Read Online A Crown Of War (Book 4) by Michael Ploof - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michael Ploof
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the heavy snowfall piling quickly upon the fields. If the snow didn’t let up soon, the going would be slow tomorrow. Aurora’s guards came to stand beside her. She ignored their presence and stiffened when she noticed the lich Azzeal standing before her.
“ This way, Lady of the North,” he croaked as he stared with unblinking eyes. Even after he turned, she could feel him watching her somehow. She looked around for Zander so that she might scold him, but he was nowhere to be seen. She reluctantly followed the lich through the barbarian camp.
Azzeal floated over the snow leaving a line of frozen ice behind him. Through the camp they went, across a short gap between armies, and into the Shierdon camp. The smell of rotting meat permeated the air. None of the regular chatter or activity filled the camp, and soon Aurora knew something was wrong. The cook fires burned low and none of the soldiers sat outside. Sentries stood guard, but even they seemed odd, standing eerily still at their posts, with none of the men conversing. The silence was haunting; not even the sparse wind made a sound. It was like walking through a graveyard. Following a lich only made it worse. To her relief, Azzeal stopped before a large black orb the size of a house, its surface reflecting the landscape around it like ice. Aurora soon forgot the lich as a door was formed and the ice melted away before her. She stepped through the threshold and turned to watch it reform behind her, sealing her inside. No fire burned within, but the strange orb was warm, and a soft orange glow cast evenly across the surface of the dome. At the center of the dome sat a large, four-poster bed made of what appeared to be dragon bones. Dark blue silk sheets folded over a blanket of white fur, and fat pillows of the same fur lay piled at the head. At the foot of the bed sat two beautiful chests, with identical inlay of pearl throughout panels of dark cherry wood. To Aurora’s right, a long table stood with four chairs to a side, and upon the table a three-tiered candleholder, made with the bones of Draggard fingers, burned bright. Other odds and ends that would be found in a commander’s tent were present. Maps on smaller tables, stacked books upon a writing desk, dressers, chests, and a liquor cabinet.
Veolindra greeted her at the center of the large dome, and to her utter surprise, the dark elf pulled her down and kissed her on the lips. They remained that way for a long moment in which Aurora’s wide eyes stared at Veolindra’s closed ones. When she released her, the lich lord kept her eyes closed and bit at her bottom lip, savoring the kiss.
“ You have a fire in your soul that is seldom found, Aurora Snowfell,” she said, holding Aurora’s hands in hers.
“ Come, sit, and let us drink.”
She led Aurora to a heavily cushioned lounging chair and guided her to sit. Her hair spun in a flourish as she went to the liquor cabinet.
“ What is your drink?” she asked as she eyed the contents.
“ The road has been slow and uneventful. I want fire in my stomach.”
Veolindra hummed hungrily and returned with two small crystal glasses and a dark red bottle. The dark elf poured them each a half glass and raised hers.
“ To the Chieftain of the Seven: together, we shall conquer Northern Agora in the name of our master.”
Aurora nodded as they clanged glasses. She had asked for fire, and fire she got. The liquor went down like lava, and she did all she could not to choke. The drink was stronger than any of the barbarian spirits, stronger still than any concoctions of the dwarves she had ever had. The drink hit her stomach and spread warmth throughout her body. Veolindra refilled her glass and sat in the large fur-covered chair beside her.
With a murmured word, a small cage of stone, set upon the low table, came alight with dancing flame. The lich lord sipped her drink and surveyed Aurora’s long form. She was accustomed to being gawked at, but not often by
“ This way, Lady of the North,” he croaked as he stared with unblinking eyes. Even after he turned, she could feel him watching her somehow. She looked around for Zander so that she might scold him, but he was nowhere to be seen. She reluctantly followed the lich through the barbarian camp.
Azzeal floated over the snow leaving a line of frozen ice behind him. Through the camp they went, across a short gap between armies, and into the Shierdon camp. The smell of rotting meat permeated the air. None of the regular chatter or activity filled the camp, and soon Aurora knew something was wrong. The cook fires burned low and none of the soldiers sat outside. Sentries stood guard, but even they seemed odd, standing eerily still at their posts, with none of the men conversing. The silence was haunting; not even the sparse wind made a sound. It was like walking through a graveyard. Following a lich only made it worse. To her relief, Azzeal stopped before a large black orb the size of a house, its surface reflecting the landscape around it like ice. Aurora soon forgot the lich as a door was formed and the ice melted away before her. She stepped through the threshold and turned to watch it reform behind her, sealing her inside. No fire burned within, but the strange orb was warm, and a soft orange glow cast evenly across the surface of the dome. At the center of the dome sat a large, four-poster bed made of what appeared to be dragon bones. Dark blue silk sheets folded over a blanket of white fur, and fat pillows of the same fur lay piled at the head. At the foot of the bed sat two beautiful chests, with identical inlay of pearl throughout panels of dark cherry wood. To Aurora’s right, a long table stood with four chairs to a side, and upon the table a three-tiered candleholder, made with the bones of Draggard fingers, burned bright. Other odds and ends that would be found in a commander’s tent were present. Maps on smaller tables, stacked books upon a writing desk, dressers, chests, and a liquor cabinet.
Veolindra greeted her at the center of the large dome, and to her utter surprise, the dark elf pulled her down and kissed her on the lips. They remained that way for a long moment in which Aurora’s wide eyes stared at Veolindra’s closed ones. When she released her, the lich lord kept her eyes closed and bit at her bottom lip, savoring the kiss.
“ You have a fire in your soul that is seldom found, Aurora Snowfell,” she said, holding Aurora’s hands in hers.
“ Come, sit, and let us drink.”
She led Aurora to a heavily cushioned lounging chair and guided her to sit. Her hair spun in a flourish as she went to the liquor cabinet.
“ What is your drink?” she asked as she eyed the contents.
“ The road has been slow and uneventful. I want fire in my stomach.”
Veolindra hummed hungrily and returned with two small crystal glasses and a dark red bottle. The dark elf poured them each a half glass and raised hers.
“ To the Chieftain of the Seven: together, we shall conquer Northern Agora in the name of our master.”
Aurora nodded as they clanged glasses. She had asked for fire, and fire she got. The liquor went down like lava, and she did all she could not to choke. The drink was stronger than any of the barbarian spirits, stronger still than any concoctions of the dwarves she had ever had. The drink hit her stomach and spread warmth throughout her body. Veolindra refilled her glass and sat in the large fur-covered chair beside her.
With a murmured word, a small cage of stone, set upon the low table, came alight with dancing flame. The lich lord sipped her drink and surveyed Aurora’s long form. She was accustomed to being gawked at, but not often by
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