Free The Dragon Wicked by B. V. Larson

where his thoughts resided. The King was surprised and died instantly.
    Gruum sagged onto his back. The Dragon slid forward on its belly to examine him.
    “One more question, Dragon,” Gruum said, trying not to cough. The Dragon’s head loomed directly above. The jaws dripped molten fluids. A droplet splattered near Gruum, singeing his hair. The smell of his own burning beard filled his nostrils.
    “You are already dying,” the Dragon said. “How will you pay?”
    “With my death, we have paid already for three queries. I will ask the last.”
    “Very well, but hurry. I grow bored.”
    Gruum coughed, and his lungs burned. The corners of his mouth were slick, and he suspected his blood flowed there, bright and red. “How may I slay Anduin?” he asked.

-13-

    When Gruum awoke, he sat up and had a coughing fit. Although his lungs no longer leaked blood, he felt his sides. He found his skin there to be unbroken. There were no holes between his ribs. He breathed deeply, slowly, in relief.
    Nadja was there. She laid a cool hand on his shoulder. “Does my father still dream with the Red Dragon?” she asked.
    Gruum shook his head. “No. I was the last to draw breath in that place.”
    Nadja raised one eyebrow in surprise, but she did not inquire further about the matter. “What should we do now?” she asked after a pause.
    He stood up. He dressed fully and tightened his sword belt. “We shall do as the King asked. We shall meet him in his apartments.”
    Nadja took both his hands in hers. Knowing what she intended, Gruum squeezed them tightly. He nodded to her.
    The floor opened beneath them and they fell into nothingness.
    They arrived moments later in the King’s chambers. When they fell from the void into the chamber, Therian did not turn to greet them. He stood at the hearth, sipping a goblet of wine. In his other hand, he held an empty decanter. It dripped maroon liquid upon the rich carpets. He had clearly used the wine to douse the flames. The dead coals in the fireplace smoldered and steamed.
     “Why did you douse your fire, father?” Nadja asked.
    “Because I could not bear to see them,” the King said, making a vague gesture toward the doorway. He stared into the dead fire. The fumes from it filled the bedchamber with an acrid scent. His finger lifted to indicate dark shapes that lay strewn over his carpets.
    Gruum’s eyes followed the line of bodies out the open door and into the hallway. He counted seven dead in sight, including the one that lay draped over the threshold. He did not step out into the hall to see how many more there might be outside. He recognized some of their shapes and faces. They were the King’s servants. No doubt, he had summoned them to perform their final service.
    “Milord, what would you have us do now?” Gruum asked. He did not query the King as to why he had slaughtered his servants. It was clear Therian wanted all the power in his limbs he could easily gain with their pitiful souls.
    Therian turned finally, and raised his goblet to Gruum in a mocking salute. “Do you know no other has ever planted a sword in my skull?”
    “I suspected as much,” Gruum said. He swallowed hard and realized he was still clutching Nadja’s hand. He let the princess’ hand drop away from his. “We are still at truce, are we not?”
    Therian stared at him for a long moment, then finally drew a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “I suppose we are for now—as I said.”
    “Good,” Gruum said. “Let us finish our quest then. Let us rekindle our Sun. Let us bring life back to this dark, frozen land.”
    Therian moved closer. Gruum studied the King’s face. He noted, now that he could see the other more clearly, the King’s eye was undamaged. Had that horrid injury existed only in his personal version of the dream they had all shared? Or had it simply been a wound healed by death in that place, healing upon return to wakefulness, as his own punctured sides had done? Gruum tried