Read Online A Sliver of Redemption by David Dalglish - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Dalglish
Ads: Link
had not lost. It wouldn’t be long before the hubbub died and their attention refocused.
Shifting his wiry frame over, his shoulder leading, Dunk tilted his head as close as possible. Deathmask imitated the motion, and for the briefest moment their foreheads touched. Just a slight bump, but it was enough to pour all the dark energy out of Deathmask and into Dunk. The old man’s body turned incorporeal, his muscle and bone replaced with shadow and magic. Dunk slipped from the bonds and laughed long and loud.
“I’m a ghost!” he shouted with glee. At this, the guards turned and saw the bizarre sight. They cried out in alarm, and several lunged for their weapons. Dunk wasted no time. He bolted straight for, and then through, the double-doors, vanishing into the castle.
“After him,” they cried. In the confusion, Deathmask twiddled his fingers, wincing each time the sharp metal cut into his wrists. His own body turned translucent, and during that brief moment he fell forward, freeing himself from his chains. Still unnoticed, he stood, fire bursting from his palms. Half the guards had already unlocked the doors and hurried out. The nearest of the remaining four screamed as his body was engulfed in flame. The ash of his corpse floated through the air, settling into a faint cloud swirling around Deathmask’s head.
“It’s the Ghost!” screamed a guard, flinging his club and turning to flee. Deathmask brought him down with a word. Blood poured out of his ears, mouth, and eyes. The club struck by Deathmask’s feet, doing no harm. Behind him, the remaining men chained to the wall gaped in terror. Magic flared in the small dark room, slashing the final guards to pieces with shadow blades. When the chained men continued to howl, Deathmask whirled upon them and pointed a finger.
“Quiet, or die,” he said. Two obeyed. A third did not. Deathmask shot a single bolt of dark magic through his throat. The man quieted. Shaking his head, Deathmask rushed deeper into the prison. Halfway down the stairs he met a guard rushing up to investigate the confusion. Deathmask put a hand upon his throat and whispered two words of power. The guard collapsed, his throat constricted and unable to open for breath.
At the bottom of the steps was another door. As he reached for the handle he cried out in alarm. The door swung out, cracking him across the shoulder. He collapsed to the ground, muttering and promising death. Instead, a feminine hand reached down to help him up.
“I had to kill seven,” Veliana said, pulling him to his feet. “What took you so long?”
“They chained me to a wall,” Deathmask said. “You?”
“Holding cell with two other women. Nice gals.”
The two rushed back up the steps, stepped over the dead bodies, and approached the double-doors to the jail. Against the wall, the remaining two prisoners closed their eyes and bit their tongues to hold in their sobs.
“Guards?” Veliana whispered, gesturing to the doors.
Deathmask nodded.
On the count of three, Veliana slammed them open. The two guards posted with their backs to them could only yelp in surprise before she slammed a club across their faces, shattering cartilage and splattering blood across the floor. Frowning at the club, Veliana dropped it and took the shortswords from the unconscious guards. She twirled them in her hands and whispered a word of magic. A soft purple glow surrounded the blades, strengthening them.
“We’ll be near the soldiers’ quarters,” Deathmask said. “Where do you figure this Melorak will be?”
“The throne room,” Veliana said, glancing up and down the hallway they had entered.
“I figured he would be with his priests,” Deathmask said as he followed her.
“No,” Veliana said, stopping at another intersection. They had been to the castle only a couple of times before, but that was enough for Veliana to have memorized the bulk of the corridors and winding passageways. So far, no sign of guards, and in
Shifting his wiry frame over, his shoulder leading, Dunk tilted his head as close as possible. Deathmask imitated the motion, and for the briefest moment their foreheads touched. Just a slight bump, but it was enough to pour all the dark energy out of Deathmask and into Dunk. The old man’s body turned incorporeal, his muscle and bone replaced with shadow and magic. Dunk slipped from the bonds and laughed long and loud.
“I’m a ghost!” he shouted with glee. At this, the guards turned and saw the bizarre sight. They cried out in alarm, and several lunged for their weapons. Dunk wasted no time. He bolted straight for, and then through, the double-doors, vanishing into the castle.
“After him,” they cried. In the confusion, Deathmask twiddled his fingers, wincing each time the sharp metal cut into his wrists. His own body turned translucent, and during that brief moment he fell forward, freeing himself from his chains. Still unnoticed, he stood, fire bursting from his palms. Half the guards had already unlocked the doors and hurried out. The nearest of the remaining four screamed as his body was engulfed in flame. The ash of his corpse floated through the air, settling into a faint cloud swirling around Deathmask’s head.
“It’s the Ghost!” screamed a guard, flinging his club and turning to flee. Deathmask brought him down with a word. Blood poured out of his ears, mouth, and eyes. The club struck by Deathmask’s feet, doing no harm. Behind him, the remaining men chained to the wall gaped in terror. Magic flared in the small dark room, slashing the final guards to pieces with shadow blades. When the chained men continued to howl, Deathmask whirled upon them and pointed a finger.
“Quiet, or die,” he said. Two obeyed. A third did not. Deathmask shot a single bolt of dark magic through his throat. The man quieted. Shaking his head, Deathmask rushed deeper into the prison. Halfway down the stairs he met a guard rushing up to investigate the confusion. Deathmask put a hand upon his throat and whispered two words of power. The guard collapsed, his throat constricted and unable to open for breath.
At the bottom of the steps was another door. As he reached for the handle he cried out in alarm. The door swung out, cracking him across the shoulder. He collapsed to the ground, muttering and promising death. Instead, a feminine hand reached down to help him up.
“I had to kill seven,” Veliana said, pulling him to his feet. “What took you so long?”
“They chained me to a wall,” Deathmask said. “You?”
“Holding cell with two other women. Nice gals.”
The two rushed back up the steps, stepped over the dead bodies, and approached the double-doors to the jail. Against the wall, the remaining two prisoners closed their eyes and bit their tongues to hold in their sobs.
“Guards?” Veliana whispered, gesturing to the doors.
Deathmask nodded.
On the count of three, Veliana slammed them open. The two guards posted with their backs to them could only yelp in surprise before she slammed a club across their faces, shattering cartilage and splattering blood across the floor. Frowning at the club, Veliana dropped it and took the shortswords from the unconscious guards. She twirled them in her hands and whispered a word of magic. A soft purple glow surrounded the blades, strengthening them.
“We’ll be near the soldiers’ quarters,” Deathmask said. “Where do you figure this Melorak will be?”
“The throne room,” Veliana said, glancing up and down the hallway they had entered.
“I figured he would be with his priests,” Deathmask said as he followed her.
“No,” Veliana said, stopping at another intersection. They had been to the castle only a couple of times before, but that was enough for Veliana to have memorized the bulk of the corridors and winding passageways. So far, no sign of guards, and in
Similar Books
