Color of Magic by Terry Pratchett

Author:Terry Pratchett [Pratchett, Terry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Humour, Science Fiction, Adventure
ISBN: 9780060855925
Goodreads: 34497
Publisher: Harper
Published: 1983-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

When he awoke a dragon was watching him; at least, it was staring in his general direction. Rincewind groaned and tried to dig his way into the moss with his shoulderblades, then gasped as the pain hit him.

Through the mists of agony and fear he looked back at the dragon.

The creature was hanging from a branch of a large dead oak tree, several hundred feet away. Its bronze-gold wings were tightly wrapped around its body but the long equine head turned this way and that at the end of a remarkably prehensile neck. It was scanning the forest.

It was also semitransparent. Although the sun glinted off its scales, Rincewind could clearly make out the outlines of the branches behind it.

On one of them a man was sitting, dwarfed by the hanging reptile. He appeared to be naked except for a pair of high boots, a tiny leather hold-all in the region of his groin, and a high-crested helmet. He was swinging a short sword back and forth idly, and stared out across the treetops with the air of one carrying out a tedious and unglamorous assignment.

A beetle began to crawl laboriously up Rincewind’s leg.

The wizard wondered how much damage a half-solid dragon could do. Would it only half-kill him? He decided not to stay and find out.

Moving on heels, fingertips and shoulder muscles, Rincewind wriggled sideways until foliage masked the oak and its occupants. Then he scrambled to his feet and hared off between the trees.

He had no destination in mind, no provisions, and no horse. But while he still had legs he could run. Ferns and brambles whipped at him, but he didn’t feel them at all.

When he had put about a mile between him and the dragon he stopped and collapsed against a tree, which then spoke to him.

“Psst,” it said.

Dreading what he might see, Rincewind let his gaze slide upward. It tried to fasten on innocuous bits of bark and leaf, but the scourge of curiosity forced it to leave them behind. Finally it fixed on a black sword thrust straight through the branch above Rincewind’s head.

“Don’t just stand there,” said the sword (in a voice like the sound of a finger dragged around the rim of a large empty wine glass). “Pull me out.”

“What?” said Rincewind, his chest still heaving.

“Pull me out,” repeated Kring. “It’s either that or I’ll be spending the next million years in a coal measure. Did I ever tell you about the time I was thrown into a lake up in the—”

“What happened to the others?” said Rincewind, still clutching the tree desperately.

“Oh, the dragons got them. And the horses. And that box thing. Me too, except that Hrun dropped me. What a stroke of luck for you.”

“Well—” began Rincewind. Kring ignored him.

“I expect you’ll be in a hurry to rescue them,” it added.

“Yes, well—”

“So if you’ll just pull me out we can be off.”

Rincewind squinted up at the sword. A rescue attempt had hitherto been so far at the back of

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