Read Online Dragon War: The Draconic Prophecies - Book Three by James Wyatt - Free Book Online
Authors: James Wyatt
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steps found herself outside the dragon’s magical orb of darkness. The dragon looked nearly beaten, its wings pulled close to protect it, its head drooping and bloody, its belly still oozing thick blood that sizzled in puddles on the ground.
She advanced a few more steps, and the dragon backed away. Its head swung to one side, and Rienne saw what had attracted its attention: Jordhan, holding an axe with both hands in front of him, stepping toward Rienne and the dragon. She seized the moment of distraction and leaped at the dragon.
“Get down!” she screamed, as a gout of black acid sprayed from the dragon’s mouth. Maelstrom bit deep into the dragon’s throat, cutting off the spray of its breath and nearly taking the head off its long neck. The dragon fell to the ground, and Rienne ran to where Jordhan lay.
“Sovereign Host,” she said, “let him be—”
“I’m alive,” Jordhan said. His voice was strained, though, and he drew a shuddering breath.
Rienne dropped to the ground beside him. He lay on his side, his axe forgotten a few feet away. Rienne pulled off the silk cloth that was wrapped around her waist and dabbed at a few splashes of viscous acid still burning into his chest and neck. The spray had hit him full on, and his body was covered with welts and open wounds.
“What were you thinking?” she said, taking his hand.
“I couldn’t let you face it alone.” He smiled, but it changed to a grimace as he tried to sit up. He gave up and fell back to the ground.
“That was noble of you. And foolish. You’re a dear friend, and the best pilot in House Lyrandar, but you’re not a warrior.”
“A few more steps and that dragon would’ve had my axe buried in its shoulder.”
Rienne smiled, squeezed his hand, and decided not to point out that, the way he was holding the axe, he would have been lucky to get enough power in his swing to nick the dragon’s scales.
C HAPTER
7
A knock at the door jolted Aunn out of a doze. Make it solid, he thought. I’m Kelas ir’Darren, and this is my office.
He ran a hand over his face to make sure he was who he thought he was. He cast his eyes around the office. Gaven’s eyes were open again—perhaps awakened by the knock—but still vacant, staring at something other than the blank wall aross from him.
“Come in,” he said. Kelas was warm and polite, most of the time.
The door swung open and Cart’s massive body filled the frame. The warforged hesitated for a moment, swinging his head to look at Aunn and Gaven as if making sure he’d found the right room.
“Come in, Cart,” Aunn said, standing up behind the desk.
Cart stepped into the room, which suddenly seemed much smaller, and gestured to a tall, handsome man behind him. “This is Havrakhad,” Cart said. “And this is—”
“Kelas ir’Darren,” Aunn said, stepping around the desk and extending his hand to the newcomer, who clasped it and bowed slightly.
Havrakhad was human, though he carried himself with a graceful elegance that reminded Aunn of the eladrin he’d met in the Towering Wood. His black hair was very long, cascading over his broad shoulders with a small topknot held in place by a silver ring. He wore a heavy, midnight blue cloak that hung almost to the floor, and beneath it a sky-blue shirt of gleaming silk, open in front to reveal a muscular, hairless chest. Breeches the color of his cloak were tucked into the tops of his boots. No weapon hung at his belt.
“I am honored to meet you,” he said to Aunn. His words had an accent Aunn couldn’t place.
“Likewise,” Aunn said, uncertain how to respond. But Kelas was confident, assertive. “Cart explained the nature of our problem?”
“Somewhat,” Havrakhad said, turning to face Gaven. “I take it this is our patient?”
“Yes. And what techniques will you use to heal him?”
Havrakhad didn’t look like a healer—more like a noble in exile, from some indeterminate foreign land.
“I will enter his mind and
She advanced a few more steps, and the dragon backed away. Its head swung to one side, and Rienne saw what had attracted its attention: Jordhan, holding an axe with both hands in front of him, stepping toward Rienne and the dragon. She seized the moment of distraction and leaped at the dragon.
“Get down!” she screamed, as a gout of black acid sprayed from the dragon’s mouth. Maelstrom bit deep into the dragon’s throat, cutting off the spray of its breath and nearly taking the head off its long neck. The dragon fell to the ground, and Rienne ran to where Jordhan lay.
“Sovereign Host,” she said, “let him be—”
“I’m alive,” Jordhan said. His voice was strained, though, and he drew a shuddering breath.
Rienne dropped to the ground beside him. He lay on his side, his axe forgotten a few feet away. Rienne pulled off the silk cloth that was wrapped around her waist and dabbed at a few splashes of viscous acid still burning into his chest and neck. The spray had hit him full on, and his body was covered with welts and open wounds.
“What were you thinking?” she said, taking his hand.
“I couldn’t let you face it alone.” He smiled, but it changed to a grimace as he tried to sit up. He gave up and fell back to the ground.
“That was noble of you. And foolish. You’re a dear friend, and the best pilot in House Lyrandar, but you’re not a warrior.”
“A few more steps and that dragon would’ve had my axe buried in its shoulder.”
Rienne smiled, squeezed his hand, and decided not to point out that, the way he was holding the axe, he would have been lucky to get enough power in his swing to nick the dragon’s scales.
C HAPTER
7
A knock at the door jolted Aunn out of a doze. Make it solid, he thought. I’m Kelas ir’Darren, and this is my office.
He ran a hand over his face to make sure he was who he thought he was. He cast his eyes around the office. Gaven’s eyes were open again—perhaps awakened by the knock—but still vacant, staring at something other than the blank wall aross from him.
“Come in,” he said. Kelas was warm and polite, most of the time.
The door swung open and Cart’s massive body filled the frame. The warforged hesitated for a moment, swinging his head to look at Aunn and Gaven as if making sure he’d found the right room.
“Come in, Cart,” Aunn said, standing up behind the desk.
Cart stepped into the room, which suddenly seemed much smaller, and gestured to a tall, handsome man behind him. “This is Havrakhad,” Cart said. “And this is—”
“Kelas ir’Darren,” Aunn said, stepping around the desk and extending his hand to the newcomer, who clasped it and bowed slightly.
Havrakhad was human, though he carried himself with a graceful elegance that reminded Aunn of the eladrin he’d met in the Towering Wood. His black hair was very long, cascading over his broad shoulders with a small topknot held in place by a silver ring. He wore a heavy, midnight blue cloak that hung almost to the floor, and beneath it a sky-blue shirt of gleaming silk, open in front to reveal a muscular, hairless chest. Breeches the color of his cloak were tucked into the tops of his boots. No weapon hung at his belt.
“I am honored to meet you,” he said to Aunn. His words had an accent Aunn couldn’t place.
“Likewise,” Aunn said, uncertain how to respond. But Kelas was confident, assertive. “Cart explained the nature of our problem?”
“Somewhat,” Havrakhad said, turning to face Gaven. “I take it this is our patient?”
“Yes. And what techniques will you use to heal him?”
Havrakhad didn’t look like a healer—more like a noble in exile, from some indeterminate foreign land.
“I will enter his mind and
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