The Dragon Lord Read Online Free Page B

a tidal pool already ankle-deep with chill salt water.
    “
What
!” There was outrage and real fury in Gemmel’s voice, so that if he had guessed wrongly Dewan didn’t like to consider the consequences of his hasty act; but before the wizard could say more, everything was justified.
    They felt the thump of impact through the ground beneath them a split-second before the fog flared incandescent orange and washed their backs with heat. The vast tearing roar of detonation came a full two heartbeats later, flooding the air with ravening noise and with the naphtha stink of wildfire. Greasy smoke boiled through the mist and the blast of fire which gave it birth thinned the concealing vapor even as its creator straggled to his feet.
    Gemmel brushed uselessly at the mess of sodden sand which caked his clothing, shrugged and extended one hand to Dewan as the Vreijek hauled himself and his burden from the mire. Their eyes met, and in the wizard’s there was true friendship for the first time that Dewan could remember. “Thank you, Commander,” was all that he said. It was enough.
    Dewan nodded once, then looked from side to side, spitting to clear his mouth as he surveyed the beach. There was more of it to see now than before the missile landed—too much more. “They must know this isn’t a natural mist,” he muttered, not so much talking to Gemmel as thinking out loud. “The wind would tell them as much. And,” his gaze returned to the sorcerer, “I remember you told Rynert once how hard it was to stabilise such a charm.” There was no accusation in his voice. “It’s just the thing he would remember—and warn his dogs accordingly.”
    “Enough heat would burn off even a real fog,” said Gemmel matter-of-factly. He was already jogging seaward again, moving more slowly now so that the noise of his own progress didn’t drown the sound of more incoming shots—or whatever else the fortress commander might decide to fling at them.
    Twice more they flattened against the beach, cuddling the gritty wetness of the shingle as if it was the softest feather quilt whilst the world around them was torn by fire. Gemmel’s cunningly constructed shroud of mist was all but usurped by an acrid layer of black smoke which twisted in the wind and made them choke on its bitter reek—scoring throat and eyes and nostrils so that each lungful of air was an enemy.
    Then there came another sound than that of airborne flame: the high, sweet scream of a cavalry trumpet. Gemmel bared his teeth and broke into a run again, aware that once more safety lay in speed. But ar Korentin did not move.
    An instant later the wizard jolted to a splashing halt, shocked to a standstill as he heard a sword scrape from its sheath. “Dewan, no!” He was shouting the words even as he turned. “For God’s sweet sake, no!”
    Dewan’s head jerked round and there was unconcealed scorn on his mustached face. “No? Then will they ride us down without a fight?” The eyes in that face were cold and flinty, an expression Gemmel had seen before. On Aldric’s face. In Aldric’s eyes. The eyes of his son… that were not the eyes of his son.
    It was an expression that presaged violence.
    “Don’t kill!” The sorcerer’s hand closed around Dewan’s thick wrist and forced his swordpoint down with an inexorable pressure that made the Vreijek’s thick brows lift in astonishment—forced it down until it grounded on the sand. “Don’t kill,” he repeated with a silky firmness brooking no questions. “They will be king’s-men. Maybe
your
men. To kill would be… unthinkable.”
    “Then what will we—” Dewan hesitated, a wry smile twisting his tense mouth. “What will
you
do?”
    “All that I must. Now get to the boat if you can. Move!”
    Dewan shrugged his least-laden shoulder and returned the broadsword to its scabbard. “Your game, then,” he conceded reluctantly, backing towards the waves so that his eyes could remain fixed on the place where the