TheDayoftheTempest - (EPUB全文下载)

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For Harold Johnson,

Tasslehoff Burrfoot,

and the Winter of ’87

and for the FIFTH AGE design team—Steven Brown,

Sue Weinlein Cook, William W. Connors, Steve Miller,

Ed Stark and Skip Williams—Krynn’s true champions.

Prologue
A Red Shade of Greed
Malystryx the Red lay on a plateau on the highest mountaintop amidst an arid wasteland. From this lofty position—in what once had been called the Goodlund Plains—she could survey a large portion of her domain. Smoke curled upward from her cavernous nostrils, clouding her huge, dark eyes. Twin horns curved gently away from the sides of her skull and tapered to sharp points. Her scales were as large as a knight’s shield, and they glowed like hot coals in the late afternoon sun.
Those rare individuals who accepted invitations here, to her favorite lair—like the Knights of Takhisis standing before her—braved much. Streams of lava from the volcanoes that ringed her plateau ran perilously close to the steep paths that led to her lair. Unnatural creatures prowled the bleak slopes, and the visitors had to endure the intense heat once they climbed to the top—or perish.
The ninety men were here at the command of their governor-general. They were selected for their bravery, cunning, and loyalty. Malys thought little of humans, but she considered these far better specimens than the ones she had slaughtered in the many villages she had trampled since taking over this part of Ansalon.
“You are mine,” Malys hissed to the knights. Her words were drawn out, sounding like an ominous wind. Flames licked out around her massive jowls and crackled loudly.
“Command us as you will,” the senior knight said as he stepped forward and bowed his head. He was a young man who had distinguished himself in numerous battles under the governor-general’s watchful eye. He acted confident and poised in the presence of the great dragon, though he was actually in awe of her and terrified.
He wore the black armor of the knights, with the death lily displayed prominently on his breastplate. A curl of red edged up from one petal—a rising flame that signified that his company had sworn fealty to Malys. The young knight stood at attention, his shoulders painfully square and his arms at his sides, straight as arrows. His eyes met the smoldering orbs of the dragon without blinking. Malys opened her mouth a bit, just enough for her furnacelike breath to escape and wash over him. The knight did not flinch, though beads of ............

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