Read Online Scarred Man by Bevan McGuiness - Free Book Online Page A

on him as the Readers threw whatever came to hand. Blood trickled down his face from innumerable small wounds. He tried to duck, but there were too many to avoid.
    The staff struck the floor again.
    â€˜Cease this vulgar display! Cease, I say!’
    Keshik turned to face the man with the staff. He was young, his face hard, his eyes intelligent, his robe blood red.
    â€˜Your words are insulting, murderer,’ he said when the missiles had stopped. ‘Your punishment is as just as your guilt is inescapable. Do not forget you face the Readers. We know by the use of our arts what you did.’
    â€˜Do you also know what was done to us?’ Keshik demanded.
    â€˜You came here with malicious intent. You suffered what you deserved.’
    â€˜What is your name?’ Keshik asked.
    â€˜I no longer bear a name — I lead the Readers, I am the Pall. Not that it matters to you any more.’He turned away from Keshik and walked to the door. It opened as he approached. Outside stood six of the biggest men Keshik had ever seen. They were clad in metal armour and bore huge axes. Their heads were completely encased in helmets with large spikes like horns rising from the top. Narrow eye slits, like sword cuts, ran across the front.
    â€˜Executioners,’ the Pall said, ‘take the murderer to the Arch of the Shamed and hang him there to die for all to see. Let others know of his fate and tremble.’
    Â 
    Keshik was dragged out of the Tribunal and he was taken to another room where he was chained to the wall. The room was below ground, lit by a fire burning orange in a pit. Hanging on the walls were dozens of weapons, shields, suits of armour and other, less identifiable devices. Despite the heat, Keshik was chilled as he considered what some of these devices might be.
    A heavy-set blacksmith wearing the leather apron of his craft presided over a forge, pounding at a glowing hot length of steel. He was sweating as he worked over the fire, and the sweat flowed down his unshaven face, leaving clean trails through the dirt. His head was shaved and shone in the flickering firelight. When the executioners brought Keshik in, he barely looked up, simply grunted and gestured with his hammer towards the far wall. Chains, ending in manacles, dangled from the wall. Keshik was locked by the wrists and the executioners left. Not a word had been spoken. He hung, watchingthe blacksmith working at his forge, hammering heavy strips of steel. After a while, he dropped the glowing metal into a large tub of water and turned to face Keshik.
    â€˜Managed to irritate the Readers, did we?’ the blacksmith rumbled.
    Keshik nodded.
    The blacksmith looked Keshik up and down. ‘Don’t look like much, but with those wrists, I’d say you could do some damage. Kill any?’
    â€˜Seventeen, apparently.’
    â€˜That’s a goodly sum,’ the blacksmith said with a low whistle.
    â€˜It seemed reasonable at the time.’
    â€˜Ha! I like a man with a sense of humour.’
    â€˜I don’t have a sense of humour,’ Keshik muttered.
    This just urged the big man on to laughter. ‘Good man,’ he said. ‘It’s always good to face Fate with a smile. Spit in the old bitch’s face, that’s what I always say.’ He put down his hammer and strode over to face Keshik. ‘Now, let’s measure you up for a cage.’
    The measurements were rudimentary at best and done quickly. The blacksmith used a knotted string to estimate Keshik’s height, the width of his shoulders, his hips and chest. When he was done, he gave Keshik a nod.
    â€˜This won’t take too long.’
    Keshik sighed as the blacksmith went back to his forge and started selecting lengths of steel. The manacles on his wrists were solid and tight fitting. No chance of escape there. His only hope waswhen he was released. He had to stay alert and ready for the opportunity when it came. And come it had to.