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peak looming dizzily above. There was something unsettlingly odd about the light. Anvar blinked, peering up at the sky and down at the valley again. The cloudless sky was a peculiar shade of gold, flooding the landscape with amber light, as though the Mage were looking through smoked glass. There was no sun there were no shadows to lend depth. Instead, the earth itself was suffused with a faint but burnished glow, each stone, each blade of grass, standing out clear and shimmering with its own inner light. All except the pine wood. The huddled trees were a pulsing knot of smoky darkness. Anvar shuddered yet of all the parts of this weird landscape, the forest, with its broken crags above, was the one place where he could hope to find some cover when the Moldan decided to stop playing with him, and attack. The thought shattered the dreamlike spell of this eerie land, and galvanized the Mage to action. He had better come up with some kind of a plan and fast! Grasping the Staff firmly, Anvar straightened his shoulders, and set off up the valley toward the wood. He had not taken half a dozen strides when THUMP! The sound boomed across the valley, smashing through the silence like a battering ram. The earth shuddered under Anvar's feet, and an avalanche of small stones came rattling down from the crags above. THUMP! Anvar's heart leapt into his throat and stuck there. He whirled wildly, trying to place the location of the terrifying sound, THUMP! From the pine wood came- the crack of splintering branches, Treetops waved wildly, as though tossed by a violent gale. THUMP! Something was emerging from the forest, hurling broken pines aside like kindling . . . The Mage looked up and up, a scream of terror frozen in his throat. Standing upright on two heavy, thick-muscled legs, the creature was immense. Clad in tough gray-green hide, it was taller than the Mages' Tower in Nexis. Two incongruously delicate paws, unnervingly like human hands, were held close to the monster's chest on stumpy forelegs. Balanced by a long, thick tail that was held above the ground, the blunt and massive head, larger than Anvar's body, held great jaws lined with the sharp white spikes of fangs. Two wicked, glittering little eyes, brimming with arcane intelligence, scanned the valley and came to rest on the Mage. "I see you, little Wizard!" The familiar, gloating voice came, not from those horrific jaws, but from within the confines of Anvar's own mind. It was the voice of the Moldan. There was no point in running there was nowhere to run to. For one indecisive second Anvar stood rooted to the spot and then he remembered the Staff of Earth. Gathering his will more swiftly than he had ever done before, he called the Staffs powers, and hurled a bolt of energy at the monster . . . And nothing happened. His own will was unresponsive, and the Staff was dark and dead within his grasp. Stunned and unbelieving, the Mage tried again. Still nothing. He might as well have been holding a plain stick of wood and what had happened to his own powers? The vast jaws of the monster yawned wide in a grinning void. In his mind, Anvar heard the hideous, mocking laughter of the Moldan. "Would you like to try again?" the elemental sneered. "The Staff of Earth is of your world, Wizard. Like your own magic, it has no power here, where the forces of the Old Magic hold sway." THUMP! One great leg swung forward, the massive clawed foot sinking deep into the earth beneath the creature's weight. Anvar turned, and fled. With deadly speed, the monster was after him. Anvar could feel the jarring thunder of its footsteps shake the ground beneath him as it ran, its great legs devouring huge gulps of ground as it rapidly closed the distance between them. Terror lending speed to his flailing limbs, Anvar hurtled downhill toward the river; but he knew, even as he fled, that he was doomed. There was no cover that would hide him; there would be no outrunning the Moldan in its monstrous shape. Before him there was only that strange, green river and a plunge to oblivion at the end of the valley where the churning green waters vanished from sight in a cloud of spume. Well, so be it. Rather a quick death, pounded on the rocks at the bottom of the fall, than the slow agony of the monster's jaws. And at least the Moldan would be cheated of the Staff of Earth . . . As Anvar neared the riverbank, he could hear the monster pounding closer and closer. Its hot breath surrounded him in a noisome cloud . . . With one last, desperate spurt of speed, Anvar gained the bank and leapt. The moiling green [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |
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