Free Oathkeeper by J.F. Lewis Page A

the Demon War. A molten tear hissed at the corner of the dragon’s onyx eyes, running white-hot along the black.
    â€œHow silly,” he murmured to himself, “for the Betrayer to have forgotten how he earned the name. Even Kholster is not old enough to have known me by that one—like as not only Hasimak and I could tell that tale—so I suppose it can be explained, if not forgiven.”
    A rejuvenated body, burning brightly at the end, but my mind is still ancient. I feel young . . . and old . . . at the same time.
    Wheeling in the air, Coal flew a series of flips, dives, and recoveries to stretch his muscles. A twinge at the base of his tail reminded him of the time the Ghaiattri had cut into his hide during the Great Demon War, but he did his best to ignore it.
    â€œWork to do and debts to repay.” He mumbled the Dwarven phrase and wondered if they still used it nowadays.
    His immense shadow stretched over the forest below, his thermal wake igniting tree tops as he descended, searching for a signal, if not for the warsuit itself.
    â€œBloodmane?” he bellowed. “Dratted armor demands my presence and then doesn’t bother to provide an address at which . . . no, I suppose I did fly off before I could be given one.” He mulled that over, shifting his jaws. “No, still his fault. Should have mentioned it all in the initial—”
    Figures clad in armor careered about the sky shooting gouts of blue, green, and purple flames high into the air to get his attention.
    Eldrennai nonsense , he thought dismissively. Where are the warsuits? I’m not taking orders from some stump-eared haughty elf who thinks . . .
    Flying lower still, flames licking the forest canopy, he spied a lone crevasse of collapsed earth stretching as far as his draconian eyes could see, toward the distant mountains. He landed there in the mass of fallen trees closest to the Eldrennai, fires springing up along his mass and the ground trembling beneath his weight.
    â€œWell?” He clawed the ground. “Where is Bloodmane?”
    â€œMighty Koa-hul,” began a figure clad in bright robes. Coal could not make out his features, the dull haze rising from the fires causing anything further than a few hundred feet away to waver unclearly. “Flame bringer, master of the inner fire, he who is the mighty flow of white hot anger—”
    Coal spat a thin stream of lava at the mage, incinerating him in flaming agony.
    â€œAlas,” Coal lied, stifling a chuckle. “My aim is off. I only meant to singe him.”
    Spotting a cluster of surviving figures nearby, Coal narrowed his gaze, shining brighter. “And I am Coal now, not whatever that fool called me.” He waited a breath to allow time for a response—well, half a breath. “Did you bring any Pyromancers? I shall not abide shouting back and forth to some tiny pink thing too small to bother seeing. Who dares approach me? Where is Bloodmane?”
    One of the mortals, a knight clad in demon armor, flew into the ring of flames spreading rapidly from Coal’s body. A flame ward flared brilliantly about his person, smartly cast, by Coal’s estimation, not that it would provide any protection at all should the dragon decided to waste breath upon him. But no, he was saving such grand displays for Port Ammond, for surely that was where his true destruction would be most needed, to topple the towers of the Eldrennai that Kholster’s daughter and her people might feast upon the tender meat within.
    â€œI am Jolsit of the Eldrennai,” the tiny figure shouted. “You do not know me, but I fought at Kholster’s side during the Great Demon War, and it was Kholster himself who gave me this armor. I am under Bloodmane’s command. Skinner kholsters this particular squad. He and the Armored are still digging their way out.”
    Jolsit gestured to the dirt-collapsed tunnel by way of