Jeffrey Lord Blade 10 Ice Dragon

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while in the tumbled gray masses of the mountains down which he had climbed,
and then appearing again in flashes of light under the trees of the forest
that spread to the horizon on either side. Blade dropped the flier down to
treetop height again to avoid giving premature alarm to the Tengrans.
He flashed over the ruins of Irdna low enough to see figures squatting around
a campfire in the now weed-green town square. They jumped up, pointed, and
scattered, running frantically for cover. He wished the flier had an outside
speaker system, so that he could explain himself before climbing out and
exposing himself to the arrows and musket balls of people who might be too
frightened to ask questions before they fired. Then he stopped himself. Time
spent wishing for what you didn't have and weren't going to get was usually a
gift to an enemy who acted at once with what he had.
Three days' travel along the river by boat was less than half an hour at the
speed of the flier, even at low altitude. Blade saw the mountains that marched
across the southern end of the lake jutting up on the horizon, their snowcaps
sadly shrunken under the summer sun. Then the gap in the trees far ahead
showed where the river flowed into the lake, and a minute later Blade raced
out over the lake and saw
Tengran on its island dead ahead. As he sailed over the town he saw the smoke
of the alarm fires starting to puff up. It struck him that it was going to be
a delicate process landing the huge flier on the island without flattening
half a dozen buildings and possibly the people in them. That would damn well
get him shot the minute he stepped out the door!
He came around in a wide circle, losing speed as he did so, searching the
island for a space long
enough and wide enough to accommodate the huge flier. The town itself was
largely inside or near the walls, but for reasons good or bad odd buildings
sprouted like mushrooms almost everywhere he looked, and where there weren't
buildings there were trees and ditches.
He had to circle the island three times before he found what he hoped would be
a large enough space. He lined the flier up, sighting on a low unpainted
wooden building visible through the lower nose port, dropped slowly until the
indicator spurs dug in and their lights flashed green on the master control
board, then cut all power. The flier dropped with a solid jar and then a
series of lighter ones as the whole huge structure wobbled and wiggled itself
to a secure rest, with the hull belling and clanging as the stresses and
strains shot through the metal. Blade braced his feet under the panel and
stayed in his seat until the dance was through, then unbuckled himself
and dropped through the floor hatch to the emergency hatch in the very
nose of the flier.
Flattening himself against the floor in case somebody outside was ready to
fire into the nose the minute the hatch opened, he pressed the switch and the
hatch clanged open. Blade cautiously raised his head and looked out.
There was nobody in sight except three or four pigs rooting around the plank
building, so Blade swung himself over the edge of the hatch and dropped to the
ground. He landed with a squashy thump and went waist-deep in something soft
and damp, and as he did so a gangling youth ran around the edge of the
building. Blade raised his hands, then looked down-and sight and smell
together made him realize that he was standing up to his middle in a manure
pile.
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"Damn!" was the first thing he said, in a roar that made the boy jump and drop
his crossbow, then:
"Hello. I am Blade, a friend of the Treduki. Your town elders have heard of
me. Could you send word to them, please?" Then with a mighty lurch he pulled
one leg free enough of the mess to take a stride forward, and staggered out
into the open, heading for the lake. The boy picked up his crossbow and
clutched it tightly. Blade didn't care. He was damned if he was going to try [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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