Free The Tomb of the Dark Paladin by Tom Bielawski Page A

beard. A dirty beard that smelled of booze.
    And then there was Commander Coronus. The elf whom he once thought to be a genius and had considered awarding a medal of valor, was in fact a dark and evil being the likes of which the thayne had never known. Coronus was one of Umber's Dark Disciples; extraordinary beings that had lived for centuries on the borrowed power of their benefactor. Coronus was a High Elf, a cousin to the Crimson and Frost Elves that he was familiar with. However, there had been no sign of High Elves in centuries, perhaps even a thousand years. This one was powerful beyond Cannath's reckoning. He commanded an army of corpses: dead men! Such a thing seemed blasphemous at first to Cannath, but his old friend had persuaded him otherwise.
    Cannath had been drunk on another kind of spirit then, the intoxicating liquor of power. In his desperation to break the curse of his family's history and free Hybrand from imperial power he had chosen his allies poorly. So determined was he not to repeat the mistake his grandfather made in allying himself with Arnathia, he could not see he was making an even greater mistake than his predecessor. A mistake from which he could not recover.
    The thought of Gavinos' betrayal sent lightning bolts of anger coursing through him. Never in his wildest imaginings would he have assumed the conniving elf was in fact an ancient relic of Umber's last foray into the world of mortals. The elf who was neither Crimson nor Frost, had given a skillful performance whilst pretending to be the would-be thayne's friend and adviser. The thought galled him. Gavinos had spent all that time and energy working on behalf of Hybrand just to give it to Umber. And the reason, he had learned, was to give the Hurkin Horde a place from which they could launch an invasion of Arnathia. It was clear to the puppet-ruler that the dark god was bent on world domination. And what better time than now? Arnathia was in shambles, the Cklathish kingdoms squabbled amongst themselves and Alfheym seemed disinclined to involve itself in the world.
    He held the bottle of whiskey up above his mouth. It was empty. Angrily he threw it into the air and watched it sail harmlessly to the rocks below. He could not hear the sound of the bottle smashing into shards upon the rocks below, but imagined that the bottle was Gavinos and smiled.
    Hugh Renaul had once been Cannath's most trusted friend and adviser. But the strange, fair-skinned elf had charmed his way into Cannath's court and convinced him to marginalize his old friend. Cannath suspected that Gavinos had probably used his dark magic to manipulate this change. Cannath knew that he had always been driven by the need to reclaim his throne and rule over his inferiors. It seemed that the devious elf had used that deep-seated need against him, forcing him to send the man he had trusted on a fool's errand. Cannath had been so consumed by his need for power, his need for the throne, that he could not even recall where it was that he had sent Hugh. The man simply had never returned. Cannath assumed that Hugh must be dead. The thayne turned away from the window and faced the opening to the staircase. He was drunk, but he desperately wanted to go downstairs and confront someone and it didn't matter whom; yet he was a prisoner still.
    During the months that followed his ascension to the throne, and his relegation to puppet status, he remained secluded in his private tower. There were servants who catered to his needs, yet he was not permitted to leave. It was outrageous. He dared not venture out, for he rightly suspected that his people would revile him for the dark alliance he made. Far too many dark and terrible things had happened to the people of Hybrand, and most of it done with the "thayne 's blessing." He was powerless; a prisoner in the gilded cage that was his private tower in Castle Hybrand.
    Cannath had time to explore the home he had never truly known during his life as the