Blood flowing on the plains of the Upper Glen . . . . . royal blood . . . . . goblin hordes pouring down the mountain passes into the Glen . . . . . common folk in chains, being led into Timber Lake Mountains . . . . . the great dwarven fortress at Gilead melting . . . . . steel weapons in goblin hands . . . . . a white castle . . . . . spiraled towers with white banners waving from every peak . . . . . the images were a whirlwind in his mind as High King Tronin pulled the Great Helm from his head.   

The head piece slid off with a sucking sound. It always felt too tight, but now sitting in his hands, it looked very large. High King Tronin sat still for a moment, waiting for the throbbing in his head to subside.

Using the magical helmet always gave him a headache. Tronin ran his hand through his white hair. He was only forty-two, but the complete whitening of his hair was another one of the side effects of using the helmet.

It also drained him of his energy, often leaving him tired for a couple of days, so he limited his use of the Great Helm to once a month. The images that he had received were disturbing.

He was not one to get excited, but the visions from the Great Helm upset him. Steel weapons in the hands of goblins entering the Glen, the mighty fortress of Gilead melting, and royal blood spilt.

He was certain that it wasn’t King Darian’s, or his oldest son Lord Prince Talban’s blood. He would know if it were either, because he knew them well. The helmet’s visions were usually much more detailed with people that he knew. It must be one of King Darian’s younger sons.  

And what of the white castle with the spiraled towers and white banners? He was sure that he had never been there, yet he had been given this image each time that he had put the helmet on for the past few months.

The Great Helm always provided important visions, and they always came true, although he did misinterpret things from time to time. It had not proved inaccurate, even once, in the twenty-one years that he had been High King of the Glen.

The sound of men drilling wafted through the windows of the open throne room, interrupting Tronin’s musings. The Captains Academy was across the courtyard, sitting in the shadows of his palace.

Both stone buildings were fortresses in themselves and sat in the middle of Port Turin, the capital kingdom of the Glen. Due to the close proximity of the buildings, he often heard the men marching about.

Warriors who wished to become captains had to attend a yearlong training course at the academy. It was a rigorous program with various classes from tactics to swordplay, as well as studies in history, creatures, and the local cultures.

Once a man satisfactorily completed the academy, he was awarded the rank of captain. If they so decided, a captain could seek further advancement to the position of lord. To do this they had to Quest. This involved a solo journey into Timber Lake Mountains.

To promote, the captain had to return from the mountains with the head of a foe, and most men who made the Quest returned with the head of a goblin from one of the seven tribes. If the captain returned, about a fourth never did, then he would be awarded the title and position of a lord.

This had been the tradition since the days of King Hogarth. It was a good system, because it gave the men battle experience and it kept the goblin population down. This was important, because the seven tribes of goblins had been enemies of the Glen for centuries.

High King Tronin had implemented one change. In the first year of his rule, the Great Helm had shown him that some of his captains would Quest only to the foothills of Timber Lake Mountains.

Once there, they would lie in wait at the bottom of one of the trails into the mountains, waiting for a goblin to wander too close to the lands of men. They would kill the goblin and return with a head without ever having really left the Glen.

The Great Helm had also showed Tronin that the waters of the great lake, located in a natural bowl at the top of the mountains, had healing powers for men. It was an incredible discovery for his people!

Goblins rarely went in any water, and had no use for the healing powers which did not affect them, but they did ring Timber Lake with their villages because they relished the taste of raw fish.

This led High King Tronin to require the captains to not only return with a head, but also with a vial of the healing water from Timber Lake, in order to earn the title of lord. Not only did this provide a steady supply of the healing water for his people, but it also insured that his men actually Quested up onto the mountains.

Tronin looked down at the helmet in his hands. It was bronze, with red dragons engraved on it in various poses. He instinctively looked up at the dragon skull mounted above his ivory throne.

The giant head, with its empty eyes and large fangs, still looked menacing. The thing seemed almost as scary as it did the day that he had killed it. Tronin closed his eyes and thought back to the day of his Quest.

He had been twenty-one years old when he ventured high up into Timber Lake Mountains. Not that he had been seeking anything more than a goblin’s head, he just had not seen any signs of life during the four days climb that it took him to reach the lake.

On the fourth day, he came across a small goblin village burning next to Timber Lake. It had belonged to the Black Eye Tribe, but the goblins were all dead. That’s when Tronin had noticed a green blood trail leading up a nearby path towards a very large peak.

His first instinct was to leave, but finally decided that such a formidable enemy of the goblins would be a possible ally to men. Tronin followed the path along a ridgeline that overlooked the village, and after several minutes, reached a series of caves that led deep into the peak rising above him. 

The blood trail continued towards the caves. Tronin was contemplating his next move when he saw her. She had exited from one of the larger holes in the mountainside.

He had heard of these beasts, but thought that they were creatures of legend and make believe. Yet there stood a dragon! The beast that stood before him was all of forty feet long, with a body covered in bright red, almost shiny scales. 

Her eyes were a menacing yellow, which glared at him. Tronin began to back away, with his sword out in front of him, his hands trembling. He was far from being a coward, but she was more than he had bargained for.

Apparently, the goblin village had not been very filling, because she charged at Tronin as if she were starving. He could see green goblin blood and chunks of green goblin flesh still in her fangs.

“Man flesssh!!!” the dragon hissed in an elven dialect.

Tronin did not have time to contemplate that the beast could talk. He had been too busy diving for cover when she spewed a stream of fire from her mouth, directly at him.

He still had burn scars on the back of his legs where the flames had licked him. When Tronin got back on his feet the dragon rushed in for the kill, and Tronin could still remember thinking that he was going to die, but he was going to take the beast with him.

He made a last-ditch effort and with all his strength he threw his trusty sword, later named Vitrium by his people, at the charging red dragon that was nearly upon him. Vitrium meant “victory” in the dwarf language.

Call it luck, or fate, but Vitrium flew true. The blade sank deep into the dragon’s eye, killing it! People of the Glen probably would have thought that he had found her dead, if the red dragon hadn’t managed to rake him with a claw as she fell into darkness.

The strike had nearly killed him, and he bore the proof, in the form of large scars running down the left side of his face and body. They had barely faded over the years, and were still quite visible, even at a distance.

Tronin had entered the dragon’s lair and found the Great Helm. He had also found a hatchling, or baby dragon in the cave. The hatchling, about the size of a cow, hissed at him and puffed smoke in his direction while hiding behind a pile of dead goblin bodies.

Tronin had thought about killing the baby red, but changed his mind. Dragons never entered the Glen, but goblins did. Since the red dragons apparently ate goblins, he reasoned that it would be wise to let the hatchling live.

Tronin was not sure if the hatchling spoke elvish like its mother, but spoke the old language anyways, saying, “I am Tronin of the Glen. Live long and kill many goblins!”.

This merely brought on another hiss from the hatchling, which scurried from the cave and fled down the trail past its dead mother. Tronin left the dragon cave and found another unoccupied cave nearby.

He stayed there for almost three months, drinking rainwater, and nursing himself back to health. His cuts were too deep to make the journey back down to the Glen with the dragon’s head, and he was not leaving his prize behind.

Not to mention that the burns on the backs of his legs also made walking difficult, so it took him a long time to recover sufficiently enough to travel. If only he had known about the healing properties of Timber Lake back then, he thought.

When Tronin returned to the Glen, he was an instant hero. No captain had ever killed a dragon before, though he could remember some old stories about a few who had killed giants, but a dragon was unheard of.

The people were fascinated about the young heroic lord with his dragon scars, causing his story to spread across the land. He soon became a favorite amongst the people who held many celebrations in his honor.

Old Cobb, who had been high king for forty-three years, died a year after Tronin had returned. Cobb’s wives had borne him no sons, so Tronin, who was a distant nephew, was the natural choice to be the new High King of the Glen.    The people called him “Dragon Slayer”, and wanted no other ruler. Upon his return, he had told the story of his Quest exactly as it had occurred, but the tale seemed to have a way of growing when others re-told it.

He had heard many versions, including one that had him riding the red dragon. No matter, the people needed to respect their king. That is why he kept the powers of the Great Helm a secret.

Many of his subjects thought him a wizard or a prophet, due to his unnatural way of knowing of things to come. Regardless of what they believed he was, they respected his powers, and more importantly his decisions.

To show his respect to the creature that had earned him his fame and made him high king, he had ordered the red dragon emblem to be placed on all shields throughout the Glen. The people readily followed this order as a sign of respect for their new king.

“Guards!” Tronin shouted. “Send my royal messengers to me!”

When his messengers entered the room, High King Tronin commanded them,” Ride to the kings of Hogarth Hills. Tell them that war comes to the Glen. Ride to the kings of the elves, dwarves, and Lower Glen kingdoms of men and tell them that I’m requesting a meeting in the Great Meeting Hall of Dwain. I expect them there in six days.”