The Dragon Lord Read Online Free

apprehension, the ghostly outline of a white painted tree trunk loomed out of the fog. Tall as the mast of a galion, it was identical to hundreds of others up and down the eastern coast of Alba: fall-of-shot markers for the shore batteries. Nor, guessed ar Korentin as he came close enough to see the grouped gouges scarring the wood, did it indicate extreme distance. He was entering the killing-ground, the area where a practised crew might hope to ignite their target with a single launch—and certainly to succeed in no more than three if they wanted to avoid a punishment detail. Once they were able to see what they were shooting at…
    Dewan quickened his pace in an effort to draw level with Gemmel, who was striding out as though he was in very truth walking for the good of his health. Which, if he knew what Dewan knew, was an accurate enough assumption. Yet the old man seemed unconcerned—so unconcerned that perhaps he didn’t know after all.
    Dewan considered that possibility, then dismissed it as unlikely. In his opinion, Gemmel might not know everything even though he often seemed to do so. But without doubt, the wizard invariably knew a damn sight too much.
    He was drawing as much breath as the weight on his back would permit to tell Gemmel a few home truths about the beach where he was so idly strolling, when the sorcerer turned abruptly and held up his hand. “Silence,” he commanded. “Listen!”
    Dewan could hear nothing at first but the hiss of wind and waves—and what was important about them? Then he heard something else and it was a sound made all the more immediate by nervous brooding:
    The distant, dissonant clangor of alarm gongs.
    Gemmel drove the Dragonwand butt-downwards into the sand with a spasm of irritation. Not anger, not fear; just irritation, such as a parent might feel at some child’s act of pettiness. “So,” he said.
    “So… ?” echoed Dewan.
    “So King Rynert has decided we are not to go our— my—own way after all. Despite all his assurances, of course.” There was a dreadful calm contentment in the way Gemmel spoke, the cold satisfaction of logic proved.
    “You mean to say—” Dewan knew that it was crazy to begin a discussion or even talk unnecessarily until they were both clear of this mess, but the words came tumbling out anyway, “—that Rynert had the choice of yea-or-nay right up to where we are now?”
    “His representative had.” Gemmel had already plucked the Dragonwand free and was walking rapidly towards the mist-wrapped sea, talking as he went. “The thin-faced gentleman I hoped was still asleep in the tavern.”
    Dewan could think of nothing sensible to say about that and kept his mouth shut.
    “I decided not to point him out to you,” the wizard continued, “because if you recognised him, you might do something regrettable, and if you didn’t then you might do something unnecessary. I thought we might shake him for long enough to reach the boat, but he must have marked our absence and made directly for the fortress. Probably didn’t like our destination—after all, from this coast there’s only one place we could be going…”
    “But Rynert knew about that!”
    “But did he tell his man? No. I doubt it.” Gemmel’s speech was growing staccato as his long legs raked over the ground, quick as a wading bird. He wasn’t running, there was no need for anything so undignified just yet, even though Dewan had been for the past dozen strides. “Credit him with that subtlety. He didn’t give instructions—not exact instructions. General, yes. But not exact. So he isn’t responsible. Regrettable mistake. Nervous troops. Suspected spies. Not identified until afterwards…”
    “Afterwards?” repeated Dewan stupidly. And it was stupid; maybe it was the running, or the shock of what Gemmel was telling him, because later he felt sure that in normal circumstances he wouldn’t have uttered a word. But this time he did. And was flayed for it.
    Gemmel