Temple of the Dragonslayer by Tim Waggoner Read Free Book Online Page A

they’d encountered earlier—he had a black coat of fur, wore a leather kilt, and carried an axe sheathed on his back. And there was no mistaking that furrowed brow or those angry eyes.
    Nearra bent down close to Sindri’s ear and whispered, “Don’t look, but the minotaur that was chasing you earlier is—” but that was all she got out before Sindri turned and headed straight for the man-bull.
    When she first met the kender, Nearra thought his almost total lack of fear was charming. But now she could see that it could quickly become annoying—if not downright deadly.
    “Sindri, stop!” she called.
    “Why? I took care of him once before, and I can do so again.” He frowned. “I’m just not sure how I did it.” He shrugged. “Oh, well. I’m bound to remember sooner or later.”
    For Sindri’s sake, Nearra sincerely hoped it would be sooner.
    “Halt, minotaur, or I’ll be forced to cast another spell on you!” Sindri planted his feet on the street muck and raised his arms in what Nearra assumed was meant to be an intimidating wizardly pose. Unfortunately, the kender looked more like a child stretching to see how high he could reach.
    Still, the minotaur stopped. He fixed Sindri with a hate-filled glare, but he did not take another step toward the kender.
    “I have been searching all afternoon for you,” the minotaur said in a low, rumbling voice. “You have insulted me, and I have come to reclaim my honor.”
    Sindri blinked several times, clearly puzzled. “I don’t understand. You got your money back, didn’t you? Or rather, I left you the substitute I conjured. Did the purse contain fewer coins than the original?”
    “No money was missing,” the minotaur said.
    “Well, there you go.” The kender lowered his arms. “It’s all settled, then.”
    Now it was the minotaur’s turn to look confused. “No, it isn’t! There is still the matter of my honor!”
    “You keep using that word: honor. What precisely does it mean to you?”
    The minotaur stared at Sindri for a long moment before answering. “You mean you truly do not know?”
    “I’ve heard the word before, of course. I’ve always thought it meant worrying too much about what other people think of you. But I must be wrong. I can’t imagine anyone going to all the trouble you have simply to improve another’s opinion of one’s self. That would be pathetic, don’t you think?”
    The minotaur had been growing increasingly angry as Sindri spoke. Now the man-bull’s face was so contorted by rage that he truly did resemble an inhuman beast. With a roar, the minotaur ran toward Sindri, hands stretched out in front of him. He was so furious that he wasn’t going to waste time drawing his axe; he was going to fight the little wizard barehanded. It wouldn’t be much of a fight, Nearra thought, given the difference in their sizes.
    Nearra wished there was something she could do to help Sindri, and once more the warm tingling erupted in her hands, stronger than before. A picture flashed through Nearra’s mind—an image of the minotaur’s hooved foot slipping in the street muck, causing the man-bull to lose his balance.
    And then it wasn’t simply an image anymore. The minotaur’s right hoof slid on something wet and disgusting lying in the street. He wobbled, unbalanced, but he was moving far too fast to slow down. He barreled toward Sindri, completely outof control, wildly waving his arms in a vain attempt to regain his balance.
    Just as the minotaur was about to slam into the defenseless kender, Sindri nimbly stepped aside, and the man-bull continued slip-sliding forward, straight for the entrance of the Blind Goose Tavern. The minotaur crashed into the tavern door, his speed and bulk reducing it to instant kindling.
    The strange tingling sensation in Nearra’s hands began to fade and she felt a trifle dizzy.
    Nearra looked at Sindri. “Are you all right?”
    The kender was grinning. “Did you see the way he hit that