The Vlakan King (Book 3) Read Online Free Page B

door. The steward bowed to them and led them out of the palace and onto the main parkway. Lockwell guessed where they were heading. He saw the squat tower with the yellow smoke flowing upward. He mused over the yellowness everywhere. In the land, the skin of the Mordyn people and now the smoke of their sorcerer's tower were the same faded yellow. Then he recalled he had not seen Galamog. What did she look like and did it affect her land?
    The steward left them at the door of the tower. The door opened slowly and a thin sallow face peered out at them.
    "Ah, guests for the master," said the man. "I am Husta, the master's servant. Come, come. What names do I give?"
    "I am Lockwell. My companion is Machel Moet."
    They followed the twisted figure inside, the door closed by itself. The stench assaulted them as they stepped over broken boxes, rotten food and other items whose origins Lockwell did not dare guess. The stairs were wide and sturdy. At the top of the third flight Husta rapped on an ornate door. The door opened noiselessly.
    "Enter."
    "Master, I present Lockwell and Machel Moet."
    Lockwell and Machel walked into an immaculate room fill with tables and books, each with its own place. There wasn't even a speck of dirt on the floor. Their host stood before them. He was a Mordynian of average height and build. His head was bald and his bushy eyebrows nearly shielded his blue eyes from view. He wore a brown robe and his feet were bare. His gaze was intense and seemed to peel away the skin of Lockwell and Machel to see within.
    "I am Pashar Bei. Welcome to my home. Husta, prepare refreshments for our guests."
    The servant hustled off into another chamber.
    "Please be seated. Your appearance here indicates your audience with Lady Galamog went well. That is good." He smiled briefly. "We need the military expertise of the Celaeri for our invasion of western Anavar. Our people are decent fighters but no imagination when it comes to strategy. We plan to cross the mountains south from Arda into Curesia, Wierland and Calendia. Curesia is our first task. Wierland is not strong either and after the two of them are in our control, then we engage Calendia. We will strike directly at Nantitet."
    "Do you think Calendia will wait until you are ready?" asked Lockwell. "Their smartest move would be to march to Curesia with the Wierland army."
    "Ah Lockwell, that would be correct. However, we have agents in Calendia who are tasked to bring confusion and indecision to High King Armana's court. We shall not engage the Calendian army until we are ready for it."
    "Who are your agents?" asked Lockwell.
    "That is not for your ears, at least not yet. Ours is a new partnership and must be given time to grow into such trust. I cannot tell you specifics at this point but I can tell you a little more of the overall scope. I need your soldiers to meet me at the Tower of Erast near Arda. From there we shall move into Curesia. I will send a small company into Calendia to aid our agents in Nantitet. There will be enough activity around Nantitet to keep the High King's attention diverted until it is too late. And if our agents manage to kill the High King, so much the better."
    Husta returned with the beverages and Lockwell began to feel more comfortable in Pashar Bei's company. He understood the plans better and their place in it.
    "I would like to know if Ioane Adan would have known of Lady Galamog's requirement of tribute."
    "Ah, I expected this question," grinned Pashar Bei. "Did the Celaeri Queen intend for you to be the tribute? I cannot say. Whose decision was it to bring soldiers with you; Ioane Adan's or yours?"
    "Mine," said Lockwell.
    "You may have your answer there," said Pashar Bei. "Gentlemen, I will share my thoughts with you. The kings and queens of the world consider practitioners of magic as tools to be wielded as they wish. If it is necessary to end our life they will do it without hesitation no matter how valuable we may be. Look to your own