Twice Drowned Dragon (The Gryphonpike Chronicles Book 2) by Annie Bellet Read Free Book Online

nearly as big as the pixie-goblin. She bent and pointed to a scrawled word on the inside of the cover. “Arrogant ass signed his name. Master Ziarnys. Think this will be proof enough for the town council?”
    “Yes,” Azyrin said. “That is good.”
    “Any of this stuff worth much, you think?” Drake picked up a handful of papers.
    “Yes. To an evil necromancer. Want to go make a deal with one?” Rahiel hopped off the table and back onto Bill’s back as Azyrin took the book and tucked it into the embroidered bag at his waist. The rest of the books and papers we hauled down the stairs and dumped in the hearth. Some of the pages crackled as though wet when Drake struck sparks and torched them. Others moaned. I shivered. Unnatural magic, indeed.
    Finally nothing was left but ashes and smears of dark liquid that sizzled on the stone hearth even after the flames died down to embers.
    The second door was firmly locked but had no magic on it. After swearing at the lock, an intricate circular design I’d never seen before, Drake let Makha bash it open with her shield. Beyond this door was a corridor that led to the second tower I’d seen from the outside.
    There were stairs going down. They had once gone up as well, but the tower roof had caved in, held off this portion only by the upper floor. The debris had been moved recently from this portion of the stairs and stuffed in with the rest of the detritus above. Red light, brighter than the glass in the sconces had been, shone up the stairs and cast bloody shadows in the ridges of the stone walls.
    I glanced at Drake and he shrugged. The stairs here weren’t wide enough for us to go abreast, so I took point again, drawing my bow to full pull as I moved. My bicep cramped as I slipped down the stairs, protesting the held shot, but I ignored it. The odd creeping cold that had heralded the wight attack was back here, along with a stronger rotting loam scent.
    “Elf,” said an eerie, hissing voice, “you will die.” The voice’s owner appeared at the foot of the steps. Another wight, this time an orc, holding a halberd whose blade dripped with black liquid that hissed and cracked on the stone steps. He had a grizzled black beard and jagged tusks which also dripped black ichor.
    I loosed my arrow, the fletching brushing past my mouth as it took flight. The wight whipped his halberd up a fraction too late, the undead creature caught by surprise with my readied shot. The arrow punched into his unarmored throat, tearing deep and cutting off anything else he might have hissed.
    Unlike the other wights, that shot didn’t end it. The orc-wight lunged forward, wildly swinging the poisoned halberd. I ducked under the blade and flinched as stray drops of black liquid hit my skin, burning me with a frostbitten chill. I caught the return swing on my bow, blocking and knocking away the halberd’s haft. I drew my dagger and sprang forward, thinking on the morning’s lesson with Drake.
    Use my speed. Use my long arms. Use the height advantage of the steps. Aim for something vulnerable .
    I slashed the dagger across the underside of the orc-wight’s extended arms, cutting deep into tendons and stringy flesh. Pressing forward, I shoved hard with my bow, knocking the halberd from its weakened grasp. It clattered on the floor and I kicked out hard, shoving the orc-wight down the steps. The creature convulsed as it slammed into the stone floor, red eyes burning.
    “Sever the head,” Rahiel called out.
    “Killer, move!”
    I pressed myself flat against the curved wall of the stairs as Drake sprang past me and sliced deep into the orc-wight’s injured neck, severing its head. The orc-wight dissolved, leaving a black shadow burned into the grey stones of the floor.
    “That was different.” Drake stepped aside and we moved down off the steps. “Killer, you hurt?”
    I rubbed at the raw patches on my face and neck where the drops of stinging fluid had fallen. The pain was fading and no