Soul of Dragons Read Online Free Page A

the city of Barellion’s feared assassins’ brotherhood. She had trained every day for years under the Skulls' cruel masters, both before and after her grandfather had found her. She knew how to kill without noise, without mercy. But she had left that behind when she met Nicholas, left it behind forever.
    Until Mazael killed Nicholas. 
    Once more fury burned through her. And this time Molly seized it, let the dark power of it fill her. She was an assassin of the Skulls, trained in death and stealth.
    And she was Demonsouled...and no one could stand before her.
    She took a step forward, and called forth the burning darkness within her. 
    Shadows swallowed her, and the world vanished. 
    And when the darkness retreated, she found herself standing on the curtain wall. The battle raged around her, knights and armsmen struggling against the zuvembies. They were winning – the fire from Mazael’s sword tore through the zuvembies.  A pity, that. Normal steel could not harm the zuvembies, and if not for Mazael's sword, Corvad's walking corpses would have butchered Mazael’s men. 
    She saw Mazael Cravenlock in the thick of melee and a spike of anger burned in her heart, so fierce that she wanted to scream. He would pay for what he did to her, to Nicholas. She wanted to walk the shadows to his side and bury her sword in his back. But her grandfather had warned that she could not take Mazael in a straight fight. 
    Especially with that blue-eyed woman guarding his side. 
    The nearby armsmen looked at her in surprise, and Molly reached for the dark power within her. Again she walked the shadows, reappearing in the courtyard below the ruined tower.  Here Mazael's men fought against the Malrags assaulting the barricade, and as on the walls, Mazael's men had the advantage. 
    A pair of armsmen in the black and silver tabards of the House of Cravenlock saw her appear. 
    “Foes within the walls!” they shouted, racing at her with swords drawn.
    Damnation. 
    Molly drew her sword, the slender blade gleaming. The armsmen rushed at her, shields out, longswords drawn back for a strike. At the last moment, Molly drew on her power, and strode into the shadows. She reappeared behind the armsmen and spun, Demonsouled power filling her arms and legs with strength. Her boot caught the first armsman behind the knee, and he fell with a clang of armor, his head bouncing off the ground. The second recovered and lunged at her. But with the power filling her, he seemed slow, so terribly slow, and Molly sidestepped, her fist punching out. The pommel of her sword smashed into the man's jaw, and he fell, stunned.
    Shouts rang out from the wall, and Molly saw some of the armsmen staring at her, while the archers turned, lifting their bows. The blue-eyed woman's gaze fixed on Molly, and her hands blurred as she raised her bow and notched an arrow.
    Molly walked the shadows to the other side of the courtyard. And not a moment too soon – the blue-eyed woman's arrow shattered against the very spot Molly had been standing. The woman pivoted, bow turning towards Molly's direction.
    It was time to go. But first Molly needed Mazael's baggage, his supplies. Where would he have hidden them? Someplace safe, someplace secure...
    In the ruined tower.
    Molly strode the shadows an instant before the next arrow drove into the ground.
    She reappeared inside the ruined tower, balanced on a pile of eroded rubble. Pack horses stood within the tower's walls, laden with sacks and bags. Wounded men lay upon blankets, but scrambled to their feet when they saw her, reaching for their weapons. A woman stood over the wounded, a baby in her arms. She had green eyes and black hair. Rachel Roland, Mazael's sister. Half-sister, anyway. 
    Molly's grandfather had mentioned her. 
    “Who are you?” said Rachel.
    Molly looked around.
    There. Two pack horses. A cot slung between them.
    A dark, misshapen shape resting upon the cot.
    The wounded men hobbled towards her, weapons in