DW02 Dragon War Read Online Free Page A

darkened wood.
    “It’s no good, I tell you,” a gravelly voice grumbled. “We don’t know nothing about the east country. For all we know, there may be stinking elves to the east.”
    “We know what’s here and what’s behind us, don’t we,” squeaked a second man with a shrill, high voice. “Hanging is what’s here. Hanging for desertion—not to mention murder, rape, pillage and thieving!” The high voice broke into scratchy, irritating, high-pitched laughter.
    “Shut up and march, you two,” boomed a third low voice, one Shulana judged was accustomed to command.
    “You ain’t no leader of a hundred now,” Gravel Voice challenged. “You ain’t no leader of nothin’.”
    “Yeah,” Squeaky Voice added, “you ain’t no leader of….”
    Shulana heard a soft swishing sound followed immediately by a wet slicing and cracking sound. An instant later she heard a soft thud, followed by a loud crash.
    “I’m a leader of one now,” Command Voice boomed.
    Gravel Voice breathed heavily, then replied, “Didn’t have to chop his head off. But a nice swing. And your point is well taken. East is just fine with me. Even if there are scum and elves there.”
    “Hmmph,” Command Voice grunted.
    Shulana slipped forward through the darkness until she had the two men clearly in sight. They had interrupted their march and their conversation to rifle the dead man’s pack and clothes, stuffing their own bags and packs with anything of value on him. The decapitated corpse still twitched occasionally, as if protesting the robbery, and his spilled blood glowed brightly in Shulana’s elven vision as it trickled over small branches, fallen leaves, and countless thousands of brown pine needles. At length, satisfied that their former comrade had nothing else of value, the two stalked on eastward, passing within ten yards of the three humans behind Shulana, who wisely maintained that degree of stillness that among them passed for silence.
    Shulana doubled back and followed the murderous pair for nearly a mile, then returned, running at a medium pace as silently as a very soft breeze through the evergreen and hardwood trees. She uttered not a word, but by gesture alone indicated to the threesome that it was safe to move forward. Then she hurried ahead again, resuming her place on point.
    Three more times that night the intrepid foursome encountered stragglers from the Heilesheim army, renegade soldiers turned plunderers, murderers, and thieves. Such, Shulana realized, were always a by-product of human wars, and it would be years after peace was restored before the last of these were tracked down and killed by what the humans called “lawful authority” —which from her point of view was little more than a group of murderers and pillagers whose actions were for some reason approved by the majority of men. At the moment, these small parties of renegades, infected with Heilesheim’s anti-elven propaganda, presented little threat as long as her group was vigilant and remained hidden. But the encounters did retard their already painfully slow progress.
    The Golden Eggs, of course, were a major impediment to their movement. Their sheer bulk meant that it was all one person could do to carry one of them, and their weight made that an arduous task. Bagsby carried one of the eggs in an enormous cloth sack slung over his shoulder. Marta carried the other in similar fashion, while George was laden with the cache of furs, blankets, weapons, and clothes that Marta had collected from the dead (and sometimes the living) of the recent battle. Moving quietly through even light woods thus encumbered was slow, trying work. So, on the first night, they covered less than twelve miles, before dawn peeped over the horizon, the signal for the party to find a remote clearing, camp, and post guards.
    The second night’s march brought them still closer to the edge of the forest, the open fields of Dunsford, and the main road that crossed the