Read Online Lord Of Dragons (Book 2) by John Forrester - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John Forrester
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searching the skies for any signs of King Braxion's dragon, Keraxes. If the King only flew with the four dragons that had accompanied him on his last flight to Naverstrom, then Master Vhelan would ruthlessly strike and strive to conquer or kill all the dragons and their riders. But if the other Hakkadians in Naverstrom had managed to acquire other dragons from the remnants up north, then the sorcerer knew he was likely doomed to fail.
Flying out here on such a calm night increased their risk of discovery by King Braxion, but it also provided Master Vhelan with a clear view of the sky and of the draenyx army marching below. They had perhaps only half a day before the abominations sieged the gates of Magrad. Hopefully Master Vhelan's sorcerers had enough time to successful ward the tunnels into the dwarven city, and seal the gates with their destructive runes. Not that it was enough to stop the thousands of strange and powerful creatures.
Far out near the twin peaks of Var'kalla, he spotted a shimmer of light move across the horizon. There! He had been flying these mountains for hours, keeping sight of the draenyx army below, hoping for a chance to intercept King Braxion and his allies before they reached the army. It was Master Vhelan's only chance to gain an advantage in the war. If he failed now he knew he had to quickly return to Magrad and help aid the dwarves. With Mistress Lassendre held inside the filthy, dwarven city, he had no choice...
He could communicate with Master Rennal in his mind, a skill he had developed with a few of his eldest sorcerers. His head swiveled around to where Master Vhelan told him to look, and together they aimed their dragons higher to gain the advantage against the King and his dragons. If they were lucky, Braxion would be so focused on the army that he would fail to notice their attack from above. An unlikely occurrence .
Sliding in between two low clouds, he spied down on the snaking silhouettes of almost fifty dragons flying in three separate formations. His heart sank as he shook his head, hoping some hallucination of high altitude was affecting his mind. But there they were, strong in numbers and menacing in purpose. And utterly undefeatable in the air. Master Vhelan dove east towards Magrad, hoping to gain enough speed for them to outrun King Braxion and his dragons.
But as they fled towards the tall mountain of Karkellian, all the enemy dragons sped over to intercept them in a blazing stream of light. Master Vhelan gaped at their speed, wondering if the Princes of Naverstrom had granted the Hakkadian sorcerers loyal to their cause new magic that aided in their dragon flight? Even plummeting at their tremendous velocity towards Magrad, he doubted whether they would be fast enough to land unmolested by the enemy dragons.
He had only one chance to survive out here in the open against King Braxion. A costly spell that would weaken him for days. If it worked... One of the only spells he had never taught another sorcerer, for the cost to one's inner reserve of power could be deadly. The few bits of knowledge his great grandfather had passed along to him before he was killed, hundreds of years ago before the Hakkadians had made the mistake of stumbling into the caves of Naverstrom. A spell only for those in an absolutely hopeless situation.
With the blazing sun pictured clear in his mind, Master Vhelan allowed the heat to rage inside his body. To cool himself, he removed the magical shield and breathed in the wild, cold winds that struck him in a sudden blast. The heat still flamed strong, and he could see his hands glowing white-hot with power. He focused on the enemy Hakkadians, splitting his mind in fifty different parts for each opponent. In a sudden soothing release of power, the energy shot from his fingertips and instantly ignited the enemy sorcerers in burst of flame.
He slumped against his dragon, and tied his arms to his saddle, exhaustion washing over him in a wave of
Flying out here on such a calm night increased their risk of discovery by King Braxion, but it also provided Master Vhelan with a clear view of the sky and of the draenyx army marching below. They had perhaps only half a day before the abominations sieged the gates of Magrad. Hopefully Master Vhelan's sorcerers had enough time to successful ward the tunnels into the dwarven city, and seal the gates with their destructive runes. Not that it was enough to stop the thousands of strange and powerful creatures.
Far out near the twin peaks of Var'kalla, he spotted a shimmer of light move across the horizon. There! He had been flying these mountains for hours, keeping sight of the draenyx army below, hoping for a chance to intercept King Braxion and his allies before they reached the army. It was Master Vhelan's only chance to gain an advantage in the war. If he failed now he knew he had to quickly return to Magrad and help aid the dwarves. With Mistress Lassendre held inside the filthy, dwarven city, he had no choice...
He could communicate with Master Rennal in his mind, a skill he had developed with a few of his eldest sorcerers. His head swiveled around to where Master Vhelan told him to look, and together they aimed their dragons higher to gain the advantage against the King and his dragons. If they were lucky, Braxion would be so focused on the army that he would fail to notice their attack from above. An unlikely occurrence .
Sliding in between two low clouds, he spied down on the snaking silhouettes of almost fifty dragons flying in three separate formations. His heart sank as he shook his head, hoping some hallucination of high altitude was affecting his mind. But there they were, strong in numbers and menacing in purpose. And utterly undefeatable in the air. Master Vhelan dove east towards Magrad, hoping to gain enough speed for them to outrun King Braxion and his dragons.
But as they fled towards the tall mountain of Karkellian, all the enemy dragons sped over to intercept them in a blazing stream of light. Master Vhelan gaped at their speed, wondering if the Princes of Naverstrom had granted the Hakkadian sorcerers loyal to their cause new magic that aided in their dragon flight? Even plummeting at their tremendous velocity towards Magrad, he doubted whether they would be fast enough to land unmolested by the enemy dragons.
He had only one chance to survive out here in the open against King Braxion. A costly spell that would weaken him for days. If it worked... One of the only spells he had never taught another sorcerer, for the cost to one's inner reserve of power could be deadly. The few bits of knowledge his great grandfather had passed along to him before he was killed, hundreds of years ago before the Hakkadians had made the mistake of stumbling into the caves of Naverstrom. A spell only for those in an absolutely hopeless situation.
With the blazing sun pictured clear in his mind, Master Vhelan allowed the heat to rage inside his body. To cool himself, he removed the magical shield and breathed in the wild, cold winds that struck him in a sudden blast. The heat still flamed strong, and he could see his hands glowing white-hot with power. He focused on the enemy Hakkadians, splitting his mind in fifty different parts for each opponent. In a sudden soothing release of power, the energy shot from his fingertips and instantly ignited the enemy sorcerers in burst of flame.
He slumped against his dragon, and tied his arms to his saddle, exhaustion washing over him in a wave of
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