"You can't do that!" I said to a group of brutes guzzling vodka at the "Under the Full Mug" inn. It was my favorite inn in Amon-Sun. Quiet, peaceful, cozy... Sometimes a bard would entertain the customers with music. But there were also moments when I had to put down my mug, roll up my sleeves, and knock some sense into the more cheerful ones. Such a moment came today, as I washed down roast chicken with a rare, and particularly beloved, wine made from Uldrian pineapples. Just as I was downing my first glass of this noble drink and discussing the brewing process with Nornberg (my dear friend and owner of the "Under the Full Mug"), a gang of about 20 thugs with muscles inversely proportional to their brains entered the inn. "Innkeeper! Vodka, come on!" " shouted a towering man, probably the leader of this motley crew. Nornberg quickly handed the guests several jugs and resumed his conversation while the serving maids handed out cups. For that evening, Norn had hired a bard to sing to the guests. He was an inconspicuous man, short, with an impressive belly and a pleasant voice. The bard sat down at a stove in the corner of the hall and began to sing. He sang of the green fields of Ireb-Saraz, of the battle on the black river Mortia, of heavenly kingdoms in the upper spheres. After a few songs and as many ballads, the company of warriors, already heavily intoxicated by the vodka, began to ask for songs about dragons. So the bard began to spin tales of these powerful creatures, and the drinkers began singing lewd songs about how they had slaughtered entire armies of orcs on Morgus and cavorted with even more harlots throughout the planes. The drink was clearly too strong, because after a few verses, half the singers fell asleep, and the rest began a heated argument. From that, I learned what they were planning. These fools wanted to kill a dragon. A dragon! These creatures had only been slain thirteen times in the recorded history of the Circle of Spheres, and only by the most powerful armies and gatherings of mages, and these fools wanted to cut down one of them with ordinary, unenchanted weapons! After a brief conversation, it turned out they were part of a force bound for the city of Hat-I-Maru, located in Khatak, a plane of sand. A king had hired them. They didn't know why he needed a dead dragon, but he promised a handsome payment, so they signed up. The unit they belonged to numbered 500 men. "These are the best warriors in the realms!" the mercenary leader shouted between sips of vodka. "You're kidnapping the most powerful being in the realms! Beasts like him have destroyed armies of thousands, and you want to defeat it with a motley crew of drunkards and renegades?!" "We'll be safe. The king has a magician who will protect us," the thug yawned and reached for the jug. I won't repeat the rest of the conversation here. Suffice it to say,that ended with several broken chairs and more broken ribs. I compensated the Norn for the damage with the contents of my purse and went, along with the other debaters, to the perpetrator of the whole dragon mess, His Majesty.
He was a swaggering youth, not even a man. Our conversation centered on the idea of hunting a dragon. It turned out he intended to personally lead the expedition. I tried to explain to this brat that he was sending himself and his hired men to certain death, but he paid no attention. He kept insisting that the power of his court magician would help in slaying the dragon. I examined this "magician," but I saw no magical markings, either visible or hidden. This man had not graduated from any school of the Art. He didn't even have any clan markings. He must have been some self-taught man, a con artist, or a renegade. Nevertheless, I wanted to accompany this band on their journey. I hadn't seen a dragon in several hundred years, and I desperately wanted to refresh my memory. The "king" agreed. They were leaving tomorrow morning. This gave me time to prepare. I took care of my business in the city and acquired the necessary equipment.
When I arrived at the departure point, the party was already prepared. "Welcome! I hope you're ready," the king greeted me. Such questions always irritated me. No! I wasn't ready! I was walking with a bunch of idiots who didn't know what awaited them, into a dragon's lair from which I might never emerge (meaning, in that case, until I met the dragon), and I wasn't prepared! Human stupidity sometimes amazed me. "Of course, Your Majesty, we can go," I replied, forcing a smile. "Very well!" the other man shouted, turning to the mage. "Open the portal!" The mage bowed slightly, approached the wall, took a strange, dull dagger, which was clearly the key to the portal, and began muttering a spell. He did this so clumsily that I had serious doubts his efforts would succeed. He kept stuttering, stuttering, or twisting his words. The king and the mercenaries probably thought the spells should be cast this way, but as an experienced master of the Art, I knew that simply pronouncing the words was difficult for this man. Eventually, however, he managed to open the portal. The section of wall he stood before brightened slightly, sparkling, and then a luminous breach in the wall, radiating heat, appeared before everyone's eyes. Well, if someone is heading to the sand realm, don't expect snow. The king gave the signal, and the mercenaries began to pass through the portal in fours. When it was my turn, I pulled my hood over my eyes and quickly crossed to the other side. Khatak greeted us with incredible heat and sand. Oh yes, that was a lot of sand. Upon exiting the portal, we were greeted by a group of guides. The king clearly wanted to leave this life as quickly as possible, because he immediately ordered them to depart. At the city gate stood enormous four-legged creatures with feet the size of the lids of 500-liter beer barrels. I don't know how many there were, but our group could comfortably settle on the backs of these animals without feeling cramped or uncomfortable. Small wooden benches were attached to their thick fur, significantly improving the ride's comfort. After a dozen or so hours of riding and several stops, we reached a place where the sand ended and solid rock began. Here the mercenaries split into three groups, tasked with entering the dragon's lair and then attacking it from different sides, thus gaining the upper hand. At least that's how the expedition leader saw the situation. However, I was more skeptical. I knew that barring a miracle, none of these soldiers would return home alive, unless they had homes, because from such a motley crew, more than one could be expected. However, I didn't share my thoughts with others. Some might find it morbid, but I believed the realms would only benefit from the deaths of all these scum, including the king and his court magician. And speaking of this little guy, I noticed he was making some strange hand movements over the warriors,Of course, it had nothing to do with Art, but it was clear that the "blessed" didn't mind. I retreated some distance. I don't say "safe distance," because in the case of a dragon, even escaping to another realm doesn't guarantee it will leave you alone. The mercenaries, formed into squads, set off towards a nearby cave. "Now there's going to be a massacre," I thought, and sipped some aromatic vodka from the flask I always carried with me.
I had waited a good half hour when the ground (or rather, the sand I was standing on) trembled slightly. After a few minutes, mercenaries began to emerge from the pit. I counted 50. "Yeah," I muttered to myself. "Ten percent, good." Meanwhile, a terrifying roar echoed from the pit. A sound that pierces the brain, leaving no defense. A moment later, the ground shook again, and a dragon emerged from the pit.
Its sheer size overwhelmed me. Although I'd seen dragons several times before, this one was far more powerful. Its purple-burgundy scales gleamed beautifully in the southern light. Each of its four paws was topped with four claws the length of two men. Part of its tail was hidden inside the pit, but it was at least as long as the beast's body. On its back, I saw wings, which it moved slightly. Its head was wedge-shaped, with which it tore the air, searching for escapees with its eyes. A few fireballs did the trick, and now the dragon turned its attention to me. He shot a fireball at me. A quick counterattack in the form of a ball of icy air did the trick. The beast was surprised I was still breathing and crawled out of the den entirely. The dragon had covered the distance I had needed to cover in 20 minutes of brisk walking in just a few strides. Now I could see its entire tail. I hadn't mistaken its length. The dragon was debating whether to crush me with its paw or try again with the fire. I didn't want to share the fate of my traveling companions, so I decided to act. "Greetings, O Mighty One!" I began. The beast looked at me strangely and asked. "How do you know the language of the ancients, mortal?" "I am not a mortal," I replied. "I come from Numma Draconis." "Yes. That explains everything. Why do you disturb me in my home with this band of weaklings?" "I tried to explain to them that they were going to certain death, but they didn't listen. I haven't seen a member of your noble race in centuries, so I came here to refresh my memory. "Good. I feel the wisdom and power of millennia within you. Thank you for your attempts to show these fools their chances in the fight against me. But now, depart. They have roused me from a sleep I've been in for three years and have yet to rest. Farewell, Nummian!" the dragon replied, and departed for its lair. I gazed at the desert for several more minutes, remembering my encounter with the dragon.
Brak komentarzy:
Prześlij komentarz