Dragonlance Tales 01 The Magic of Krynn # edited by

[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.Old Man, I AM GIVING THIS KNOWLEDGE AWAY, THIS TERRIBLE DREAM OF THE STAFF IS A TERRIBLE DREAM WHEN THE STAFF SURRENDERS, and under the moons he follows his losses until his skin turns against him, dappling, gold upon black upon gold, his strong hands remember a nest of knives and the front of the head bows down to the hot wind to the choir of leopards and in her golden throat in the throat of her numberless chieftains the blood is dancing is rising like a mirage like a thermal, and there are no words for this as he dreams this dream and the throats unravel.Forward he moves, remembering nothing, no movement and cry of the People no hunt at the head of the movement no horizons no crossing moons of the namingnights.He has left them behind him utterly, surrendering all to the skin full of light, of dark, of darkness boiling in light, bone and muscle giving way in imagined tunnels of plains and movement.Something behind him sings in his ear, his left eye shining straight through mirages to the edge of the world, and the smell of the blood is fading to the smell of rock of water and of things below rock and water wise and lethal and good beyond thought.Upright, out of the leopard's salvation he stalks into light, his first and his last skin recalled and surrendered, robed once more in the long dream shining.There in a temple of rock, cold, insubstantial as rain cold as the silence of stone, lies the Staff it is singing, singing ARISE, YOU HAVE EARNED THIS PEACE AT THE EDGE OF THE WORLD, BEHIND YOU A VANISHING COUNTRY.TAKE ME UP LIKE A TROPHY, LIKE A THIRD MOON IN THE SKY FAMILIAR, AND INSTEAD OF THE ARM OF THE CHIEFTAIN, BECOME THE CHIEFTAIN HIMSELF, THE LORD OF A LAND OF LEOPARDS, and Riverwind cold as the silence of stones, remembering the edge of the sky, the dead children walking, and the staff shines sudden in the reach of his hand refusing.There in his grasp the world rolls, at the back of his head the voice of the leopard descends into words, is singing LIE DOWN, GIVE THIS AWAY AT ONCE, GIVE THIS AWAY BEFORE IT BEGINS, OUR SON, OUR YOUNG ONE, FOR YOU CAN LEAM NOTHING OF THIS MYSTERY, NOTHING FROM THIS MYSTERY BUT DRY GRASS BUT DARK BUT YEARNING BUT THE GRAVES OF YOUR CHILDHOOD OPEN TO MOONLIGHT, AND THE DEAD THE UNSPEAKING DEAD YOU SEE WHERE THE SKY MEETS THE PLAINS WILL BE ALWAYS YOUR OWN, APPROACHING.In the light of the Staff he surrenders the Staff.More brightly it bums as it shines on the country of trials, on the three moons balancing now, on the night turning in on the heart of the night creating blue light, the light of the crystal brought forth by the hand of the warrior out of the lineage of leopards, the long heart of the people remembered past memory, but Riverwind, cold as the silence of stones, laughs the first time since the west has vanished, for this is the country he knows he has failed in winning, for under the plains lies nothing, and victory walks in the skins of the children through damaging years of light.IVThe rest of the story is known to you, how Riverwind, bearing the staff, returned to the People, the darkness of stones in his eyes, what the Chieftain ordered, (I was there to see it my words this time could not stop them) what the Staff in the hand of Goldmoon accomplished.But this you may not know: that in the pathways of light from the plains to the Last Home riding she said to him, NOW ARE YOU WORTHY, NO LONGER IN MY EYES ONLY, BUT NOW IN THE FALCON'S EYE OF THE WORLD FOREVER THE STORY IS WALKING FOREVER THE STORY, But Riverwind NO, and NO again No to the fractured light of the staff, for caught in the light his hand was fading, through facet and facet unto the heart of the light, and not of this earth was the third moon rising, and the heart of the Staff was his naming night.HERE ON THE PLAINS WHERE THE WIND EMBRACES LIGHT AND THE ABSENCE OF LIGHT, WHERE THE WIND IS THE VOICE OF THE GODS COME DOWN, THE RUMOR OF SONG BEFORE SINGING BEGINS, HERE THE PEOPLE UNDER THE WINDS ARE WANDERING EVER TOWARDS HOME, FOREVER IN MOVEMENT AN OLD MAN IS SINGING THE SONG OF AN ABSENT COUNTRY, BEAUTIFUL, HEARTLESS AS SUNLIGHT, COLD AS IMAGINED WINDS BEHIND THE EYE OF THE RAIN, AND WIDE BEFORE US, MY SONS AND FATHERS, THE SONG OF THE COUNTRY CENTERS AND SWOOPS LIKE A HAWK IN A SLEEPING LAND, BORNE UPON HUNGER AND THERMALS, SINGING FOREVER, SINGING.The Blood Sea MonsterBarbara Siegel and Scott SiegelOut of breath — and nearly out of hope — I ran across the wet sand, looking for a place to hide.After the terrible storm earlier that day, running along the muddy beach felt like running in a huge bowl of thick mush.But I ran just the same because Thick-Neck Nick, the village baker, was dead-set after me.I had lost Thick-Neck when I made a quick dash between two buildings and headed down toward the sea.I knew he might realize that I had come this way, but then I saw my salvation: along the shore was a long row of fishing boats.Clutching the stolen loaf of bread close to my body, I looked back over my shoulder.Thick-Neck hadn't yet reached the beach.I took my chance and dove into the very first boat.After covering myself with a heavy netting, I took in deep drafts of air, trying to catch my breath.I knew that if Thick-Neck Nick lumbered by, he was sure to hear me.I don't know how much time passed.When you're scared, breathless, lying in rainwater up to your lower lip, and have heavy fish netting on top of you shutting out the light, nothing moves slower than time.Absolutely nothing.But my heart started picking up its pace when I heard fast approaching footsteps.I cringed down at the bottom of the boat.The rainwater covered my mouth.I had to breathe through my nose.The steps came closer.It was useless.I raised my mouth up out of the water and took a bite of the bread.If Thick-Neck was going to beat me, at least I wanted to have something in my stomach to show for it.Despite my dry mouth, I hurriedly began to chew.The steps came closer.Did he see the netting move? Did he hear my heavy breathing? Did he hear me chewing his bread? Though I hadn't swallowed my first mouthful, I took another bite, and then another, and another, until my cheeks were so puffed out they looked as if they had the wingspan of a dragon.Well, maybe not that big, but there was more bread in my mouth than there was left in my hand-and I hadn't swallowed a single mouthful [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

Pokrewne