Dragonlance Anthologies 01 The Dragons Of Krynn

Odnośniki

[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

dogness.
The man made for the bar, while the dog sauntered through the debris
left by the ill-fated bard, stopping only briefly to nose a mostly
chewed mutton bone. The dog snorted a rejection, padded on toward the
hearth. There he turned thrice around in front of the fire and lay
down, curled toward the flames, golden-furred belly up, head upside
down and resting on the floor. It was as if the creature were a regular
visitor, and this was also later mentioned as curious by those relating
the story.
The newcomer held up two fingers to the barkeep. The tavernmaster in
turn pulled two mugs, one in each fist, and raised an eyebrow, a silent
inquiry. The newcomer spoke for the first time. "One for my companion,"
he explained, motioning to the animal stretched out by the fire. The
barkeep nodded, smothered a grin into a tight, businesslike smile, and
drew two ales.
The stranger's canine companion had already attracted an admirer in the
form of one of the barmaids, a pretty young woman dressed in a simple
white skirt and dark blue blouse, the entire ensemble covered by a
many-pocketed apron of azure. Her hair was pulled back from her face,
and ran in an ornate braid reaching the small of her back. She was
petting the dog's blond belly fur, and the beast made no motion to
dissuade her.
The dog only reacted when the newcomer set a foaming mug by his muzzle.
And then the dog looked at the mug and the young lady and attempted to
choose between them. At length, the ale won out, and the beast licked
his chops and raised his head to slightly above the mug's level,
lapping the beer with a long, slender tongue. Spurned, the young lady
sighed and returned to her task of gathering empty mugs and bottles-
"dead soldiers" in the local parlance of a town that had escaped most
of the war's worst effects. She brought them back to the bar, taking a
less than direct route that swung her well away from an older, well-
dressed patron who had been eyeing her throughout the episode.
Said route took her back past the newcomer, who stopped her in her
tracks with a motion of his hand. "Bring a second round when he
finishes the first, and a third when he finishes the second, and so
again until he cares to stop. " The woman (a stitchery of light blue
thread on her apron identified her as Melissa) made as if to comment,
then nodded and returned to the bar. The remainder of the patrons-
farmers talking about the upcoming harvest, carpenters and bricklayers
driven indoors by the darkness, a bespectacled scribe writing a letter
for a middle-aged woman in the corner-had all returned to activities
previously interrupted.
All except for the older, well-dressed patron, who looked directly at
the newcomer with the sureness of either a wizard or a petty lord. His
finery was faded but still serviceable, though his gut stretched the
buttons of his vest. The man had a slender wand of worn ivory or bone
hanging from his belt, but it was unclear at first glance if this was
an enchanted item, a symbol of power, or an affectation.
"That is an interesting animal, " said the local noble at length.
"More so than you know, " came the reply, flat and automatic.
"I have never seen a dog take to ale. "
"He drinks only to embarrass me, " said the newcomer with a sigh. "No
one ever asks him to clear the check. "
"Is he for sale?"
"He is not mine to sell. The dog accompanies me of his own free will.
There were times I tried to sell him, drive him off, abandon him, but
he always returns, bringing trouble when he does. "
At this the dog pulled his muzzle from the now empty mug and yawned,
baring a full set of clean, sharp teeth, only slightly yellowed by age.
He cocked his head at his human companion.
"You know it's true, " added the newcomer, addressing the dog. Then he
muttered, "As if it could be anything but the truth. " And with that,
he motioned for the second round.
The conversation died in the flickering of the fire as the older man
(petty lord definitely, the eyes were sharp and feral, but not bright
enough to indicate wizardry) realized he had been cut out of the
dialogue between the man and the dog. He tried again. "You find our
village pleasant?"
"I found your village by accident. I was traveling down the coast from
Trentwood. "
"Business or pleasure?"
"I have no business and very little pleasure. "
"Are you a warrior?" His eyes traveled to the sword and sparkled for a
moment with awareness. "I-we-have need of a warrior, here. "
"I... " said the newcomer, taking a long draw on his mug, "am a fool.
But you can call me Jengar. "
"At least you're truthful about it, " said the old baron, the chuckle
dying in his throat as he realized that Jengar did not share his
amusement.
Jengar transfixed the petty lord with a harsh glare, then relaxed, but
only a touch. "I do not have a choice in the matter. It is my curse, to
tell the truth. Are you interested in the story?"
"Of course, of course, " said the petty lord. "It doesn't feature...
ah, gnomes, does it?"
"Not yet, " growled the man. "But gnomes could only serve to make
matters worse.... "
* * * * *
The room quieted slowly as Jengar began his tale. He did so without
prologue or call for quiet, merely setting in to a recitation of the
facts. His quiet demeanor caught many by surprise, so that half the
room missed his beginning, yet after the first minute, the entire room
went silent. Conversations ended in midsentence, ale went unordered and
undelivered, and even the scratch of the scribe's pen was stilled. The
only sound was the dog lapping noisily at his mug, and even that fell
off as the tale proceeded.
"Let it be known that my name is Jengar. The dog's name is Fool's Gold,
named such for reasons that will become clear. Back during the war I
tacked on a nickname for myself typical for warriors-Trollkiller or
Flamedeath or something equally stupid. Why I've let such sobriquets
perish will also become clear. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

zanotowane.pl

doc.pisz.pl

pdf.pisz.pl

angamoss.xlx.pl