The Midwest Whisperer: The Revelations of Oriceran (Midwest Magic Chronicles Book 3) by Flint Maxwell & Martha Carr & Michael Anderle

Author:Flint Maxwell & Martha Carr & Michael Anderle [Maxwell, Flint]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: LMBPN Publishing
Published: 2017-11-15T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

“I want all the prisoners right here. Close enough to have their eyebrows and beards singed by the flames!” Hunter shouted to the Dragon Tongue. The cloaked men moved back and forth, carrying large barrels of anything that was flammable.

On the shore of the lake, where Hunter stood directing traffic with his blade, were five fishing boats. The Dragon Tongue sweated as they hoisted the barrels into their cargo holds.

“Captain!” someone shouted nearby. A few of the men had stopped what they were doing. Hex ran up the small boardwalk, kicking loose stones in all directions as he rushed to meet Hunter. When he reached the Dragon Leader, he bent over and tried catching his breath without much luck. All that fire inside of him was proving detrimental to his lungs.

“What is it?” Hunter demanded. “Speak while you still have a tongue!”

“It’s…the p-prison,” Hex managed.

Hunter’s eyes shot open. They burned brighter than they had ever burned before, and Hex knew it was because Odarth’s resurrection was nigh.

But he was beginning to wonder if that was such a good thing.

The Dragon rises, and then what? He wasn’t sure.

“What of the prison?” Hunter demanded, spitting the words out of his mouth like they were poison.

“They…they’re dead.”

“Who? The prisoners?”

“No, the guards. All of them are dead or hurt. They say it was a young woman with a sword who did it. She came through and beat them with her magic.”

Hunter’s hand shot out and gripped Hex’s throat tightly.

A coughing fit overtook him as he tried to breathe. How unfortunate; he’d gotten his wind back, only to have it taken away by the cold fingers of the Dragon Leader.

Straining for his voice, Hex tried to choke something out, but it came as a gurgle.

“What was that?”

“S-Something e-e-lseeee,” Hex said.

“Speak it!” Hunter eased his grip around Hex’s throat, but jerked him forward, causing the hood to fall from Hex’s head.

“One of the men…he said the sword that the young woman was using…” Hex was too afraid to finish the rest of the sentence, for he knew the rage it would bring to his leader. He also knew he was likely to be executed. The leader had a habit of ‘shooting the messenger’.

“What, Hex!? What?”

“He said…he said the sword was the same one Anwyn used to destroy Odarth, all those millennia ago.”

Hunter let go of Hex’s throat.

The man fell to his knees in the rocky sand, biting his tongue in the process. His mouth filled with blood as his heart filled with fear.

Hunter looked away into the night sky, his mind seemingly elsewhere.

“Master?” Hex ventured. A few moments had passed, and he felt it was enough to distance himself from Hunter’s rage—as if that would matter. Both men knew Hunter could turn Hex into a pile of ash in the blink of an eye—but Hunter was not one to use magic for that purpose. No, he enjoyed using his blade for that; he liked the way the life drained out of his victim’s eyes as

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