Master of Dragons by Chris Wraight

Author:Chris Wraight [Wraight, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy, General, Epic, Action & Adventure
ISBN: 9781849705035
Google: joK8mQEACAAJ
Amazon: 1849705038
Publisher: Games Workshop
Published: 2013-11-19T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

The meeting broke up in the evening, just as the shadows began to lengthen. Caradryel had watched it all with interest, hanging back in the margins and taking care not to become conspicuous.

It was good to be back among the civilised; the stench of the dawi had become wearisome. The food they had given him had been all but inedible – heavy sourdough breads slathered in some form of meat dripping washed down with the bitterest, darkest, foamiest liquid he had ever imbibed. He’d struggled to keep it in his stomach, though he couldn’t deny it had given him endurance to keep marching.

Imladrik had been appreciative of his efforts in bringing Morgrim to the table, though there had been little time for the two of them to confer since his return. Caradryel had not been able to pass on properly his worries over division within the dwarf ranks, though Imladrik would surely have guessed much of it. Most of the dawi army was thirsting for blood still; it would take only the merest hint of a spark to light the fire again.

‘Worry about our own people,’ Imladrik had told him. ‘That is your task now.’

Since then Caradryel’s eyes had been firmly fixed on the asur delegation. He’d watched Gelthar try his best to hide his uneasiness, Caerwal his impotent hostility, Aelis her frustration at being sidelined. They were all of them chafing for one reason or another, though their noble-born discipline worked hard against rebellion.

As he had been from the start, Salendor remained the worry. The warrior-mage had scowled and frowned his way through the proceedings, interjecting unhelpfully and coming perilously close to overriding Imladrik twice. The dwarfs must have noticed, though of course they gave no sign of it.

Now, as the various contingents left the main tent and made their way warily back to their respective camps, the fragile air of amity withered again. Asur guards looked on stonily as the dawi trudged out of the marquee and back to their increasingly settled battle-lines.

Morgrim was the last to go.

‘Until tomorrow,’ Imladrik told him, bowing.

‘Until then,’ Morgrim replied, nodding brusquely.

After that the tent remained occupied only by asur council members. Servants milled around them, removing the linen drapes and the pitchers and salvers that had been served during the day. Caerwal talked animatedly with Aelis – something about reparations for Athel Numiel – Gelthar with Imladrik. Only Salendor was missing.

Caradryel withdrew from the tent and made his way across the rutted plain towards the city. In the failing light Tor Alessi looked even more massive and unlovely than it had when he’d left it. He reached the gates, showed his medallion of office to the guards and passed under the archway.

Inside the walls Tor Alessi hummed with activity. Its streets were crowded, just as always, swollen with soldiers hurrying to their stations or back to barracks. Caradryel pushed his way through the jostling throngs. No one paid him any attention – he was just one more official on just one more errand.

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