dima124
January 16th, 2002, 11:00 AM
Last Ring of Power.
The Novel.
Prelude.
Boy watched the fighters from the safety of the gutter. City
guards circled nine remaining fighters loyal to Fat Maxud and were
compressing the circle, ringing steel against steel and flinging curses
at their enemies. Soon the battle was over. Guards collected weapons
left on the bloody ground and went away carrying two of their number
fallen in the battle. People caught in the open during the skirmish were
still reluctant to approach the scene, so the boy was able to exit the
gutter and take a look at the bodies of fallen undisturbed by big and
strong adults. He pocketed a few coins missed by the guards and was
about to leave, when something shiny drew his attention. Fat Maxud
was lying face down in the dirt. His right hand was cut off just above
the elbow. The severed hand was right next to his head. There was a
ring on one of the fingers. For some reason the guards missed the ring,
and now the boy swooped down like a hawk and grabbed the hand.
He was about to pull off the ring, when someone roughly grabbed him
and turned him around. Large stinky beggar slapped him across the
face.
“Give me the ring, you little rat” – he growled expelling a wave of foul
stench .
Boy was terrified, but he was in the right. Whatever belonged to
criminals now belonged to him, since he was first person on the scene.
However the filthy beggar seemed to disagree . Blood spouting from his
cut lip, the boy bit the beggar’s hand, hard enough to pierce the
skin and taste the rotting flesh beneath. The beggar screamed in pain
and let go for a moment. A moment was all the boy needed. He ran like
the wind and his pursuer was quickly lost in the maze of city alleys.
Only when he was able to stop and catch his breath, did the boy
notice that Fat Maxud’s hand was gone. Even stranger, the ring that
once belonged to famous criminal now resided on the boy’s finger. He
could have sworn that he never even got a chance to pull the ring off,
much less to put it on his own finger. And another thing, Fat
Maxud’s fingers were large and swollen, while boy’s fingers were small
and thin. Despite all this the ring seemed to fit his finger snugly
enough to make him somehow wonder if it was made with his finger in mind.
That night the boy came home a winner. He handed his
mother four coins scavenged at the fight scene. Four coins would feed
and house their family for a month. His mother wept and hugged the
boy. He kept his right hand in the pocket the whole time. If his
mother saw the ring, she would never let him keep it. And it was his
ring. His by right.
Chapter 1.
Boy was dreaming. In his dream he was running through
the ancient looking forest all alone with no idea how he got there. He
never visited a place like this forest before, not even in dreams. In all
seven years of his life he never ever left the city , not even for a day.
Evil creatures roamed the countryside, said the priests and guards, evil
creatures who were after the children. Older kids sometimes
whispered that rather than evil creatures of myth, rebels were
encroaching ever closer to city borders. One day they would breach
the city walls and kill all guards and have their way with all pretty
maidens living in the city. Boy did not believe them. He preferred to
believe that blood hungry gnomes hid under old bridges, trolls roamed
through the mountains in the West, elves played tricks on hunters
and wood gatherers, and grimelin… Boy preferred to not think
of grimelin. Grimelin always knew when someone thought about them
and would come after them curious late at night…Mighty trees
embraced each other high above his head stealing the sunlight and
plunging the forest floor in gloom.
The Novel.
Prelude.
Boy watched the fighters from the safety of the gutter. City
guards circled nine remaining fighters loyal to Fat Maxud and were
compressing the circle, ringing steel against steel and flinging curses
at their enemies. Soon the battle was over. Guards collected weapons
left on the bloody ground and went away carrying two of their number
fallen in the battle. People caught in the open during the skirmish were
still reluctant to approach the scene, so the boy was able to exit the
gutter and take a look at the bodies of fallen undisturbed by big and
strong adults. He pocketed a few coins missed by the guards and was
about to leave, when something shiny drew his attention. Fat Maxud
was lying face down in the dirt. His right hand was cut off just above
the elbow. The severed hand was right next to his head. There was a
ring on one of the fingers. For some reason the guards missed the ring,
and now the boy swooped down like a hawk and grabbed the hand.
He was about to pull off the ring, when someone roughly grabbed him
and turned him around. Large stinky beggar slapped him across the
face.
“Give me the ring, you little rat” – he growled expelling a wave of foul
stench .
Boy was terrified, but he was in the right. Whatever belonged to
criminals now belonged to him, since he was first person on the scene.
However the filthy beggar seemed to disagree . Blood spouting from his
cut lip, the boy bit the beggar’s hand, hard enough to pierce the
skin and taste the rotting flesh beneath. The beggar screamed in pain
and let go for a moment. A moment was all the boy needed. He ran like
the wind and his pursuer was quickly lost in the maze of city alleys.
Only when he was able to stop and catch his breath, did the boy
notice that Fat Maxud’s hand was gone. Even stranger, the ring that
once belonged to famous criminal now resided on the boy’s finger. He
could have sworn that he never even got a chance to pull the ring off,
much less to put it on his own finger. And another thing, Fat
Maxud’s fingers were large and swollen, while boy’s fingers were small
and thin. Despite all this the ring seemed to fit his finger snugly
enough to make him somehow wonder if it was made with his finger in mind.
That night the boy came home a winner. He handed his
mother four coins scavenged at the fight scene. Four coins would feed
and house their family for a month. His mother wept and hugged the
boy. He kept his right hand in the pocket the whole time. If his
mother saw the ring, she would never let him keep it. And it was his
ring. His by right.
Chapter 1.
Boy was dreaming. In his dream he was running through
the ancient looking forest all alone with no idea how he got there. He
never visited a place like this forest before, not even in dreams. In all
seven years of his life he never ever left the city , not even for a day.
Evil creatures roamed the countryside, said the priests and guards, evil
creatures who were after the children. Older kids sometimes
whispered that rather than evil creatures of myth, rebels were
encroaching ever closer to city borders. One day they would breach
the city walls and kill all guards and have their way with all pretty
maidens living in the city. Boy did not believe them. He preferred to
believe that blood hungry gnomes hid under old bridges, trolls roamed
through the mountains in the West, elves played tricks on hunters
and wood gatherers, and grimelin… Boy preferred to not think
of grimelin. Grimelin always knew when someone thought about them
and would come after them curious late at night…Mighty trees
embraced each other high above his head stealing the sunlight and
plunging the forest floor in gloom.