The Dreaming Hunt Read Free Page B

and spot him sneaking off to the island where the White Tower was hidden. It had been painstakingly smuggled here stone by surreptitious stone hidden in the ballast loads of Black Ships from the continent of Koth far across the Abyssmal Sea and reassembled here on the island with utmost care. The tower had been magically camouflaged behind trees and foliage with just as painstaking care.
    He wondered sometimes who on Koth dared work against the Empire to send the tower here. Those nameless souls must have been very brave, indeed, to suborn the Emperor under his very nose.
    Gregor had never been inside the tower, but that was not his purpose as Keeper of the Tower, a secret position that had passed down through his gypsy family for generations. His duty was to safeguard it until its ancient magics were finally released. Sometimes, he dared to wish he knew when that day would be and what the magics would actually do. On other days, he wished himself well clear of anything that might be perceived as a threat to His Resplendent Majesty, Emperor Maximillian the Third, the ageless and immortal ruler of the Eternal Empire of Koth.
    The prow of the rowboat thudded against the dock jutting out into the lake. He stood, caught his balance, and jumped onto the dock. He snagged the rope one of his men tossed him and tied off the line efficiently as the first drops of rain began to splat against his face.
    The soldiers secured the oars and prepared to disembark while he strode ashore, his boots breaking through the crust of wet sand and sinking heavily into the beach. Gads, it was dark tonight. No hint of moon or starlight alleviated the impenetrable blanket of black overhead. He turned around to tell his men to bring torches and was just in time to glimpse a pair of dark forms rising silently out of the lake on either side of the dinghy. They grabbed his men from behind—covering their mouths in the process—and dragged them over the side of the rowboat and into the water. So quickly and silently was the attack executed that he barely heard a splash as his men slipped below the surface of the lake.
    Had he not been looking directly at the stealthy attack when it happened, he’d have had no idea where his men disappeared to. As it was, he lunged forward to the edge of the lake, drawing his sword as he went. A brief gout of bubbles was the only sign of his men’s passage.
    Frustrated, he pulled up at the edge of the lake. He was not skilled in underwater combat nor did he have a potion in his pouch for breathing underwater. Blind and unable to breathe, he would be less than useless at attempting a rescue of his men. Who had the ambushers been? And why had they taken his men?
    â€œShow yourselves, cowards!” he bellowed in futile fury.
    This time, four black shadows rose from the thigh-deep water. The texture of scaled skin caught his eye. Gills slanted on their necks. Burly bodies were silhouetted darkly. Merr. Gregor swore under his breath. What on Urth were the mostly water-dwelling humanoids doing attacking him and his men? There had never been any Merr in this lake. The local lizardman clan claimed this water, and the two races were bitter rivals.
    The first rule of combat against water dwellers was to force them onto dry land. He backed up the shore toward the thick wall of trees and shrubs that hid the tower. If the Merr planned to kill him, they would have to do it on his turf.
    He spotted two warriors with distinctive coral blades gleaming pale in the darkness. A third had the glowing hands of a caster, and the fourth was just stripping off a thin pair of gloves. A poisoner, then. Certain Merr developed skills in delivering alchemical poisons by touch, and he’d heard an entire school of dueling existed among Merr poisoners.
    The caster opened up with a curse spell intended to make him more vulnerable to weapons damage. These Merr must have mistaken him for human. Gypsies who served the Empire were rare but