Read Online King Kobold revived-Warlock-2.5 by Christopher Stasheff - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Christopher Stasheff
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, adventure, Fantasy, Epic, Science Fiction - General, Fiction - Science Fiction, Space Opera
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around him. “Whoever sent that one prayer, prays no longer.”
“Then, there’s no way of telling how close they are. Can’t be long now, though.”
In the distance, thunder rumbled.
Then it came, gliding out of the mist with muted splashing—a tall, gaunt ser-pent, mouth wide in a snarl, wicked horns probing from its forehead. Shadowy figures moved on its back. Rod held his breath.
The dragon drove up onto the beach, slowing to a stop with the grinding of sand against wood. Beastmen began to drop off its back—squat, hulking, hel-meted shapes, with round shields covering their torsos and heavy, double-bladed axes in their hands.
Rod squinted, trying to make out details through the rain, but it was no use. He could scarcely see more than a silhouette.
“Let me fight, Lord Warlock,” Toby hissed in his ear.
Rod whirled, pressing a finger to his lips and shaking his head with a furious scowl. Confound the kid, did he want to give away the whole ambush? Rod could’ve sworn his lieutenants could’ve heard that whisper a hundred yards away in the tree line. He wished Toby could read his mind—but he had to settle for a glare and a head-shake. The lad’s juvenile male hormones were getting the better of him, urging him Page 33
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on to glory and an early funeral. Which was his own business—but Rod’s business was making sure Toby’d still be alive afterwards for his main assignment. Which would be more than dangerous enough. The young man stepped back, smoldering.
Rod turned back to the beach just as the beastmen saw Styenkov’s soldiers. Whatever they yelled to each other was lost in a rumble of thunder, but they quickly scuttled into place, pulling themselves into a rough semblance of a line. Then they began to move forward slowly. One or two of Styenkov’s soldiers began to march toward the beastmen. He shouted them back into line. Good man. The rest of his men brandished their pikes, waiting for the enemy. The beastmen were halfway up the beach now. Rod could hear a low rumble as they called to one another. They were beginning to realize something was wrong; their tone was one of alarm, and their advance was grinding down to a halt. What was tipping Rod’s hand? He darted a glance at Styenkov’s soldiers, then looked again. Here and there, a man had straightened up a little, pike drooping—and stood frozen at a completely improbable angle. Rod realized they were the ones who had forgotten the standing order and had looked the enemy square in the eye. Now they were temporary statues, frozen by the Evil Eye.
So it really worked! It wasn’t imagination!
But the rest of Styenkov’s men were watching the enemy’s hands, or feet—and were still very much a menace. The beast-men slowed and stopped—apparently they didn’t have too much taste for an even fight. They hunched in on themselves, heads hunkered down; they seemed to be waiting. For what?
The beastmen began to make bellowing noises in deep rumbling bass voices. Rod suddenly realized that they were calling out in unison. He strained, trying to pick intelligible phonemes out of booming voices. It was getting easier, because they were getting their timing better; it was almost one unified shout now. Rod listened, then shook his head; there was no way of saying what it meant in their own language. To him, though, it sounded like:
“Cobalt! Cobalt! Cobalt!”
… Which was ridiculous; at their level of technology, they couldn’t even have the concept of bombs, let alone atomic fission.
Thunder rocked the land, and the beach lit up with an explosion of lightning. Then there was only gloom again, darker for having had the sudden light. Rod peered through the murk—and stared. Sir Styenkov’s men stood frozen in their buskins!
A ragged cheer rumbled up from the beastmen, and they waddled forward, making a grating sound. With a shock, Rod realized they were
“Then, there’s no way of telling how close they are. Can’t be long now, though.”
In the distance, thunder rumbled.
Then it came, gliding out of the mist with muted splashing—a tall, gaunt ser-pent, mouth wide in a snarl, wicked horns probing from its forehead. Shadowy figures moved on its back. Rod held his breath.
The dragon drove up onto the beach, slowing to a stop with the grinding of sand against wood. Beastmen began to drop off its back—squat, hulking, hel-meted shapes, with round shields covering their torsos and heavy, double-bladed axes in their hands.
Rod squinted, trying to make out details through the rain, but it was no use. He could scarcely see more than a silhouette.
“Let me fight, Lord Warlock,” Toby hissed in his ear.
Rod whirled, pressing a finger to his lips and shaking his head with a furious scowl. Confound the kid, did he want to give away the whole ambush? Rod could’ve sworn his lieutenants could’ve heard that whisper a hundred yards away in the tree line. He wished Toby could read his mind—but he had to settle for a glare and a head-shake. The lad’s juvenile male hormones were getting the better of him, urging him Page 33
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
on to glory and an early funeral. Which was his own business—but Rod’s business was making sure Toby’d still be alive afterwards for his main assignment. Which would be more than dangerous enough. The young man stepped back, smoldering.
Rod turned back to the beach just as the beastmen saw Styenkov’s soldiers. Whatever they yelled to each other was lost in a rumble of thunder, but they quickly scuttled into place, pulling themselves into a rough semblance of a line. Then they began to move forward slowly. One or two of Styenkov’s soldiers began to march toward the beastmen. He shouted them back into line. Good man. The rest of his men brandished their pikes, waiting for the enemy. The beastmen were halfway up the beach now. Rod could hear a low rumble as they called to one another. They were beginning to realize something was wrong; their tone was one of alarm, and their advance was grinding down to a halt. What was tipping Rod’s hand? He darted a glance at Styenkov’s soldiers, then looked again. Here and there, a man had straightened up a little, pike drooping—and stood frozen at a completely improbable angle. Rod realized they were the ones who had forgotten the standing order and had looked the enemy square in the eye. Now they were temporary statues, frozen by the Evil Eye.
So it really worked! It wasn’t imagination!
But the rest of Styenkov’s men were watching the enemy’s hands, or feet—and were still very much a menace. The beast-men slowed and stopped—apparently they didn’t have too much taste for an even fight. They hunched in on themselves, heads hunkered down; they seemed to be waiting. For what?
The beastmen began to make bellowing noises in deep rumbling bass voices. Rod suddenly realized that they were calling out in unison. He strained, trying to pick intelligible phonemes out of booming voices. It was getting easier, because they were getting their timing better; it was almost one unified shout now. Rod listened, then shook his head; there was no way of saying what it meant in their own language. To him, though, it sounded like:
“Cobalt! Cobalt! Cobalt!”
… Which was ridiculous; at their level of technology, they couldn’t even have the concept of bombs, let alone atomic fission.
Thunder rocked the land, and the beach lit up with an explosion of lightning. Then there was only gloom again, darker for having had the sudden light. Rod peered through the murk—and stared. Sir Styenkov’s men stood frozen in their buskins!
A ragged cheer rumbled up from the beastmen, and they waddled forward, making a grating sound. With a shock, Rod realized they were
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