DW01 Dragonspawn by Mark Acres Read Free Book Online Page B

well.

    Baron Manfred Culdus whirled around, his face contorted with rage, and hurled his dagger full force at the form of the wizard who had just materialized behind him and called his name.
    “Curse you, Valdaimon!” he shouted. “Leave your wizard’s tricks behind when you come calling on me. Knock on my door like any normal man.”
    Valdaimon casually turned his head as the dagger passed harmlessly through his shriveled body. He watched with feigned interest as the deadly missile flew on across the large, octagonal room to impale itself in a thick wooden beam next to the heavy, ten-foot-high door. “Accurate, as always,” he commented. “But, Baron, futile rage hardly becomes a military leader. You must learn self-control. Besides, your door is much too heavy for one of my frail strength to open, and to knock would have torn you away from your studies.” With a grand gesture, Valdaimon indicated the huge oak table on which were unfurled more than a score of parchment maps.
    Culdus snorted. “I don’t like you, wizard,” he said plainly. He drew himself up to his full height of six feet three inches. Clad as he was in his chain mail and battle tunic, with a great bastard sword strapped to his side, his great helm and mailed gloves lying beside him on the pile of maps, the baron cut an impressive figure, even at the age of forty-eight. “I don’t like your magic or your ways or that stench that hangs about you like a cloud. I don’t even know what you really are.”
    “All true, Baron,” Valdaimon said, smiling and chuckling. “All true.” Valdaimon fully appreciated the lethal nature of this man. He was a perfect warrior, in the wizard’s opinion: a strapping, cunning hulk bred and trained to obey and to kill. But he could be dangerous if given too much freedom of action. “And you don’t know how to kill me, either,” Valdaimon subtly reminded this perfect tool of war.
    Culdus scowled, and his great salt-and-pepper mustaches drooped down around his chin. “Well might you pray that I never learn how,” he muttered.
    “Prayers are for priests, dear Baron,” Valdaimon said calmly, approaching the table and gazing over the maps. “My profession has little to do with religion, although at times we invoke powers that mere mortals might well consider divine.”
    “Enough,” Culdus said curtly. “You are here for a reason. What is it?”
    “To report to you, what else?” Valdaimon smiled broadly again, raised his arms, and shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of innocent inquiry. His tattered, filth-covered robes swirled as he did so, and the wizard watched carefully to see the baron’s nose wrinkle as the odor assaulted him.
    Culdus turned and strode to the far end of the table, his eyes glued to the maps as though there were some important point he was pondering. “Then report. And remember that despite our personal feelings, we are still allies. Be accurate.”
    “Certainly, friend Baron, certainly.” Valdaimon beamed. “Here, let me show you on this chart.” The old wizard rushed to Culdus’s side and began flipping through the piles of maps. Culdus recoiled from the smell. He strode quickly across the room, away from the table, and hurled his muscled bulk into one of the high-backed wooden chairs scattered through the spacious chamber.
    “Stay there, damn you, and say what you have to say!” Culdus roared.
    “Ah, I’ve offended and had no intention of doing so,” Valdaimon said with mock sadness. “What a pity—to always offend those one admires, respects, and works with toward common goals.”
    Culdus suppressed his urge to rush the old wizard, grab his scrawny neck, and snatch the life from him with one, solid, satisfying snap. Patience, Culdus counseled himself. “If you please, Valdaimon, I have urgent work before our lord returns,” he said between clenched teeth. “I beg you, report.”
    Valdaimon leaned forward, his eyes locking intently on Culdus’s face. His own lean