A Rite of Swords (Book #7 in the Sorcerer's Ring) by Morgan Rice Read Free Book Online Page B

he
knew he should be more than satisfied with that.
    But that was not the way of the
Great Andronicus. Andronicus was not one to be prudent or content. He had
always followed his passions, and though he knew it was risky, he was not ready
to leave this place, to admit defeat, to allow the Ring to slip from his grasp.
Even if he had to sacrifice his entire Empire, he would find a way to crush and
dominate this place. No matter what it took.
    Andronicus could not control the
dragon or the Destiny Sword. But Thorgrin…that was a different matter. His son.
    Andronicus stopped and sighed at
the thought. How ironic: his very own son, the last remaining obstacle to his
domination of the world. Somehow, it seemed fitting. Inevitable. It was always,
he knew, the people closest to you that hurt you the most.
    He recalled the prophecy. It had
been a mistake, of course, to let his son live. His great mistake in life. But
he’d had a weak spot for him, even though he knew the prophecy declared it
might lead to his very own demise. He had let Thor live, and now the time had
come to suffer the price.
    Andronicus continued storming
through the camp, trailed by his generals, until finally he reached the
periphery and came across a tent smaller than the others, the one scarlet tent
in a sea of black and gold. There was only one person who had the audacity to
have a different color tent, the only one his men feared.
    Rafi.
    Andronicus’ personal sorcerer,
the most sinister creature he had ever encountered, Rafi had counseled
Andronicus every step of the way, had protected him with his malevolent energy,
had been more responsible for his rise than any other. Andronicus hated to turn
to him now, to admit how much he needed him. But when he encountered an
obstacle not of this world, a thing of magic, it was always Rafi who he turned
to.
    As Andronicus approached the
tent, two evil beings, tall and thin, hidden in scarlet cloaks, glowing yellow
eyes protruding from behind their hoods, stared back. They were the only
creatures in this entire camp who would dare not to bow their heads in his
presence.
    “I summon Rafi,” Andronicus
declared.
    The two creatures, without
turning, each reached over with a single hand and pulled back the flaps of the
tent.
    As they did, a horrible odor came
out at Andronicus, making him recoil.
    There was a long wait. All the
generals stopped behind Andronicus and watched in anticipation, as did the
entire camp, who all turned to see. The camp grew thick with silence.
    Finally, out of the scarlet tent
emerged a tall and skinny creature, twice as tall as Andronicus, as skinny as a
branch from an olive tree, dressed in the darkest of scarlet robes, with a face
that was invisible, hidden somewhere in the blackness behind its hood.
    Rafi stood there and stared back,
and Andronicus was able to see only his unblinking yellow eyes looking back,
embedded in his too-pale flesh.
    A tense silence ensued.
    Finally, Andronicus stepped
forward.
    “I want Thorgrin dead,”
Andronicus said.
    After a long silence, Rafi
chuckled. It was a deep, disturbing sound.
    “Fathers and sons,” he said.
“Always the same.”
    Andronicus burned inside,
impatient.
    “Can you help?” he pressed.
    Rafi stood there silently, for
too long, long enough that Andronicus considered killing him. But he knew that
would be frivolous. Once, in a rage, Andronicus had tried to impetuously stab
him, and in mid-air, the sword had melted in his hand. The hilt had burned his
hand, too; it had taken months to recover from the pain.
    So Andronicus just stood there,
gritting his teeth and bearing the silence.
    Finally, beneath his hood, Rafi
purred.
    “The energies that surround the
boy are very strong,” Rafi said slowly. “But everyone has a weakness. He has
been elevated by magic. He can be brought down by magic, too.”
    Andronicus, intrigued, took a
step forward.
    “Of what magic do you speak?”
    Rafi paused.
    “A kind you have never
encountered,”