"Kushner,.Donn.-.A.Book.DragonUC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

strong enough to keep out the dragon, who
was of a peaceable disposition and too lazy
to break it down. Later, he could only sniff
sadly at the roasting meat as the guards
and the workmen feasted on three of the
cows. They had a fine time, with their ale

barrels, and the smoke rising in the clear air, and their songs
rising too, in praise of their own cleverness. When they were
full, at the bidding of good Father John, the Earl's chaplain,
they all knelt to thank the Lord for saving their animals from
the evil dragon, whom they took to be the Devil himself.

Such setbacks often seemed to happen nowadays, None-
such's grandmother told him. In the past, dragons, especially
those of her own family, had been quicker, fiercer, subtler,
more wily than they were now. The young dragon Ч he was
not quite fifty years old at this time, of a clear luminous green,
and his scales moved over each other with scarcely a squeak-
listened to his grandmother with rapt attention, gazing at her
with eager yellow eyes.

Nonesuch had never known his mother. Shortly after his
birth, she was seized with a great longing for solitude and
dryness and flew south, to brood over the sands of the Sahara
Desert. Sometimes her vast form could be seen by the fearful
Egyptians, sprawled atop the Pyramid of Cheops. She crouched
before the Sphinx, both motionless for days, until the stone
monster's patience had, at last, won. Then Nonesuch's mother
had flown off towards the sources of the Nile. Who knew
where she was now?

Whatever she herself had done in the past, the grandmother
now stayed indoors. Nonesuch never tired of hearing her recount
his family's history. He would sprawl on the flat floor of the
cavern, by the entrance, sometimes raising a wing to keep the
least ray of sunlight from his grandmother's eyes, while she
lay as far from daylight as possible, by her pile of treasure.

His grandmother told Nonesuch of the legendary founder
of their race, the great Gorm, who, it was said, lumbered up

from the black swamps when men still lived in caves. Gorm
used to lie down among these cave-dwellers and let them
pound him with clubs and try their flinty spears on his tough
hide, much as a dog enjoys his master's scratches. Then,
when they were worn out with their useless efforts, Gorm
would lazily select a few of his attackers for lunch.

She told of cunning Hraftiagel, who would crouch in the