen reflected, the most beautiful female of all her breed, more beautiful than even his own sister, Kharendaen. But while he appreciated her beauty, her deepest and most cherished appeal to him was her quiet charm and almost understated cleverness.

  She brought her head forward to rub her nose lightly against his breast, and Marthaen responded by stroking his own muzzle along the side of her neck. Dragons did not

  often live with their mates, preferring solitude, and even Daresha kept her own lair. She was a queen, like himself the leader of her own band of dragons that looked to her for guidance and protection. But Marthaen was grateful that she elected to spend at least a part of her winters in his company.

  "Were you out in this cold?" she asked, sitting back on her haunches close beside him.

  "There was no moon at the lower altitudes tonight," he

  said. "I had to fly up above the clouds to see it. That led me to think of Midwinter's Night, and how things used to he years ago, before the Great One went away. We would least in the evening, then go out upon the mountains to sing the ancient songs in the darkest part of the night."

  "I am not so young that I do not remember," Daresha told him, quietly amused. Because she was small, even her mate sometimes underestimated her age. The Great One was the Immortal spiritual leader of the dragons and as such the only patron and advocate of dragons among the mysterious and powerful Immortals. But the Great One had been gone for nearly a quarter of a century, which was actually a rather brief time in the life of a dragon.

  "Why have we forgotten the old ceremonies?" Marthaen asked, looking out the window into the snowy night. "Is it that the dragons have completely lost heart since the departure of the Great One?"

  "Or is it that we fear the Dragonlord so much?" Daresha asked in turn.

  Marthaen glanced at her, his ears laid back. "It is not just the Dragonlord. The dragons know that we live at a moment lost between times, cut adrift from our past but not yet a part of our future. I suspect that the Dragonlord will serve, as the prophecy decrees, as the instrument of our fate. Whether for good or ill depends upon our own impatience and fear."

  "You have never feared the Dragonlord," Daresha said.

  "No . . . I've come to trust him," Marthaen said slowly. "I believe that he will not deliberately act against us without provocation. What I do not trust are the oddities of fate that might make enemies of us in spite of our best intentions. I

  have long suspected that the first war with the Dragonlord was largely a result of misunderstandings that nearly destroyed our race, and I would not see that happen again."

  "It may well be as you say," Daresha agreed. "All that most dragons know is that we have unfinished business with the Dragonlord and we have waited nearly five years now for the inevitable conclusion to our intertwined fates."

  "All we can do is wait," Marthaen said, staring at the cold stone floor. "We must await the coming of our fate. And as the leader of the Nation of Dragons, it is my duty to do anything I can to insure that fate is kind to us. That is why I dare not trifle with the only power in this world that can destroy us."

  Daresha moved closer to his side, rubbing her cheek along the side of his powerful neck. "At least do not allow it to concern you this night. You have been out flying in this bitter cold. Come lie beside me in bed for a time so I can keep you warm."

  Marthaen sighed, dismissing his concerns. He might have to wait years for the fate of the dragons to unfold, and even then he might have no better idea of what he should do than he did now. He sat up on his haunches so that he could put his short forearms around the small dragon, drawing her close. He would have preferred to have given himself over to the warmth and comfort of his lair and his mate, yet he could not entirely escape the sense of unease that had driven him out above the winter storms. There was more to his mood than just the lament for a time when the dragons had felt more secure in their fate, but there seemed to be nothing he could do about it now. Daresha settled into his embrace, laying her head lightly on his deep chest.

  The gentle moment was brief. Above the howl of the icy wind came the sound of powerful wings, followed shortly thereafter by the rustling noise of a dragon landing on the ledge outside. Daresha opened her eyes, and her ears pricked upright as she lifted her head. Marthaen glanced down at her, smiling with wry amusement, then released her. Their visitor was already knocking anxiously at the door on the ledge by the time Marthaen left the sleeping ■! timber, pacing quickly into the large main hall of his lair. Ill couldn't imagine being interrupted at this time of night unless it was extremely important. The hour already ipproached midnight.

  I );iresha remained behind, sitting back on her tail near iIn- entrance to the sleeping chamber while Marthaen i mssed the central portion of the chamber, climbing the ■iirps to open the wide wooden door leading out onto the 11-tine. Although he had been expecting the worst, he was -.i ill surprised to find that his visitor was Gheradaen, a fellow member of the parliament. The older gold dragon did mil speak as he slipped quickly inside the
door. Marthaen w;is more alarmed than ever, for he had heard the roars of dragons calling in the night.

  "Trouble?" he asked.

  "More trouble than I would have ever expected," Gher-udaen said as he shook the dusting of snow from his back. "Invaders within Windreach itself. Even within the Hall of the Great One, or so it would seem."

  Marthaen was so shocked that he had to sit back on his haunches, his head bent nearly to the floor. Enemies of the dragons weren't even supposed to know of the hidden city of Windreach; the possibility of actual trespass within their most guarded citadel was almost beyond conception. After a brief moment, he looked up at the older dragon. "What has happened? Surely not war."

  "Not war . . . not yet, at least," Gheradaen agreed. "Beyond that, I honestly do not know. The alarm was raised a short time ago. Jherdar has already summoned the red and black dragons to assist in a search for the invaders, although I doubt that they know just what they seek. It seemed best to me to let them have at it, since finding the intruders and dealing with them are the most pressing concerns. But I thought that the cool heads of the gold dragons should prevail before anything else happens. The response to this act should be the decision of the parliament, not the vengeance of rogues."

  "Yes, of course," Marthaen said, then glanced toward Daresha. "I need you to gather all the dragons of your band who are within the city, and also those of my own if you can. Then come to the Hall of the Great One. It would be best to know what we seek, rather than merely flying about in the night looking for trouble."

  "I will be there as soon as I can," she promised.

  Marthaen hurried back to the sleeping chamber to collect his harness and hurriedly buckled the straps. Dragons did not commonly carry any weapons but their natural ones, and indeed the harness and weapons of a Dragon King served most often as a badge of authority. Marthaen's harness, however, bore six knives as large as a man's sword. Over his long back, he carried a sword whose blade was longer than three men. He returned to the main chamber as Gheradaen opened the door, following the older dragon out onto the cold, dark pocket of stone that served as the inner ledge. Daresha was still buckling the straps of her own harness as they left.

  Marthaen paused a moment on the broad tongue of the outer ledge, open to the sky to accommodate the outspread wings of a dragon. There was little to be seen through the wind-whipped snow, lights glittered dimly in distant windows. He could sense many dragons all about him, could hear their calls in the darkness and the snap of their wings as they passed in the black sky.

  He spread his own wings and leaped out into the night. A few long, deep strokes of his powerful wings brought him to nearly full speed, and he glided swiftly and silently toward the center of the city, through darkness too deep even for his keen eyes to penetrate. Guided by some strange, magical instinct, he made his way unerringly around obstacles as he tried to spot his destination. The higher edifices of Windreach were kept dark at night, so that no light would betray the presence of the hidden city outside the ring of stone. But that night all the lower halls and passages of the towering Hall of the Great One were brightly lit.

  For now, Marthaen held back, allowing his companion to lead him to their destination. He could see that the massive main doors of the hall stood open, and many dragons had gathered in the snow-swept plaza before the broad steps. To his surprise, Gheradaen circled down steeply, and they flew right through the open doorway, gliding slowly a short distance between the marble columns of the large entry hall. They landed before a gathering of dragons centered about Jherdar, Speaker of the Red Dragons. Marthaen was surprised once more. He would have thought that the hot-tempered dragon would have been uniting the first to venture out into the cold night hunting for enemies to slay.

  First Speaker," Jherdar said, acknowledging Marthaen's arrival even before he had folded his wings.

  I appreciate that you have been so quick to respond to this threat," Marthaen said, honestly grateful that the red dragon appeared to be handling this crisis in a reasonable manner. "Can you tell me what has happened?"

  " The Collar of the Dragons has been stolen," Jherdar explained simply. The other dragons turned their heads to watch the First Speaker.

  Marthaen was shocked and sat back on his haunches. The theft of the Collar of the Dragons was a dire matter indeed, almost as devastating to the Nation of Dragons as the loss of the Great One. Small wonder indeed that every dragon in Windreach seemed to be turning out to assist in the search.

  Marthaen looked up, knowing that they were waiting for him to act and aware that he must not appear indecisive or frightened. "Jherdar, I am dependent upon you. Every band of dragons within the city must be gathered for the search. Spread out in all directions. Send scouts on ahead in case the thieves have the means of flight. Then take your own band and at least one other directly to the Great Bay. Watch any ships you may find there, and prevent any from departing unless you are certain that they do not have the collar. Watch the settlements of the Alphatians as well. They could well be behind this."

  "Why not just attack their settlements and be done with it?" Jherdar asked.

  "I am not yet ready to take such action," Marthaen told him. "Attacking their settlements would only draw attention to us, leading others to wonder why we so jealously guard these mountains. I am not yet certain that the secret

  of Windreach has been betrayed to the outside world."

  "And if we should encounter the Dragonlord?" the red dragon asked guardedly.

  "If you do find the Dragonlord, then he has probably come to help us," Marthaen insisted. "I do not believe that the Dragonlord has had any part in this, although I do not have the time to explain myself just now. Remember, be swift but be discreet. I beg you, do nothing to make our situation worse than it already is."

  Jherdar bowed his head, saying nothing, and departed without argument. Considering the desperateness of the circumstances, Marthaen thought he could trust the red dragon to do exactly as he was told. All but a few of the other dragons, mostly members of the parliament who had been awaiting instruction, went with Jherdar. There were nearly four dozen hidden kingdoms of dragons in the world, but only eight of their kings or queens were at Windreach at that time. Most were accompanied by only portions of their bands. Fortunately more than two hundred other dragons, unattached to any particular band, were also present in the city. Marthaen fervently hoped they would be able to get themselves organized into a proper search party without delay.

  Marthaen turned and paced across the stone floor of the Hall of the Great One, seeking the inner chamber where the Collar of the Dragons had been held in safekeeping. He hoped the scene of the theft might provide some clue to the identity of the thieves, and that would in turn tell him where to look.

  Unfortunately, while he preferred to suspect the Alphatians, he thought he knew already the identity of the only thieves in the world capable of stealing the Collar of the Dragons.

  Marthaen hurried back to the center of the chamber, seeking the intertwined double spiral staircases whose wide, deep steps would lead him up to the next level. The Hall of the Great One was a massive structure even by draconic standards, easily the single largest building in the world. The treasury of the dragons was located on the second level. It was not a treasury in the conventional sense, but rather a repository of all the most important artifacts and small, special treasures gathered during their long history.

  The second level was in most ways like the one below, although the ceiling here was too low for a dragon to fly. It was almost entirely open from wall to wall, supported by a stone forest of massive columns. The chamber that had held the Collar of the Dragons was one of the few enclosed ureas and stood near the central stairs. Walls of white stone had been set between a cluster of the supporting columns to form a large six-sided enclosure that was open on opposite ends. The enclosure was more for decoration than for security. The defenses that should have guarded the collar were within.

  He was glad t
o see that three of the clerics of the Great One were at hand near the chamber, one of them a senior cleric he knew quite well. At least he would be able to get some of his questions answered. The clerics saw him as he approached and bowed in the manner of dragons, pressing one hand to their breast and bending their long necks in a graceful curve until their noses almost touched the floor.

  "Lhorandyn?" Marthaen said, and the oldest of the three gold dragons lifted his head and nodded. "How did it happen?"

  Lhorandyn frowned, glancing toward the inner chamber. "The fault was our own, I fear. Or perhaps I should say my own. The clerics are charged with guarding the Hall of the Great One, and we had sentries stationed at the main doors below, at the only two ledges leading into this level, and at the stairs above. But no outsider has invaded Win-dreach in centuries, and there seemed even less cause for concern on such a hostile night. Also, I fear, there are not so many clerics in Windreach at this time as perhaps there should be. Clerics seem to have little place here of late."

  "That is not their fault," Marthaen assured him. "I can understand how this came to happen. What I need to know is if you have any idea of who has taken the collar and how."

  "All we know for certain is that perhaps two dozen dragons have been here in the last four or five hours, which was the last time any of us actually saw the collar. It might have been taken at any time during that period."

  "Rather later, I should think," Marthaen said as he began to ascend the steps. "If the collar had been missing, I daresay that the visitors would have remarked upon it."

  He entered the chamber and paused. A second low dais was raised two steps above the floor and surrounded at the top by a rail of white stone. In the center of the dais stood a bust of a noble dragon, delicately carved in some sort of transparent crystal that looked like blue ice. The Collar of the Dragons should have been fastened about the neck of the statue, as it had been for centuries, but now the neck was laid bare. The collar had been a gift of peace and appeasement from the wizards of ancient Blackmoor after the war in which the first Dragonlord had nearly destroyed the dragons. It had been made for a king of dragons who had never claimed it. It was said to possess enchantments that granted vast powers to its wearer.