Dragon War: The Draconic Prophecies - Book Three Read Online Free PDF

didn’t see any of the dragons mentioned in the Prophecy.
    “What is it?” Jordhan called. “What do you see?”
    Rienne turned back from the bulwarks to see Jordhan, eyes wide and knuckles white as he clenched the tiller. “We’re flying over the horde now,” she said. “And there are supposed to be dragons with them.”
    “More dragons.” The constant threat of dragon attack had driven Jordhan and his crew half mad on their journey to Argonnessen.
    “I don’t see any, though …” As she spoke, Rienne turned back to look over the bulwarks—just in time to see a winged shadow pass before the fires that raged in the forest. “Oh no.”
    “How many?” Jordhan asked.
    “I think I saw one. Hard to be sure—it’s dark down there.”
    “Well, I’ve always wondered whether a little airship like this could outpace a dragon. Shall we find out?”
    Rienne saw it clearly for just a moment, leathery wings spread wide as it rode the updraft over the flames. “Fly like the wind!” she cried. “It’s coming!”

C HAPTER
4
    A unn stood outside Kelas’s tent and drew a slow breath. For a moment he imagined that he was about to have another meeting with the man who had been his mentor, his superior officer, and the closest thing to a father that he had ever known. But that man lay dead at the edge of the canyon, dead by Aunn’s own hand, and Aunn was wearing his face. Aunn would never again have a face-to-face meeting with Kelas ir’Darren.
    Letting the breath out, Aunn pulled back the flap of the tent. There could be no doubt that the ordered, austere tent belonged to Kelas—it was almost a replica of his study in the Royal Eyes’ offices in Fairhaven, with the addition of a simple bedroll in the back corner. A plain table had been erected to serve as a desk, and it was as bare as Kelas’s desk always was, a single sheaf of papers neatly stacked on one side. The chair behind the desk was plain wood. A low bookcase held a few favorite books, two other stacks of paper, and a small glass orb on a plain tripod. A small chest near the bedroll was the only other furnishing.
    Still half-expecting Kelas’s voice to accost him, Aunn swept around the room, stuffing papers into his backpack. The chest’s lock only slowed him for the seconds it took him to slide a pick from the pouch at his belt and find the right catches inside. A few clean clothes followed the paper into his pack, and a handful of gold and silver coins went into his belt pouch. Less than a minute after he entered, he stood at the flaps of the tent and cast his eyes around the inside of the tent again. He scanned the books on the shelves—he was familiar with them all, from the classic treatise on tactics in war and politics,
The Chimera of War
, to the worn collection of the plays of Thardakhan, an ancient hobgoblin playwright Kelas revered. Nothing essential. He turned to leave, but dashed back and snatched the glass globe from the shelf, sliding it into the pouch with his wands. He wouldn’t know until he took more time examining it whetherit was anything more than decoration, but if nothing else it was a pretty trophy.
    He hurried out of the tent and into the deserted camp. The battle with the dragon king, and Gaven’s fierce storm, had strewn debris over the whole end of the canyon—a twisted metal beam ripped from the Dragon Forge impaled the tent nearest Kelas’s, and wooden flinders littered the sandy ground. Aunn made his way up the ridge to the circle they would use to teleport back to Fairhaven. Cart and Ashara, still gathering supplies somewhere in the camp, weren’t there yet, so Aunn was alone with Kelas’s corpse. He froze with a sudden rage.
    “You bastard!” Aunn shouted.
    The surge of fury in his chest surprised him. He had expected, he realized, that killing Kelas would calm the storm of emotion he’d been caught in since he set out for the Demon Wastes.
    He couldn’t look at the dead man’s face, though he was wearing