The Improbable Adventures of Scar and Potbelly: Ice Terraces of Crystal Crag by Brian S. Pratt Read Free Book Online Page B

display you put on there,” Scar admired.
    Tork shrugged. “One must do what one must.”
    He spoke another word and the wall of flames came down. Beyond, they saw two of Garrock’s men tending to a third.
    “I want them,” Garrock demanded.
    “We have business,” Tork replied. “You can have them when I am through with them.”
    “That’s not good enough, old man.”
    One of his men leveled a crossbow at the old mage.
    “Are you sure you wish to do that?” When the man failed to lower the crossbow, Tork said, “Then let me aim my weapon at you.”
    He raised his staff and spoke a series of words in rapid fire. The last word hung in the air a moment longer than it should have.
    A heartbeat passed, then a second as everyone waited to see what would happen. Then came the sound of grinding stone as the head of the dragon turned toward the crossbowman. Stone wings flexed and the creature arched up and roared.
    The crossbowman fired at the dragon but the bolt ricocheted harmlessly off its stony torso. He threw down his weapon and fled.
    Flapping its wings, the stone dragon leapt into the air. It flew once around the clearing in front of the hut, then shot for the crossbowman.
    “Call it off!” demanded Garrock.
    “Once called, it cannot be recalled until it has tasted blood.”
    The crossbowman fled; Garrock’s other men dove out of the way as the dragon swept by.
    Claws stretched outward; a scream cut through the night followed by tearing flesh, then the crossbowman fell to the ground, dead.
    The dragon stood with one claw on the dead man, arched its neck back and roared. Then it leapt into the air.
    Garrock’s men scattered as it circled the clearing one more time before returning to the pedestal. In a moment, it had assumed its original position and become a statue once again.
    Tork’s single eye met Garrock’s hate-filled gaze, then turned his back on him and entered his hut.
    “You have some skills,” Potbelly commented.
    “So I do.”
    “Where’s the map,” Scar asked.
    “Straight to business, eh?” Tork said. “Admire that in a man.” He gestured to the tea and biscuits. “Please, feel free to have all you want. I shall be back momentarily.” With that, he headed for the door leading in the far wall.
    Once the old man had passed through, Potbelly asked Scar, “Doesn’t this place seem larger than it did from the outside?”
    “Now that you mention it, yes. There is no way it was big enough for this one room, let alone an entire other one out back.”
    “Must be magical.”
    Scar nodded. “That would make sense”
    A moment later, Tork emerged with a rolled piece of cloth. He handed it to Scar. “Here is the map.”
    Scar took the map and laid it on the table. He then produced their part of the map and set the two pieces together.
    The map clearly showed the Sorba Sea; Castin was noted as well as several other towns dotting the coastline. There was a large section missing that would fill in the region north and east of the Sea.
    “The final piece is in the keeping of Matlin,” Tork said. He indicated a city up the coast from Castin not far from where the missing piece began. “From Cara, you will find an old wagon trail leading up into the mountains.
    “Last I heard, Matlin lived in a cabin somewhere up there.”
    “I have a question.”
    Tork glanced to Potbelly. “Yes?”
    “Why didn’t you, Old Jim and Matlin claim the treasure for yourselves?”
    He sat back in his chair and rubbed the patch over his eye. “Now that, my young fellow, is a long story.” He sighed. “One which I shall not get into right now.”
    “But the treasure is there?” Scar asked.
    “Oh, yes. More than you can carry.”
    “How do you know?”
    He leaned forward and eyed Scar. “Because I saw it.”
    “And you left it?” Scar asked incredulously. “You didn’t take it with you?”
    “Believe it or not, there are more important things in this world than the accumulation of wealth. Wealth breeds