The Year of the Rogue Dragons 03 - The Ruin by Forgotten Realms

Author:Forgotten Realms [Forgotten Realms]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-01-08T17:47:43+00:00

Pavel had learned that druids dominated the religious life of Sossal. Priests of his sort were a rarity. Still, like most decent folk, the Sossrim honored the Morninglord, and the warriors welcomed whatever aid and solace one of his servants could give them. Accordingly, when the company made one of its brief stops, he had less opportunity to rest than his companions, even though, after the frantic trek to warn them of Zethrindor's approach, he probably needed it more.

His sun amulet clasped in his hand, he prayed for Lathander's blessing, invoking bursts of dawnlight that lifted the spirit and temporarily banished fatigue from weary muscles. He used magic and his physician's skills to help men afflicted with blisters, fevers, and coughs.

Then the army rushed on once more, and he rushed with It, his bad leg aching. He struggled against the temptation to ease his own pain with a spell. He was running through his store of magic quickly, and didn't want to waste power he might truly need later on.

Stival fell into step beside him. "You're limping," the stocky ranger said. "Are you all right'?"

"Fine," Pavel gasped. "I've had this for a while."

"The river's not much farther," Stival said. "Once we're across, I imagine Madislak will let us camp."

Upon learning of Zethrindor's intentions, the old druid had turned his army east, toward a river that had supposedly frozen solid enough for them to cross. When they reached the other side, Madislak, aided by his fellow spellcasters, planned to melt the ice, thus balking their foes. Only winged creatures like the dracolich, the white wyrms, and the ice drakes would be able to continue the pursuit, and Stival and his fellow captains doubted the reptiles, mighty though they were, would opt to attack without the support of their underlings.

Pavel's steaming breath glowed in Selûne's silvery light. The army advanced with a muted crunching as hundreds of footsteps broke through the crusted snow. The world repeatedly lurched and shifted, and he realized he was dozing off and jerking awake again. It didn't seem to stop him from walking, so perhaps he should be grateful not to experience every miserable instant of the march.

"I keep thinking," Stival murmured after a time, "I could have been in Damara by now, serving this Dragonsbane you talk about, or one of his barons."

Pavel snorted. "You wouldn't abandon your own country in its time of need."

"Apparently not, but I did consider it," Stival said. Evidently, cold as it was, the march was making him too warm, for he pulled open the front of his bearskin mantle. "My idea of soldiering is, you chase bandits and goblins. Enemies trained warriors can handle without a lot of trouble. Or, if you have to fight something awful, like a dragon, you make sure it's only one, you bring overwhelming force against it, and you make sure you get the bulk of the credit for killing it. That's the way to build a reputation and still keep all your limbs attached to your trunk.

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