Read Rage of the Dragon for Free Online Page B

on a dark and silent world. He felt a deep love for these people. They had been through so much. They were all dear to him, even Sigurd.
    Skylan’s eyes burned. He was so tired. He would sit for just a moment. He blinked and closed his eyes, to ease the burning …
    *   *   *
    Night. Black and cold. The stars small with sharp, bright edges. The moon pale and wan. Skylan walked across the frost-hard ground. He had been walking a long time. He was tired and cold and yet he kept walking, a sense of purpose driving him. He did not recognize his surroundings, and yet he knew he was in his homeland, in Vindraholm. He wore chain mail and a helm and carried his sword and shield.
    He crested a hill and looked down. Spread out before him was a battlefield. Grass was trampled, churned, wet with blood. The pale moonlight gleamed on the armor of the dead. Skylan stared, sick with dread and dismay. The armor was Vindrasi; the dead were his people.
    An ugly red-orange glow flared on the horizon. A city in flames. Homes, temples, halls—like black skeletons, writhing in the fire. Skylan listened for cries or screams. He realized suddenly that there was no one left alive to scream.
    He ran down the hill and onto the battlefield, stumbling over bodies, slipping in the blood, coughing in the smoke, hoping to find someone still alive. He ran for a long time until, on the verge of collapse, he came to his village. He stopped running. Nothing was left. Here and there flame flickered amid the wreckage, but that was all.
    Bodies of women lay in the street. Their men dead, they had fought to defend their homes with axes or scythes or even, pitifully, brooms. Their children had died, too; the older ones fighting, the little ones speared as they sat wailing in the blood of their dead mothers.
    The thought came to him that some of his people might have been able to escape and were now hiding in the caves in the hills. He hurried into the woods, calling out names, but no one answered. He froze when he saw fire in the night until he realized that the glow was small—a hearth fire. He hurried toward the warming glow and he recognized the house.
    It belonged to Owl Mother.
    Skylan stopped in his tracks. He had always been afraid of Owl Mother.
    The door to the house swung open and a woman emerged. But it was not Owl Mother. The woman was dressed in armor that had once shone with a radiant light. Now it was dented and bloody and grimed with ash and soot. She was still beautiful, though her face was aged with sorrow; she stood tall, unbowed, undefeated.
    Skylan recognized Vindrash, the dragon goddess.
    “You can stop searching,” she told him. “The Torgun are all dead.”
    Skylan looked behind her and saw the body of the old woman, Owl Mother, lying on the floor. Her white hair was matted with blood. Her wolf lay dead at her side, his throat slashed. He had died defending her.
    “Vindrash, what happened?” Skylan asked.
    “The enemy came upon them in the night.” The words of the goddess floated out of her mouth and hung, ghostly white, in the frigid air. “Your people woke to a sea filled with strange-looking ships. They heard the blare of trumpets and the beating of drums. They saw bright, shining armor and cruel swords. The sky was black with winged serpents.”
    “Aelon’s serpents,” Skylan said. “Soldiers from the land of Oran. Are all…” His throat closed, he coughed and continued raggedly, “Are all the Vindrasi dead?”
    “Some still live,” said Vindrash. She gave a sad smile. “I know because we gods live.”
    Skylan was confused. “Has this battle already happened? Will it happen in the future? Can I prevent it from happening?”
    Vindrash shook her head. “I cannot tell you. We gods are as blind as mortals now. Perhaps this is the future. Perhaps not.”
    “Then why bring me here? Why show me this terrible sight?” Skylan demanded angrily.
    “Ask yourself that question, Skylan Ivorson,” said Vindrash. “This