Blood Sword Legacy 02 - Master of Torment Read Online Free

Blood Sword Legacy 02 - Master of Torment
Pages:
Go to
full stores to hold out in a prolonged siege should there be one, Draceadon was sorely unprepared for any invasion.
    Acting as if he had important news for Lady Tarian, Wulfson was able to beguile the captain of her guard into assisting, and the man Gareth was a fount of information.
    “You say you are here in the name of William, but who are you ?” an articulate voice challenged. Most likely Rangor, the lady’s dearly departed husband’s uncle, certainly not a villein.
    “I am Wulfson of Trevelyn, captain of les morts , King William’s private guard. I have a private matter to discuss on his behalf with Lady Tarian.”
    A long pause ensued. Wulfson nodded his head, and the hides flew. More time passed, then suddenly billows of dark, churning smoke erupted overhead.
    Moments later, the same voice called down to Wulfson. “Inform your king the Lady Tarian is dead.”
    “How convenient for Rangor,” Ioan said from beside Wulfson.
    “Aye, how convenient indeed.” Wulfson looked up. “Your words will require proof. Open the gates and present her body!” Wulfson called to the rampart. Then he turned to Ioan at his immediate right and said for the ears of the Blood Swords only, “Let us hope he speaks the truth. ’Twould save me the chore.”
    Ioan chuckled, the sound ominous. “Should you be unable to perform, Wulf, I have no such problems.”
    Wulfson scowled beneath his helmet, his eyes wary. “Nor do I. An enemy of the Crown is an enemy of the Crown, no matter the sex. ’Tis all the same to me.”
    As the two men continued their conversation, a body was tossed over the rampart wall. Wulfson was urging his mount to back up when the body of a richly dressed woman landed at Turold’s feet. Ever the veteran of such distractions, the great black stood perfectly still, awaiting only his master’s command.
    “’Tis she, now begone!” the voice from above commanded.
    Wulfson glanced up at the rampart to see a flash of dark green fabric disappear behind the stone.
    “God’s blood!” Ioan said. “The man has no honor!”
    “Aye, ’twould appear I may have underestimated the man’s ambition.”
    “This body has decayed. ’Tis not a recent death,” Rorick pointed out. “The belly is corrupted.”
    Wulfson nodded, his gaze resting on the twisted, broken body before him. Cautiously he dismounted, and bade his Blood Swords be wary. The woman’s neck was at an unnatural angle, but that was not what he suspected had killed her. Dark brown hair covered most of her face. He bent beside her. Though a murderess, the Lady Tarian was a renowned beauty, with raven-colored hair, and eyes, they said, the color of the North Sea. She was also known for her small stature, and this woman, though dark of hair, was long of limb. He brushed the tangled hair from her face. Dark molted skin was pulled tight across thick cheekbones. Her mouth gaped open, dark rotted teeth clenching onto a black swollen tongue. He pushed open an eyelid. Though the pale film of death clouded it, he could plainly see that the natural color of the eye was dark, mayhap brown or black. Certainly not the eye color that the warrior princess was said to possess. He looked further down her broken body to her rough hands. The hands of a villein, not a royal.
    Wulfson looked up toward the tower rampart. What kind of fool did Rangor take him for? He stood to his full height, and turned to Gareth, the captain of the lady’s guard. He would be sure.
    “Is this your lady?”
    The tall Dane walked slowly forward, as though he could not bear to see for himself, and though he wore a helmet, Wulfson could see his face blanch, and fear stood in his eyes. Fool! It was obvious he held more than a sense of duty for the lady. Gareth took one look at the body and let out a long sigh of relief.
    “Nay, sir, ’tis not my lady.”
    “Step back then, man, and have your men bring forth the rams. I tire of Rangor’s games.”
    Once the rams were brought up, it did not
Go to

Readers choose