Read Online Blood Of Kings: The Shadow Mage by Paul Freeman - Free Book Online
Authors: Paul Freeman
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the following year. The Prince of Tarnaia did not seem to mind which princess was to be his bride, despite the love Brioni swore he bore her.
To wither away beneath a scorching sun, or bear children with salt in their veins? If she had to choose which would it be? She pictured her father’s face, the strong jaw carpeted with an oiled and sculpted beard, his shoulder length hair, once jet black, now flecked with grey, slicked back from his forehead. His dark, piercing eyes, capable of exposing your soul, your every thought, with one withering look, stared back at her.
“I have defied the great Nort Sea and not been found wanting. Neither ice nor rock, fire nor wind shall break me. I am my father’s daughter,” she said in a low, even voice. Beside her, her servant stirred and suddenly wretched, spewing black bile onto the floor of the carriage.
Tomas: Woodvale Village
T omas was falling, tumbling head-over-heels into darkness. When he stopped, Aliss was waiting for him, an uncertain smile twitching at the edges of her full lips. Crimson tears leaked from her eyes dripping onto his chest. He could feel the wetness of the blood pooling there. He reached out to catch the red tears on his finger, but when he touched her cheek the image faded. He called out, aching to see her face, to hear her voice again.
Back into the abyss he fell, falling through the ages until he saw a figure he recognised as himself, but it was not he, not Tomas the blacksmith. It was a younger version of himself, with a harder edge to his eyes, his mouth curled into a snarl. Aliss was there again. This time there was fear in her expression. Why was there fear in her eyes? His mind worked around the question, trying to comprehend; yet no understanding came. He took a step towards her, to reassure her. She turned away and fled, throwing cautious glances over her shoulder. When he tried to follow he could not. He realised he was weighed down and anchored to the ground by the weight of heavy armour covering his body. When he lifted his arm slowly and with great effort, a struggle even for the strength of a blacksmith, he saw a sword in his hand, the blade smeared with blood. Aliss stopped and doubled over, agony plainly written on her face. Her dress was stained red.
“Noooo!!!!”
She fell to the ground, and all went dark.
“Shhh. For the love of the gods, quieten down, damn you.” His eyes snapped open. Several moments passed as he, first, tried to figure out who he was, and then where he was. His mouth was parched, his whole body ached, especially the back of his shoulder, where he was sure a flame raged there, blistering his skin and boiling his blood.
“Where…?” His voice cracked, agony shooting through him in waves as he struggled to sit up.
“Hold still, Tomas, you are safe here for now, but if you continue to yell I’m not sure that will continue to be the case for much longer,” Rorbert said.
Memories began to tumble together. A cold feeling of dread washed over him. “Aliss!” He sat up with a jolt, and pain erupted all down his back, bringing tears to his eyes.
“Lie still, you fool, or you will rip open the stitches.” The old villager eased him back down onto the straw-filled bed.
Finally he recognised Rorbert and his cottage. “Water,” he said. The older man quickly held a cup to his lips. Tomas pushed his hand away and gulped the liquid down greedily.
“Easy, too fast and it’ll make you sick.”
Tomas drained the cup and handed it back with a nod of thanks. “What has happened, Rorbert? How am I here?”
“First, let me warn you, keep your voice down. The magistrate’s soldiers are in the village. They are looking for you. They’ve been here for two days, so I’m guessing they’re not going anywhere until they find you. They’re making such a nuisance of themselves that I suspect any one of the village-folk would turn you in just to be rid of them.” Rorbert refilled the cup
To wither away beneath a scorching sun, or bear children with salt in their veins? If she had to choose which would it be? She pictured her father’s face, the strong jaw carpeted with an oiled and sculpted beard, his shoulder length hair, once jet black, now flecked with grey, slicked back from his forehead. His dark, piercing eyes, capable of exposing your soul, your every thought, with one withering look, stared back at her.
“I have defied the great Nort Sea and not been found wanting. Neither ice nor rock, fire nor wind shall break me. I am my father’s daughter,” she said in a low, even voice. Beside her, her servant stirred and suddenly wretched, spewing black bile onto the floor of the carriage.
Tomas: Woodvale Village
T omas was falling, tumbling head-over-heels into darkness. When he stopped, Aliss was waiting for him, an uncertain smile twitching at the edges of her full lips. Crimson tears leaked from her eyes dripping onto his chest. He could feel the wetness of the blood pooling there. He reached out to catch the red tears on his finger, but when he touched her cheek the image faded. He called out, aching to see her face, to hear her voice again.
Back into the abyss he fell, falling through the ages until he saw a figure he recognised as himself, but it was not he, not Tomas the blacksmith. It was a younger version of himself, with a harder edge to his eyes, his mouth curled into a snarl. Aliss was there again. This time there was fear in her expression. Why was there fear in her eyes? His mind worked around the question, trying to comprehend; yet no understanding came. He took a step towards her, to reassure her. She turned away and fled, throwing cautious glances over her shoulder. When he tried to follow he could not. He realised he was weighed down and anchored to the ground by the weight of heavy armour covering his body. When he lifted his arm slowly and with great effort, a struggle even for the strength of a blacksmith, he saw a sword in his hand, the blade smeared with blood. Aliss stopped and doubled over, agony plainly written on her face. Her dress was stained red.
“Noooo!!!!”
She fell to the ground, and all went dark.
“Shhh. For the love of the gods, quieten down, damn you.” His eyes snapped open. Several moments passed as he, first, tried to figure out who he was, and then where he was. His mouth was parched, his whole body ached, especially the back of his shoulder, where he was sure a flame raged there, blistering his skin and boiling his blood.
“Where…?” His voice cracked, agony shooting through him in waves as he struggled to sit up.
“Hold still, Tomas, you are safe here for now, but if you continue to yell I’m not sure that will continue to be the case for much longer,” Rorbert said.
Memories began to tumble together. A cold feeling of dread washed over him. “Aliss!” He sat up with a jolt, and pain erupted all down his back, bringing tears to his eyes.
“Lie still, you fool, or you will rip open the stitches.” The old villager eased him back down onto the straw-filled bed.
Finally he recognised Rorbert and his cottage. “Water,” he said. The older man quickly held a cup to his lips. Tomas pushed his hand away and gulped the liquid down greedily.
“Easy, too fast and it’ll make you sick.”
Tomas drained the cup and handed it back with a nod of thanks. “What has happened, Rorbert? How am I here?”
“First, let me warn you, keep your voice down. The magistrate’s soldiers are in the village. They are looking for you. They’ve been here for two days, so I’m guessing they’re not going anywhere until they find you. They’re making such a nuisance of themselves that I suspect any one of the village-folk would turn you in just to be rid of them.” Rorbert refilled the cup
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