Blood Of Kings: The Shadow Mage by Paul Freeman

jumped back in fear. A scaly body emerged slowly from the egg, unfurling a pair of leathery wings. When it hopped from the flames it began to grow, its scales turning golden as it did so. The boy remained trapped in shock and fear unable to move as the creature craned its neck towards the ceiling until it was so large the house could no longer contain it. The boy croaked in fear, drawing the attention of the monster. With one snap it devoured him whole.
    “The boy did not die though. He grew inside the beast and recognised it for what it was – dragon! Their minds melded, becoming one, neither in control of the other, nor of themselves. The dragon leapt into the sky and returned to its nesting ground where all of the birds of prey gathered and bowed down before it.
    “The emperor woke then with fire raging in his soul, with one thing certain in his mind; that blood and fire would come to the world of men.”
     

Duke Normand: Duchy of Lenstir
     
     
     
     
    D uke Normand stretched back on the sumptuous bed his eyes fixed to the blonde curls slowly bobbing below him. The walls of his chamber were adorned with weapons and tapestries of battle scenes long since played out. The polished wooden floor was covered in rugs and made from animal furs. He could feel the urge for release build inside him. His eyes lingered on the creamy-white shoulders of the girl, allowing himself a moment of indulgence where he did not have to think about war, or dream-witches. His hips arched as he got closer. The girl sensed it too and pulled back. Normand grabbed a handful of curls holding her in place. She gasped and gurgled but stuck to her task. He gripped her head firmly as he climaxed with a grunt and a shudder, only releasing her from his iron grip when he relaxed with a sigh. His eyes lingered on her full breasts when she sat up and wiped her chin with the back of her hand.
    “Leave me,” he growled and shoved her away. She quickly gathered up her dress and scampered from the room. Normand allowed himself a moment to admire the curve of her hips and fleshy buttocks as she hurried from his presence.
    He dressed quickly and strapped his sword to his waist. A painting of a grey-haired man in chainmail armour and brandishing the same broadsword loomed over him. His great-grandfather, a famed warrior and king’s champion, or so Normand had been taught by a succession of tutors. It was he who had formed the Dragon Knights of Lenstir, and he who had gained most fame and glory leading them. We shall see who will be ranked the most famed Normand of them all, he thought to himself before spinning on his heel and following the girl from his chamber.
    His boots echoed off the flagstones as he marched towards a roaring fire at the end of his hall. “Bring me wine,” he instructed a girl hovering nervously at the entrance. She curtsied and hurried to do his bidding.
    “She’s a pretty little thing.” A hushed voice startled the duke. He swung around to confront whoever had spoken. A dark-cloaked figure emerged from the shadows. Normand’s hand dropped to his sword. “Beg your pardon, my lord. Did I startle you?” A humourless smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.
    The duke watched as a small man moved cat-like towards him. His eyes darted about the hall as if they could not focus on any one thing for more than a heartbeat. An angry red scar ran from his temple to his cheekbone. He pushed back his hood to reveal shoulder length, brown hair. Aside from his constant fidgeting and ugly scar he was a handsome enough man with powerful arms and shoulders.
    “Mortaga. One day you will crawl out of the shadows onto the point of my sword.”
    “I earn my coin by being discreet, my lord. Have I yet to displease you?”
    “No, you have not,” Normand agreed. The girl arrived back carrying a clay jug. He took it from her and filled two cups he snatched from a long feasting table. He handed one to the smaller man and drained one himself, while