Read Online The War Of The Black Tower (Book 3) by Jack Conner - Free Book Online

him
be!”
    The Troll removed his foot, and
Baleron took a deep breath.
    Sneering, Ungier picked Rondthril
up and admired its craftsmanship. “Asguilar’s blade . . . I would love to have
it back.” His voice held tones of genuine lament. “It took me long to forge it,
you know. Oh, I was so proud. My first true son . . . ” His eyes narrowed. “He was a great one, you festering puss, you vermin. How
could the likes of you slay such as him? He was mighty. He alone of all my sons
that followed loved me. He alone would never have lifted a hand against me. Ah,
he made me so proud!” Black—blooded tears welled in his eyes, and the hand that
held Rondthril actually shook. He pointed the Fanged Blade at Baleron’s breast.
“ You did that. You took him from me. And you and your curse took away my home, my
brides, my Rolenya . . .” Rage overcame him, and he lifted his head and howled
like a wolf. In response, the true wolves of the host lifted their heads and
howled, too, and the Borchstogs followed so that soon the whole night
reverberated with Ungier’s pain.
    To his surprise, Baleron was
actually moved.
    At last the great, mournful howling
died away. Seething, shaking, the vampire cast Rondthril down at the prince’s
feet, then collapsed back into his gruesome throne.
“Would that I could kill you, but you are denied me. Would that I could keep
that sword, but apparently your labor requires it. They won’t let you inside
the city without it—why, I don’t know.”
    Baleron propped himself up. “You
must have some idea.”
    “I suppose you’ll find out the why
of it soon. Tell me, did you really think Rondthril could kill me?”
    “You were scared of it before, at
Gulrothrog.”
    “I didn’t know what sorcery the
Elves might’ve worked on it, but now I sense it’s the same as it’s always been.
Good.”
    A great horn sounded out from atop
the city wall, and a familiar voice, amplified by sorcery, called out, “Has
Prince Baleron returned?”
    Logran! They must’ve seen us fly in. Baleron almost smiled, but couldn’t. I’ll have to come up with some other plan,
damn it.
    Ungier nodded to a tall, cloaked
Borchstog—a necromancer. The necromancer lifted a horn to his lips and blew
twice, loudly, turning to face the Walls.
    “Yes, he has returned,” boomed the
Borchstog, his voice amplified, as Logran’s had been.
“The time has come to exchange prisoners, if that is still your desire.”
    Long moments passed with no word
from the wall. Baleron shifted uneasily.
    “Go on, decide,” said Ungier
anxiously, half to himself, his black eyes fixed on the South Gate, as if
willing it to open. “What’s taking so long?”
    “They’re studying him. Don’t
worry,” said the necromancer. “He has the sword. They’ll take him.”
    Sure enough, the horn sounded out
again and Logran called, “We’ll lead out your son, Ungier, and you will present
us with Baleron. Any deviation on your part will be met with a hail of arrows,
and the first one will slay Guilost .”
    “It is agreed,” returned the
Borchstog necromancer.
    What’s
this? Baleron thought. What interest
can Logran have in Rondthril?
    “Farewell, Prince,” said Ungier.
“We will likely not meet again.”
    Baleron leveled his eyes at the
vampire. “Don’t be so sure.”
    He was ushered toward the high
gates, and the archers in the towers to either side watched his approach
anxiously. The gates themselves were thrown open and a vampire under heavy
guard was led out from the city, where the procession stopped.
    Baleron and his handlers stopped a
hundred feet away.
    The Havensril knights unchained their prisoner and prodded him forwards. Gratefully, the
young rithlag— Guilost —made his way back to his
people, and Ungier seemed genuinely glad to see him, which surprised Baleron,
who’d just heard that only Asguilar had truly loved his father.
    Baleron’s handlers shoved him
forward. This all seemed strange to him—wrong, somehow.