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

gravediggers in the future, no matter how lean the servant pickings,” she mumbled. She went back to sucking on the mushroom in hopes of comforting her nerves. “I won’t be traveling to Dreaddrac in that manure cart dragged by a beast escaping the glue factory, and that’s final.”
    *
    After a week of coaxing and seeing the food rapidly running out, Earwig begrudgingly gave in and, groaning, climbed up on the fully loaded cart as if it were filled with fresh manure. After looking over the bulging dray, she settled down and turned just in time to see Zendor the Magnificent lift his tail and break wind.
    “Zendor can’t digest his victuals none too good,” Dreg said, blushing behind a bit of a grin.
    Earwig glared at the former street urchin, then rolled her eyes. Dreg wouldn’t look at her but spit off the side of the cart. 
    “When did you start chewing tackenbeck?”
    “Since I was a young’un living on the streets.”
    Earwig curled her mouth in a disgusted sneer. “That foul habit just ended; throw that stuff away. So we’re going to ride in a manure cart behind a gaseous horse all the way to Dreaddrac. Is that right?”
    Dreg said nothing in response, but continued to stare ahead, waiting for the order to get started.
    Zendor broke wind again and the reality she couldn’t bare became painfully clear.
    Ignoring the obvious, Dreg smiled and with Earwig, looked back at the bulging mound under the tarp behind them.
    “I loaded all your stuff you said you gotta have for the trip,” Dreg said. He turned back to the front and flicked the whip above Zendor.
    The horse didn’t lift his head but wheezed, stamping his feet to move the cart. The farm cart creaked and groaned, then the wooden wheels turned slowly under the load. Zendor chomped down on the bit, and they crept forward. At his own pace, he ambled along, dragging the hunchback, witch, and overloaded, junk-filled wagon the best he could. The two riders ignored the trail of tinkling rubble falling off the cart as it rolled at a snail's pace up the road.
    “Give me that whip!” Earwig cried. She snatched it. Her chipped yellow teeth gnashed. “I’m not going to be out on the road where someone might see me in this crap cart.”
    “Whack!” snapped the whip on the horse’s rear end.
    Zendor whinnied, broke wind, and pulled off on the roadside. The cart rolled along an embankment jolting Earwig, who fell over the edge. She hung off the cart’s side with her feet dangling in the ditch’s dark mud. As she struggled, the witch’s flailing feet smashed an anthill, and the ants swarmed over her feet and legs, when she finally got a foothold on the bank.
    “That foul beast tried to kill me!” Earwig screamed. She franticly slapped at ants with one hand, holding onto the cart with the other.
    “You hadn’t oughta whipped Zendor,” Dreg said. He patted the horse gently. “In his day, he was a great circus horse, so the man said. He’s a proud beast.”
    “Vindictive beast is what you mean,” Earwig grumbled, smashing ants spreading over her entire body. “If we get to Dreaddrac alive, that horse is dragon-fodder.”
    *
    Zendor couldn’t speak of course, but he did understand human language. He was Memlatec’s transformation of a volunteer transmuted to keep an eye on the witch. He was to thwart any further attempts on the king’s life. Zendor duly noted Earwig’s comments. The horse jerked the cart. He caught the flailing Earwig unexpectedly while she swatted ants.
    Dreg tried not to look when he heard a ‘plop’ in the mud. He would have to get the hag out of the ditch without appearing to notice what happened. How he was going to do that he’d no idea. It was going to be a long trip to Dreaddrac.
     

2:  Admiral of the Seas
     
    “Has the Admiral of the Seas arrived yet?” King Saxthor asked Chatra Rakmar in the cool, early morning audience. The morning sun streamed through the clearstory, illuminating the private audience chamber