The First Stone

Начало книги

The dragon folded its wings against its sleek body; the stones of the keep shuddered under its weight. Four years ago, when they had first encountered Sfithrisir in a high valley in the Fal Erenn, Grace thought the dragon looked like an enormous sooty swan. Now it seemed more like a vulture. Its featherless hide absorbed the starlight, and its eyes glowed like coals. The small saurian head wove slowly at the end of a ropelike neck, and a constant hiss of steam escaped the bony hook of its beak.

Fear and smoke choked her, and Grace fought for breath and to keep her wits. She had to have both if she was going to survive.

“Answer . . . answer me this, and an answer you shall have,” she said in a trembling voice, speaking the ancient greeting which she had learned from Falken. “One secret for one secret in trade. Why have you–”

“Mist and misery!” the dragon snorted, the words emanating from deep in its gullet. “There is no time for foolish rituals concocted by mortals whose bones have long since turned to dust. I did not come here to barter with you for secrets, Blademender. The end of all things comes. Have you not seen the rift in the sky? Surely it has grown large enough that even your mortal eyes can see it now. And it will keep growing. Now it conceals the stars, but soon it will swallow them, and worlds as well. It will not cease until it has consumed everything there is to consume, until all that remains is nothing. . . .”

Читать дальше →