desired for his treasure hoard. The dragon, of course, was too clever to go anywhere near the Temple of the Holy Orders of the Stars, but word of Kiernan’s harassment reached the clerics nevertheless. It was Elethia herself who chose to leave the temple and confront Kiernan.
“By this time the red dragon had grown much bolder, and the beast began flying over Tresvka, threatening to burn the town to ashes if the citizens didn’t pay him tribute. The people of Tresvka decided to pay. But just as Kiernan was about to fly away with the valuables he had forced the townsfolk to gather for him, Elethia arrived.
“She demanded that Kiernan leave the tribute, depart Tresvka and the surrounding lands, and never return. Kiernan, however, was an evil, proud dragon and refused. He attacked Elethia. Wielding the holy power granted to her by the gods, she fought back. Ultimately, Elethia placed a blessing upon an arrow and fired it at the raging dragon flying high above. The holy arrow flew straight and true and struck the beast in the eye. Kiernan crashed to the ground, dead, a threat no more.”
When Sindri’s tale ended, everyone was silent for a moment, then the kender grinned sheepishly. “I hope I told the tale well enough. I’ve only heard it told once, and I’m not sure I did the story justice.”
“You did a fine job, Sindri,” Catriona said, her tone gentle for a change.
“Indeed,” Nearra said. “It seems you are also a wizard with words when you wish to be.”
Sindri blushed, then his gaze immediately darted around the room like an impatient hummingbird. He nodded his head in time to the bard’s music. Nearra agreed with Davyn. Sindri’s disguise wasn’t an especially effective one, but it made her smile to see the kender enjoying his masquerade so much.
“’Ere now, wot’s yer problem?” Nearra looked up and saw a bald-headed man with a nose ring and a scar running down the middle of his face from crown to chin. The man was glaring straight at Sindri. The kender looked around to see if he was addressing anyone else. Finally, Sindri said, “Do you mean me?”
“Yeah, I mean you! I been wash … wash … watching youfor a while now. And I got a question for you. What in the name of Paladine is wrong with yer head?”
Nearra could tell by the way the man slurred his speech—not to mention his blood-shot eyes—that he’d partaken of too much ale this evening. And he was obviously the type who was made belligerent by drink.
“Why, whatever do you mean, my good man?” Sindri then blinked several times to feign puzzlement.
Nearra had to keep from rolling her eyes. The kender might be a wizard, but he certainly wasn’t an actor.
“I mean yer bloody head!” the drunk said in exasperation. “It’s too small for yer body! I’ve heard tell that some savages who inhabit distant lands shrink the heads of their enemies. Is that wot happened to you?”
“So our friend has a small head. What is it to you? Go back to your table and leave us in peace.” Davyn’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sure there’s a mug full of ale somewhere that’s calling your name.”
The man scowled. “Are you calling me a drunk?”
“No,” Davyn said. “I’m saying you are drunk, and I’m asking you to go bother someone else.”
The man made a sound low in his throat that was nearly a growl. He reached beneath the belt of his tunic for his iron mace. His fingers fumbled clumsily as he struggled to draw the weapon.
“Take that back, boy, or I’m gonna bath … bath … bash yer head in!”
Sindri sighed. “This was fun at first, but it’s beginning to grow tiresome. If you don’t do as my friend asks, I’m afraid I’ll be forced to cast a spell on you.”
“Not now, Sindri!” Catriona hissed.
“A shh … a shh … a shpell? Wot, you some kinda wizard?” He laughed. “Well, that would ’splain the size of yer head. You musta shrunk it when one of yer spells went wrong!” He roared with
“By this time the red dragon had grown much bolder, and the beast began flying over Tresvka, threatening to burn the town to ashes if the citizens didn’t pay him tribute. The people of Tresvka decided to pay. But just as Kiernan was about to fly away with the valuables he had forced the townsfolk to gather for him, Elethia arrived.
“She demanded that Kiernan leave the tribute, depart Tresvka and the surrounding lands, and never return. Kiernan, however, was an evil, proud dragon and refused. He attacked Elethia. Wielding the holy power granted to her by the gods, she fought back. Ultimately, Elethia placed a blessing upon an arrow and fired it at the raging dragon flying high above. The holy arrow flew straight and true and struck the beast in the eye. Kiernan crashed to the ground, dead, a threat no more.”
When Sindri’s tale ended, everyone was silent for a moment, then the kender grinned sheepishly. “I hope I told the tale well enough. I’ve only heard it told once, and I’m not sure I did the story justice.”
“You did a fine job, Sindri,” Catriona said, her tone gentle for a change.
“Indeed,” Nearra said. “It seems you are also a wizard with words when you wish to be.”
Sindri blushed, then his gaze immediately darted around the room like an impatient hummingbird. He nodded his head in time to the bard’s music. Nearra agreed with Davyn. Sindri’s disguise wasn’t an especially effective one, but it made her smile to see the kender enjoying his masquerade so much.
“’Ere now, wot’s yer problem?” Nearra looked up and saw a bald-headed man with a nose ring and a scar running down the middle of his face from crown to chin. The man was glaring straight at Sindri. The kender looked around to see if he was addressing anyone else. Finally, Sindri said, “Do you mean me?”
“Yeah, I mean you! I been wash … wash … watching youfor a while now. And I got a question for you. What in the name of Paladine is wrong with yer head?”
Nearra could tell by the way the man slurred his speech—not to mention his blood-shot eyes—that he’d partaken of too much ale this evening. And he was obviously the type who was made belligerent by drink.
“Why, whatever do you mean, my good man?” Sindri then blinked several times to feign puzzlement.
Nearra had to keep from rolling her eyes. The kender might be a wizard, but he certainly wasn’t an actor.
“I mean yer bloody head!” the drunk said in exasperation. “It’s too small for yer body! I’ve heard tell that some savages who inhabit distant lands shrink the heads of their enemies. Is that wot happened to you?”
“So our friend has a small head. What is it to you? Go back to your table and leave us in peace.” Davyn’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sure there’s a mug full of ale somewhere that’s calling your name.”
The man scowled. “Are you calling me a drunk?”
“No,” Davyn said. “I’m saying you are drunk, and I’m asking you to go bother someone else.”
The man made a sound low in his throat that was nearly a growl. He reached beneath the belt of his tunic for his iron mace. His fingers fumbled clumsily as he struggled to draw the weapon.
“Take that back, boy, or I’m gonna bath … bath … bash yer head in!”
Sindri sighed. “This was fun at first, but it’s beginning to grow tiresome. If you don’t do as my friend asks, I’m afraid I’ll be forced to cast a spell on you.”
“Not now, Sindri!” Catriona hissed.
“A shh … a shh … a shpell? Wot, you some kinda wizard?” He laughed. “Well, that would ’splain the size of yer head. You musta shrunk it when one of yer spells went wrong!” He roared with
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