Not Really the Prisoner of Zenda by Joel Rosenberg Read Free Book Online Page B

do. The elven wizards in Therranj had changed him, yes, with magic far beyond what any human wizards could do, with spells that didn’t merely create a seeming, the way that Erenor could, but which had altered his flesh irrevocably.
    He looked just like Forinel.
    Physically, he was Forinel, from the the widow’s peak that stubbornly defied his receding hairline, to the thick black mat of hair that covered his chest and arms, down to the missing toenail on the little toe of his left foot.
    He looked like Forinel, but that was only on the outside.
    And it was a lie.
    Behind him, Leria leaned forward to place her mouth next to his ear. He didn’t resent that she had taken naturally to riding on Ellegon’s back, and in fact was relieved — there was nothing he could have done to protect her from the nausea that racked his guts.
    “There’s the Nifet River,” she said, pointing, “and the Ulter Hills begin just beyond, right at the horizon. We fly quickly across farmland and over Dereneyl, and we’ll be at the Residence before noon.”*Or perhaps not. I think it would be a good idea to drop you off in Dereneyl, since we’re not expected. Pirojil and Erenor agree.*
    Nobody had asked him, and that was understandable.
    Kethol’s jaw clenched so hard that it hurt. He’d been an idiot to agree to take this imposture on.
    But it was either that, or let the son and heir of the bitch that murdered Durine become Baron Keranahan. Elanee was dead, but even dead, she would have won. Forinel couldn’t return to the Empire to claim the barony, not with the elven woman that he had married in Therranj, and particularly not with their half-breed child.
    Parliament and the Emperor had been about to award Barony Keranahan to Miron, Forinel’s half-brother — Elanee’s son — and if there had been nobody to take Forinel’s place, that is just what would have happened.
    That was unacceptable.
    Kethol didn’t mind the thought of dying, but losing?
    No.
    He had to keep telling himself that, that that was the reason why he had agreed, and that it had nothing to do with the way Leria looked at him, the way that her hands and eyes had rested on his hands and eyes. It had nothing to do with the definite certainty that if he did not agree, Leria would find herself in another man’s bed.
    It couldn’t be that, after all. She was too good, too fine for the likes of him, and she belonged in a better man’s bed, in a higherborn man’s bed.
    No. He had to make it just another way to fight.
    He knew fighting, and he was good at it.
    *And what do you say to the notion of Dereneyl as the destination, Baron? It’s your call.*
    There was no trace at all of sarcasm in Ellegon’s mental voice.
    But no, it wasn’t his choice. He was just an imposter. The others were in charge, not him.
    So let it be Dereneyl, he thought.
    *I’m so glad you agree,*the dragon said,*because I was going to drop you off in Dereneyl anyway.*
    ***
    Spiraling down out of the sky so fast that it made Kethol dizzy, the dragon came to a steep, bumpy landing within the inner walls of the keep.
    It must have rained much more heavily here last night than it had in Biemestren — the wind from the dragon’s buffeting wings sent a spray of water from the ground into the air, soaking Kethol thoroughly.
    He’d live; he had been wet before.
    *Everybody off, and quickly.*
    It was risky for Ellegon to drop them off there at all — the Empire in general and Ellegon in particular had enemies, and there was always the chance that some fool with a dragonbane-tipped arrow or spear would be lurking about. A fool, yes — Pandathaway could offer a hundred times the killer’s weight in gold, but collecting it would be another matter, after all.
    Kethol quickly unstrapped himself and made his way down the dragon’s broad sides, fingers and toes digging into the rough surface of the thick scales for purchase. When he reached the ground, his knees trembled and threatened to buckle