Clash of the Geeks Read Free

flowed down across him. He gasped through foaming bloody spittle, and clutched at it frantically.
    Izlac crouched down, and placed his face close to the dying Rider’s ear. “You can’t has,” he whispered softly, “not yours.”
    He left The Rider, and walked to the UnicornPegasusKitten. Its bright green eyes shone with reflected flashes of lightning and fireballs. He stroked the fur at its neck, and unbuckled its saddle. “You will never wear a saddle again. You are no longer a slave; you are a companion.”
    The UnicornPegasusKitten, for the moment the last of its kind, began to purr. Izlac climbed onto its back, and coaxed it into flight.
    •••
    They flew together, into the mouth of the volcano, as the eggs began to burst into the sky. As they reached their zenith, they burst open in a spreading of wings and kicking of hooves. The shells fell to the ground, and the hatchlings began to fly: five, then ten, then a dozen, then two dozen, then a swarm. Izlac flew around them all, through the smoke and fire, the UnicornPegasusKitten calling to them, leading them, coaxing them away from danger—but more importantly, leading them away from the Wee-Tins who would enslave them and use them to destroy the Scalzorcs.
    When the hatch was complete, Izlac and his mount flew high over the top of the Firespire Mountains, and into the valley. They landed in the pen, at least three score of them, his entire clan assembled around the fences. He stood there, exhausted and badly wounded, in the place of his Choosing, where his life had been defined and forever changed. Rek emerged from the crowd and walked to him. The crowd fell silent.
    Rek bowed to him. “This is why you were Chosen,” he said, simply. Then, turning to the floherd of UnicornPegasusKitten Kittens, who were now rolling on the short grass and purring, he added, “and this is why you are our savior.”
    The entire clan cheered, but Izlac felt no joy, just relief.
    “I was not afraid,” he said, “just like you taught me.”
    He walked across the pen, to find his parents, whom he would see now for the first time since his training began and they had lost both of their children. “I was not afraid.”

The Lay of the Eastern King
Patrick Rothfuss
    In the high halls of Hrothgar    
    The men make a mead  which they savor slowly
    To keep quit of cold.
     
    It’s said south of Samarand
    They brew a brown beer    bitter with barley 
    Yet hearty and hale. 
     
    There are wines in the west
    That Serapha sips    flavored and favored  
    By her kin and court.    Heavy and hearth-hot
    And sweeter than syrup    they mark a man’s mouth 
    With the color of coal. 
     
    But all travelers tell
    Of the fields to the east    where wheat grows so golden
    It shines like the sun.    This wheat brews a beer
    That is better than any,    sweeter than sunlight
    And stronger than stone.    A man with a mouthful 
    Would never want water,    nor food, nor a woman to liven his bed. 
    A sheaf of King’s wheat   is much better bottled
    Than wasted by those    who would grind it for bread. 
     
    This king of the east    was well-weighted with wisdom;
    He built a broad hearth-hall    with timber and tar. 
    He bade all the best men    be brought to his banner
    And his sweet wheaten beer    drew the folk from afar. 
    Strong was his shield-arm    swift was his spear. 
    They called him King Wheaton    in praise of his beer. 
     
    Brave were the thanes    the king gathered around him
    Loyal as hearth hounds    and fiercer than fire. 
    Faithful they followed him    proud of his prowess. 
    Stories they sang    how he had challenged
    The dread demon Doramun    though just a boy. 
    Vile visaged Doramun    taller than trees 
    Strong as a sea-storm   face withered and white. 
    Doramun hungered    and men were his meat
    The demon devoured them    feasting on foes. 
    Seven stout soldiers    had fallen before him 
    Yet the young