Free Cold Hearted Son of a Witch (Dragoneers Saga) by M. R. Mathias Page A

well.
    “They have to die!” the prince yelled in a voice that was raspy with mucus. “What do you care about them, druid?” he responded to King Blanchard’s pleas. “Gravelbone did this to me, but the Sarax will finish us all!” With that, the prince shouldered the witch to the floor and dove on the huddled form of his father. He looked up at the guard, who should have stopped his advance, and spat a wad of frothy blood in his face. Then, before anyone could get hold of him, he started stabbing the king’s body over and over again with savage force and quickness.
    Blood slung back over him and March watched in stupefied horror as the gore-drenched prince stood and spread his arms wide. “I am the king now,” he said with nothing less than malice in his jaundiced eyes. “Bow befo...”
    He stopped cold then, his eyes rolling up as he fell to the floor not far from Marcherion’s feet. Where the prince had just been now stood the king, his tattooed druid face full of anguish for what he’d just done. It was he who’d buried the dagger in Prince Richard’s back. Maybe worse than stabbing his own son was the fact that his true body lay dying and full of holes on the floor. Most of the guards storming in didn’t know his true identity either.
    “I’ll be a pixie’s pecker head,” Herald said as he wiped the sweat from his brow and looked nervously around the room. Without further hesitation he stepped in front of the real King Blanchard and shielded him.  

 
     
     
     
     
    Part IV
    Clover

 
     
     
     
    Chapter 11
     
     
    The Temple of Dou was almost as impressive as the valley in which it was built. Jade had done a fine job of carrying them there. At the moment he was resting on a ridge while Lemmy and Jenka stretched their legs and took in the sight below. This deep in the mountains, last year’s snow still topped the peaks, but along the heavily treed slopes the deep greens of summer fought a losing battle with the rusty shades of autumn. Across the valley’s floor, crop fields, orchards, and a few interior pastures holding cattle sprawled away on either side of a winding stream.
    Jade told Jenka he would finish the journey and then feed. Once he was sated he would be able to get the deep slumber his growing body truly needed.
    The young green dragon sat them down just out of arrow range on the temple’s walled-in lawn. There were some people about, but they were farmers, not soldiers. They scattered to hide behind whatever was available. An ogre loped toward another of its kind at the edge of the tended area. It reminded Jenka of the old Crix Crux fireside tale his mother used to tell, only this one was fleeing a dragon, not stalking children.
    Jenka was amazed that a place this far away from civilization would risk not having real defenses. The wall surrounding the main structure was only head-high to a tall man. An orc could leap right over it in stride. He knew the druids practiced powerful magic, but he couldn’t fathom them defending this place from the vermin.
    They were greeted at a set of wooden doors that opened onto what was nothing less than a fully manicured garden. A small, robed and hooded form gave Lemmy a short bow then led them to the Temple.
    To Jenka’s surprise, not everyone there had tattoos on their faces. Lemmy explained that only a small portion of the people at the temple were druids. Much of the labor was done by ogres and the folks that lived in the seemingly protected valley. Looking around, Jenka realized that there were a lot of things resuming. Three rows of black-robed druids, and behind them another row of brown-robed boys and girls, were praying on a tiled patio. Several pairs of brown- and black-robed men and women worked on ladders, trimming and plucking at trees that bore recognizable gourd nuts. Zahrellion had a tree like these in some special magic place she’d told him about once. The liquid in the nuts was sweet and revitalizing. The grounds were more