The Dreaddrac Onslaught (Book 4) Read Online Free Page A

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    If it could be called such, Earwig recovered in Earwighof’s damp recesses, where water dripped incessantly in the slime next to her bed. She finally rose and prepared for her journey to Dreaddrac and its warlock king, her only hope.
    “I’m excited about the trip, Miss Irkin,” Dreg said as he packed. Beaming with energy, he glanced at her. She was surveying the room, taking in the chaos like the dead strewn across a battlefield. He blushed. “I ain’t never been beyond Konnotan.”
    “Did you remember to pack the dried mushrooms?” Earwig asked. “You know I can’t live without my fungus.” Scratching a flea on her head, she caught it under her blackened nail and quickly crushed it in her teeth, then scanned the room. “What, have you forgotten?”
    “Oh yes, Mistress,” Dreg replied. “I packed a little box of dried ones with the bright red dust underneath, and also, I packed a bucket of that red dust stuff. They can grow on the horse’s crap as we go.”
    “Horse’s crap?” Earwig repeated. “What horse?”
    “Well, I found an old cart in the barn. I bought us a horse at the market while you was recovering. I been feeding him as best I could to fatten him for the trip. I knowed you didn’t really want me to carry all this stuff on my back all the way to that there Dreaddrac place.”
    Though Dreg dared not look at Earwig directly, his peripheral vision saw Earwig’s stare locked on him with raised eyebrows.
    “You hunchback, grave-digger-in-training promoted to apprentice-idiot, are you trying to think? You don’t have enough brain to think. I’m going to have to teach you to speak, you uneducated lout.”
    Stooped over, Dreg stared at the floor. I better not look at her or say nothing, he thought.
    “So we’re traveling to Dreaddrac in a cart,” Earwig mumbled to herself as she hobbled toward the door. “Well, what can I say? My beautiful coach is a mass of splinters now, thanks to my own stupidity. Those vengeful citizens even used my grand little cart to burn the flesh off that ungrateful Magnosious. This cart, whatever it is, will be better than having to lean on that hunchback and hobble all the way to Dreaddrac.”
    “Let’s have a look at this conveyance and steed,” Earwig said, exposing a squinted eye and frown.
    “You gonna be proud of me. They’ll make our trip much easier and faster,” Dreg said. He scurried around her and disappeared out the door to bring around the horse and cart for inspection.
    On pulling up to the Earwighof’s former grand entrance, Dreg felt his proud smile drain away. He saw the look of horror on Earwig’s twisted face. She turned and disappeared back into the crumbling edifice. When Dreg caught up with her, he scratched his befuddled head. Earwig had fled down to the dungeon’s protective darkness and was cowering in the corner, sucking on a red-spored mushroom as though it were her thumb.
    “Don’t you likes the rig?”
    Earwig jerked her head up, leering at Dreg. “I’m not riding to The Crypt, let alone up the peninsula, in that cart!” she said. She pointed up toward the front of the Earwighof. “That’s the manure cart the serfs used to spread stable crap on the fields!”
    “Well I washed it best I could. It’s a sturdy cart,” Dreg said. “And Zendor is a good horse. He’s plenty strong enough.”
    Earwig took the mushroom lollypop out of her mouth. Her lower jaw dangled. Red spittle in the corners of her mouth enhanced her look of revulsion.
    “Sturdy and strong!” the witch exclaimed, rising from the floor. “That nag’s a glue factory reject. If I find out who sold you that walking skeleton, he’ll spend the rest of his days following it with a bucket and shovel.”
    “Oh you don’t mean that, Miss Earwig,” the apprentice chuckled through a smile. “Zendor the Magnificent will be a better horse than you thinks.”
    Earwig just stared at Dreg, then shook her head. “I must make a mental note not to consider