Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 137958 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137958 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
“And their fire, can it destroy the Beast?”
Nillen shook his head. “Slow it, perhaps. But if one should get within arm’s reach, the Beast can send it nearly back to Lunwyn with one swing.”
Slowing it wasn’t much.
But it was something.
And they’d need something if even half of the lore of that Beast was true.
Including the fact it was immune to dragonfire. Not a being on that earth was immune from the fire of his dragons.
“Where the dragons go, I go. Or Vik goes,” Frey reminded the elf.
Nillen dipped his chin. “This is so, my lord Frey Drakkar.”
Well, one thing could be said about this, his gods-damned son and the future king of his country was not going to cross the bloody Green Sea.
One other thing could be said.
Finnie, his wee wife, Lunwyn’s Winter Princess until Vik found a wife and made a daughter, was going to be all for a voyage across the Green sea.
Because no matter the venture, Princess Seofin Drakkar rushed to face it.
And further, she would never allow her husband to leave, even on the most dangerous mission, without her at his side.
Not ever.
Bloody.
Fucking.
Hell.
7
The Warning
G’Drey
Tent City of Travelers, Outside a Firenz Bazaar, Riverside of the Tebes
FIRENZE
G’Drey moved into the tent, eyeing the monster.
The desert he had traversed these past four days had been…hot.
The bazaar he had just attended had been…bizarre.
And this creature before him was…mountainous.
Drey’s mouth watered.
He’d seen from his window in his rooms in Go’Doan when the Firenz warriors would visit the city.
Not to worship.
They had their own gods.
Not to study.
It was rare when any warrior of the Firenz came to read the tomes of history of the continent of Triton, or what they knew of the Northlands and the Southlands across the Green Sea, or what they knew of The Mystics across the Triton Sea.
Definitely not to attend the Go’Da, the university in Go’Doan that many from all over Triton attended. Mostly sons (and some daughters, but those were usually Nadirii) of aristocracy, some of the higher classes who did not have a lofty birthright but did have the ability to pay tuition. And some scholarships, gifted minds from the lower classes, who were usually eventually recruited into the Go’Doan Order.
No, whatever the Firenz were there for, Drey, as a Go’Tish, or training priest, had no idea.
And the Go’En, the high priests, did not enlighten him.
He’d been training for bloody damns ever. He was beginning to think you had to lick the arses of the entire rank of Go’En (and he’d done his fair share of arse licking, the kind he liked but mostly the kind he did not).
Now, after he’d waited so long, but with the worst possible timing, he’d finally been advanced to a Go’Ar, no longer in training, but not yet a high priest. And as such, sent on his first missionary assignment to the Fire City of Firenze, traveling through that realm to join his fellow priests there and take up his role.
This did not make him happy.
He did not like being away from his chosen one.
But in his travels, meeting this warrior with the bladed leather kilt at his hips, chest straps, forearm shields and mighty crossed broadswords at his back, he was beginning to rethink matters.
Especially when the colossal warrior unbuckled the strap at his chest and the broadswords fell with a heavy thud to the thick carpet that covered the sand and stone beneath their feet.
“Toga, via,” the warrior commanded, and Drey felt his rumbling voice, and his command, right through his arse.
His shaft was already hard and had been since before he entered the tent.
“I speak your language,” he shared in Firenzii.
“Then take your robe off,” the warrior stated in the same language.
With no delay Drey’s hands moved to his gilded belt even as a small niggle of guilt slunk into his head that he was not being faithful to his chosen one.
This niggle vanished as the leather blades of the kilt fell to the carpets and he saw what was straining against the tight leather trunks underneath.
His belt was gone, and his bleached robe hit the carpet about two seconds after, leaving him only in his sandals.
The warrior didn’t even look at him, which Drey did not like all that much.
The huge man moved around the posted mattress to a stand at the side of its head where he used his large hand to shove things aside. Jars, bottles, coins, wisps of parchment and other items Drey couldn’t make out fell to the floor before he seized on one small bottle.
With his back to Drey, he heard as the warrior uncorked it and he saw the movements of his powerful arms as he poured something into his hand.
He replaced the bottle to the stand and turned, perfunctorily shoving the front of his trunks under his cock and balls, his hard, enormous phallus springing forth, and Drey instantly forgave the warrior for not admiring his (if he did claim so himself) trim and slight, but rather handsome physique.