Коллектив авторов: Realms of the Dragons vol.1

Too cold to shiver, Serreg stood. The three creatures studied him. One cast another spell as he rose, too quickly for Serreg to dodge or counter, and he found himself framed in flickering red light.

Enough, he thought, and pulled one of the most powerful spells he knew to the forefront of his mind, something to burn all three of these vile things: Volhm's chaining.

Serreg's eyes glowed with raw power as he quickly moved through the invocation. He watched with grim satisfaction as the three creatures gathered together and closed upon him.

He launched the spell. A thick bolt of electrical power sprang from his fingers, a bolt of lightning that struck the lead creature, then arced to the other two. For a moment, the power of Serreg's attack illuminated the entire area.

By that light, Serreg clearly saw that only one of the creatures flinched. And the one he'd already wounded, he watched as the arcing lightning bolt erased the fire's blisters, healing the monstrous being with its magical power. The lightning bolt never grounded itself out as it was supposed to. The creature had sucked in all the power Serreg had just spent trying to kill it.

Vblhm's chaining. One of the best spells he knew. And still they came. Not only did they resist magic, they could absorb the raw energy to give themselves more power.

Dumbfounded, Serreg had no idea how to defeat them. Then one of them cast a spell, a maddeningly familiar one, yet one Serreg knew he had never seen before, and the light globes all dimmed and went out, leaving him in the dead of night, with those things… and a flickering red halo.

Serreg knew panic.

For his whole life, his power had been his magic, and suddenly it was utterly useless. The scaffolding of decades of training collapsed beneath him, leaving him in the terror of uncontrolled freefall, falling into a darkness filled with those hideous creatures.

He sensed them moving closer. Serreg knew he couldn't outrun them, so he desperately gambled with

Oberon's flawless teleport. East, toward the enclave, toward Delia.

Even as he cast the spell, Serreg felt one of the things try to counter it, while another clutched at him with its claws. Praying they had not interfered too greatly, Serreg submitted himself to his spell and vanished.

He reappeared several miles away, safely close to the ground. The spell collapsed around him just as he exited its effect, but that didn't matter. He'd gotten away! He exhaled explosively, free from the panic that had gripped him. The lightness in his head caused him to stagger briefly, and he almost laughed, feeling the giddy release of tension.

Then the flickering red aura around him flared into brilliant life, a beacon in the night. They had done that, to find where he'd gone. Serreg frantically summoned the most potent dispelling he could muster, cast it, and watched in relief as the flickering light vanished.

He knew he had at least a few minutes before the subterranean obscenities could reach him. They didn't look like they moved that fast. He took a few deep, panting breaths to get his heart and lungs under control, then wracked his brain for spells. To his horror, he sensed his spells fading, their power draining from his mind like the life had been drained from the soil beneath Delia.

That's how they do it! he thought in alarm. A huge spell, sucking the life and magic out of our enclave like a ghoul sucking the marrow from our bones!

Everything was clear. The intermittent failures of magical items, spells abruptly collapsing without warning, the odd side effects as he tried to pursue his investigation through magical means. They intended to drain Delia of all life and magic. The dirt and all its plants and animals just happened to be in the way.

At long last, Serreg knew who was behind the blight, and how it worked. But it was too late.

They were after him. They probably even knew he knew. They had been watching him all along, trying to prevent him from finding them, concealing their dark enchantment, interfering with his magic. And they had just tapped his very mind and drained away the arcane power of the spells he knew.

He had nothing left but himself. He had to hide. On that open plain, they'd find him easily. Frantically, he looked around, and barely visible as a shadow against the stars, he saw a ridge jutting out of the plains, about a mile east.

His only hope lay in that ridge, and somehow blending in with it, finding a cave or a large rock to crawl under or a large bush or something to use for cover. He couldn't let them find him. He had to live. He had to warn the others.

He ran.

After only a hundred yards his lungs burned within his breast. His legs protested the sudden advent of intense physical labor. His whole body complained. He started stumbling, open mouthed, with spittle dangling from his chin, but fear pushed him on.

Panting madly, he reached the foot of the ridge, which jutted like a dragon's spine out of the plains. He climbed, randomly exploring those places that were easiest to reach. After several agonizing minutes' search, he scrabbled up to a small cleft barely visible in the moonlight. He wormed his body backward into the crevice, frantically scanning the starlit sky to the west. Even with rough rock on all sides, his bruised and raw hands tried to push him even deeper into the crack. His ribs protested the strain, but he did not relent, for it seemed that the stones themselves wanted to push him back out into the night, out where they were looking for him.

He blinked the sweat out of his eyes, salty tears of fright already gone icy in the cold night air. His heart, too was chilled, and his soul felt the toll the creature's had taken, stealing his life-force itself. One of the creatures screeched in the darkness, a horrid, alien sound.

"Please," he gasped, using the word for the first time in his life. "Please… someone… anyone… help me!"

Half of his brain desperately pleaded for aid, any aid, while the other half;astigated itself for panicking. Self-control and reason were needed then, not pointless calls for help. No one was near. No one but them….

Serreg heard a clash of steel on steel, a burst of melee fighting close at hand, and his heart caved.

They've found me! he thought. But wait-they weren't carrying weapons…

No sooner did that realization cross the rational half of his brain than a flash of light winced his eyes. A star-burst of swords, axes, and spears clashed and sparked in the darkness, erupting like a vicious steel flower blooming in an instant, flowing outward with strokes and parries like a smoke ring, then vanishing as a tall, powerfully-built man stepped out of its midst.

Serreg stared in frank shock, his contorted body frozen in the crevice.

The man was a giant. He stood nine feet tall, and Serreg couldn't understand how he'd stepped out of a small ring of moving steel without cutting himself, let alone stooping over. He had the proud, easy, alert stance of the warrior. He looked askance at Serreg, keeping one ear alert while focusing most of his attention on the hapless fugitive wedged in the rock.

"Well, now," said the giant, with a deep and gravelly voice. It reminded Serreg of steel-shod boots marching over bones, or boulders catapulting into the masonry of castle walls. "A helpless archwizard. That's not something you see every day."

Serreg's eyes traveled down the length of the visitor's body. He was unshaven, and his nose had been broken multiple times, but he was no less handsome for it. His broad, battle-scarred chest was bare, protected only by the cloak that covered his wide shoulders. His arms, all- all three, no, four… or five… well, all that Serreg could see… all carried weapons: a spear, a scimitar, an axe, a war flail's spiked heads dangling near his ankles, and a skull wielded like a club, gripped with fingers through the eye sockets and thumb under the teeth.