[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

and poorly understood from any spellbook he may look at. Do ye follow me?"
Narm nodded, slowly. "Good, then" the sage said. "I shall leave ye to thyself,
if ye promise me to study and cast your flaming sphere at least four times
more, here in this field, before ye rest for the day. Think on moving the
sphere just where ye want it, and making it form in just the place ye choose.
Think too on how ye can use such a weapon against, say, a running group of
goblins who will scamper in all directions when they see it coming, but always
try to get past it toward ye.
"Don't forget that only foolish and arrogant mages stand still after they have
cast to admire the view. Move, or a simple arrow will soon make ye a dead
mage, no matter how impressive ye were in life. Oh, and worry not about the
stubble; ye're doing the farmer who owns this a favor by burning it off. Try
not to take the fencing with it. It is harder to term that 'friendly help.' Do
I have thy promise?"
Narm nodded. "Yes, and my thanks."
"Thanks? It is impatient ye are again, Narm! The task's not done yet. Save thy
thanks until ye be master of this spell, at the least. Then thank yourself
first. I can talk all day and only waste breath if ye do not heed, and work,
and master the art."
ED GREENWOOD
Narm grinned. "You do," he replied. Ehninster grinned back, only for an
instant. The twinkle in his eye remained, though, as he became a falcon and
flew away.
Narm stood in the field and watched him go, sighed, and reached for his
spellbook. The sun was bright on the Old Skull. He sighed again and bent his
head to the book.
When he stood up, much later, to cast his first flaming sphere, Narm drew a
deep breath of satisfaction. At least he was alone and could work art without
wisely watching eyes and a lot of sharp comments. He turned to look around at
the stubble, enjoying the choosing of what he could burn at whim. It was then
that he noticed a small boy had appeared from somewhere and was hanging upon
the fence-rails watching him.
"Go away!" Narm said crossly. "This your field?" the boy replied laconically.
"You could get hurt!" Narm said. "I'll be casting spells here!"
"Aye. I've been watching. But I won't be hurt unless you cast spells at me.
You won't do that; there are no evil magic-workers in Shadowdale. Ma says
Elminster wont permit it." "I see," said Narm, and set his jaw. "Excuse me."
He turned away to hurl fire again.
The boy watched fire roll away once and stayed glued to the fence. All day
long he stayed, as Narm hurled fire, sat down to study, got up and threw fire
carefully again, and then went back to his books.
Narm was weary when he finally went to the gate at evening, and very thirsty.
The boy climbed down from the fence then, and fell into step beside Narm. "I
wish I could be a great mage, like you," he said, almost shyly.
Narm looked at him and laughed. "I wish I could be a great mage," he said
ruefully. "I know so little. I feel so useless."
The boy stared. "You?" He shook his head. "I saw you cast big balls of fire.
You point them where to go, and they move at your bidding! You must be
powerful!"
Narm shook his head, as they went on down the road. "Being a mage is a lot
more than just hurling balls of fire
about." The boy nodded at him, slowly, and then waved a sudden
SPF.IJ.FniF.
good-bye, ducked through a gap in a hedge off to one side of the road, and was
gone. Narm shrugged and walked on. Ahead he could see a patrol of guardsmen on
horseback, trotting toward him with lances raised. It must be nice to call a
place like this home.
Elminster was sitting out on a boulder near his front step, smoking, when Narm
came up the path. He put aside his pipe and regarded Narm thoughtfully.
"Well?" he asked. "Can ye put a sphere where ye want to?" Narm nodded. "So are
ye a mage, then?"
Narm shrugged. "I have a long road to go," he said, "before I am strong in
art. But I can stand in most company, now, and know my art will serve me." He
added proudly, "There will always be others more powerful, but I've truly
mastered what I do know."
"Oh?" Elminster asked softly. "Think ye so?" His features suddenly blurred and
shifted beneath the battered old hat, flowing and changing in a fascinating,
rather frightening manner. Narm stared at the shrinking sage, and suddenly
found himself facing the young boy who had watched his spell practice from the
fence. The little face grinned; the little mouth moved, and in a perfect
imitation of Narm's own voice said solemnly, "Being a mage is a lot more than
just hurling balls of fire about."
Narm stared at him in anger, then resignation, and then sheepish amusement.
"Elminster won't permit it, indeed," he said. "I can see that I'll have to
rise early in the day indeed to get ahead of you."
Elminster smiled. "Ah, but I have five hundred years' start on ye. Come.
Dinner is ready. Thy lady is a cook of rare skill. Yfe have chosen correctly.
See that ye serve her as well, boy, as she serves ye." With this last sage
advice he knocked his pipe out on the doorstep and went in. Narm looked once
at the stars, beginning to sparkle as the sky darkened, and followed him
inside.
SOI
To Walk Unseera
The bards soon forget a warrior falling without
a great feat of arms. Would you be forgotten?
Face each battle, each foe, as though it is your
last. One day it will be.
Dathlance of Selgaunt
An Old Warrior's Way
Year of the Blade
The morning sun laid bright fingers upon the table where they sat in the
audience chamber of the Twisted Tbwer. Shandril watched stray dust motes
sparkle above the table as she and Narm waited for Elminster to come in from
dawnfry in the great hall. Narm's hand found hers, and they sat together in
contented silence, alone with the fading tapestries of Shadowdale's past and [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
  • zanotowane.pl
  • doc.pisz.pl
  • pdf.pisz.pl
  • rafalstec.xlx.pl