Newcomb, Robert - Blood and Stone 02 - The Gates of Dawn by Newcomb Robert

Author:Newcomb, Robert [Newcomb, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Fantasy Fiction, Fantasy, Epic
ISBN: 9780345448941
Google: GVTfBTwS72QC
Amazon: 0345448944
Barnesnoble: 0345448944
Publisher: Del Rey
Published: 2003-06-09T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

Thirty

The wind in his hair and his weapons at the ready, Scrounge gripped the specially made leather band strapped around the body of his personal hatchling as the awful bird carried him higher into the golden glow of the evening sky. He had been longing for this night ever since Ragnar had outlined this newest plan to him.

You will attack at night, the stalker had told him. It will add to the drama, confusion, and terror of what the master has planned. It had been almost two days since Scrounge and his birds had raided Fledgling House, taking the girls. But the dramatic, difficult task that now lay before him thrilled him even more.

The bird that carried him was also heavily armed. A long sword dangled from the baldric around the creature’s strong shoulders. At the hatchling’s hip lay a dagger, and the black leather gauntlets it wore were studded with long silver points for ripping and tearing into its victims at close quarters.

Scrounge looked down at the land of Eutracia as it passed dizzyingly below. He was still amazed at how fast the master’s new generation of creatures could travel through the air without ever seeming to tire. And then he looked behind him, and smiled. Traveling with him were thousands more of the great birds.

They flew due west in a giant formation shaped like a highly compacted arrowhead, with Scrounge and his bird at the forefront. None of the other creatures carried a rider, but each of them was armed in the same fashion as his mount. Ragnar’s assassin narrowed his eyes, trying to make out the unfortunate city that would soon bear the horror of their orders. Ilendium—one of the true jewels of Eutracia.

He didn’t yet see their target, so Scrounge allowed his mind the luxury of traveling back in time a few hours, to his visit to the amazing camp the hatchlings had established at Farplain, in the Triangle of the Grasses.

At Nicholas’ orders, thousands of black tents had been erected everywhere, the campfires before them sending smoke high into the sky. Hordes of hatchlings milled about on their strong rear legs, many of them talking to one another, those in positions of command shouting orders. Some were performing tasks such as sharpening weapons. Others were flying patrols, guarding the perimeter.

The largest and most ornate of the tents, set on a small rise overlooking the entire scene, held Ragnar. After completing his mission at Fledgling House, Scrounge had reported there for further orders.

The tent was furnished with items that had been brought here from the stalker’s underground chambers. Included among them was the ever-present vial of yellow fluid. Most of the furniture was upholstered in deep red. Decorative tapestries hung on the insides of the tent walls, and highly patterned rugs covered the grassy floor. Oil sconces adorned the tent poles. A golden table sat in the center of the room, a silver platter atop it containing fruit, olives of several colors, cheese, and wine—all of which looked untouched.

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