Song of the Risen God by R. A. Salvatore

Author:R. A. Salvatore [Salvatore, R. A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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“Sound the bells!” Abbot Ohwan instructed, calling the monks to gather in the nave of St. Honce. He rushed into the main room, most of the masters at his side, many others streaming in from the many side doors.

He began issuing orders as the bells began to sound. Some would go to the south wall to help the Allheart Knights get back into the city. Others would turn this very nave into a hospital for the expected wounded. He sent a group of monks to the secured storerooms for gemstones, mostly soul stones, and told the brothers to pray for strength.

“We will need it in these coming days,” the abbot told them. “A great trial is upon Ursal. Unknown enemies have come against us. But we will turn them aside, and with King Midalis leading us, we will drive them from Honce with such certainty that they will never come against us again!”

He was hoping for a great and momentous cheer with that proclamation, hoping to rouse his brethren to greater heights of power and determination, but instead, just as he finished, the pealing bell hit a strange and off-tune note, and the whole of the giant monastery shook.

At the back end of the nave, not far from where Abbot Ohwan was standing, the ceiling cracked and broke apart, sending monks scrambling every which way, and through that break tumbled a gigantic pole—no, a spear, Ohwan realized to his horror—that smashed upon and shattered the altar.

Then came St. Honce’s giant bell, tumbling and dropping to land with a dull, echoing clang.

A few brothers were hurt, but none too seriously.

“You see!” Abbot Ohwan cried, trying to save his message and their morale. “Let us go and defeat these profane monsters! To arms, my brothers!”

The cheer did begin this time, but only briefly, for then came the barrage, three lines of heavy stones slamming St. Honce, crumbling her walls. The monks fled in terror when the main tower collapsed, stumbling through the nave and onto the street.

The building’s back wall buckled and crumbled into an avalanche of stone and dust, the entire structure groaning and cracking and tumbling down.

Abbot Ohwan barely escaped, and he would have been buried in the rubble had not two brothers grabbed him and dragged him across the nave and out the front doors. The trio scrambled down the stairs to the street, just ahead of the giant breath of rubble, a thick cloud of dust and small flying stones that gasped out of the destroyed building’s large front doors.

Filthy and bruised, Ohwan looked back at his beautiful monastery, then around at his battered brethren, at the Ursal folk screaming and running every which way. He followed many of their gawking expressions skyward and caught a glimpse of the gigantic, snakelike dragon swimming across the sky, carrying a huge, manlike creature, a golden-skinned giant with a face red and blue.

Cries went up from within and without Ursal. Soldiers ran all about, with shouts to “Save the Allhearts in the south!” and then louder shouts for help on the west wall.

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