Read Online Clearwater Dawn by Scott Fitzgerald Gray - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Scott Fitzgerald Gray
Tags: adventure, Romance, Fantasy, Magic, Mystery, Action, Dragons, sorcery, assassin, Princess, dungeons and dragons, rpg, endlands, dungeons, prayer for dead kings, exiles blade
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who would have come too late now, not for the closest garrison post to raise the alarm that had already been raised, but along the trail of blood where it snaked out before him.
Through the intersection, he raced down the hall of records, the central court only forty strides away from where the trail began. Dark doors were shut fast to either side, a wider spray of blood across the floor there, the marks of large hands streaked where they’d clutched at the stones. Barien struck on this spot, falling. Rising again to run. Pursuing his attacker? Or trying to flee?
And then in the hall behind him, movement, four figures where Barien had fallen. Garrison uniforms but no faces he could remember in the fury that sent him racing towards them. He saw their lips moving but he couldn’t hear the words over his scream as they stepped across the body, swords drawn. Then they were on him before he could swing, hauling him down easily in the frenzy that consumed him.
He felt something hard strike his head, the pain already there redoubled. He felt his arms pinned, boots striking him in the stomach and back. Then he was moving across cold stone and his legs didn’t work anymore.
A frozen moment of time, the ceiling sliding endlessly past above him. Then darkness took him away.
— Chapter 3 —
CHRIANI’S SECRET
THE SECRET CHRIANI HAD KEPT since the day he walked into Rheran through the dust of the trade way meant that he could see better than anyone else in the keep that he knew of, but that same sharpness of sight blinded him now when he finally awoke. He blinked, found himself staring up into the singular brilliance of a dozen evenlamps, a massive hanging fixture directly above him that he looked away from at once, overwhelmed by the shadow that had burned into his sight while he lay there unconscious.
As he slowly forced his eyes open, he saw an intricate pattern on the floor beneath him, blue and white tile cold against his face. An interleaving pattern of knots twisted around a blurred mosaic as he slowly looked up and across. The falcon of Brandis, ancient standard of the first princes. Its wings unfurled across the floor as it climbed, empty eyes fierce in their coldness where they seemed to watch him through a blur of movement all around.
The throne room, he thought.
He tried to focus, felt all the disparate pain from the number of times he’d been struck in the head that night twist into one solid knot. He felt rough cords at his wrists and feet, thought about trying to sit up but decided against it. The blood at his tunic was still wet, hardly any time passed. He was in the throne room but he was bound, which meant that they wanted something from him but were expecting to be able to get it without beating him in the dark holding cells behind the outwall. That was a good thing.
Barien was dead.
Where the terrible truth had circled half-remembered in his daze, it flooded him now like a plunge into ice-cold water. Against a sudden spike of anger, Chriani forced himself upright as a knife-edge of pain cut through him. Across from him, he saw three guards suddenly alert, more around them, spread across the room where his vision blurred.
You will do as I command , the princess had said.
Only she hadn’t commanded him on what to do in the event that his mentor was murdered and he found himself taken down and bound by the Bastion garrison. He should have run that scenario past her, Chriani thought bitterly. But then the anger wilted beneath a sudden fear, and he wondered what might happen if they used truth magic on him.
He wondered what might happen if they simply took off his shirt and the bandage beneath it.
For the mark his mother had made at his shoulder long years before, they’d kill him outright, he guessed. If the princess’s name freshly tattooed along its edge was seen by anyone who could read the delicate Ilvani script, Chanist or Konaugo or the ranger captains, they’d likely
Through the intersection, he raced down the hall of records, the central court only forty strides away from where the trail began. Dark doors were shut fast to either side, a wider spray of blood across the floor there, the marks of large hands streaked where they’d clutched at the stones. Barien struck on this spot, falling. Rising again to run. Pursuing his attacker? Or trying to flee?
And then in the hall behind him, movement, four figures where Barien had fallen. Garrison uniforms but no faces he could remember in the fury that sent him racing towards them. He saw their lips moving but he couldn’t hear the words over his scream as they stepped across the body, swords drawn. Then they were on him before he could swing, hauling him down easily in the frenzy that consumed him.
He felt something hard strike his head, the pain already there redoubled. He felt his arms pinned, boots striking him in the stomach and back. Then he was moving across cold stone and his legs didn’t work anymore.
A frozen moment of time, the ceiling sliding endlessly past above him. Then darkness took him away.
— Chapter 3 —
CHRIANI’S SECRET
THE SECRET CHRIANI HAD KEPT since the day he walked into Rheran through the dust of the trade way meant that he could see better than anyone else in the keep that he knew of, but that same sharpness of sight blinded him now when he finally awoke. He blinked, found himself staring up into the singular brilliance of a dozen evenlamps, a massive hanging fixture directly above him that he looked away from at once, overwhelmed by the shadow that had burned into his sight while he lay there unconscious.
As he slowly forced his eyes open, he saw an intricate pattern on the floor beneath him, blue and white tile cold against his face. An interleaving pattern of knots twisted around a blurred mosaic as he slowly looked up and across. The falcon of Brandis, ancient standard of the first princes. Its wings unfurled across the floor as it climbed, empty eyes fierce in their coldness where they seemed to watch him through a blur of movement all around.
The throne room, he thought.
He tried to focus, felt all the disparate pain from the number of times he’d been struck in the head that night twist into one solid knot. He felt rough cords at his wrists and feet, thought about trying to sit up but decided against it. The blood at his tunic was still wet, hardly any time passed. He was in the throne room but he was bound, which meant that they wanted something from him but were expecting to be able to get it without beating him in the dark holding cells behind the outwall. That was a good thing.
Barien was dead.
Where the terrible truth had circled half-remembered in his daze, it flooded him now like a plunge into ice-cold water. Against a sudden spike of anger, Chriani forced himself upright as a knife-edge of pain cut through him. Across from him, he saw three guards suddenly alert, more around them, spread across the room where his vision blurred.
You will do as I command , the princess had said.
Only she hadn’t commanded him on what to do in the event that his mentor was murdered and he found himself taken down and bound by the Bastion garrison. He should have run that scenario past her, Chriani thought bitterly. But then the anger wilted beneath a sudden fear, and he wondered what might happen if they used truth magic on him.
He wondered what might happen if they simply took off his shirt and the bandage beneath it.
For the mark his mother had made at his shoulder long years before, they’d kill him outright, he guessed. If the princess’s name freshly tattooed along its edge was seen by anyone who could read the delicate Ilvani script, Chanist or Konaugo or the ranger captains, they’d likely
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