Dragon Chameleon: Episodes 9-12 (Dragon Chameleon Omnibuses Book 3) by Sarah K. L. Wilson

Dragon Chameleon: Episodes 9-12 (Dragon Chameleon Omnibuses Book 3) by Sarah K. L. Wilson

Author:Sarah K. L. Wilson [Wilson, Sarah K. L.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Sarah K. L. Wilson
Published: 2019-06-12T00:00:00+00:00


Chapter Two

When I woke again, the army was waking, too. Tents fell to the ground as they were dismantled and rolled away. A soldier in a rumpled uniform with mud streaking his boots brought us two bowls of porridge and a fresh waterskin.

“No time for niceties this morning, boys,” he said as he handed it to us. “Eat fast. We need to march. Maybe we can get out of these mountains sooner. I’ve never seen such pathetic mountains. They’re nothing like the majestic Ko’keewin Mountains of home.”

We were in a valley between mountain ranges where the main road meandered between their curves and bends. This would be the perfect place for the Dominion to attack. They could close the bottleneck of the pass and sweep down from the mountains on dragon-back. Wishful thinking. No one knew they were there but me and Bataar – and of course the enemy army.

I felt like there was a ticking clock in my mind speeding up with every minute that passed, as if it were counting down every second that I wasted while the enemy rushed across my land like a tidal wave.

I clenched my jaw and shoveled the porridge in, counting numbers of troops and watching to see how responsive they were to commands, who led them, where the golems were positioned, and trying to think about what all of it meant.

“And you must be Tor Winespring,” a tinkling voice said from behind the cage.

I spun, standing up from where I had been crouching on a three-legged stool. From my place in the cart, I stood so that my feet were waist level with anyone on the ground. It gave me a very full view of the tall brunette woman addressing me. She was at least ten years older than me, though it was hard to judge that for certain.

I almost laughed at her attire – a rosebud pink dress billowed in gauzy waves in the breeze while white rabbit fur was wrapped in a warm collar and stole around her neck and shoulders, barely enough to shield from the wind, especially considering the low cut of the dress.

“And you are Ambrosia. A Magika with plans,” I said.

She laughed. “You’ve heard of me.”

Now, why would she look so pleased? I noticed that she did not speak to Bataar or even seem to notice him. He quietly took my empty bowl from my hands, murmuring to the soldier who was collecting them on the other side of the cage.

“I suspect anyone who is near you has heard of you, Ambrosia.”

“Tell me, Tor, were you trained by Magikas?”

My eyebrows shot up. What was she getting at?

“Well,” my mimic said, springing to life and peering through the bars with a look of delighted interest, “I think the pretty lady noticed that you can make those golems do as you say. And that’s Magika territory.”

I was so used to my shadow-self popping up whenever he felt like it, that I didn’t notice Ambrosia’s shock at first.

“And what,” she asked, “is that?”

“A mimic,” I said.



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