The Worst Kobold Chapter 3: Chapter 2 - Pure. Dragon. Rage.

Read chapter 3 of The Worst Kobold by Thalaas on NovelPedia.

Normally, the Hickory Woods was all but deserted. Perhaps a lone hunter would wander by, or maybe there would be a smuggler trying to keep his ill gotten goods out of the king’s eyes. At this time unfortunately? A large procession was trudging on what could barely be called a path, a few miles away. They had deliberately avoided the main roads. Going this way was tough. But these were hardened, elite soldiers of the Ashen Kingdom. One hundred and forty-four of the finest soldiers, archers, and mages continued through the trail. All of them wore finely crafted armor embroidered with the royal crest of a diving falcon with wings splayed and talons spread. It symbolized the kingdom’s ability to always strike hard and fast. The soldiers wore it proudly on their chest and shields even as they continued to move their cargo down the unsuited path. In the center of the small army was a gigantic wooden cart drawn by four stout Ashen warhorses. They were larger than average horse, and specially trained for both the heavy load and the rugged terrain. On top of the cart was a large wooden box firmly chained down. Fifteen feet high and twice as long. In it contained a very rare item purchased from a sultan in the far south Azulean desert. He had been reluctant to give up such a prize, but the Kingdom of Ashen had made an offer he simply could not refuse. Buying the item was only part of the mission. The second part was getting it home unmolested. It took almost three weeks of constant travel, from the harsh desert, up then down narrow mountain passes, and now the final leg of the journey through Hickory Woods. It had added at least another two travel days, but this detour was far more secluded. It would be extremely foolish for anyone to attack such a large and skilled force. But no one was taking any chances on this mission. What the box contained was so rare, It’d be unlikely they could ever find a second one. “Prince Falcon!” Prince Alexander Falcon rode at the front on a magnificent steed of almost pure white, saved for one larger black splotch on its left eye with several smaller dark dots underneath. Alexander had christened the horse Soot since the pattern around the eye reminded him of the smoke that came from a blacksmith’s forge. Soot seemed to trot a little more proudly than the other horses with the royal prince on his back. If one were to imagine the hero of any story, you’d get a good picture of what he looked like. A tall man in the prime of his life. He was perfectly clean shaven with a swatch of short brilliant red hair. Like most in the military he kept it short to not interfere with his vision. His armor was of the finest mithril, dyed white with gold seams around the edges. He had the Ashen crest across his chest, but also had a long red cloak billowing from behind him with the symbol of a diving falcon in gold threat. The royal crest of his king to show that he was of noble blood. But just because he was a prince, didn’t mean he had not earned the right to lead. He was one of the finest swordsmen in the kingdom. His instructors had called him a prodigy to the king with not the slightest sense of falsehood. His military mind was also just as keen. The kingdom was relatively at peace. But the prince had distinguished himself by defending the outer villages from raiders as well as leading a small squad to defeat a rampaging hydra that was terrorizing the eastern coast. Alexander himself cut off the final head of the seven headed monstrosity. And then there were his magic skills. His powers rivaled many of the instructors when it came to lightsphere of magic. At the age of twenty-three he had already been given the rank of Master by the academy. Many thought he would be given the top title of grandmaster in another ten years. Alexander didn’t stop his horse Soot’'s stride. “Yes, Captain Reynard?” Captain Reynard pulled up to him. He was a well seasoned older man in his forties who had seen dozens of conflicts in his long c