Kingsteel (The Dragonkin Trilogy Book 3) Read Free

Dhargots.
    Technically, the Dhargots were Fadarah’s allies. But they’d failed to send forces to help Fadarah against the Sylvs. Besides, the Dhargots were the worst of all the Humans. They valued only strength and prestige but nothing else, not even family. In that, they were even worse than the Olgrym. When they saw the great Fadarah’s army reduced to a mere seven sorcerers, ragged and exhausted, assistance would be the last thing on their minds.
    No, we’ll have to traverse the Simurgh Plains undetected. That will mean avoiding thousands of Dhargothi warriors, plus everyone they’re fighting.
    Shade glanced at Fadarah. Even with the gray tinge afforded by the Sorcerer-General’s half-Olgish parentage, he was too pale. Shade would have expected the big man to be feverish, bathed in sweat, but the Sorcerer-General’s face was frightfully calm.
    Panic rose within him, and he ordered the Shel’ai to stop. Grateful for the chance to rest, they gently lowered the litter onto the forest floor and stepped back, all of them collapsing. Shade knelt and held one fist over Fadarah’s armored chest. Ignoring the ghastly, blood-splattered rend in the Sorcerer-General’s armor, he slowly opened his fingers and closed his eyes. Igniting his magic, he probed the Sorcerer-General’s body for a heartbeat.
    He searched as though searching for a spark in a pile of wet leaves. At last he found it, though it was weaker than before. Though Rowen’s blazing sword had mostly cauterized the wound, it had sliced through one of Fadarah’s lungs, nicked his heart, and carved a path all the way down to one kidney. Only the other sorcerers’ magic, coupled with Fadarah’s incredible will, had kept him alive. But both had limits.
    Shade withdrew his hand. He felt the others’ gazes, though he trusted his tears to answer the question they’d been about to ask.
    They should leave him and save themselves—as Fadarah would wish them to do. Shade gestured. Without hesitation, the men picked up Fadarah’s litter again. With renewed strength, they hurried through the trees, as though help were waiting for them beyond the forest. But that was impossible. Even if they got Fadarah to Coldhaven, even if a dozen Shel’ai came sprinting over the hill right then to assist them, it would make no difference. The great Fadarah would die. Shade pushed the thought from his mind and quickened his pace.
    An hour later, they passed the final wytchwood tree and set foot on the plains. Shade tugged at his white cloak. The ground was snowier than he’d expected. The snow crunched beneath his boots. A wild hope rose within him.
    Humans won’t fight in the winter. If they’ve holed up in their cities, we might be able to slip past undetected.
    Then, as though to mock him, a wisp of smoke appeared on the horizon. Too big even for a burning village, it could mean only one thing: an army was camped nearby. Shade fought back a wave of despair.
    That’s Prince Ziraari. It has to be.
    Like all Dhargots, the crown prince, Karhaati, was paranoid about potential rivals—particularly among his own family. But he also wanted to be close to Lyos, one of the richest cities on the plains. So he’d given his strongest brother, Ziraari, the dubious task of helping the Shel’ai take the Wytchforest. With Fadarah’s host vanquished, Ziraari had no reason to help them. In fact, Dhargots distrusted sorcery as much as other Humans did. Ziraari might well kill them for sport.
    Unless…
    Shade glanced at Fadarah’s still face. He steeled himself then addressed the others. “Take our father east.” He pointed at a copse of trees in the distance. “Guard him well. If I can, I’ll return before dawn. If not… stay with our father until he breathes his last, then make your own way to Coldhaven. From there on, your lives are your own.”
    The others started to protest, but Shade cut them off.
    “If I’m not back by dawn, don’t plan a rescue. I’m already dead.” Not