Read Online The Ranger (Book 1) by E.A. Whitehead - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: E.A. Whitehead
Ads: Link
do happen to you.”
“Well, I’m going to bed now,” Vincent yawned, trying to ignore the obvious envy in his friend’s voice. “It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”
They both crawled into their beds and were soon fast asleep.
Chapter 4: Things That May Be
Vincent’s eyes shot open. Something had woken him, but he didn’t know what. He looked at the enchanted hourglass on the table between the two beds. It indicated that four hours had passed since sunrise. Thomas’ bed was empty. For some reason this seemed normal. There was a surreal feeling to what he was seeing.
Springing from bed, Vincent pulled on his chainmail. He pulled his new tunic on and grabbed his swords before leaving the room. The halls of the dormitories were deserted. Normally by this hour the halls were bustling with activity as knights went about their business. Today there was nothing.
He cautiously started moving toward the stairs leading up to the abbey, moving slowly at first but soon he was running.
As he approached the stairs, a strange crackling sound started echoing through the halls, growing louder the closer he got to the stairs.
He ran up the stairs and the sound intensified. Vincent threw open the door and froze in horror.
Fire and smoke billowed out of the broken windows that lined the cloister. There were bodies everywhere, knights, priests, monks, children; some still moaning as they waited for death. None had been spared. What had happened?
He started picking his way through the debris, carefully checking bodies as he went. Every motionless child he passed stung at him. The bodies of Jan and Mark were side by side among the fallen. Vincent paused at the bodies of his friends. A lump was growing in his throat as the grief started to well up. Many of the priests had been his friends.
“Vincent,” a faint voice whimpered close by. He looked around, frantic to find the source. A few paces away, half covered by the body of one of the orphanage monks, was Jace, a large gash bleeding heavily on the side of his head. “I knew you’d come for me.”
Vincent pulled the little five year-old free and held him in his arms.
“Everything will be alright,” Vincent said, trying to comfort the child.
“No, it won’t,” Jace whimpered, “nothing will be alright.” Jace was crying now, great sobs that shook his whole body.
Vincent wanted to cry too. Everything he loved, his friends, the abbey, they were all gone.
“Don’t leave me,” Jace cried, softly. “I don’t want to be alone. It’s so cold.” Jace was hardly breathing now, hardly moving.
“I won’t leave you,” Vincent said, hugging the child tighter to him.
“I’m so tired,” Jace said softly. He closed his eyes, and he was gone.
Tears streamed down Vincent’s face as he laid the lifeless body on the ground; bitter tears, tears of anger, of rage. He didn’t know who, or what, had caused this, but he didn’t care. Revenge was all that occupied Vincent’s mind.
An ear splitting roar sent chills down Vincent’s spine. He turned from the small body to see a great beast, half man, with the head and legs of a bull, burst through one of the burning windows to Vincent’s left.
A minotaur. Vincent had heard of them, mostly in children’s stories, and until now he had never believed that they actually existed. The creature was huge, standing almost three spans taller than Vincent. The only clothing it wore was a ragged animal skin about its loins. It carried a huge mace.
Vincent stood, transfixed, staring in disbelief at the monster. It charged at him suddenly, bellowing its fearsome roar once again and swinging its huge mace.
Vincent ducked out of the way and barely managed not to get trampled. The beast turned quickly and charged again. This time it hit Vincent with its mace in his undefended chest, sending Vincent flying and knocking the swords from his hands.
The minotaur advanced quickly to where Vincent laid gasping for
“Well, I’m going to bed now,” Vincent yawned, trying to ignore the obvious envy in his friend’s voice. “It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”
They both crawled into their beds and were soon fast asleep.
Chapter 4: Things That May Be
Vincent’s eyes shot open. Something had woken him, but he didn’t know what. He looked at the enchanted hourglass on the table between the two beds. It indicated that four hours had passed since sunrise. Thomas’ bed was empty. For some reason this seemed normal. There was a surreal feeling to what he was seeing.
Springing from bed, Vincent pulled on his chainmail. He pulled his new tunic on and grabbed his swords before leaving the room. The halls of the dormitories were deserted. Normally by this hour the halls were bustling with activity as knights went about their business. Today there was nothing.
He cautiously started moving toward the stairs leading up to the abbey, moving slowly at first but soon he was running.
As he approached the stairs, a strange crackling sound started echoing through the halls, growing louder the closer he got to the stairs.
He ran up the stairs and the sound intensified. Vincent threw open the door and froze in horror.
Fire and smoke billowed out of the broken windows that lined the cloister. There were bodies everywhere, knights, priests, monks, children; some still moaning as they waited for death. None had been spared. What had happened?
He started picking his way through the debris, carefully checking bodies as he went. Every motionless child he passed stung at him. The bodies of Jan and Mark were side by side among the fallen. Vincent paused at the bodies of his friends. A lump was growing in his throat as the grief started to well up. Many of the priests had been his friends.
“Vincent,” a faint voice whimpered close by. He looked around, frantic to find the source. A few paces away, half covered by the body of one of the orphanage monks, was Jace, a large gash bleeding heavily on the side of his head. “I knew you’d come for me.”
Vincent pulled the little five year-old free and held him in his arms.
“Everything will be alright,” Vincent said, trying to comfort the child.
“No, it won’t,” Jace whimpered, “nothing will be alright.” Jace was crying now, great sobs that shook his whole body.
Vincent wanted to cry too. Everything he loved, his friends, the abbey, they were all gone.
“Don’t leave me,” Jace cried, softly. “I don’t want to be alone. It’s so cold.” Jace was hardly breathing now, hardly moving.
“I won’t leave you,” Vincent said, hugging the child tighter to him.
“I’m so tired,” Jace said softly. He closed his eyes, and he was gone.
Tears streamed down Vincent’s face as he laid the lifeless body on the ground; bitter tears, tears of anger, of rage. He didn’t know who, or what, had caused this, but he didn’t care. Revenge was all that occupied Vincent’s mind.
An ear splitting roar sent chills down Vincent’s spine. He turned from the small body to see a great beast, half man, with the head and legs of a bull, burst through one of the burning windows to Vincent’s left.
A minotaur. Vincent had heard of them, mostly in children’s stories, and until now he had never believed that they actually existed. The creature was huge, standing almost three spans taller than Vincent. The only clothing it wore was a ragged animal skin about its loins. It carried a huge mace.
Vincent stood, transfixed, staring in disbelief at the monster. It charged at him suddenly, bellowing its fearsome roar once again and swinging its huge mace.
Vincent ducked out of the way and barely managed not to get trampled. The beast turned quickly and charged again. This time it hit Vincent with its mace in his undefended chest, sending Vincent flying and knocking the swords from his hands.
The minotaur advanced quickly to where Vincent laid gasping for
Similar Books
