Read Online Darkstone - An Evil Reborn (Book 4) by Guy Antibes - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Guy Antibes
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towards the barman and helped Vishan to his feet.
“Today I am a man, but I am of the opinion, that my stomach hasn’t joined in my ascension,” Vishan said, trying to smile. He threw his arm around Peleor’s shoulders and both of them exited into the night. The lights were few as they helped each other walk through the empty streets.
A group of four men walked out into the road and stood with weapons in their hands. Vish’s realized, sluggishly, that they were in danger.
“Perhaps we stayed out a bit too long, tonight,” Peleor said. He blinked his eyes a number of times and stood a little straighter.
The prospect of danger seemed to wipe away the effects of Peleor’s drink and Vish found it did much the same to him. He grasped the jeweled dagger, the only weapon between them. He squinted in the dark street and noted the faint glint of a sword and the bulk of a cudgel. The cudgel told him that these were probably street toughs. His noble standing meant nothing at this time and place.
Vish thought he’d be more afraid, but his drunken state seemed to have deadened his emotions. He pulled out his knife and shook off Peleor. Vish looked down and barely made out the dull blade in the darkness.
Peleor muttered something and Vish’s blurry vision vanished. “Stay behind me,” Peleor said. Vish immediately reacted to the graveness in the sorcerer’s voice.
“Hey, Tutor!” a gravelly voice said. “Just step aside and let us do our work and we’ll let you off with a few broken bones. Our business is with the boy.”
Boy! Vishan felt the anger and the effects of the alcohol rise within him. He was a Man of the Empire. He’d show the man. He took a step forward, but Peleor put out his arm and shook his head.
“Your business is with the both of us.”
“Books won’t help you here among men of the streets, Tutor.”
Did they think Sulm accompanied him? Vish thought. Peleor knew offensive magic, which he had steadfastly refused to teach him. He took another step back to give the sorcerer some room.
The men began to approach. Peleor pointed at the ground and it exploded in front of them, nevertheless the men moved forward.
“Tricks, eh?” the thugs’ spokesman said. “Now you’ve gotten me mad. You’ll both die tonight.”
A bolt of fire pierced one of the men. Another bolt flew towards the arm holding the sword. Vish heard the weapon clattering on the cobbled street.
An arrow’s hiss reached Vishan’s ear and ended with a thud that staggered Peleor, now clutching his thigh. Another struck Vish in the shoulder. He fell towards Peleor, knocking both of them to the ground. Peleor cried out and then went silent as his head hit stone.
The light of two torches now lit the scene as five men stood over Vish and the unconscious form of Peleor. The sorcerer’s face was gray and Vish spotted his dagger out of reach, next to a thug’s foot.
“Say a prayer to your favorite god, boy. One less heir to the throne.” The other men grunted their assent.
Vish looked at their faces. All of the men seemed to be common street thugs. He expected to see one of his brothers’ faces among those that ringed him. He looked at the torches and back at Peleor. His tutor had refused to teach him an offensive spell, but Vish new enough to turn a parlor trick into a pyre.
He bowed his head and concentrated. He schooled his mind not to try too hard despite the pain that shot through his shoulder. He’d been hurt before and could struggle through the discomfort.
“Time’s up.”
Vish raised his arm and drew the fire of the torches around in front of the circle of men. He spelled it into a rope of flame and then made a circle around the attackers. The ring of fire moved inward and struck each of the men at shoulder height, igniting their clothing. The flames grew and Vish guided the flames up into their faces and then up towards the men’s headwear.
Screams lit up the air as much as the flames lit up the street.
“Today I am a man, but I am of the opinion, that my stomach hasn’t joined in my ascension,” Vishan said, trying to smile. He threw his arm around Peleor’s shoulders and both of them exited into the night. The lights were few as they helped each other walk through the empty streets.
A group of four men walked out into the road and stood with weapons in their hands. Vish’s realized, sluggishly, that they were in danger.
“Perhaps we stayed out a bit too long, tonight,” Peleor said. He blinked his eyes a number of times and stood a little straighter.
The prospect of danger seemed to wipe away the effects of Peleor’s drink and Vish found it did much the same to him. He grasped the jeweled dagger, the only weapon between them. He squinted in the dark street and noted the faint glint of a sword and the bulk of a cudgel. The cudgel told him that these were probably street toughs. His noble standing meant nothing at this time and place.
Vish thought he’d be more afraid, but his drunken state seemed to have deadened his emotions. He pulled out his knife and shook off Peleor. Vish looked down and barely made out the dull blade in the darkness.
Peleor muttered something and Vish’s blurry vision vanished. “Stay behind me,” Peleor said. Vish immediately reacted to the graveness in the sorcerer’s voice.
“Hey, Tutor!” a gravelly voice said. “Just step aside and let us do our work and we’ll let you off with a few broken bones. Our business is with the boy.”
Boy! Vishan felt the anger and the effects of the alcohol rise within him. He was a Man of the Empire. He’d show the man. He took a step forward, but Peleor put out his arm and shook his head.
“Your business is with the both of us.”
“Books won’t help you here among men of the streets, Tutor.”
Did they think Sulm accompanied him? Vish thought. Peleor knew offensive magic, which he had steadfastly refused to teach him. He took another step back to give the sorcerer some room.
The men began to approach. Peleor pointed at the ground and it exploded in front of them, nevertheless the men moved forward.
“Tricks, eh?” the thugs’ spokesman said. “Now you’ve gotten me mad. You’ll both die tonight.”
A bolt of fire pierced one of the men. Another bolt flew towards the arm holding the sword. Vish heard the weapon clattering on the cobbled street.
An arrow’s hiss reached Vishan’s ear and ended with a thud that staggered Peleor, now clutching his thigh. Another struck Vish in the shoulder. He fell towards Peleor, knocking both of them to the ground. Peleor cried out and then went silent as his head hit stone.
The light of two torches now lit the scene as five men stood over Vish and the unconscious form of Peleor. The sorcerer’s face was gray and Vish spotted his dagger out of reach, next to a thug’s foot.
“Say a prayer to your favorite god, boy. One less heir to the throne.” The other men grunted their assent.
Vish looked at their faces. All of the men seemed to be common street thugs. He expected to see one of his brothers’ faces among those that ringed him. He looked at the torches and back at Peleor. His tutor had refused to teach him an offensive spell, but Vish new enough to turn a parlor trick into a pyre.
He bowed his head and concentrated. He schooled his mind not to try too hard despite the pain that shot through his shoulder. He’d been hurt before and could struggle through the discomfort.
“Time’s up.”
Vish raised his arm and drew the fire of the torches around in front of the circle of men. He spelled it into a rope of flame and then made a circle around the attackers. The ring of fire moved inward and struck each of the men at shoulder height, igniting their clothing. The flames grew and Vish guided the flames up into their faces and then up towards the men’s headwear.
Screams lit up the air as much as the flames lit up the street.
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