Swords of the Six Read Free Page B

hand and grasping the wounded creature's shirt with the other, the prince dragged both deeper into the cave and around a bend. He leaned the Art'en against the cave wall a short distance from the wounded captain. They would be safe here for the time being.
    Dull thuds echoed into the cavities and tunnels branching from the cave as Valorian drove his wrath into the mountainside. But the stone rose solid around Brian, concealing him and Xavion.
    Time passed and the cave grew quiet. Brian removed his armor and tore his shirt into bandages. Xavion's noble face now bore burns of such severity that his flesh reeked.
    Tearfully, the prince stumbled in the dimness until he heard a faint trickling of water. He found an underground stream and soaked his torn shirt in it. Then, returning to his captain, he gently cooled the man's face. Skin peeled away from the man's flesh.
    No. No. Oh Xavion, I am so sorry. Brian sobbed. His hands trembled as he withdrew the cloth from Xavion's face and looked upon that of the warrior. The face that he knew and loved had been exchanged for a face of horror, of seared flesh.
    And the prince wept.
    That night strong winds whistled through the prince's hiding place. Xavion awoke. His blood-shot eyes slowly took in their surroundings and his gaze hesitated on the wounded Art'en. He grasped the prince's shoulder with his mutilated hand and wearily nodded.
    "It's good to see you," Brian choked out, resting his hand on the man's shoulder.
    "You . . . have you . . ." Xavion spat blood and coughed. "Have you cared for the creature?"
    "Yes, Master." Brian followed the man's gaze back to the Art'en. Its chest rose and fell with difficulty. "I could have killed him. But—"
    "But then you," the captain coughed, "would be no better than he . . . And—"
    Brian allowed himself to smile and he answered the question as his mentor had before instructed him to: "And why would God grant mercy to me, who was His enemy, if I do not demonstrate forgiveness to my enemies."
    They sat there for a while, neither speaking. Xavion spat more blood and groaned as he rested his head against the cave wall.
    "Try to stay still." Brian put a freshly wetted cloth on the man's forehead and another on his raw neck. "You must sleep.
    "Reinforcements will come. The white dragon will see to it . . . And Kesla and the rest of the Six are due to arrive any day. Even Valorian would think twice before coming at us again when we are in their company."
    Xavion's eyelids shut, squeezing drops of blood between them. Brian dabbed them with a cloth to keep the blood from caking the man's eyes closed. Then he grabbed his weapons, tiptoed through the cave and stood guard in the shadow of its entrance. A crescent moon painted the battlefield misty blue.
    For several hours he stood and then his weary body convinced him to lean against the cave wall. A couple hours later he slid into a sitting position and closed his eyes. He only needed a minute . . . maybe not even that long . . . oh how he longed to sleep. The silent moon drew longer shadows outside and a weak wind breathed across the landscape, nudging the stench of death ahead of it.
    * * *
    The prince fell asleep and dreamed of Prunesia, the land of his birth. He saw his father sitting upon the pale-yellow throne in Millencourt Hall. The doors at the far side of the long hall lumbered open and blinding white light shot through. The king's courtiers gasped and backed to the walls, bowing their heads. His father stood and the hunch in his back became painfully apparent as he limped forward.
    "Mighty prophet," the king bowed his head. "Welcome to my humble hall."
    The king and all in attendance waited.
    At last a dragon's roar pierced the quiet. It shook the hall to its foundations, bringing everyone except the king to their knees. The creature roared again and Brian felt the pain wrenching at its noble heart. The dragon emerged then, its pure white scales pulsated with light as it angled its bony head