Faith Of The Dragon Tamer (Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

of the most glorious mansions in Yor reached upward with twisted features. Only a small section of hall remained visible in the distance. Paintings hung unrecognizable, tattered curtains fluttered in enigmatic drafts, and ashes and dust were pilled high in every corner. Though furniture was sparse, there was enough evidence of former inhabitance to cause the torchlight to bring shadowy specters to life.
    All evidence of Ramie’s anger evaporated. Why didn’t Presario board up the sight? It must be painful to look upon one’s former life and be reminded of its tragic end. Ramie made a mental note to offer his own men for the job, maybe even help rebuild the entire keep.
    Fearful Arri would grow weary of his hesitation, Ramie turned and hurried down the smaller passage. A lone light flickered from under a doorway at the end of the hall. It danced just enough to help Ramie maneuver through the books surrounding him.
    He heard soft, eerie music as he approached. It climbed higher and higher until Ramie’s hackles began to rise. The old man turned toward him with iridescent white eyes. It was an experience Ramie would never forget: the darkness, the music, and the eyes.
    Arri stepped aside, indicating for Ramie to enter alone. Ramie nodded his thanks, trying his best to keep his regal demeanor, but his hands shook with the same unnatural twinge he had sensed in the streets of Mintree.
    Presario may be a recluse, but he was far from an ordinary man.
    Arri left without a word, his soft footfalls echoing impending doom. Ramie leaned into the wooden door until he had regained some of the Augustus confidence. He concentrated on why he was there: Ista’s lies, his kingdom, the Lands, and most importantly Ren and Nigel. If he was there for one reason it was for Ren and Nigel. He couldn’t let them down. He wouldn’t let them down.
    He opened the door and stepped into a large library. Books were arranged from floor to ceiling in exquisitely polished shelves. A huge redwood desk, covered with papers, styluses and scrolls, sat in the center of the room. All items were arranged with careful precision.
    The knowledge residing in the room was fathomless, and Ramie knew the books held in the library and the halls only scratched the surface. How many other chambers had he been led past? How many floors were still useable? How many thousands upon thousands of volumes were hidden in Presario’s castle? Presario was called the man of most knowledge. Now Ramie knew why.
    Despite the overwhelming number of volumes, what drew Ramie’s eyes were the paintings. They surrounded the room, but instead of being hung – for every wall from floor to ceiling supported a shelf – they were propped against the shelves. Not an inch of floor space was untouched by their frames. Some were even stacked one on top of another.
    They were all images of water: waterfalls, lakes, streams, rain, floods, oceans, and glaciers. Every depiction of water was represented: water, the opposite of fire. Ramie’s chest tightened. He had no right to judge this man. He had no idea what kind of pain Presario had lived with since the fire.
    Ramie swallowed his pride and turned to the corner fireplace from which the only light in the room emanated. A huge chair sat before the fire, the back far taller than the man who sat within its depths. All Ramie could see of Presario was one wrinkled hand clutching the arm of the chair.
    With quick calculation Ramie determined Presario was only thirty-five. Ramie turned away. The wrinkles weren’t from age. Ramie had only seen one other hand as melted as the one before him, and that man hadn’t lived through the night. The memory was painful to recall. Ramie couldn’t imagine living the memory. If the rest of Presario’s skin was as festered as the hand Ramie couldn’t begin to conceive the torment Presario had endured.
    When Ramie turned back, the hand was gone. A winding sound shattered the silence and the music started again.