Kingsteel (The Dragonkin Trilogy Book 3) Read Online Free PDF

glance at Shade, he added, “Don’t bother trying to wake General Cafaari. He sleeps with the Dead God tonight.” Suddenly stoic, he upended his goblet, letting the final few drips of red wine fall to the ground.

CHAPTER TWO
    Ghosts

    B riel shook his head as he surveyed the destruction. Dawn filtered through the dense wytchwoods and illuminated the shattered remnants of the World Gate. His right arm hung in a sling, but he clenched his fist. The Sylvs, dead and wounded alike, had been carted away, but there had been no time to dispose of the slain Olgrym. Their great gray bodies lay everywhere, poised to rot. He breathed through his mouth to avoid the smell.
    He glanced up at the sky, barely visible through the soaring branches of the World Tree, and wished it would rain. But he knew that any darkness in the heavens came not from an impending storm but from the lingering smoke of battle. He glanced at the phalanx of men and women following him. Some were bodyguards, but most were administrators, plus a few junior officers who had somehow survived the fighting. All looked exhausted.
    But not as tired as the men guarding those damn broken gates.
    He turned to face the World Gate again. Though the gates themselves had been hacked and burned to pieces, a line of Sylvan swordsmen still stood where the gates had been, as motionless as forsaken statues. Archers stood watch from above, enough to shred an entire company of enemies. He wondered if they were enough.
    Though Fadarah had been killed and the Shel’ai driven back, many Olgrym had survived. So had Doomsayer. Scouts reported that the Olgish chieftain was still close by, marshaling what remained of his forces. Given all that had happened, Briel doubted the Olgrym could conquer Shaffrilon without Fadarah’s help.
    But does Doomsayer know that?
    “We need more fighters here,” he called over his shoulder. “And before anybody tells me there aren’t any, I suggest you go look. Our brothers and sisters will have died for nothing if Doomsayer sleeps in the king’s palace tonight.”
    An uneasy murmur accompanied the sound of footsteps. By the time he turned around, half the administrators had disappeared. Briel could tell they were not used to taking his orders. He could not blame them. Briel had only been appointed captain of the Shal’tiar a few days ago—though he’d held the post long enough to realize there could not be more than a dozen Shal’tiar left alive. The surviving Wyldkin had already deserted, presumably to return to the Ash’bana Plains to see if they could salvage something of their home villages. Briel might have stopped them, but he had no desire to punish those who had already sacrificed defending Sylvos.
    The rest of his fighters were hastily armed civilians, almost none of whom had even known Briel before the attack. They might have gladly followed Seravin, but the renowned Sylvan general had fallen in battle. Not only had he been stabbed by an Olgish blade as he tried to defend the World Gate, it was said that Doomsayer himself had laughingly cut off both of Seravin’s hands before castrating him.
    If Seravin survives the day, it’ll be a miracle. Or a curse.
    That left Briel in charge of the Sylvan armies—and the city, since they could no longer rely on the king. He tugged at the strap securing his broken arm, then with his good hand, he tapped his new signet ring against the pommel of his sword. He considered breaking down the door of the king’s bedchamber and dragging him out, but he reminded himself that only the day before, the king had watched his only son burned alive. Even before that, the king’s sanity had been unraveling. Did they really want Loslandril on the throne, anyway?
    But who does that leave? Me?
    Briel laughed before he could stop himself. Sobering his expression, he turned. He gestured to his bodyguards. “You, men, join those others at the gates. And someone see that these men at the gates get water and food. If