William R. Forstchen Magic The Gathering Arena

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He threw one more spell, knocking a fighter down in flames, the man turning
away, shrieking and running in circles, the crowd howling with delight at this
final act of defiance.
Garth looked back at the door into the House of Fentesk. It was unbarred and
filled now with spectators. Even as the next blast struck him, he tore his
satchel off and threw it toward the door.
Varena! Sanctuary! Garth shouted as his satchel skidded to a stop before
the Orange fighters gathered about the door.
His mana now no longer at his side, he was naked, and the next blast knocked
him into oblivion.
-------
CHAPTER 8
HAMMEN.
The voice was a whisper, as if drifting on the wind. Frightened, he turned,
expecting to see the fighters of the Grand Master.
The alleyway was deserted.
In the distance the clamor of the mob out in the great square could still be
heard. Rioting had broken out after Garth fell. Some of it triggered by lost
bets, because many had come to believe him almost invincible. Others,
however, were enraged because a favorite had been taken and in some primal
sort of way the mob felt it to be unfair. Their sense of honor had been
offended both by the Grand Master and by Orange, which had barred the door to
their hero. The adventure of the almost-legendary One-eye, which had grown in
the telling to near-mythical proportions, was now finished, and they were
disappointed.
Windows not broken in the brawl of the day before were being smashed, and
chants of One-eye, One-eye could be heard swelling on the wind.
Disgusted, Hammen listened, knowing that if anything it was just an excuse for
a little free shopping and that the actual rightness or wrongness of what had
happened was secondary. Later they could say that they had protested the
unfairness while gorging on the food and wine they had appropriated and
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parading about in the fine silks taken from some unfortunate merchant. Thus
it had always been with urban mobs, who would riot on a whim, a mere pretext
of an excuse, Hammen thought, and yet remain mute when real injustice
occurred.
Hammen.
He ducked back into the shadows and reached for his dagger as he saw a shadow
drift through the alleyway, moving stealthily, the only sound the squealing of
rats disrupted from their late-night repast.
The shadow stopped.
It s Norreen; it s all right.
It was the Benalish woman and he breathed a sigh of relief.
She came up to him.
I saw you in the Plaza and followed you, she whispered.
Some hero you were, Hammen snapped. You could have made your name out
there.
Did you go up and stand by his side? she growled in reply.
No.
Why not?
I m not the hero, you are. Besides, it was useless; he was finished.
That s why I held back. Never pick a fight that s suicide.
Hammen nodded sadly.
So it s over. Now leave me alone.
It s not over. He s still alive.
So what? They have him. Either they ll torture him to death tonight, or
keep him for the amusement of the Walker. Either way it would have been
better if he had killed himself with his last spell.
He threw his satchel away before the end.
What?
Who s Varena? she asked, her voice suddenly soft.
Hammen chuckled and shook his head.
A final pleasure.
Oh. She was silent for a moment.
You say he threw his satchel away? Hammen asked curiously.
He called her name and then demanded sanctuary for his spells. I saw a woman
snatch it up and then go back inside.
Hammen chuckled softly.
Just like him. What did the Grand Master s men do then?
They took him and bound him up. Some of them went up to the door and
demanded the satchel be turned over as a rightful prize and Orange barred the
door shut. The mob loved it. They then loaded
Garth into a cart and that s when the rioting started.
Hammen looked expectantly back up the alleyway, the sound of the riot still
echoing over the city, and he started to step out of the shadows.
There s nothing we can do now, Norreen sighed. There s hundreds of
warriors out there and nearly all the Grand Master s fighters. Besides, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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