Free Kingsteel (The Dragonkin Trilogy Book 3) by Michael Meyerhofer Page B

Bloody Prince’s allies now?
    He could not remember. He rubbed his eyes and wished he had not consumed so much wine. Surrounded by darkness, he wondered what to do. Eventually, he made up his mind to ride back to Cassica and pretend that nothing had happened. But before he could take a step, the white-cloaked man blinked. His body jerked.
    Vaanti jumped. He told himself it might just be a death spasm, but then the Shel’ai turned, lifted his head, and looked at him. He spoke.
    Vaanti could not understand the man’s speech, but it terrified him. Screaming, he threw his dagger. Whether the result of poor aim or some kind of devilry wrought by the Shel’ai, he missed. As he turned back toward his horse, he saw the Shel’ai sitting up. It seemed, strangely, that he was crying for help. Then Vaanti spotted a second man holding his horse by the reins.
    This man wore a white cloak, too, minus the red wolves. He did not appear to be armed. The man smiled at him.
    Vaanti drew his sword. “Get away from my horse!”
    “Get away from mine,” the man answered.
    Vaanti frowned, puzzled. Then he heard a sound and whirled back around. The Shel’ai was on his feet, though doubled over, as though in pain. Violet eyes found Vaanti’s again. The Shel’ai spoke a second time, sounding even more frantic, as if pleading for his life.
    Vaanti readied his sword. “Stay away from me,” he warned.
    As though in answer, the Shel’ai screamed. Violet flames burst from his body. Instead of falling, he straightened. Then, before Vaanti’s eyes, he seemed to grow.
    Legs thickened like tree trunks. Hands sprouted claws the size of daggers. Pale skin took on a metallic sheen then darkened, abruptly covered in scales. Violet eyes turned yellow. An unevenly horned head tipped to one side, studying him, and screamed again.
    “Gods!” Vaanti threw down his sword and fell to his knees. “Please, someone, help me…”
    Someone touched his shoulder. Vaanti twisted, looked up, and saw violet eyes staring back at him. It was the man who had been holding his horse’s reins.
    The man pointed at the monstrosity before them. “Do you know what that is?”
    Vaanti shook his head.
    The other man grinned. “But you’ve heard of it, haven’t you? Think hard.” He grasped Vaanti’s chin and turned it, forcing him to look.
    Vaanti shut his eyes, weeping. He nodded.
    The man laughed. “Good. A thing of beauty, is it not?” He touched the side of Vaanti’s head. A strange jolt forced Vaanti’s eyes open. “I hope you’ll forgive me, but I’m afraid I must conduct a little test now. Please hold still.”
    The man stepped away, but Vaanti found that he still could not move. The monstrosity lumbered toward him. Fire spurted between gaps in its scales. Its deafening cry spoke of rage and anguish.
    Unable to close his eyes, Vaanti tried once again to plead for his life. But the monstrosity opened its maw, and a sea of flame poured out. The last thing Vaanti heard was the sound of applause.

CHAPTER SIX
    Alliances and Betrayals

    B y the gods, how is he still alive?
    Shade shook his head as he studied Fadarah’s ghastly wound. With the help of the Dhargots, the Shel’ai had carried the stricken Sorcerer-General into a tent. Dismissing their newfound bodyguards, Shade and the other Shel’ai stripped off Fadarah’s armor and urged still more healing energies into his body. Then, exhausted, they collapsed for a few hours of rest. They had not expected Fadarah to be alive when they awoke. But he was.
    Three days after sustaining a wound that would have killed most men within seconds, Fadarah continued to draw rasping, shallow breaths. His muscular body looked shrunken, the skin taut and ashen. Despite all their attempts to clean the wound, it had festered. A sickening smell filled the tent, so strong that it took all of Shade’s willpower to keep from retching.
    Some of the others had not been so lucky. Sensing that they had reached the limits of what