Soul of Dragons Read Online Free

down the ramparts, spreading Lion’s azure fire to the blades of his men. “The zuvembies! Take them!”
    The archers sent volley after volley into the charging Malrags, Romaria standing in their midst, and the zuvembies pulled themselves over the battlements as Mazael set the swords of his men ablaze. He whirled and took the head from the first zuvembie within reach. The undead thing collapsed in a puff of dust. Around him the knights and armsmen struck down zuvembie after zuvembie, even as the men in the courtyard struggled against the Malrags trying to break through the barricaded gate. 
    Mazael risked a glimpse over the battlements and saw Corvad stand up, pulling Romaria's arrows from his flesh. Even as Mazael watched, the ghastly wound in Corvad's neck shrank.
    Healing.
    Corvad was truly Demonsouled. 
    Why he had come to the Great Southern Forest, why he had taken command of these Malrags, Mazael didn't know. But he knew this fight would not be over until Corvad had been slain. 
    Then three zuvembies flung themselves at him, and Mazael had no thought to spare for anything but battle.
     
    ###
     
    Molly stood in the shadows of the trees, wrapped in her cloak, and watched the battle rage below the ruined castle. 
    She stood with three of Corvad's pet Malrags. The creatures had once been Malrag shamans, capable of wielding potent spells, the third eye in their foreheads blazing with green light. Then Corvad had ordered all three to swallow a single drop of his demon-tainted blood, and the Malrag shamans changed into something worse, something stronger. 
    Malrag warlocks.
    Now pulsing crimson veins crawled through their pallid gray flesh, and their third eyes flickered with the sullen red light of a smith’s forge. Corvad’s blood enhanced their magical powers, and the creatures could no do things that no Malrag shaman could do. Things that no wizard could do.
    Save for Molly's grandfather, of course. 
    She watched as Corvad limped his way through the lines of the Malrags, rubbing his throat. 
    “That was foolish, brother,” Molly said. “To go within range of the walls. Our grandfather warned us about Mazael's woman. She almost made you into a pincushion.” 
    Corvad stared at her, gray eyes narrowed, and she felt his rage like the heat of a furnace upon her face. Corvad was Demonsouled, and normal men trembled at his wrath, but Molly met his gaze without flinching.
    After all, she was just as strong as he was. 
    Corvad scowled, but looked away. The gem in his black diadem of his flashed as he did so, the same green light that danced in the zuvembies’ eyes. A useful toy, that diadem. Their grandfather had told him where to find it.
    Along with a few other useful things. 
    “They're going to lose, you know,” said Molly. “Your pets. Mazael picked too strong a location. You won't be able to beat his men.”
    “I know,” said Corvad. “The Malrags are expendable. Ultorin brought tens of thousands of them out of the Great Mountains, and the zuvembies are easily replaced.” 
    Molly shrugged as another volley of arrows cut down the front rank of Malrags below the curtain wall. The drops of Corvad's blood had made the infused Malrag warriors stronger and faster, even as it trebled their bloodlust and cruelty. Yet infused Malrags could die just as quickly as the normal ones. 
    “Go,” said Corvad. “Mazael and his men are distracted. You'll get in and out easily.”
    Molly glared at him.
    Corvad's eyes narrowed, but his tone softened, if barely. “This is your best chance to claim what we came to take. And if you're successful, you'll be that much closer to making Mazael pay for what he has done. For what he did to Nicholas.” 
    Rage erupted through Molly, so hot and fierce that it felt as if her blood burned in her veins...
    As if power and strength filled her.
    She gave a sharp nod and cast aside her cloak. 
    Underneath she wore the loose black clothing and dark leather armor of the Skulls,