Read Online Lusam: The Dragon Mage Wars Book Three by Dean Cadman - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dean Cadman
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intricate web of lies had been built up over a long period of time, all of which were aimed at gaining more time for Afaraon.
Tristan watched as Lord Zelroth slowly climbed the steps to his throne, the ten Darkseed Elite guards taking their positions, five either side of him. Lord Zelroth wore a long black robe edged in gold and silver around the hem, cuffs and hood. The hood of his robe covered his head completely and put his face in total shadow, making it impossible to see anything of his features. When he reached the golden platform, he took his place upon the throne. Tristan couldn’t see his face, but he could feel his stare burrowing into him, like a thousand insects in his mind, all trying to devour his brain.
The feeling subsided as suddenly as it arrived, and Lord Zelroth pointed to the man beside Tristan. No words were spoken, but one of the Darkseed Elite left Lord Zelroth’s side and approached Tristan and the unconscious man in the middle of the giant chamber. Tristan no longer feared death, and almost looked forward to joining his wife and children in the afterlife, but he had no desire to be tortured before joining them. The Darkseed Elite stopped directly in front of Tristan before stepping to the side and kneeling next to the unconscious man. He spoke several strange words of power and light erupted from his outstretched hand, entering the unconscious man’s body. Then—without waiting any longer—he simply stood back up, turned around, and returned to his position at the side of Lord Zelroth.
Tristan expected the questioning to begin shortly after the Darkseed Elite had returned to the platform, but instead the silence dragged on and on. No one moved, and no words were spoken. Ten minutes later the deathly silence was broken when the man next to Tristan began to stir. At first he let out out a few strange groaning sounds, each one accompanied by a spasm of movement. Tristan watched as his body contorted with muscle spasms, eyes flickered open and closed, and strange noises came from deep within his throat. After a few minutes all movement just ceased, and the room was plunged back into an eerie silence once more.
At first Tristan thought the man was dead, but looking more closely he could see the gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath his tunic. It was then that the man suddenly opened his eyes and stared directly at Tristan, as if trying to gain some insight as to where he was and why. Noticing his chains for the first time, he sat bolt upright and looked around the room, his gaze finally coming to rest on the platform and Lord Zelroth at the far end of the gigantic room.
“Ah, glad you could join us,” said Lord Zelroth in a deep clear voice. A voice that came from deep within the shadows of his hooded robe. “Let us begin by introducing ourselves. As I am sure you may have already guessed by now, I am Lord Zelroth, ruler of the Thule Empire, and soon to be ruler of Afaraon. And you are?” he said, gesturing to the newly conscious man next to Tristan. The man didn’t answer, instead he spat towards Lord Zelroth. Lord Zelroth let out a crazed laugh at the man’s response, then signalled to another of his Darkseed Elite, who nodded and started to approach the man.
“You are not the first man to respond in such a manner, nor will you be the last, I’m sure, but let me assure you of one thing: you will give me the information I require, and willingly,” Lord Zelroth said with an almost humorous edge to his words.
“Don’t count on it,” the man said defiantly, spitting once more towards the oncoming Darkseed Elite. Halfway between the throne platform and where Tristan and the man were chained, the Darkseed Elite stopped. He extended one hand towards the man and spoke the incantations of a spell. Almost immediately the man started to scream, as one after another of his fingernails exploded from the tips of his fingers on his right hand, showering the floor in front of him with blood
Tristan watched as Lord Zelroth slowly climbed the steps to his throne, the ten Darkseed Elite guards taking their positions, five either side of him. Lord Zelroth wore a long black robe edged in gold and silver around the hem, cuffs and hood. The hood of his robe covered his head completely and put his face in total shadow, making it impossible to see anything of his features. When he reached the golden platform, he took his place upon the throne. Tristan couldn’t see his face, but he could feel his stare burrowing into him, like a thousand insects in his mind, all trying to devour his brain.
The feeling subsided as suddenly as it arrived, and Lord Zelroth pointed to the man beside Tristan. No words were spoken, but one of the Darkseed Elite left Lord Zelroth’s side and approached Tristan and the unconscious man in the middle of the giant chamber. Tristan no longer feared death, and almost looked forward to joining his wife and children in the afterlife, but he had no desire to be tortured before joining them. The Darkseed Elite stopped directly in front of Tristan before stepping to the side and kneeling next to the unconscious man. He spoke several strange words of power and light erupted from his outstretched hand, entering the unconscious man’s body. Then—without waiting any longer—he simply stood back up, turned around, and returned to his position at the side of Lord Zelroth.
Tristan expected the questioning to begin shortly after the Darkseed Elite had returned to the platform, but instead the silence dragged on and on. No one moved, and no words were spoken. Ten minutes later the deathly silence was broken when the man next to Tristan began to stir. At first he let out out a few strange groaning sounds, each one accompanied by a spasm of movement. Tristan watched as his body contorted with muscle spasms, eyes flickered open and closed, and strange noises came from deep within his throat. After a few minutes all movement just ceased, and the room was plunged back into an eerie silence once more.
At first Tristan thought the man was dead, but looking more closely he could see the gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath his tunic. It was then that the man suddenly opened his eyes and stared directly at Tristan, as if trying to gain some insight as to where he was and why. Noticing his chains for the first time, he sat bolt upright and looked around the room, his gaze finally coming to rest on the platform and Lord Zelroth at the far end of the gigantic room.
“Ah, glad you could join us,” said Lord Zelroth in a deep clear voice. A voice that came from deep within the shadows of his hooded robe. “Let us begin by introducing ourselves. As I am sure you may have already guessed by now, I am Lord Zelroth, ruler of the Thule Empire, and soon to be ruler of Afaraon. And you are?” he said, gesturing to the newly conscious man next to Tristan. The man didn’t answer, instead he spat towards Lord Zelroth. Lord Zelroth let out a crazed laugh at the man’s response, then signalled to another of his Darkseed Elite, who nodded and started to approach the man.
“You are not the first man to respond in such a manner, nor will you be the last, I’m sure, but let me assure you of one thing: you will give me the information I require, and willingly,” Lord Zelroth said with an almost humorous edge to his words.
“Don’t count on it,” the man said defiantly, spitting once more towards the oncoming Darkseed Elite. Halfway between the throne platform and where Tristan and the man were chained, the Darkseed Elite stopped. He extended one hand towards the man and spoke the incantations of a spell. Almost immediately the man started to scream, as one after another of his fingernails exploded from the tips of his fingers on his right hand, showering the floor in front of him with blood
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