Free The Dragon Wicked by B. V. Larson Page A

to push away these disturbing thoughts. He would not ask if Therian or Nadja recalled the wounds. Perhaps, in their versions of these dreams, things had gone differently. He did not want to question the transient nature of dreams and dream worlds. He decided it was best to accept reality as it was—or as it was at the moment.
    “We must return to my sire’s altar…to the place where this all began,” Therian said. “We must unmake what he forged there in league with Anduin.”
    Nadja stepped between the two men. She reached out a hand to each of them. They took her hands slowly, staring at one another.
    “Now?” she asked.
    “If you would be so kind,” Therian said, still eyeing Gruum.
    All three fell into the floor and reappeared in the deeps beneath Corium. They stood near the blasted altar itself. The pool lapped around their ankles. Gruum let go of Nadja’s hand and backed away first. Therian did likewise a moment later. All three of them eyeone another with concern.
    “What now?” asked Gruum.
    “From this spot,” the King said, “we can invade Anduin’s lair—with or without her leave.”
    “We must do it at a specific moment,” Gruum said.
    Therian looked at him sharply. “What moment?”
    “It must be when she slumbers—but not when she is actively dreaming.”
    Therian blinked at him and touched his chin. “Interesting. And how did you come by this bit of information?”
    “Yserth told me. It was his answer to my final question.”
    Therian’s upper lip shifted, as if it wanted to rise up into a snarl. His face fell still again after a moment. “We are all definitely sorcerers, after a fashion,” he said.
    “The question is,” Nadja said, “how do we know when the Dragon slumbers, but does not yet dream?”
    Therian nodded. “I believe it can be done. We will open up not a Dragon’s Maw, but rather a Dragon’s Eye.”
    “Can we then…spy on her?”
    “After a fashion,” he replied. “There is a problem, however. The spell requires a drop of Dragon’s blood.”
    “I’m half-dragon, am I not?” asked Nadja.
    “No,” Gruum said suddenly. “I’ll not have you cutting her again.”
    “You can do it then, Gruum,” she said, offering her wrist. “Two drops of mine should make one of Dragon’s blood, should it not?”
    Gruum and Therian eyed one another for a moment. Therian nodded at last. “Yes, that would be the formula. Spill them into this pool where the altar once stood.”
    Gruum produced a small knife from his boot. He cleaned the tip fastidiously, burning it until it was scorched black over a tiny candle. Finally, he took Nadja’s hand and delicately poked her fingertip. She winced, then watched with interest as the blood welled up. Gruum eyed it, and was pleased to see it was indeed red…as it should be.
    One drop, then a second fell into the still pool. Tiny ripples spread outward, making their reflections in the inky water waver rhythmically.
    Therian worked his spell, and Nadja chanted quietly alongside him. Gruum could do nothing but grimace as their two voices chanted Dragon speech. The pool turned a dark red, and then thickened until it became a soupy substance. When it was the rust-like shade of dried blood, Therian declared the pool ready. He told them all to gaze into the pool and see their own reflection there.
    “I can see nothing, milord,” said Gruum, gazing into the pool. It was as thick as mud now, and bubbled like the fluids at the bottom of a hot spring.
    “Continue gazing,” said the King.
    In time, Gruum became aware of a great presence. It seemed to be gazing back at him. It was a single eye of pale green. He knew that gaze, although it came from an alien face. It was the eye of Anduin.
    “I see her,” Gruum whispered. “Does she see us?”
    “I think not,” Therian said.
    “I hope not,” Nadja said.
    They all watched the eye, but it did not blink, nor focus upon them.
    “Should we try later—perhaps upon another day?” Gruum