The Dragon Heir Read Online Free PDF Page A

him.
    Uh-oh.
    He charged back toward the
entrance to the cave, leaping over debris, dodging falling rock and gravel,
twisting and turning down the narrow passageway, feeling the pitch and shudder
of the rock beneath his feet. Ahead he saw light, meaning he was almost
through.
    The mountain shimmied,
shivered and quaked. Slivers of stone stung his face. Up ahead, he was
horrified to see that the two great slabs of rock that had split to open the
cave were sliding, slumping toward one another. The wedge of light   was  
disappearing…He'd   be   trapped   inside   the Ravenshead.
    He squeezed himself through
the collapsing entrance, sliding like an eel, clutching the book close to his
body, scraping his elbows and knees, smashing his hands, twisting to free the
loaded backpack, dragging the sword after him, metal fittings sparking against
stone.
    And then he was out, clinging
to the icy ledge at the entrance to the cave as the mountain snapped shut
behind him.
    Jason lay on his face on the
rock—the sword, the book, and the
backpack beside him, his battered hands leaving bloody smears in the snow.
    He allowed himself a few more
minutes rest before he levered himself into a sitting position and snuck a look
over the edge.
    The one-sided battle seemed to
be over. The greenish mist was dissipating, shredding into long streamers that
swirled away on the wind. The forest still smoldered on the slopes of the
ghyll. Wizard fire was notoriously hard to put out.
    Jason leaned back against
Ravenshead and pulled out another cigarette. He had trouble lighting it. His
hands were shaking, and not from the cold. The stone in his backpack provided
all the warmth he needed. Somehow, he had to get it out of the ghyll.
    Using bungee cords, he bound
the book to the outside of the backpack, distributing the weight as best he
could. Then he lay down and slept restlessly, the magical stone illuminating
his dreams.
     Jason waited until the darkest hour before morning,
giving the deadly mist more time to clear. Then he crept down the rockface,
fighting the weight of his awkward burden, the sword catching in underbrush and
crevices. He breathed out a long sigh, of relief when he reached the valley
floor.
    Raven's Ghyll Castle was still
brilliantly lit, and Jason could see dark figures moving along the walls, no
doubt on the alert for a possible attack. Jason weighed the risk of going back
the way he came against finding a new way out. He decided to take his chances
on the path he knew.
    Jason made himself
unnoticeable and picked his way up the valley, the weight of the backpack
becoming more and more apparent as he struggled along. Every so often the sound
of quiet conversation or a faint light through the trees told him there were
wizards keeping watch in the woods around him. When he reached the base of the
trail, he turned upslope, walking even more carefully. He squinted against the
wind, searching the inky shadows under the canopy of pines.
    He was so numb with cold, he
scarcely felt the trip wire when he brushed it. He was immediately engulfed in
a bright, glittering cloud, his formerly unnoticeable self totally revealed, in
brilliant outline.
    “Ha!” The voice came
from behind him.
    Acting totally on instinct,
Jason dropped the unnoticeable charm and threw up a shield in time to turn a
gout of blistering wizard flame. He swung round to confront his attacker.
    It was a boy, younger than
him, thirteen, maybe, almost pretty, pale blue eyes behind wire rim glasses,
snow powdering his blond curls.
    Well, crap, Jason thought. The
plan was to get out without being spotted.
    “I knew you must've gone
unnoticeable,” the boy crowed. “There's no way you'd have got through
Father's guards otherwise.”
    Jason had stepped off-trail to
circle around this new obstacle, but the boy's words stopped him. “Father's
guards,” Jason repeated. “Who the hell are you?”
    “I'm Devereaux
D'Orsay,” the boy said. “I live here. Who are