Mask of Dragons Read Online Free PDF Page B

a little. He had no living family left in the world, and his father’s bones now rested in the crypt below Greatheart Keep. Yet if Adalar had a sister or a brother, he might have done the same. 
    Of course, the valgasts would try to stop them. 
    But if all went well, Adalar would teach them a stern lesson. 
    He waited in the gloomy silence, the pavilion flaps rippling in the wind, light from the braziers within leaking into the night. Sometimes the waiting was the worst part of all. He remembered the long campaigns against the runedead horde in Mastaria, watching thousands of the animated corpses march out of the darkness, their foreheads shining with symbols of green fire like a field of macabre candles…
    “Lord Adalar?” whispered Sigaldra. 
    Adalar hadn’t realized that he had raised his greatsword to guard, that the others men around him had lifted their weapons. He rebuked himself, realizing that his dark memories had overwhelmed him.
    Then he realized that the men had responded to something else. 
    Dark shapes moved through the pavilions, creeping along in perfect silence, their shadows illuminated by the flickering light of the braziers. More of the shapes skittered forward, dozens of them, gathering around the entrances to the pavilions. 
    One of them moved into the glow from a pavilion’s flap, and Adalar glimpsed a valgast. 
    The creature stood only four feet tall, its limbs spindly, ribs visible beneath its mottled green-and-yellow hide. Its ears were enormous, as large as a grown man’s hands, and its eyes were huge and black and unblinking. Needle-like teeth rose from its jutting jaw, and the creature’s nostrils flared. It wore a peculiar armored shirt fashioned from plates of bone, and it carried a short sword in its left hand. A wave of revulsion went through Adalar as he looked at the creature. It made him think of scavengers, of creatures that lurked in shadows and fed upon rotting flesh with needle-like teeth. The valgasts had carried off many captives to their dark tunnels.
    Adalar didn’t want to think about what might have happened to them. 
    “Now?” whispered Wesson.
    Adalar gave a shake of his head, watching the pavilions. The timing had to be exact. If he acted too soon, most of the valgasts would be outside the pavilions. If he waited too long, the valgasts would realize the trap and escape, or find a way to turn it to their advantage. He watched as the dark, spindly forms slipped into the pavilions, dozens of them.
    A screech rose up from one of the pavilions. 
    The valgasts had realized the trap.
    “Now!” shouted Adalar. 
    Wesson barked a command, and a dozen of Adalar’s armsmen swung their axes, severing ropes tied to each of the pavilions. The ropes snapped with loud twanging noises, curling into the air as the tension left them.
    And as they did, an intricate series of knots came undone, causing the pavilions to collapse on themselves. 
    Trapping the valgasts within. 
    As the armsmen cut the ropes, the rest of Adalar’s trap sprang into motion. Militiamen hurried forward, lighting the prepared bonfires. Soaked in oil, the wood burst into flame, throwing light across the camp. The Jutai archers and the militia bowmen were ready, and they released, sending shaft after shaft into the collapsed pavilions.
    Furious screeches rose from the pavilions. Some of the collapsed piles of cloth caught flame as the braziers overturned, and the fire began to spread. Adalar gripped his greatsword and waited. Any moment now, he expected…
    A mob of valgasts erupted from one of the burning pavilions and charged forward, brandishing their weapons.
    “With me!” shouted Adalar. “Archers, keep on the collapsed pavilions!”
    He sprinted forward, greatsword in hand, and Talchar One-eye and Vorgaric and a band of armsmen and militia came after him. The valgasts raised slender tubes to their fanged mouths and blew, sending a hail of darts whistling towards them. One struck Adalar on