[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
"But all of our valuables?" One of the senior scribes spoke up.
"Yes, in a pile on the village green, " Moin Rankel responded. He
explained Lozlan's plan in detail to the agitated crowd and produced a
bag of black crystals. "Lozlan said we each must carry one of these on
our person and be standing around the circumference of the green when
the dragon arrives. He is adamant that every one of us, without
exception, be present at the crucial moment, or else the magic will not
succeed. The crystals will activate spontaneously at just the right
time. "
"You ask us to put our faith in these worthless pieces of coal?" Glykor
demanded.
"No. I ask you to put your faith in me!" was Moin Rankers response.
Faith not coming easy to this bunch, the debate went on for hours and
hours. But early that morning, the decision was finally made. With the
help of Lozlan, the gods, and some weird-looking black rocks, they
would attempt to smite the dragon.
* * * * *
Preparations were begun at once. The normal daily business of the
community was suspended while Moin Rankel scoured the village,
collecting the people's valuables. It was not easy forcing a group of
people as tightfisted as these to hand over their treasures, even when
their lives were at stake. It took prodding and, at times, outright
threats to get many of the citizens to do their civic duty. Moin Rankel
felt certain most of the residents were holding back.
Still, it was remarkable just how much wealth a community as seemingly
humble as this was able to keep hidden from itself all these years.
Everyone marveled at the size of the pile of treasure as it grew on the
village green. The small mountain of opulence was a thing of pride-
while at the same time serving to confirm the suspicions these
villagers had long harbored of each other.
When the fateful day arrived, the people milled about the street at the
edge of the village green, not really knowing what to do with
themselves, nervously checking for the black crystals in their pockets.
It is hard to say exactly when the drinking began. Fear and the
tavern's close proximity combined to lure the nervous residents inside.
As the morning dragged on, the brew flowed at an increasingly generous
rate. Even Smorg and Glykor fell under the spell of the bubbly
intoxicant. Moin Rankel himself was somewhat surprised when he looked
down to discover an overflowing mug clenched tightly in his own hand.
It was soon generally agreed that, under different circumstances, the
event could have been a rather pleasant experience. Many found their
long-lost courage in the cold mead; some even displayed a sort of
cockiness Moin Rankel found totally inappropriate. In general, though,
he did not object to the drinking, for it might help the people hold
their courage when the crucial moment was at hand. He knew it was
helping him.
After a while, the ordeal actually began to transform itself into a
festival. There was dancing and singing and laughter. Even the most
dour members of the community got caught up in the celebration. It was
the most fun they'd had since the village's founding. If this is to be
our last day, then why not make it our best? became the motto. The brew
flowed and flowed.
"It doesn't get any better than this!" It was hard to believe such
words came from the mouth of Glykor.
"You've really outdone yourself this time!" a woman yelled at Moin
Rankel, as she and her partner whirled past in a frenzied dance. By
afternoon, the dragon was long forgotten.
The first sign that the party was about to come to an abrupt end was a
subtle something in the air, something indefinable. Smorg, Glykor, and
Moin Rankel were the first to notice it. Soon everyone felt it and
stiffened, as they remembered what they were really there for. Moin
Rankel urged them to get into position and not look up. At this point,
the dragon was merely a speck on the horizon, but it was clear the
creature was rapidly closing in.
The people became more frightened with each passing second. Moin Rankel
prayed they would not break and run. "Maintain!" he screamed.
For whatever reason, they did as they were told. Like himself, they
were probably petrified. When he heard the sound of the wind rushing
beneath the creature's enormous wings, he took a last gulp of brew and
looked up.
Moin Rankel stood there frozen in horror as he stared into the face of
a dragon now close enough to breathe infernal death upon them all. But
the dragon did not immediately attack. Transfixed by the sight of the
treasure, it was hovering just above them.
Lozlan had been correct so far, but why, Moin Rankel wondered
desperately, hadn't the black crystals activated? Suddenly the dragon
looked directly at the residents, and at that instant it became clear
the beast realized this was a trap. It was then, while unspeakable
terror filled the souls of every villager, that Moin Rankel felt
something stir in his pocket. Looking around him, he could see an eerie
glow radiating from the pockets of all who were present. He now knew
what it was that triggered the crystals at precisely the right instant.
It was the level of fear. He was cursing Lozlan when an ungodly force
hurled him and the rest of the villagers against the stone walls of the
buildings behind them. Multicolored beams of pure energy emanated from
the pockets of every person. The rays formed a huge translucent sphere
that now surrounded the heinous creature just above the center of the
green. The dragon opened its mouth, and there was no doubt in Moin
Rankel's mind what was going to happen next. He closed his eyes.
Several seconds later Moin Rankel found himself still alive. He dared
to slowly open his eyes. Before him was a sight he would never forget.
Lozlan's sphere was undulating, holding within it a wildly writhing
dragon, trapped in a fire of its own creation. Moin Rankel could [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl exclamation.htw.pl
"But all of our valuables?" One of the senior scribes spoke up.
"Yes, in a pile on the village green, " Moin Rankel responded. He
explained Lozlan's plan in detail to the agitated crowd and produced a
bag of black crystals. "Lozlan said we each must carry one of these on
our person and be standing around the circumference of the green when
the dragon arrives. He is adamant that every one of us, without
exception, be present at the crucial moment, or else the magic will not
succeed. The crystals will activate spontaneously at just the right
time. "
"You ask us to put our faith in these worthless pieces of coal?" Glykor
demanded.
"No. I ask you to put your faith in me!" was Moin Rankers response.
Faith not coming easy to this bunch, the debate went on for hours and
hours. But early that morning, the decision was finally made. With the
help of Lozlan, the gods, and some weird-looking black rocks, they
would attempt to smite the dragon.
* * * * *
Preparations were begun at once. The normal daily business of the
community was suspended while Moin Rankel scoured the village,
collecting the people's valuables. It was not easy forcing a group of
people as tightfisted as these to hand over their treasures, even when
their lives were at stake. It took prodding and, at times, outright
threats to get many of the citizens to do their civic duty. Moin Rankel
felt certain most of the residents were holding back.
Still, it was remarkable just how much wealth a community as seemingly
humble as this was able to keep hidden from itself all these years.
Everyone marveled at the size of the pile of treasure as it grew on the
village green. The small mountain of opulence was a thing of pride-
while at the same time serving to confirm the suspicions these
villagers had long harbored of each other.
When the fateful day arrived, the people milled about the street at the
edge of the village green, not really knowing what to do with
themselves, nervously checking for the black crystals in their pockets.
It is hard to say exactly when the drinking began. Fear and the
tavern's close proximity combined to lure the nervous residents inside.
As the morning dragged on, the brew flowed at an increasingly generous
rate. Even Smorg and Glykor fell under the spell of the bubbly
intoxicant. Moin Rankel himself was somewhat surprised when he looked
down to discover an overflowing mug clenched tightly in his own hand.
It was soon generally agreed that, under different circumstances, the
event could have been a rather pleasant experience. Many found their
long-lost courage in the cold mead; some even displayed a sort of
cockiness Moin Rankel found totally inappropriate. In general, though,
he did not object to the drinking, for it might help the people hold
their courage when the crucial moment was at hand. He knew it was
helping him.
After a while, the ordeal actually began to transform itself into a
festival. There was dancing and singing and laughter. Even the most
dour members of the community got caught up in the celebration. It was
the most fun they'd had since the village's founding. If this is to be
our last day, then why not make it our best? became the motto. The brew
flowed and flowed.
"It doesn't get any better than this!" It was hard to believe such
words came from the mouth of Glykor.
"You've really outdone yourself this time!" a woman yelled at Moin
Rankel, as she and her partner whirled past in a frenzied dance. By
afternoon, the dragon was long forgotten.
The first sign that the party was about to come to an abrupt end was a
subtle something in the air, something indefinable. Smorg, Glykor, and
Moin Rankel were the first to notice it. Soon everyone felt it and
stiffened, as they remembered what they were really there for. Moin
Rankel urged them to get into position and not look up. At this point,
the dragon was merely a speck on the horizon, but it was clear the
creature was rapidly closing in.
The people became more frightened with each passing second. Moin Rankel
prayed they would not break and run. "Maintain!" he screamed.
For whatever reason, they did as they were told. Like himself, they
were probably petrified. When he heard the sound of the wind rushing
beneath the creature's enormous wings, he took a last gulp of brew and
looked up.
Moin Rankel stood there frozen in horror as he stared into the face of
a dragon now close enough to breathe infernal death upon them all. But
the dragon did not immediately attack. Transfixed by the sight of the
treasure, it was hovering just above them.
Lozlan had been correct so far, but why, Moin Rankel wondered
desperately, hadn't the black crystals activated? Suddenly the dragon
looked directly at the residents, and at that instant it became clear
the beast realized this was a trap. It was then, while unspeakable
terror filled the souls of every villager, that Moin Rankel felt
something stir in his pocket. Looking around him, he could see an eerie
glow radiating from the pockets of all who were present. He now knew
what it was that triggered the crystals at precisely the right instant.
It was the level of fear. He was cursing Lozlan when an ungodly force
hurled him and the rest of the villagers against the stone walls of the
buildings behind them. Multicolored beams of pure energy emanated from
the pockets of every person. The rays formed a huge translucent sphere
that now surrounded the heinous creature just above the center of the
green. The dragon opened its mouth, and there was no doubt in Moin
Rankel's mind what was going to happen next. He closed his eyes.
Several seconds later Moin Rankel found himself still alive. He dared
to slowly open his eyes. Before him was a sight he would never forget.
Lozlan's sphere was undulating, holding within it a wildly writhing
dragon, trapped in a fire of its own creation. Moin Rankel could [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]