Read Online Assassin's Rise by CJ Whrite - Free Book Online

concentrate
on getting better first.” Kendly hurried from the room, not looking
back.
    “He said Sirol
Vanderman, did he not?”
    The Healer shrugged and
handed Roland a hot tisane. “Drink this, it will speed your
recovery.” Roland did as he was bid, the hot liquid easing his
bruised throat. “It is a tisane I specially make from a blend of
chamomile, kava, and poppy seeds,” the Healer said proudly. “You
will sleep for three days straight after drinking it.”
    “No, don’t want to
sleep,” said Roland and fell back, the little bit of strength he
had left draining from him. The Healer watched as his face relaxed
and his breathing deepened.
    “It’s for your own
good, lad,” he said and pulled a blanket over Roland, sadly shaking
his head over what he had heard. The cruelty of the world made him
feel ill at times.

Chapter
6
     
    J eklor listened to the footsteps as
they drew closer. About time, he thought. He was starving.
    He stood up and
scratched his new beard. The lice were driving him crazy. He looked
down at his filthy blanket. It was barely thick enough to block the
cold seeping up from the stone floor and he kicked it away in
disgust. Two months and already he was in this state. He briefly
wondered how long before he died in this cold room, then he firmly
pushed the thought from his mind. Somewhere a chance would present
itself.
    He went to stand next
to the thick oak door, the only thing that stood in his way. If I
only had an axe, he whished, promising himself that if he ever got
out of here he would buy (or steal) an axe and pay it homage.
    A small hatch at the
top of the door slid open. A pair of squinting eyes stared through
the hatch, trying the pierce the darkness in the gloomy cell.
    “Yes, I’m still here,
and I hope you brought me the fowl and beef combo I ordered
yesterday.” The top hatch slammed shut and one at the bottom of the
door opened, a plate carrying bread and a mug with water pushed
through it. “Remind me to fire the cook, my good man,” Jeklor said
and picked up the plate.
    “Hear you’re getting
someone to share the room with,” said the guard from behind the
door.
    “Oh.” Jeklor bit into
the bread, tore a chunk off and chased it down with lukewarm water.
“And who’s this lucky fellow?” he asked as he swallowed.
    “Heard he beat a girl
to death while raping her.” The guard chuckled. “Better watch
yourself. Woman, man or beast, he gets a kick out of anything that
breathes.”
    That was just great,
though Jeklor. The cell was small enough as it was, never mind
sharing it with a lunatic. “Can’t wait,” he said cheerfully; no
need for the guard to know he had succeeded in frightening him.
    Disappointed, the
guard’s footsteps moved away and Jeklor called him back, hurriedly.
“The plate,” he quickly said, and pushed it through the bottom
hatch as the guard pulled it open. He did not want anything that
his new friend might decide to use as a weapon lying around.
    Jeklor went back to his
favourite corner and stared at his blanket. He folded it twice and
sat on it, his back leaning against the stone wall. He shifted his
rump. It felt comfortable; maybe he should try and sleep in this
position.
    He sighed loudly, the
sound strangely amplified in the cold, empty cell. I wonder what
you look like, my new friend, he wondered with closed eyes. If
there was one thing he got good at while stuck here, it was
thinking stuff up. “Not much else to do, Jeklor my boy,” he said
aloud.
    That was it, he
thought. Once he got out, he would become a poet. He wasn’t much of
a thief, and now he had all the time in the world to come up with
epic tales: Heroes and dragons, princesses and demons. His new
friend will be the molesting demon, he the hero who smites evil.
What fantastic potential, he thought, patting the blanket.
    “Thou shall not touch
one lock on thy maiden’s fair head, demon! Molest this – the sword
of holy fire!”
    Jeklor chuckled. His
future looked