The Dread Wyrm (Traitor Son Cycle) Read Online Free Page A

man?” Master Smythe asked.
    “We have a whole company of remarkable young men.” Gabriel nodded. “You mean Ser Morgon?”
    Master Smythe nodded and blinked. “Ah—I expected him here. He is in Morea.”
    “Where he belongs, at school.” Ser Gabriel leaned forward.
    “You have left half your company in Morea?” Master Smythe asked.
    “Ser Milus deserved an independent command. Now he has it. He has almost all the archers and—” The Red Knight paused.
    Ser Michael laughed. “And all the knights we trust.”
    Master Smythe nodded. “Hence your escort of Thrakian… gentlemen.”
    Ser Gabriel nodded. “I don’t think any of them plan to put a knife in my ribs, but I think it’s better for everyone that they aren’t in Thrake for a year or two.”
    Count Zac came in and, at a sign from Sauce, closed the door with his hip. He had a tray full of bread and olive oil. He went and balanced with Sauce on a small stool.
    “And we have Count Zacuijah to keep the rest of us in line,” Ser Gabriel said.
    “And the magister you carried in your head?” asked Master Smythe.
    There were some blank looks and, again, Sauce made a face that indicated a connection made. She bit her lip and looked at her lover. He shrugged.
    Most of the men and women present had never seen the captain so at a loss—so hesitant. But he mustered his wits. “All my secrets revealed. Well. Maestro Harmodius has re-established his place in the… um… corporeal world.”
    Master Smythe nodded. His gaze rested on Count Zac. “And you just happen to have joined our little cabal?” Master Smythe asked.
    “I want to see a tournament,” the easterner said. “Besides, nothing exciting will happen in Morea now.”
    Alcaeus grunted. “Your mouth to God’s ear,” he said.
    Count Zac shrugged. “Yes—unless
someone
poisons the Emperor.”
    Alcaeus put a hand on his dagger.
    Master Smythe allowed a wisp of smoke to escape his nose. He pulled a pipe from his pocket—an amazing affectation, an Outwaller habit almost never seen in civilized lands—and began to pack it full of red-brown leaf mould. “Could we begin?” he asked mildly.
    Gabriel spread his hands. “I have very little to report. And little to say beyond—thanks. We really could not have accomplished anything without you. It pains me to say it, but without your hand on the delicate balances of power and
logistika,
we’d have failed last winter.”
    Master Smythe bowed his head in gracious assent. “How was the petard? The explosive device?”
    Ser Michael barked a laugh. “Loud,” he said. “My ears still ring sometimes.”
    Master Smythe played with his beard as if he’d never noticed he had one before. “Splendid. There will be more toys of a similar nature coming along in the next months. Indeed, I have arranged—or I will—that you can collect them in Harndon.” He looked around. “We are coming… to the difficult part.”
    Sauce allowed her nostrils to flare. “That was the easy part?”
    Master Smythe sighed. He put his pipe to his lips—a very long-stemmed Outwaller pipe decorated in an extravagant excess of porcupine quill work—and inhaled, and the pipe lit itself. “Yes,” he said. “In the next phase, almost whatever we do, we will be noticed. Even now, our adversary must be wondering if there is another player in the game. Or if the dice are rigged. He has made two attempts to put his pawn on the throne of Alba. He has made a half-hearted attempt to bring about the collapse of Morea. I think he believes that his adversary is Harmodius. So far.” Master Smythe smiled with prim satisfaction. “Now—” He exhaled smoke. “Now he is bending his schemes to Ticondaga and Dorling. My own backyard.”
    Ser Gavin stiffened.
    “Down, boy,” Ser Gabriel said. “I’m sure that Mater can overcome anything we face.”
    Master Smythe shook his head. “Ghause is the victim of her own vanity,” he said.
    Gabriel nodded. “I’ve always thought