scales and fiery red pupilless eyes. The scarlet glow shone like embers.
From her hiding place, Tareah felt the hairy demon’s deep-set eyes strike her with an overwhelming feeling of sadness and pity. She blinked to shake away the emotion. She wanted to shout for help, but the other villagers lived too far away. She didn’t have the Water Stone with her, and only Tarne could actually fight the monster.
The serpent reared up upon seeing the armored fighter standing before it. The hairy monster did not move until the serpent coiled and squeezed the demon’s massive ribs, urging it forward. The tree-trunk legs stumbled toward Tarne.
“You are called the Slave of the Serpent,” Tarne said. His voice sounded strong, empty, different. “I have been waiting for you.”
The Serpent hissed, and the scarlet light blazed brighter. “Who are you?”
“Go back to Scartaris. There’s nothing for you here.” Tarne said the words as if he had memorized them, as if they were expected of him.
“Scartaris must have the Fire Stone back. Must destroy fighter named Delrael and any other character who would quest against Scartaris.”
Tarne swallowed. “Then I am Delrael.” He held his sword before him, wavering the tip back and forth. “I’ll take any quests I want if I can save Gamearth.”
Tareah wanted to cheer for him—she could write down the legend of his brave fight to defend the Stronghold.
“Give back the Fire Stone!” the Serpent said, bobbing its head up and down.
“Sorry, we need it right now.”
By the storehouse, Tareah watched with wide eyes, saying nothing. They were about to battle, just like in the old stories. Tarne was a talented fighter, a veteran of many quests and campaigns. He remained silent as he faced the demon and glared at the Serpent.
She didn’t know if she was expected to help fight. But Delrael had called her inexperienced. She would only get in the way, maybe even hurt Tarne’s chances.
The Serpent urged the lumbering Slave forward, nipping it. The fangs dripped foul-smelling venom. The monster heaved itself forward, reluctant to move closer to the fighter.
The Slave halted a moment as its pitiful eyes met the bald veteran’s. But the moment was shattered as the Serpent savagely sank fangs into the Slave’s neck, making it howl in pain and rage.
Tarne leaped in, moving with a smooth grace that belied his age. The chains on his armor reflected starlight and the greenish aurora. He surprised the demon with his attack, feinting, shifting the Slave’s guard, and slashing at its belly. The notched edge of the old blade sliced through the monster’s tough chest plate, but the Slave looked more angry than injured.
It swung a clawed fist at Tarne, but the fighter hacked into the massive paw. The beast roared and swung backward with his other arm, catching the fighter with a glancing blow. Tarne spun, but recovered his balance as the Slave struck again.
The sword from the old Sorcerers flashed up as the Slave tried to maul him but instead impaled its own forearm on the tip of the blade. The monster howled, jerking its injured arm away from the sword, then swatted at the blade with its other paw.
Tarne saw his chance and thrust in at the chest plate, but the Slave’s thick hide protected it from serious harm. It lashed again with a wounded arm, but the monster moved slowly. Tarne dodged and came back in, hacking with two-handed strokes.
He looked up and his eyes met the Serpent’s.
The huge snake began weaving back and forth, swaying and hissing like a rhythmic fire with green wood. The Serpent kept the fighter’s eyes locked to its own. From her hiding place, Tareah could see the veteran becoming entranced by the hypnotic movement, dropping his guard.
Tareah stood up. They didn’t see her. She had to do something, use one of her spells.…She couldn’t run and get the Water Stone, and she felt small and defenseless. She could attack with a minor fireball, perhaps, or a
From her hiding place, Tareah felt the hairy demon’s deep-set eyes strike her with an overwhelming feeling of sadness and pity. She blinked to shake away the emotion. She wanted to shout for help, but the other villagers lived too far away. She didn’t have the Water Stone with her, and only Tarne could actually fight the monster.
The serpent reared up upon seeing the armored fighter standing before it. The hairy monster did not move until the serpent coiled and squeezed the demon’s massive ribs, urging it forward. The tree-trunk legs stumbled toward Tarne.
“You are called the Slave of the Serpent,” Tarne said. His voice sounded strong, empty, different. “I have been waiting for you.”
The Serpent hissed, and the scarlet light blazed brighter. “Who are you?”
“Go back to Scartaris. There’s nothing for you here.” Tarne said the words as if he had memorized them, as if they were expected of him.
“Scartaris must have the Fire Stone back. Must destroy fighter named Delrael and any other character who would quest against Scartaris.”
Tarne swallowed. “Then I am Delrael.” He held his sword before him, wavering the tip back and forth. “I’ll take any quests I want if I can save Gamearth.”
Tareah wanted to cheer for him—she could write down the legend of his brave fight to defend the Stronghold.
“Give back the Fire Stone!” the Serpent said, bobbing its head up and down.
“Sorry, we need it right now.”
By the storehouse, Tareah watched with wide eyes, saying nothing. They were about to battle, just like in the old stories. Tarne was a talented fighter, a veteran of many quests and campaigns. He remained silent as he faced the demon and glared at the Serpent.
She didn’t know if she was expected to help fight. But Delrael had called her inexperienced. She would only get in the way, maybe even hurt Tarne’s chances.
The Serpent urged the lumbering Slave forward, nipping it. The fangs dripped foul-smelling venom. The monster heaved itself forward, reluctant to move closer to the fighter.
The Slave halted a moment as its pitiful eyes met the bald veteran’s. But the moment was shattered as the Serpent savagely sank fangs into the Slave’s neck, making it howl in pain and rage.
Tarne leaped in, moving with a smooth grace that belied his age. The chains on his armor reflected starlight and the greenish aurora. He surprised the demon with his attack, feinting, shifting the Slave’s guard, and slashing at its belly. The notched edge of the old blade sliced through the monster’s tough chest plate, but the Slave looked more angry than injured.
It swung a clawed fist at Tarne, but the fighter hacked into the massive paw. The beast roared and swung backward with his other arm, catching the fighter with a glancing blow. Tarne spun, but recovered his balance as the Slave struck again.
The sword from the old Sorcerers flashed up as the Slave tried to maul him but instead impaled its own forearm on the tip of the blade. The monster howled, jerking its injured arm away from the sword, then swatted at the blade with its other paw.
Tarne saw his chance and thrust in at the chest plate, but the Slave’s thick hide protected it from serious harm. It lashed again with a wounded arm, but the monster moved slowly. Tarne dodged and came back in, hacking with two-handed strokes.
He looked up and his eyes met the Serpent’s.
The huge snake began weaving back and forth, swaying and hissing like a rhythmic fire with green wood. The Serpent kept the fighter’s eyes locked to its own. From her hiding place, Tareah could see the veteran becoming entranced by the hypnotic movement, dropping his guard.
Tareah stood up. They didn’t see her. She had to do something, use one of her spells.…She couldn’t run and get the Water Stone, and she felt small and defenseless. She could attack with a minor fireball, perhaps, or a
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