Dark King Of The North (Book 3) by Ty Johnston Read Free Book Online

without a glance or a word. Randall recognized his homeland more than ever in those grim, hardened faces.
    The creaking of the iron door behind him was followed by a gruff voice. “What do you want?”
    Randall spun on his feet to face a monster of a man in black plate, a gigantic helm shaped like the head of an eagle covering his features. On the man’s back was a two-headed ax, its blades glistening beneath the light of the torches from inside the keep.
    Randall dropped his bags at his feet and glanced at the guards playing dice. “I wanted to apologize.”
    The big man took a step back, as if sensing danger from the small man in white robes.
    “I wanted to apologize for what I am about to do,” Randall said, lifting his ring hand to his chest and making a fist. “I do not wish to harm anyone, but my ring needs the power of others, and I could not harm my friends.”
    The big man grabbed at his ax over his shoulder, slinging it around in a two-handed grip.
    The swift movement drew the attention of the dice players. They abandoned their game and stood, one by one, four men in all, and unsheathed swords from their hips.
    “You had better talk fast if you want to keep your head, little man,” the big fellow with the ax said.
    “Goodbye.” Randall gripped his hand tighter.
    An explosion of noise rocked the air, sending the warriors in black reeling. Several of them fell to their knees, a couple clutched their chests. All but one then fainted, passing out on the road and falling into the dirt.
    The last soldier standing was the big man with the ax. He stood dazed in the open doorway to the keep, his overly large weapon barely hanging from one hand. Before him, Randall Tendbones stood no more. It was as if the small man in white had never been there.

 
     
     
    Chapter Six
     
    Randall stood in the middle of his father’s throne room.
    Finding himself alone, the young man stared about the chamber that had been familiar to him during his childhood. The room looked the same, humongous, and longer than it was wide. He smiled, remembering how as a boy he believed a thousand soldiers could fit into the room; now, seeing the place with the eyes of a man, he realized he could have doubled that number and been right. He glanced down at the floor of polished black marble, pale sapphire veins running through the stone, and saw himself as if staring into a mirror. Broad columns of similar stone lined the sides of the chamber, tall but narrow windows between the columns allowing the moon’s pale shimmer on the floor. Randall looked up and noted the black iron candelabras hanging on long chains, the flames full and fluttering.
    His eyes followed a dark indigo carpet that ran the length of the room. It started at a pair of enormous iron doors and stretched across the expanse to end at three white steps. Atop the short stairs stood a massive throne of dull, black rock, the seat large enough to hold a giant of a man.
    Randall had never thought he would be happy to see home again, but a part of him was glad. As awful as his upbringing had been, this was still Kobalos and he was still a prince of the land. It felt as if he belonged.
    “I see you finally arrived,” an eerily familiar voice spoke from the air.
    Randall spun on his feet, staring about, looking into dark corners.
    “The ring brought you, of course,” the voice said.
    Randall faced the throne. “We need to talk, father.”
    “No,” the voice of Verkain said. “You have given yourself to me as a lamb to a wolf. The lamb may bleat, but it’s cries go unheeded.”
    Randall held up his ring hand. “I am still a member of the royal family. I claim rights of address.”
    A snicker sounded throughout the chamber.
    “This is not some petty kingdom, my son. This is Kobalos, and the law is what I will it. You have no rights except those I allow.”
    “I do not wish to fight you, father.” Randall glanced around again but saw nothing.
    “Then do not fight,” Verkain