Thorarinn Gunnarsson - Dragonmage of Mystara

"I agree," Thelvyn said. "And since you believe in the dragons the way I do, you will best serve me here. Still, there is no hurry to decide anything."

They sat in silence for a time, watching the lively dancing of the young dragons. The conclusion of their labors was at hand and difficult times were behind them, but the end had turned out not as sad as they had anticipated. They were content.

"What about you?" Thelvyn asked Sir George. "If you plan to return to your former life of adventure, then I'm going to have to spend every free moment I have worrying about you."

"Adventure?" Sir George asked. "I'm merely an old dealer in antiquities, mind you. But I think the time has come for me to go home. I've been living among dragons quite long enough. It leaves me dizzy and confused, and I need to be comfortable for a while. I am only a dragon-kin, and I feel rather out of place among true dragons."

Three years had passed since the Dragonking had defeated the Overlord and brought a sudden end to a devastating war. After the evening of singing on the plateau, the Dragonking had departed for the east, and he had never been seen again. No one seemed to know what had become of the hero to whom they all owed so much. Sometimes people saw a solitary dragon riding the winds over the distant mountains, and they would think fondly of the brave dragons who had, against all expectations, fought so fiercely to protect them from an enemy they could never have faced alone.

Now most of the signs of war had been erased from the Highlands, except for Braastar, which had suffered much during the invasion. It was a generally prosperous time throughout that part of the world. Most folk were grateful for being saved from certain death or enslavement, and they remembered how everyone had set aside his differences to stand together against a common enemy. And so most lands were still at peace, because people had acquired a new respect for how valuable it was.

On a spring morning, when the sun was bright and everyone hurried about his business, two strangers appeared in the streets of Braejr. They were an odd sort, obviously foreigners-one man and one woman, each of them tall and thin but strongly built, with black hair and large eyes. No one had ever seen them before, but they were well dressed if not conspicuously so and obviously of refined manners, and so no one took much notice of them. The Flaem were getting used to not only seeing foreigners but also having them live among them, so a pair of innocent-looking strangers was not a matter of particular concern. Times had changed indeed.

The strangers presented themselves at the home of Sir George Kirbey, a comfortable townhouse in a well-to-do area of the city that was just down the street and around the corner from where he had lived for several years with Thelvyn Fox-Eyes. The old knight had apparently stepped out for a while, and so they let themselves in to wait. Although the door had been locked, the strange magic commanded by the tall, dark man made quick work of that. There was no one at home except for a rather noisy bird, a large green parrot with a long red tail and a beak that might have done credit to a griffon. The parrot sat in its cage in the den, alternately ringing a bell that hung from a chain and then laughing hysterically. It was so unlike Sir George to keep such a thing in his house that they were fascinated by it. But the parrot refused to speak, continuing to ring its bell and then laugh its deep, hearty laugh.

Sir George himself returned only a few minutes later. At first he did not recognize his two visitors, since he had never before seen them in the form they now wore. Then he realized that their features resembled the Eldar of Windreach, and he knew that they were Thelvyn and Kharendaen. He could not have been more delighted, insisting that they sit down in comfortable chairs in the den with glasses of his best cherry liqueur. He prepared himself for a long chat.

Unfortunately, it was immediately obvious that they would have no peace from the bell-ringing bird. Sir George cursed it in some strange language, threw a heavy cloth over the cage, and then removed it to a back room and locked the door. He had only just returned when they heard the distant sound of a

ringing bell followed by an evil laugh.

"You were never one for pets," Thelvyn observed. "Except, perhaps, for an orphan dragon you once raised."

"Oh, that bird is no pet," Sir George declared. "It's the bane of my existence, the punishment for my every sin, the very scourge of my patience. But it was also my inheritance, so what could I do?"

"Inheritance?" Kharendaen asked. "I hesitate to ask what you may have done to deserve it."

"The key to my inheritance, I should say," Sir George explained. He sniffed his glass and sighed, his contentment restored by the sickly sweet scent of the vile cherry concoction. "That red-tailed moron came to me with the compliments of Mage Artacious of Ierendi, a long-time acquaintance of mine and fellow expert and collector of rare antiquities. He passed away earlier this year, and he wanted me to have a cache of ancient treasures he had recently located. Artacious was very fond of puzzles, and also of his little jokes. Only the bird knew where to find the treasure."

"But the bird doesn't talk," Thelvyn observed.

"The bird doesn't like to talk," Sir George corrected him sullenly. "The only sadistic joy in its miserable life is ringing that bell and laughing. It can ring that stinking bell day after day, night after night, for weeks on end and never tire of it. I did everything I could to try to get it to talk. Finally I called in Perrantin, hoping he could suggest something."

"Did Perrantin know what to do?" Thelvyn asked. Both he and Kharendaen were having difficulty hiding their amusement.

"Oh, yes. He took away that damned bell, and inside of two hours, the bird was talking its head off. The only trouble was that we had no idea what it was saying. It took us two more weeks to figure out that it speaks only in an old dialect of the Heldannic clans, a rather uncouth language suitable only for disgruntled Heldannic wizards and obnoxious parrots."

Thelvyn finally gave in and laughed out loud. "Now I know why I've missed you so these last few years."

Sir George frowned. "You sound as if any cause for missing me had escaped you until now. That's not my fault. You had to go away, even though things were finally beginning to settle down enough for us to enjoy ourselves."

"You said you needed to go home and be comfortable for a while," Thelvyn reminded him. "You seem to have found yourself a comfortable home, but I can't tell whether or not you've cut back on your adventures."

"Actually I have," Sir George insisted. "Once the threat of invasion was past, Solveig had a lot of work getting the Highlands back in order, especially with all those people freed from the will of the Overlord who were settling here. Once you were gone, Solveig was the only wayward child I had left in my care. I came back here so she could tend to her business."

He spent some time telling his visitors about Solveig and all that she had done in the last three years. The Highlands had continued to prosper, enjoying an increasingly important place in that part of the world. There was a good deal of trade to the south with Darokin and east with Rockhome, and the Flaem were now on reasonably good terms with all their neighbors except for a vague but growing unease with the Ethengar. The clans had become more aggressive and more hostile to travelers since the war. They had lost a great deal in the burning of the steppes. Even though the land itself had long since recovered, the herds had been decimated, and the Ethengar often turned to raiding as a means for making a living.