The Dark Lord's Handbook Read Online Free PDF

started to count on his fingers.
    “Let’s call it twenty, shall we?” said Black Orchid. “Please, continue.”
    “It was twenty years ago,” said Brother Francis. “Or there about. On the night of a Blood Moon he was born and I was struck blind.”
    Brother Francis told his story of how he and his fellows had been Seeking, as was their wont, and had been directed from an inn to Wellow, a small village in the Reaches. On leaving the inn they had been attacked by a great dragon. After the attack he had stumbled blindly, his cries unheard in the wind, for miles. He had at last been drawn to the cries of a woman giving birth.
    To the Count it sounded implausible at best. Dragons were the stuff of legend and the pure chance of wandering miles to the exact spot he had been trying to find was more than unlikely, it was ridiculous.
    Brother Francis continued his tale. He had been there when Diona of Wellow, who claimed she had never known a man, had given birth to a boy. She had died in childbirth but her father, a widower himself, had raised the child.
    “Diona’s father is a blacksmith,” said Brother Francis with a hint of satisfaction.
    The Count was astonished and it seemed his fellow conspirators were equally taken aback. There was a stunned silence.
    “That makes him an orphan child of virgin birth and raised by a blacksmith?” explained Brother Francis, turning his blind eyes as though sweeping the assembly. “If he isn’t the Hero then I’m no Seeker!”
    The Count had never believed in prophecy or suchlike. He had always held the belief that it was expedient nonsense. If prophecies were true then why were they always so vague and unspecific? He’d never once come across a prophecy where the prophet who delivered it hadn’t been so imprecise as to be obtuse. If they could really see the future then surely they could be more accurate?
    “Yes. Yes. We do understand Old Man,” said Black Orchid. “You said you were attacked by a dragon?”
    “Terrible it was,” said the monk. His hands went to where his eyes ought to have been. “If it wasn’t for the clear night and moon we would likely have not seen him so black he was.”
    “A black dragon?” said Black Orchid, her head tilting to one side. “Really? How interesting.”
    The monk coughed as though to continue but a raised hand from Black Orchid silenced him; his lips moved but no sound came.
    “Brethren, it seems after these fallow years our search may well be over,” said Black Orchid. “Who has the sword?”
    There was a general muttering and fidgeting. The Count prayed that whoever had the sword had brought it.
    “I do,” said Tulip at last, heaving her massive bulk a step forward.
    Her hand delved into voluminous folds of cloth and emerged with a sword that sang as it left a hidden scabbard. Of good length, it was as bright as burnished steel – mainly because it was burnished steel, but also because of the charm that sat upon it. The Count thought there was a terrible elegance about the keen edge and simple hilt. You could do someone real harm with that sword.
    “Have it placed where He may find it,” commanded Black Orchid.
    Tulip’s hood turned to one side and she whispered something to Lilly. There was an exchange of sorts before Tulip’s hood turned back and a quavering voice rang out.
    “And…well…I mean to say, where would that be exactly?”
    Black Orchid let go a sigh that shrivelled the Count’s heart and made his breakfast make a bid for freedom.
    “I don’t know ! Somewhere near to where he lives. The charm will take care of the rest.”
    “You mean like in a hedge?”
    Black Orchid’s head turned heavenward and she roared. “No. Not in a hedge . Plunge it into a stone or something. Put it on display for all to see but only the chosen to wield. Am I making myself clear?”
    Tulip collapsed into a large blubbering wreck on the ground and it was hard to tell whether she was nodding vigorously or merely shaking in