Read Online A Joust of Knights (Book #16 in the Sorcerer's Ring) by Morgan Rice - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Morgan Rice
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the dehydration, the burning
of the suns on his skin. He was beyond all that now, so close to death. All
that he still felt was his intense grief for his people, all of whom had died beside
him in their siege of Volusia, all massacred before his eyes. He craved to see
them all again, and had cursed the gods that he had been left alive.
But Boku was too spent to even have room
to curse now. There was nothing left in him but to die. He prayed to the gods with
all he was to please let him die—and yet for some reason, they kept denying
him. For days, the Empire had inflicted on him every kind of torture before
finally nailing him to the cross, and still, no matter how much he craved it,
he would not die. He drifted now in and out of consciousness, seeing his
forefathers in a cloud of light, expecting any moment to be embraced by them,
and wishing it to be so.
Boku opened his eyes—he did not know how
much time had passed—and found himself to still be alive, caught in his harsh
reality, his body numb, no longer feeling his hands or legs, and having to look
down and see the piles of corpses of all the people he once knew and loved. When,
he wondered, would this hell end? He would give anything for a swift, merciful
death.
“Bring him down,” called out the voice
of an Empire taskmaster, and for a moment, Boku’s heart leapt as he wondered if
his prayers had been answered.
Boku felt his world shift, felt his
cross lowered, felt his body go flat, then borne on the shoulders of several
soldiers. He was set down on the ground with a bang, as they dropped him the
last few feet, and a sharp pain shot up his spine, surprising him. He did not
think he had any room left for pain.
Boku looked up, squinted into the
glaring sun, until suddenly, a shadow passed over his face, and he opened his
eyes wide to see the cruel Empire taskmaster, scowling down at him with his
long fangs and horns. The taskmaster reached over with a pitcher and dumped freezing
water on his face.
Boku felt like he was drowning. He felt
the water go up his nose, felt himself immersed in it, and gasped as all the
Empire soldiers laughed cruelly around him.
Boku felt water on his lips, and he licked
them, trying to drink, desperate to be able to swallow. But there was none left
to drink, adding cruelty to the torture.
Boku blinked and looked up at the
taskmaster’s face, wondering again what he could possibly want, why he would
bother keeping him alive. Why would he give him water? To prolong his torture,
surely.
“Where are your friends?” he demanded,
leaning over, his bad breath filling Boku’s face.
Boku blinked, confused.
“What friends?” he tried to ask, but his
throat was too parched for the words to come out.
“Those from across the sea,” the man
demanded. “Those of the white race. The ones you harbored in your village. The
ones who fled. Where did they go?”
Boku blinked, his head splitting, trying
to understand, his mind working slowly after so many days of silence and agony.
Slowly, it came back to him. Before the massacre, that woman, what was her
name….Gwendolyn. Yes. Her people….
It all slowly came back to him: they had
fled before the battle. They had trekked out to the Great Waste, to try to find
the Second Ring…backup for their army. Most likely, the Waste had taken them,
too.
Boku looked up at the scowling face of
the taskmaster, and realized now what he wanted, why he had kept him alive, had
tortured him. It wasn’t enough for them to have killed him and all his people.
They wanted to kill Gwendolyn and her people, too.
Boku felt a fresh resolve within him. If
he had been unable to save his people, at least he could now save Gwendolyn.
Boku managed to clear his throat enough
to speak:
“She went back across the sea,” he lied
firmly.
The taskmaster grinned down, took a long,
sharp dagger-like weapon with a curved tip, and plunged it into Boku’s ribs.
Boku shrieked screamed as he crammed it
in farther,
of the suns on his skin. He was beyond all that now, so close to death. All
that he still felt was his intense grief for his people, all of whom had died beside
him in their siege of Volusia, all massacred before his eyes. He craved to see
them all again, and had cursed the gods that he had been left alive.
But Boku was too spent to even have room
to curse now. There was nothing left in him but to die. He prayed to the gods with
all he was to please let him die—and yet for some reason, they kept denying
him. For days, the Empire had inflicted on him every kind of torture before
finally nailing him to the cross, and still, no matter how much he craved it,
he would not die. He drifted now in and out of consciousness, seeing his
forefathers in a cloud of light, expecting any moment to be embraced by them,
and wishing it to be so.
Boku opened his eyes—he did not know how
much time had passed—and found himself to still be alive, caught in his harsh
reality, his body numb, no longer feeling his hands or legs, and having to look
down and see the piles of corpses of all the people he once knew and loved. When,
he wondered, would this hell end? He would give anything for a swift, merciful
death.
“Bring him down,” called out the voice
of an Empire taskmaster, and for a moment, Boku’s heart leapt as he wondered if
his prayers had been answered.
Boku felt his world shift, felt his
cross lowered, felt his body go flat, then borne on the shoulders of several
soldiers. He was set down on the ground with a bang, as they dropped him the
last few feet, and a sharp pain shot up his spine, surprising him. He did not
think he had any room left for pain.
Boku looked up, squinted into the
glaring sun, until suddenly, a shadow passed over his face, and he opened his
eyes wide to see the cruel Empire taskmaster, scowling down at him with his
long fangs and horns. The taskmaster reached over with a pitcher and dumped freezing
water on his face.
Boku felt like he was drowning. He felt
the water go up his nose, felt himself immersed in it, and gasped as all the
Empire soldiers laughed cruelly around him.
Boku felt water on his lips, and he licked
them, trying to drink, desperate to be able to swallow. But there was none left
to drink, adding cruelty to the torture.
Boku blinked and looked up at the
taskmaster’s face, wondering again what he could possibly want, why he would
bother keeping him alive. Why would he give him water? To prolong his torture,
surely.
“Where are your friends?” he demanded,
leaning over, his bad breath filling Boku’s face.
Boku blinked, confused.
“What friends?” he tried to ask, but his
throat was too parched for the words to come out.
“Those from across the sea,” the man
demanded. “Those of the white race. The ones you harbored in your village. The
ones who fled. Where did they go?”
Boku blinked, his head splitting, trying
to understand, his mind working slowly after so many days of silence and agony.
Slowly, it came back to him. Before the massacre, that woman, what was her
name….Gwendolyn. Yes. Her people….
It all slowly came back to him: they had
fled before the battle. They had trekked out to the Great Waste, to try to find
the Second Ring…backup for their army. Most likely, the Waste had taken them,
too.
Boku looked up at the scowling face of
the taskmaster, and realized now what he wanted, why he had kept him alive, had
tortured him. It wasn’t enough for them to have killed him and all his people.
They wanted to kill Gwendolyn and her people, too.
Boku felt a fresh resolve within him. If
he had been unable to save his people, at least he could now save Gwendolyn.
Boku managed to clear his throat enough
to speak:
“She went back across the sea,” he lied
firmly.
The taskmaster grinned down, took a long,
sharp dagger-like weapon with a curved tip, and plunged it into Boku’s ribs.
Boku shrieked screamed as he crammed it
in farther,
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