DW01 Dragonspawn by Mark Acres Read Free Book Online Page A

wizard leaned on the great staff that towered over his head. A smile creased his leathery, narrow, hideously wrinkled face, revealing the gaps between his few remaining teeth. The Black Prince wondered if the old man was smiling at the ease with which the village was sacked, at the continuing cruelties visible in the village streets, or at the fact that he had positioned himself upwind of his ward and the stench of his filthy body was causing the young man’s nostrils to flare in disgust.
    “Back off, Valdaimon,” the prince ordered. “The stink of your potions and filth offends our person.”
    “May my lord’s enemies be so offended soon,” Valdaimon replied, lifting his staff and slowly hobbling back toward the ford. “There is no need for me here. I will await your presence and your pleasure at your palace. No doubt we shall talk tonight.”
    “No doubt,” the prince called after the old man. Someday, he thought, someday he would no longer need the meddling old crocodile’s counsel. Then he would be rid of his stinking carcass once and for all. But until that time, Valdaimon would be safe. His wisdom and his magic were both necessary for the great plan that was hatching in the prince’s mind.
    “Lord!” a knight called, galloping up with a fat, screaming wench in tow by her hair. “This is the last—I saved her for you to slay yourself.”
    The knight released his grip on the woman’s hair, and fat Marta flopped to the ground. Her blue nightclothes were a mass of filth and blood, and she trembled and wept for the fate of her village, her home, and her life. Then she spied the head impaled on the morning star that lay in the mud beside her and shrieked her grief to the uncaring heavens.
    “Hmmm,” the Black Prince grunted. “This must be the wife of the leader of this village. I’ve a good idea. We’ll spare this fat pig to do our will elsewhere. Bring me a torch and hand me your shield.”
    Puzzled the knight grabbed a torch from a passing man-at-arms and handed it to the Black Prince. Then he removed his great shield, with the sign of the dragon raised in metal upon it.
    Laughing, the prince put the torch to the front of the shield, heating the dragon form until it glowed a dull red.
    “Bring that fat wench here and bare her back,” he commanded.
    The knight dismounted and grabbed fat Marta under both her arms. He slung her against the side of his horse, and with his dagger, ripped down the back of what was left of her nightdress. The Black Prince dismounted and stood behind Marta.
    “What is your name, wench?” he bellowed.
    “Marta, Marta, wife of Albert, the highman of this village, whom you have slain,” Marta answered, hatred in her voice despite her tears.
    “Well, Marta, I’m going to let you live,” the prince said grandly. “I want you to go to Dunsford and tell him all that has happened here. Tell him that what happened here will happen to his entire realm unless he gives fealty to me and complies with my wishes in every regard. Do you understand?”
    Marta nodded her head against the sweaty flanks of the knight’s horse. There was no point in fighting now—she would live to oppose this young bastard devil’s son another day.
    “Good,” the Black Prince said. “And now, just so old Dunsford will know that everything that is his is now mine...” The young man pressed the red-hot front of the shield against the flesh of Marta’s back, branding her like an animal with the dragon insignia. Marta screamed and fainted.
    The Black Prince tossed the shield to the ground and remounted his horse. “Leave her,” he ordered. “Reform the men and return the bulk, leaving a small guard. Send a bridge party here at once. I’d have a bridge built here in two days’ time.”
    “Yes, sire,” the knight replied.
    Laughing again with his high-pitched, whining laugh, the Black Prince rode off across the ford. Today was going to be a very busy day. He was glad it had started so