Читать книгу The Dragon Egg Saga - Stephen Lindsay J. - Страница 4

On the outskirts of the Wal-Mart parking lot, sitting atop a tall, out of commission streetlight, is the wizard Mayowen. His long, white beard stretch out to the side as the bitter night winds swirl around him. His white robes flutter and fall, flutter and fall. Only his white, pointy, wide-brimmed hat seems to be unaffected by the winds. It sits atop his head, steady as a lighthouse in a hurricane. How a man of his advanced years could perch in such a place is nothing short of astounding. Hell, an 18 year old gymnast in peak physical condition would find it nearly impossible to keep his balance in such a place. And yet there he is, Old Man Winter himself (as Karl thought of him). Seeing him up there could lead one to believe that he was responsible for the night’s cold winds. But that is not the case. At least, it’s not this time. True, he is capable of such a thing. Controlling the weather is mere child’s play to a being as powerful as Mayowen. But not this night. This night he simply watches, waits, and lets the weather do what it must.

The scene below plays out much as he expects it to. Karl, with his newfound vitality after shedding his bloated, lazy lifestyle, charges in headlong and stubborn. He fights well at first, admirably, even. But to spearhead an attack is one thing – to rush in unaccompanied is quite another. Were it not for the quick actions of Melissa, her fingers dancing through the air, her lips whispering the latest incantation Mayowen has taught her, Karl would be dead right now. And then there is Clayton, the boy of shadows. His deft movements and quick decisions will prove to be invaluable in the battles Mayowen foresees upon the vast horizon of time.

Each is progressing well on their own. But to survive the dangers Mayowen knows to lie ahead, they will have to find a way to come together. No amount of magic, from this world or any other, is capable of sealing the bond of fellowship. That has to grow of its own accord, or not grow at all.

A large crow lands upon the streetlight next to Mayowen. It cocks an eye toward the old wizard, its head twitching nervously. It caws twice, trying to shoo this large, odd creature from its territory. Mayowen stares back, pushing his gaze deep into the birds black eyes.

“And where would you have me observe from, Master Blackbird? Down there? I should think not.”

The crow caws again, then ruffles its feathers, puffing itself out in a show of dominance.

Mayowen’s bushy, white eyebrows raise in a look of befuddlement. “Well I never… Such insolence in this world, even from the fowls.” With the slightest twitch of his fingers, a fresh gust of wind bursts forth from the empty space beneath the crow, lifting it off of its perch and into the air. It tumbles once, then spreads its wings and takes flight, cawing with indignation.

Mayowen chuckles to himself and turns his attention back to his trio of apprentices. They cross the remainder of the parking lot, stepping over the multitude of cracks and brakes in the asphalt where weeds and grass have started to once again lay claim. There is a faint but visible confidence to their walk. They’ve defeated these Bludden with relative ease and they know it.

He whistles a sharp breath from between clenched teeth. Minor skirmishes with small packs of Bludden is one thing. They could probably survived most of those on nerve, guts, and luck. But in that building, Mayowen knows, is something altogether more terrible than any of them has faced before.

They’re entering as one, he thinks. Now let us hope that they fight as one as well.