Dragon's Trail - Intro

Prelude

PRELUDE

"The history of the sword is the history of humanity."

- Sir Richard F. Burton, 1884

In eastern Gateskeep, bordering the principality of Falconsrealm, the Tower of Horlech stands against all seeming odds, sagging and nearly fallen. From the top floors, the rift-strewn wildwoods and misty cliffs of Falconsrealm stretch out of sight in three directions.

Known to locals as Edwin's Folly, the Tower of Horlech slouches to the northeast atop a knob of rock and scrub, looking for all the world like a helm's crest bent by a debilitating blow. Year after year, Edwin's Folly stands; year after year, the townsfolk of Horlech wager that it won't. On the first day of summer, the town holds its Tower Day celebration, in which the previous year's losers pay their good-natured debts and wagers begin anew.

Inside the sagging walls of Horlech, on the eve of the celebrations a few years ago, a young sorcerer named Crius Lotavaugus advised the war council of Gateskeep.

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A spindly shamble of a man, Crius Lotavaugus's tangles of hair and tight dark beard made his age indeterminate, but it was widely held that he was the youngest to ever hold the office of Lord High Sorcerer of Gateskeep.

He stood at the head of the great stone table in comfortable, if drab, attire: a long leather jerkin, a pair of silver necklaces, unremarkable trousers, and well-worn boots burnished with deliberation and care.

"War?" Crius asked. "And I'm only now hearing of this?"

Glances and convictions collided in the silence.

"A war is coming." Ravaroth Anganor, informally called Lord Rav, sat on Crius's right, rocking back in his chair. He wore his dark beard in fine braids in the manner of men of the Wild River Reach, and his clothes were rich with spring colors inlaid with silver across his prominent chest, which sported a general's brooch.

"Coming," Crius stressed. "War is always coming. But that's no reason to provoke one."

"The bloodline of the wizard Sabbaghian," said Lord Rav, "banished all these years, now walks the halls of the Hold of Gavria. They have put him on their war council."

Duke Edwin Hillwhite, who owned the crooked tower, was a gangly man with a mop of black hair and a broad jaw. He addressed the others at the table. "The Gavrians are buying up all our grain, and trading us gold, not iron, for it. What else could they be they doing with grain and iron? They're building an army."

"And you raise your prices for iron just as we have to start equipping a larger force," said Lord Rav. "How convenient."

Edwin shrugged. "Demand is demand, General. I don't set the prices. The mines set the prices."

Lord Rav laughed to the others at the table, who joined him, before he turned back to Edwin. "They're your mines, boy! You're telling me you don't control them?"

"Not alone," said Edwin. His tone soured. "And don't call me 'boy,' again."

"You would do well to remain silent," Crius told the duke. "In fact, I'm not quite sure why you're in this meeting."

Edwin stammered, "This is my castle!"

"Granted to you in the hopes that you'd repair it," reminded Crius, "as you are the only man in the Kingdom who can afford to." He made a show of looking into the corners and ceiling. "How's that going, anyway?"