THE DRAGONLORD CHRONICLES Thorarinn Gunnarsson Dragonlord of My star a Dragonking of Mystara July 1995 Great One of Mystara Summer 1996 BOOKS BOOK ONE: THE DRAGONLORD CHRONICLES Dragonlord of Mystara Thorarinn Gunnarsson To the memory of Ayrton Senna da Silva 1960-1994 To the heroes who prove, by the events of their lives and sometimes their dt aths, that some dreams are worthy of any price and bring adventure back to a world without knights in armor. DRAGONLORD OF MYSTARA ©I994 TSR, Inc. All Rights Reserved. All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All TSR characters, character names, and the distinct likenesses thereof are trademarks owned by TSR, Inc. This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United Stales of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the express written permission of TSR, Inc. Random House and its afffiate companies have worldwide distribution rights in the book trade for English language products of TSR, Inc. Distributed to the book and hobby trade in the United Kingdom by TSR Ltd. Distributed to the toy and hobby trade by regional distributors. MYSTARA and the TSR logo are trademarks owned by TSR, Inc. Cover an by Danilo Gonzalez. Map by David C. Sutherland III. First Printing: July 1994 Printed in the Uniied Stales of America. Libraty of Congress Catalog Card Number: 93-61466 987654321 ISBN: 1-56076-906-8 TSR, Inc. P.O- Box 756 Lake Geneva, WI 53147 United States of America TSR Ltd. 120 Church End, Cherry Hinton Cambridge CB1 3LB United Kingdom PROLOGUE 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, THORARINN GUNNARSSON 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 diem. 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 rime 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 DRAGONLORD OF MYSTARA 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. THORARINN GUNNARSSON 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 die 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 die ground, or else they were looking for something and desperate enough to use any means to find it. Moreover, dieir 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 diey 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 DRAGONLORD OF MYSTARA for something, and I don't want that to include us. We will make far better time on die trail under any circumstances. With any luck, we can be well down the slope before they come near." They hurried along, all but running when the trail was fiat 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 th...
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