Page 145 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

Jakhov had turned to face Whelan with tempered fury. “And what’s stopping their King from joining the usurper and hunting us all down instead?”

“Pride.” Madan had stood before the dhemon and looked him square in the eye. He was one of the few he didn’t have to tilt his head back to look at. “As much as I hate to say it, I know Loren. He’d rather spill his own guts on the floor than partner with a dhemon.”

There had been no argument against Madan’s words. They knew what he’d endured at the hands of that bastard, and even Jakhov wouldn’t dare demean what he’d gone through. After all, he’d never broken. He couldn’t remember what Loren had asked him during those hours of torture—gods, he didn’t even know if Loren had asked him anything—but he never sold out his brother. Never gave up the secrets of the dhemons. Never begged for mercy in return for the knowledge he had about any of their movements.

If there was one thing dhemons honored, it was their dedication to one another.

So when they took flight back into Eastwood, Jakhov and the other dhemons did so without further complaint. Rusan soldiers had likely reported back to their commanding officers about the absolute massacre at the Caldwell Estate. Due to this, Madan expected more to be stationed at the homes of the Lower Council currently in Eastwood Province. The others, still locked in their Laeton manors, would have to wait.

They flew with four dragons and eight skilled fighters. No matter the number of soldiers awaiting them at Lord Knoll’s, Madan remained confident. They’d only had Brutis at the last battle as a way for the others to keep their exit path clear of Ehrun and his cronies. This time, they’d be better prepared.

Madan and Cinisja descended on Brutis first. They shot down from the sky fast at the largest group of soldiers patrolling Veron’s high garden, effectively crushing half the foliage along with a handful of vampires. As expected, chaos broke out at the sight of them—at the sight of a dragon, long since believed to be nothing more than legend.

Cinisja swung down from Brutis, twin blades flashing fast as she cut down the two nearest soldiers before they could gather their wits. Madan followed suit and kept his left side close to the dragon to prevent any attacks on his weaker side. They moved in unison, the vinculum kept open between them as the others landed around the estate grounds to a chorus of shrieks and roars.

By the time Madan reached the manor, he and his partners had torn through every soldier in sight. Blood dripped from his face and sword, and he couldn’t blame the servants on the other side of the door Brutis broke for screaming like they’d seen Keon himself searching for souls.

“Where is Lord Knoll?” Madan asked a Rusan woman before she could run from him.

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Sucking in a calming breath, he glared at her. “Don’t make me repeat myself. I’m not here to harm him.”

“The library!” Another servant cried from the corner, dishes that had once bore the food now scattered in every which way. “I just spoke to him in the library. Second floor.”

With a nod of thanks, Madan moved on. He picked his way through the manor to the foyer and up the stairs, past the drawing room. The library doors were locked. A sure sign that the Lord lingered beyond them.

“Veron!” Madan called, keeping one ear close to the seam of the doors. “It’s Madan. I told you to be ready. Are you?”

At first, no one replied. He contemplated kicking down the door and pulling the Lord out with or without his consent but thought better of it. He needed Veron as an ally, not as a hostage.

“I know this may seem strange,” Madan continued, hoping his voice sounded as calm and collected as he imagined it to be, “but the dhemons on your grounds are our allies. They answer to me.”

“Dhemons, I have no problems with,” Veron said after a long, strained minute. “But the flying beasts are another matter.”

Madan frowned to himself. That Veron trusted the dhemons more than the dragons seemed a bit ridiculous. They’d fought against the former for millennia while the flying beasts had never been their enemy. “They’re dragons, my Lord, and no more dangerous than you or me.”

A shuffle, then the lock clicked, and the door cracked open to reveal the Caersan’s umber face. Veron’s eyes widened at the state of Madan. “Dragons?”

“Indeed.” Madan offered a reassuring smile. “Perfectly safe to you, my Lord.”

Screams from the lower floors ruined whatever progress he’d made in an instant. Veron gave him a sharp look, then moved to shut the door. Madan slammed his amputated arm against it, holding it open with as much strength as he could muster, and shoved through.

“I must insist you come with me.” Madan looked beyond Veron to the loaded crossbow on the low table. The Caersan may have locked himself away, but he wasn’t unprepared. He was once a much younger vampire who knew perfectly well how to protect himself, too, and those habits were hard to rid oneself of, even as a Lord on the Council.

“And to where do you plan to take me, Lord Governor?”

Madan sighed. “Somewhere safe where we can plan our attack against King Gard.”

With a scoff, Veron turned and collected his crossbow. “I received the letter appointing me in your place. He has grown bold, and the death of the Princeps—”

“Murder.” Madan was certain of it. “Markus Harlow was perfectly healthy, and in his right mind last I saw him at his daughter’s wedding. If Loren didn’t kill him himself, then one of his officers performed the act in his stead.”

Veron grumbled something under his breath and turned back around, his eyes flicking to the corridor over Madan’s shoulder. He nodded once to the space behind him. “And I can trust them?”

Glancing over his shoulder, Madan groaned in frustration at the sight of Whelan, blood staining his shirt from his reopened gut wound. So much for staying with Oria. They’d discuss this later. He turned back to Lord Knoll and bowed. “If ever you’ve trusted me or my predecessors, please believe they too are your allies.”

“Then let us be off,” Veron announced. He started forward on shaky feet but pushed back his shoulders and lifted his head as he approached Whelan without faltering. “I trust you and I are able to communicate?”

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