(Daere Warren)

     Martyn sighed, using his paddle to spread a coating of oil over his 
dragon's back, then taking out his magnifying glass to examine his work more 
closely.

     The gray dragon rolled his eyes in wonderment.  [What *is* that silly 
thing you keep using?] Havelok asked.  [Everyone else has finished their 
oiling, and you would have too if you didn't keep picking that thing up and 
staring through it every time you oil a patch.]

     *Hmm?  Oh, sorry,* he told the dragon, setting the glass down and 
picking up the paddle once again.  *It's called a magnifying glass, and it's 
used to let a person see things more closely than would otherwise be 
possible.*  He sighed once again, remembering how in his former life he'd 
used that instrument for such a variety of things.  Old habits died hard, he 
supposed.

     [Well, if you missed a spot so small that you needed that thing to see 
it, then its probably too small to worry about,] Havelok told him reasonably. 
 The dragon craned his neck around to look at his rider.  [Are you not happy 
doing this, Martyn?]

     Havelok's question caught him by surprise.  *Well...yes, I mean...I 
suppose...*

     The truth was, he didn't know.  Oh, certainly, he'd been overwhelmed 
that day not so long ago that he'd come here to offer his services to the 
Warrenlady Jayleigh, only to find himself suddenly working for her on a 
permanent basis.

    He remembered that day well.  He'd been offered a rather lucrative 
contract by one Lord Zanthar, to investigate the murder of one of his kinsmen 
and bring the killer to justice.  The first part hadn't been particularly 
hard...to an investigator of Martyn's experience, the clues had fallen neatly 
into place, while the clumsily-placed "red herrings" had fallen *out* of 
place just as easily.  Within half a day he'd fingered the killer - who, 
unfortunately, had fled before he could be apprehended by Lord Zanthar's 
men-at-arms.  To fulfill his contract - and get paid - Martyn had tracked the 
killer to the city of Triylar, in the domain of Daere Warren.  It had taken 
several days of patient searching, spending his evenings in seedy taverns 
disguised as an itinerant peddler, but he'd finally gotten his man.  Lord 
Gossimor had been most helpful in agreeing to take the man into custody and 
see him delivered to Lord Zanthar.

     Martyn had just been on the point of saddling up his horse for the 
return trip, intent on collecting his payment, when word had reached him of 
the recent egg-theft at Daere Warren.  From what he heard, the perpetrators 
hadn't been caught...and had, in the process of committing their heinous 
theft, been responsible for the death of Daere's junior queen dragon and her 
rider.  Ever alert to new opportunities, Martyn had quickly seen the 
potential inherent in this situation.   *Here* was the chance of a lifetime 
to make himself famous throughout the lands, if he could only solve the crime 
and find the thieves.  He decided that picking up his money could wait for 
just a bit, and turned his horse in the direction of the nearby warren.

     When he'd arrived at Daere, the place was abuzz.  People were running to 
and fro excitedly, and he'd feared for a moment that someone had stolen his 
thunder by catching the thieves first.  But then, when he'd stopped someone 
and asked for the whereabouts of the Warrenlady, he discovered that the 
remaining eggs were about to hatch.  Knowing that Jayleigh would be at the 
hatching cavern with her queen, he asked for directions and made his way 
there.

     As soon as he'd entered, he found the hatching already in progress.  He 
quickly identified the woman who he knew must be the Warrenlady, but it was 
impossible to get to her through the mass of people crowding the sands - not 
to mention the rocking eggs and emerging dragonets that were interposed 
between them.  So, Martyn had resolved to wait patiently by the entrance 
until she had time to speak to him and listen to his proposal.  He'd never 
worked for a Warrenlady before, and found himself wondering how well they 
paid....

     But the best-laid plans of mice and men often fail, and Martyn's plans 
hadn't included being suddenly approached by a newly-hatched gray dragonet 
that had somehow squeezed itself through the milling throng and come to stand 
in front of him.  Martyn busied himself studying the ceiling of the hatching 
cavern, waiting for the little beast to go away, but it remained stubbornly 
planted before him.

     [I'm down here, not up there!] said a voice in his mind.   And so it had 
started...

     Before he'd known what was happening, Martyn had found himself spirited 
away to something called a "training barracks," along with his newfound 
friend - who'd identified himself as Havelok - and despite his protests that 
he was only a visitor here, had reluctantly been forced to admit to himself 
that he'd just changed careers.

* * * * * * * *

     [Martyn!!] Havelok mindshouted at him, breaking him out of his reverie.  
He looked up and found himself facing the ever-sour visage of T'rell, Daere's 
Gamma Wingleader and hatchling-trainer.  

     "It would be easier on both of us if would *listen* to what I'm saying 
for a change," T'rell grumbled.

     "Sorry," Martyn replied.  "I was thinking."  Something, he might have 
added, that T'rell could benefit from if he'd do more of it himself.

     T'rell shook his head.  "You know, Martyn, I think you'd find your life 
much easier if you'd resign yourself to the fact that you're a dragonrider 
now, not some overpaid private-eye running around solving glamorous murder 
cases for your highborn employers!"

     "More's the pity," Martyn said under his breath, though he really did 
have mixed feelings on the subject.  He really did miss his old life, but he 
knew he'd miss Havelok more if the dragon weren't around.  If only he could 
somehow have both!

     T'rell, for once, decided not to argue the point.  "If you're finished 
oiling your dragon - which, gods know, you should be by now - you need to go 
and see R'ven."

     "R'ven? Why?" Martyn asked.

     T'rell chuckled as he turned to leave.  "You're the great sleuth, *you* 
figure it out!" he said.  "He's using Jayleigh's office while she's in the 
med center."

     Martyn grimaced and laid the paddle aside.  *What a lout!* he told his 
dragon.  *To think that I have to take orders from...him!*

     [Yes, but his dragon's nice,] Havelok observed.  [A bit clueless most of 
the time, but nice.]

     *Clueless,* Martyn lamented.  *That sounds like me, these days, doesn't 
it?*

* * * * * * * *
(Warrenlady's office)

     He found R'ven in Jayleigh's office, as T'rell had said.  The older 
dragonrider was applying himself to the mountain of paperwork that seemed to 
unerringly find its way to the desk of any administrator, whether it be of a 
town, a kingdom, or a warren.

     "You sent for me?" Martyn asked.

      R'ven looked up.  "I did at that," he said.  "Have a seat."

     Martyn did so, and waited until R'ven had finished applying his 
signature to the document he'd been reading.  "I read your letter to the 
Warrenlady," he said when he'd finished.  "It was...interesting."

     "I should hope so," Martyn answered.

     R'ven leaned back in the chair and looked at him speculatively.  "So you 
think that your talents are wasted here?" he asked.

     "That goes without saying," Martyn replied.  "My letter explains it 
quite clearly..."

     "So it does, so it does," R'ven said.  "You think that 
your...unique...skills would be better employed in some role other than that 
of a combat rider."

     "With all due respect, sir, that is correct," Martyn said.  "I am not 
about to denigrate the role of dragons and their riders in our society, far 
from it in fact.  Were it not for the warrens, my own profession would be 
quite useless because there would be no one left alive to commit the crimes 
that I make it my business to solve.  But...quite frankly, wraiths are not 
the sort of opponent that I am accustomed to going up against."

     "With the proper training, that could be changed," R'ven pointed out.

     "I gained my reputation by matching wits against those who felt that 
they were smart enough to take the law into their own hands and defy the 
legally constituted authorities," Martyn said.  "Without being overly bold, I 
think I can say that I've become quite good at it, as my record will attest.  
But how does one match wits against a wraith?  They *have* none, my dear 
fellow!  This is quite frustrating for one such as myself, you see."

     R'ven nodded slowly.  "And what about the attack on Marialla?" he asked, 
leaning forward.  "You didn't manage to solve that one, did you?"

     Martyn shrugged.  "Quite frankly, my services weren't requested.  Had 
they been, I'd have had the blaggard caught and delivered quite neatly to 
Jayleigh's doorstep with no further fuss or bother.  Instead, I was 
*impressed* as part of a search crew without so much as a 'by-your-leave' by 
one of the Gamma riders, who obviously had no idea what he was doing and who 
had no intention of listening to suggestions from a mere *trainee* such as 
myself.  And so, while I spent my valuable time tramping through the forest 
on a fool's errand, look what happened!  Two of the other trainees take the 
matter into their own hands and practice the-gods-only-know what sort of 
disgusting mayhem on the suspect, while that great blundering T'rell goes 
running hither and yon, trying to behead any and all that he encounters with 
that great bloody sword of his..."

     "Yes, yes," said R'ven, gesturing impatiently for Martyn to finish.

     "...and as a result, when he was finally brought to trial, this Gerald 
person with his flowery speeches and scant knowledge of jurisprudence manages 
to snatch the blaggard's head right off of the chopping block where it 
belonged.  And why?  Because T'rell insisted on prosecuting the case 
himself...and *his* legal knowledge, incredible as it may seem, is even less 
than that of..."

     "Martyn..." R'ven said, trying to get a word in edgewise.

     "I *told* T'rell that I should be the one to handle the case against 
Alexis when he was brought in!  I've appeared in courts the length and 
breadth of this land, and sent goodness knows how many perpetrators into the 
dungeons or to the executioner..."

     "Martyn!!" R'ven finally shouted.  "Will you *please* shut up and listen 
to me?"

     :"Yessir," said Martyn, reluctantly climbing down off of his soapbox.

      "Now, as I was trying to say," R'ven told him, "something has come up 
that might be right up your alley.  I believe that Havelok is now able to fly 
satisfactorily, and teleport?"

     "We've been training in that regard, yes," Martyn said.  "He's quite a 
capable dragon, actually."

     "Good," said R'ven.  "Here's what's happened.  A short while ago, our 
courier returned from the area of Marrid Warren.  She had a packet of 
messages to give to Carrie, the acting Warrenlady there, but she'd stopped 
first at an isolated settlement on the shore of Lake Lenden to deliver a 
letter from one of our warrenfolk to a relative there."  He unrolled a map of 
Marrid Warren and its environs onto the desk, and motioned for Martyn to look 
at it.  "Here's the settlement...it's just barely close enough to the warren 
to be within a dragon's communication range.  Anyway, while she was there, 
her dragon suddenly reported hearing a series of confused messages coming 
from the warren."

     "What sort of messages?" Martyn asked curiously.

     "They were confused, jumbled, several dragons talking at once," R'ven 
said gravely.  "Her dragon told Zenith when she returned that they conveyed a 
sense of danger...in fact, they sounded panicked.  But one thing came through 
clearly...the dragons were fleeing the warren."

     "Fleeing?" Martyn asked, dumbfounded.  "What in the gods' names could it 
mean?  Did they go to investigate?"

     R'ven shook his head.  "No," he said.  "She reasoned - quite properly, I 
might add - that she'd do better to return straightaway to Daere and summon 
help.  The two of them could, I think, have been of little assistance against 
anything capable of driving an entire combat wing of dragons out of their 
warren."

     Martyn straightened up, his eyes alight with excitement.  "Yes, what 
indeed could cause such a thing?" he asked, more to himself than to R'ven.  
He began to pace back and forth in front of the desk, rubbing his hands 
together thoughtfully.  "Malk Bromitz again, perhaps?  Now *there* would be 
an opponent worthy of me!  Ah, but no, it could hardly be him, eh?  He's 
dead, or so it's said, gone into the wastes...and even if he's still alive, 
he's no longer a dragonrider."

     "You seem to know a lot about warren affairs for someone who's been a 
rider himself such a short time," R'ven observed.

     "My dear fellow, I've studied the case history of every great criminal 
and rogue who's plagued these lands in the last several hundred years," 
Martyn told him.  "Part of my calling, you know.  Ah, but had I only had the 
chance to go up against the infamous Da'ntray, or that devilish Khazeen we've 
been hearing about..."

     R'ven's face darkened at Martyn's mention of Da'ntray, but he made no 
comment.  Instead, he pointed to Marrid Warren on the map.  "Have you ever 
been to Marrid?" he asked.  

     "No, not to the warren itself," Martyn told him.  "But I've been to the 
cities of Larguad and Northhelm, which are nearby."

     "That'll do," R'ven told him.  "Look, there's obviously something very 
grave happening at Marrid Warren, perhaps even as we speak.  I need someone 
to go there and assess the situation.  If necessary, I'm prepared to send a 
relief force to help out - but not until I know what's going on."

     "I'm your man, sir!" Martyn told him excitedly.  "I'll leave this very 
moment!"

     "Have your dragon get the location of the warren from Callyanth," R'ven 
told him.  "She's been there many times.  And Martyn...do *not* try to save 
the warren on your own...if it does need saving, that is.  Unlike detective 
work, dragonriding is not a solo profession!  We survive by cooperating with 
one another."

     "You'll find that I'm the soul of caution," Martyn assured R'ven as he 
strode out the door.

* * * * * * * *

     As soon as he'd gotten Havelok saddled, he climbed aboard the dragon and 
strapped himself in.  As he did so, he ran a quick inventory of his "tools of 
the trade" that he always carried.  Throwing daggers...garrotte...magnifying 
glass...those and half a dozen other items were ticked off in his mind as the 
dragon waited patiently for the order to fly.

     *You know where we're going?* Martyn asked.

     [Yes, I got the image from Callyanth as you asked,] said Havelok, 
sounding almost as excited as his rider.  [Are we ready to go?]

     *Ready!* Martyn told him, and with a mental shout of joy, Havelok spread 
his wings and leaped aloft.  They spiraled upward over Daere until Martyn 
judged they were high enough, and then gave the order to teleport.  Dragon 
and rider vanished from the skies over Daere.

* * * * * * * *
(Over Marrid Warren)

          Their point of re-entry was almost directly over the warren, but 
Martyn had no time to compare the similarities of this place to the one he'd 
just left.  Something was wrong, terribly wrong!

     The warren lay below them in eerie silence, no sign of any movement to 
indicate that it was still inhabited.  No signs of overt attack...but, gods, 
*something* was happening here!  Beneath him, Havelok bucked and writhed in 
seeming agony, his frantic mindshouts coming through to him only in fitful 
bursts.  Martyn sucked in his own breath in sudden terror as the place in his 
mind which Havelok had comfortably inhabited since the moment of their 
joining began to empty like a lake whose dam had suddenly burst.  He clung 
frantically to Havelok's neck, and clung even more fiercely to the fraying 
thread of the bond that connected their minds.

     *Teleport!* he almost screamed.

     [Can't...pain...magic...gone....]  came the disjointed thoughts of his 
dragon, as though the terrified Havelok were trying to speak to him across 
some impossible distance.

     With all his willpower, Martyn formed an image for a teleport...not of 
Daere, but of Northhelm.  *Go!!* he cried.

      Blackness surrounded them as Havelok seized the image and focused on 
it.  For a moment, Martyn wondered if they'd ever make it out again....

     And then, the light returned.  Martyn looked unsteadily around him, and 
saw below him the walls of Northhelm.  *Havelok, old fellow, can you hear 
me?* he asked anxiously.

    [Yes,] the dragon answered, with a sigh of relief.  [What...what *was* 
that?] he asked, his entire body trembling from nose to tail.

     Martyn, who felt every bit as shaky as his dragon, told Havelok to land. 
 They both needed a few moments to recover their wits.  *I've a terrible 
suspicion,* he told Havelok.  *I'll explain once we're safely on the ground.*

     Havelok made a shaky landing, then crouched down so that an equally 
shaky Martyn could clamber off his back.  He sat down against Havelok's side, 
and the dragon craned his neck around to nuzzle his rider.  Though Martyn 
would have hated to admit it to anyone else, he'd been more frightened a few 
minutes ago than he'd ever been in his life.  He'd had it forcibly driven 
home just how awful it would be if he had to do without Havelok...and he now 
realized that no matter how enjoyable it might be to think about going back 
to his old life,  any future without Havelok would be no future at all.

     After they'd had a few minutes to pull themselves together, Havelok 
posed a question to him.  [You said you thought you knew what happened back 
there...what was it?]

     *Well...do you remember when T'rell took Gamma wing to help that other 
warren, Geode?  When they came back, the riders were talking about how 
different it was there.*

     [You mean those magic-pockets?  Flerrion mentioned those, but he didn't 
make much sense.]

     Martyn chuckled.  *As I understand, he seldom does...but in any case, 
what apparently happened there was that long ago, the magic receded and 
isolated the warrens in those magic-pockets.  They say that dragons and 
riders cannot exist outside the pockets, and in fact even have difficulty 
teleporting between them.*

     [Because dragons cannot live without the magic?]

     *Yes, exactly.  And when the type of magic that your kind uses recedes, 
the magic of the wastes rushes in to fill the void.  I suspect that this is 
what we just experienced - and if that's the case, and the magic has receded 
from where Marrid Warren sits, it would certainly explain why its inhabitants 
felt it necessary to leave.*

     [Why would the magic leave like that?]

     Martyn sighed and patted Havelok's nose.  *I don't know, my dear fellow, 
I truly don't.  Unless perhaps there's only so much of the magic...perhaps if 
it flows outward in one direction, it must recede somewhere else.  We know 
that some time back, the magic of the DragonLands did expand into the 
Nomadlands.  What's happening here may be the result of that expansion.*

     [So what do we do now?] Havelok wanted to know.   [Go back and tell 
Zenith's rider?]

    Martyn shook his head.  *Not yet, Havelok...there's nothing for us to 
report.*

     [There isn't?]

     *Well, not exactly.  We've found an empty warren, but no people or 
dragons.  The question is, where did they go.  When we know that, THEN we'll 
have something to tell Jayleigh and R'ven when we return.*  Besides, if he 
returned without any useful information to report, that lout T'rell would 
probably have him peeling potatoes in the kitchen...

     [And how are we supposed to find them?] Havelok demanded.  [They aren't 
around here, or I'd sense the dragons.  And if they teleported away, they 
could be anywhere.]

     Martyn considered this.  Where *would* they have gone?  If they'd had 
advance warning, they'd have worked out some prearranged meeting place...but 
then again, if they'd had their departure well planned, they'd have notified 
the other warrens.  Could they, he wondered, have gone to Keldarra?

     *No,* he told the dragon, slapping his hand on the ground as he made his 
decision.  *They'd regroup somewhere within the bounds of this warren's 
territory if they could.*

     [Where, then?] 

     *The wastes are to the South and west of the warren, we know that...and 
its from those directions that the threat obviously emanates.  So they'd have 
gone north or east.  Very well, here's what we'll do...I've been to most of 
the cities and large towns hereabouts.  I'll give you images of each one in 
turn, and we'll go there...then, at each place, you can try to sense the 
dragons from the warren.*

     Havelok sighed.  [Well, since I can't think of anything better...] he 
said, as Martyn climbed back into the saddle.  [Where to first?]

* * * * * * * *
(sometime later - same day as the evacuation of Marrid)

     He'd been about to give up when, after several failed tries, Havelok 
sensed dragons off to the North. At his rider's behest, the gray dragon 
turned in that direction and followed the faint echoes that came to him.

     Soon, even Martyn's eyes could make out the multicolored shapes of 
dragons on the ground ahead.  *Good job, old boy!* he said, giving the 
dragon's neck a congratulatory thump.  *Set us down, and we'll see what's 
happened.*

     Havelok landed, and Martyn dismounted.  From the looks on their faces, 
he and Havelok were the last things the displaced riders of Marrid had 
expected to see.

     "Excuse me," he said, striding up to a group of them who seemed to have 
been working on setting up some sort of temporary camp.  "I am looking for 
Carrie, rider of Fiera...is she here?"

(NRPG: Okay, your new rider has just arrived at the temporary warren!  He's 
technically assigned to Daere at the moment, but obviously he'll find a 
reason to stay with the Marrid group.  He may, if Carrie wishes, be of some 
assistance in locating D'nar's group and helping to round up any other 
stragglers. :)

Submitted by:

John Pepper

Martyn & Havelok
Marrid Warren

T'rell & Flerrion, Daere Warren
Trevor & Trissana, Cleft Warren
Warrenlady Tara & Varaenna, Jasra Warren