The Dreaddrac Onslaught (Book 4) Read Online Free

overwhelmed the skittish assistant, and he fell back on the cold gritty stone. He jerked the master’s wand up between the two adversaries and himself. The jewel clutched in the wand’s claws glowed an ominous red.
    “Back away from me, Tarquak!” Smegdor said. He thrust the baton at the general, who wafted back. The orc’s sinewy arm was slowly raising his blacksmith’s hammer. Smegdor jerked the wand toward him. “What do you want, orc?”
    Staring at the wand’s glowing crystal, the orc lowered the hammer and backed off without answering. It looked back once, then disappeared down the smoky side passageway. Staring again at Tarquak, Smegdor held the wand up at the specter as he struggled to get up. “Keep your distance.”
    Dragons roaring and snorting in their stables above and constant hammering from forges all through the mountain cancelled each other out. The inhabitants didn’t pay attention to the constant roar within the Munattahensenhov. Smegdor led the black vapor on through the dark corridors to the mad King of Dreaddrac in his workroom.
    “Master,” Smegdor called timidly from the doorway. He peeked in.
    The Dark Lord didn’t turn from his work but cast a squirming snake into the cauldron, bubbling on the fire. Its mouth opened in a silent scream, flashing its fangs in death. The king motioned Smegdor to enter with his charge as he read a spell from a scroll.
    “Master, this is General Tarquak,” Smegdor said.
    “Silence!” the Evil One snapped. “Don’t you hear me speaking, you fool? Do you want to ruin this complicated incantation?”
    Terrified, Smegdor froze, trembling in the doorway. He held himself up with his free hand locked on the doorframe. His side felt cold from the specter wavering next to him.
    *
    The dead general’s vaporous soul drifted across the room to the sorcerer-king. So long in that subterranean hell, the general thought. Now that I’m free, I’ll take revenge on the mortal world. Even this sorcerer will pay for imprisoning me in that well. The vapor began to transform into physical essence.
    *
    The sorcerer-king wheeled about, hooked the general’s essence with a glowing wand, and hurled the black soul, horrified face frozen, into the cauldron’s steaming sludge.
    “You arrogant fool. Did you think you’d outmaneuver me?” the Dark Lord said, laughing.
    The last of General Tarquak’s substance slid into the boiling swill. The bubbling sound echoed after the black sludge, hissing and spitting, sucked the general’s spirit into the cauldron.
    The Dark Lord chanted the last incantation, then turned to Smegdor, cringing at the door. “An excellent selection.” The Evil One turned back to the cauldron. “You may go.”
    Smegdor hobbled away toward his station.
    “Remain close by in case I require something else,” the sorcerer called out to the sound of Smegdor’s dragging foot in the passageway. The Dark Lord looked into the bubbling pot and smiled. The general’s horrified face, caught in a silent scream, swirled a moment, then slid into the foul goo, confirming his total defeat. “I’ll permit you a new life when you declare your total submission and obedience. After all, as a very powerful wraith, you’ll get to dispense pain and suffering as you like.”
    The wizard performed rituals, made sacrifices, and chanted spells all night to the growing thing in the cauldron. Powers effervesced up from the mountain vents. The Dark Lord fused them to the creation undulating in the pot. The wraith’s power grew through the night in the kettle, fed by blood and warped energies, until just before dawn.
    The wraith crawled from the cauldron and slithered to a chest provided for it that it might rest in the moldy darkness. As the black fingers pulled the trunk’s lid shut, the Evil One rested also, having infused his own evil energy into the wraith.
    Sengenwha will have a new military commander without any restraints on his ruthlessness, the king thought.
    * *