“Perhaps I would make a good assassin,” Karl stated. “I am an orphan.”
A sidelong thrust of the draconian’s long snout brought razor-sharp teeth snapping in front of Karl’s face. The draconian was amused. “How many men have you killed, Private Baeron?”
“None yet, but I’ve put in for transfer to the Solamnian front,” Karl returned defensively.
The Aurak’s tone was bone-cold. “I killed before I was three hours old. I came from a defective egg. My fellow hatchlings and I were deformed-puny, weak, missing a digit on our hands and feet, born with red coxcombs on our heads. The others were crushed under the heels of the priests who had made us. I hid in the pile of bodies and waited until only one guard remained. He was using a pitchfork to clear off the dead. I killed him, my first kill, before I was three hours old.”
Bulmammon grinned. “From that moment, I knew what I was born to do. To kill. To torment and terrorize and kill. I thank the priests for teaching me that. I thank Ariakas for paying me to do it.”
Reaching a bridge that spanned one of Sanction’s many rivers of lava, the draconian and the discomfited messenger crossed over it. The private winced at the uncomfortable heat that radiated from the stone bridge. The draconian took no note whatsoever. He was looking ahead, beyond the bridge, into the stone-paved plaza of the Temple of Luerkhisis. In the plaza clustered the tents of Ariakas’s encamped army. Among the flapping folds of canvas moved other draconians similar to Bulmammon. Compared to him, however, these others seemed dingy and somehow … common. Instead of gold-glinting scales and sleek wingless bodies, these draconians were brassy and bewinged. They dawdled about their assigned tasks. Interspersed with these reptilian troops were human mercenaries, minotaur warriors, and even a few chained ogres-Ariakas’s brute squads.
The golden draconian paused at the apex of the bridge.
“Over there, Captain Bulmammon,” said the private. “There is the colonel. There, by those shock troops.”
Bulmammon’s eyes shifted to where the young man pointed. Near the bridge stood eight draconian warriors, their scaly hides looking gray beneath the ashen sky of evening. Their wings moved in sullen fanning motions and cast deep shadows over their snapping-turtle heads. The draconians each bore a notch-toothed sword and wore metal-plated armor. One carried mountain-climbing gear-stout ropes and grapples; odd equipment for a winged creature.
“Sivaks,” Bulmammon said, the single word expressing his contempt for his cousin draconians. “I hope this doesn’t involve Sivaks.”
With that, the Aurak strode down the arched bridge and onto the cracked stone plaza. All hesitation gone, he stalked up to the human colonel as though he would walk right through the man and on to the temple. As it was, the assassin halted half a pace too close to the colonel, forcing the man to hop backward like a spooked bunny.
“Blue Dragonarmy Assassin, Captain Bulmammon, at your service, Colonel Armon. What are your orders, sir?”
The colonel quickly recovered his composure, though his tight white face went a little tighter and a little whiter beneath his short sandy hair. He moved around the assassin and gestured toward the Sivaks, whose eyes watched the pair with avid interest.
“This is your strike team,” Colonel Armon said. “Eight of the best Sivaks we’ve got. I want them returned-all of them.” He shook his head. “No pleasure killing this time, Captain Bulmammon. I can’t afford it.”
The Aurak grunted. “I will return to you as many as are not killed in the completion of our mission, Colonel. Now, as to that mission …”
“You will lead these warriors toward the North Pass. Just before you reach it, you will see a large oak with a rope dangling from its lowest branch. A deserter was hanged there five days back. I left him as an example, but the body has disappeared. The rope is severed fifteen feet off the ground. The patrol that noticed the corpse’s absence found a trail of trampled ground and claw marks-big claw marks-leading back to a cave. A lookout posted to watch the cave mouth reported seeing a maimed dragon-”
“A dragon? You want me to assassinate a dragon?” Bulmammon roared in disbelief.