talien
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Cold Visitor - Prologue
“Someone’s coming,” said Ilmarė.
Faint barking reached their ears through the roaring of the wind. A blue-green light bobbed closer.
A small, scowling man entered the clear. He was armed with a blunderbuss and illuminated by a blue-green torch that burned without paying heed to the whipping winds all around. Three large dogs were in tow.
“Take them,” he shouted, waving at the monoliths with his rifle. “I want no more of your money. You’ve had your imperials worth. Take them! Off with you!”
“What?” asked Vlad. “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about,” the man said. He cocked the blunderbuss. “Those things brought on this storm, and I want it to stop.”
“Calm down,” said Dril. “We just recently appeared here ourselves. Where are we?”
“Where are you?” the man shouted back. “You’re in Milandir!”
“We are?” asked Vlad.
“In that case…” Dril pointed at Vlad. “You might be interested to know that this man here is Vlad Martell, Bailiff to Duke Adolphos val’Tensen.”
Vlad nodded. “If someone put these things on your land, they did so without permission. I can help.”
The farmer looked Vlad up and down. Then he lowered his weapon. “The name’s Jennings. Someone gave me two imperials three years ago to let him use the hill. Then they gave me another imperial to leave all this stone here until he needed it.”
“Who?” asked Dril.
“I don’t know,” said Jennings. “Didn’t look at them much. But since the things have been here, it’s been nothing but bad luck. The land around the copse stopped yielding—crops come up swollen, sweet, and rotten. And then there’s this damn snowstorm…”
“Just like last time,” said Beldin.
Jennings pointed a path out of the copse. “Everyone out. I’m going to bring blackpowder down here and blow these accursed things up.” He raised his rifle and fired at one of the slabs of granite.
The pellets slapped into the monolith. As they sang off it, there was an awful shriek from above.
Kham looked up from where he was kneeling in the snow. “Oh, crap.”
“Someone’s coming,” said Ilmarė.
Faint barking reached their ears through the roaring of the wind. A blue-green light bobbed closer.
A small, scowling man entered the clear. He was armed with a blunderbuss and illuminated by a blue-green torch that burned without paying heed to the whipping winds all around. Three large dogs were in tow.
“Take them,” he shouted, waving at the monoliths with his rifle. “I want no more of your money. You’ve had your imperials worth. Take them! Off with you!”
“What?” asked Vlad. “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about,” the man said. He cocked the blunderbuss. “Those things brought on this storm, and I want it to stop.”
“Calm down,” said Dril. “We just recently appeared here ourselves. Where are we?”
“Where are you?” the man shouted back. “You’re in Milandir!”
“We are?” asked Vlad.
“In that case…” Dril pointed at Vlad. “You might be interested to know that this man here is Vlad Martell, Bailiff to Duke Adolphos val’Tensen.”
Vlad nodded. “If someone put these things on your land, they did so without permission. I can help.”
The farmer looked Vlad up and down. Then he lowered his weapon. “The name’s Jennings. Someone gave me two imperials three years ago to let him use the hill. Then they gave me another imperial to leave all this stone here until he needed it.”
“Who?” asked Dril.
“I don’t know,” said Jennings. “Didn’t look at them much. But since the things have been here, it’s been nothing but bad luck. The land around the copse stopped yielding—crops come up swollen, sweet, and rotten. And then there’s this damn snowstorm…”
“Just like last time,” said Beldin.
Jennings pointed a path out of the copse. “Everyone out. I’m going to bring blackpowder down here and blow these accursed things up.” He raised his rifle and fired at one of the slabs of granite.
The pellets slapped into the monolith. As they sang off it, there was an awful shriek from above.
Kham looked up from where he was kneeling in the snow. “Oh, crap.”