Dragon's Winter Read Online Free

turned toward the door, Azil lifted his head from the pillow. The room smelled faintly of applewood. Drowsily he said, “Kaji? Is all well?”
    “It is. Lie still.” The dragon-lord trailed warm fingers across the recumbent man’s chest. “I am going to the tower. Don’t follow me.” He closed the door behind him.
    Azil rose on an elbow.
    Ferlin the page curled on his pallet in the hall, snoring softly. Lennart, the guard at the foot of the tower stairs, bowed as Karadur passed. He climbed the narrow stairs to the octagonal chamber. Within, he stood a moment. The little room was dark, though moonlight through unshuttered windows touched the floor planks with silver. A lamp on a low table flared at his glance. Tapestries threaded with gold decorated the chamber walls. Wood for a fire lay neatly crossed in the hearth.
    A rectangular table in front of the unlit fire held three items: a lump of gold, a shallow bowl, and a knife. The dragon-lord crossed to the table. Lifting the knife, he tested its edge against his thumb. The blade was razor-sharp.
    He set it down again. A shadow fell over the light. Dark wings emerged slowly out of polished stone. A dragon-shape arched against the ceiling beams. It was a presence he knew: he had seen it all his life, though as far as he knew, no one else had ever seen it, save Azil Aumson, and once or twice, Tenjiro. “Father?” he said softly.
    But the shadow, as always, did not respond. Drawing a long breath, Karadur looked at the hearth. Yellow flames burst along the edges of the wood.
     
     
    In the bedroom, Azil groped swiftly for his shoes. Then, with care not to disturb the sleeping page, he hurried along the corridor to another chamber. The door opened before his hand touched the wood, and Tenjiro slipped out to face him. Despite the lateness of the hour, he was fully dressed.
    “He’s gone to the tower. He told me not to follow,” Azil said. “And he told Lorimir to set a guard on the tower stairs tonight. Someone unimaginative.”
    “He said that?” Tenjiro closed the door. “Good. Follow me.”
    “Where are we going?”
    But Tenjiro did not answer, only hastened along the corridor to the rear stairs.
     
     
    In the tower, the air was brilliant, bright and hot as the heart of a fire. Within it, as in the still center of a maelstrom, Karadur gripped the lump of gold. Fire ran along his big frame like water down a sluice. It poured in a controlled stream into his fingers. Slowly the lump took the shape of an armband fashioned like a dragon, fanged, bat-winged, jaws open, talons extended.
    In a small chamber in the deepest cellar of the castle, Tenjiro and Azil sat across from each other at a square table. A torch flared fitfully from a wall sconce, but despite the smoky heat it gave, the room was cold. Tenjiro leaned his head against the chair back. His long, ringed hands moved slowly, weaving a complex pattern into the smoky air.
    “You will help me, Azil. I will make a little box, a little magic box. You are his friend, you love him. I need that love. Give me your love, your loyalty, your fidelity, so that I may feed it to the box, my little dark box...” The soft, light words, like an incantation, wound about Azil’s mind. He slumped boneless to the table. Cold spilled into the chamber. Merciless, it licked his bare skin, kissed his eyes, entered his lungs. Darkness closed about him like an imprisoning fist.
    Karadur set the armband on the table. It pulsed with fire; beneath it, the thick oak began to char. Positioning his left arm over the bowl, Karadur took the knife and sliced his forearm. Blood dripped into the bowl. He scooped the band from the scarred table and dropped it into the bowl. The blood spat and frothed.
    Churning, bubbling, the darkness flowed through Azil. As it left him, it took form, acquired edges, shape, weight. A small black box rested on the table in the cellar. Tenjiro’s hands stilled. Then, changing the pitch of his voice, he began to