The Hour of the Gate

Серия: Spellsinger, книга 2

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"Cold front, warm front, counteract my affront.

Isobars and isotherms violently descend.

Nimbus, cumulus, poles opposizing,

Ions in a mighty surge my doubters upend!"

A thunderous roar deafened everyone in the room and there

was a blinding flare. Jen-Tom dazedly struggled back to a

standing position to see Clothahump slowly picking himself

up off the floor and readjusting his glasses.

Wuckle Three-Stripe lay on the floor in front of him,

having been blown completely across the council table. His

ceremonial chair was a pile of smoking ash. Behind it a neat

hole had been melted through the thick leaded glass where the

tiny lightning bolt had penetrated. The fact that it was a

cloudless day made the feat all the more impressive.

The Mayor disdained the help of one of the other council-

lors. Brushing himself off and rearranging his clothing, he

Alan Dean Poster

waddled back behind the table. A new chair was brought and