Read Online Victory and Defeat: Book Five of the Restoration Series by Christopher Williams - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Christopher Williams
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led naked through the streets of Telur. He knew what was happening; he was being paraded on the way to his execution. The cobblestones were hot and kept cutting his feet, but when he tried to slow down, there was the crack of a whip, and pain erupted across his back. He hurried forward again, the pain in his feet easier to bear than the pain of the whip.
He didn’t look behind him, but he was being led by a contingent of the king’s guard. These were some of the best-trained soldiers, and they were fiercely loyal to the king. They led the way in formation, crisp and military-like.
The streets were lined with people, old and young. Most just watched him trudge by, but a few threw things at him. They didn’t throw anything that would hurt him too bad, as they wanted him in decent shape when they killed him. After twice being hit in the face with rotten fruit, Flare kept his face down and watched the cobblestones move past. It didn’t keep the spectators from throwing things, it just kept the mess out of his face.
The guards stopped abruptly, and Flare nearly walked into their backs. The guards parted, half moving to the left and the others moving to the right. In a way, it was a weird parody of an honor guard.
The whip crack rang out again , and the pain seared its way into his back. Grinding his teeth against the pain, Flare started forward.
He could see where he was going now. A scaffold had been erected in the middle of a large city square. A large, black-hooded man awaited at the top holding an axe.
Flare sighed in relief; at least it would be quick. He could think of many worse ways to go.
Just then , he caught sight of something else and he tripped in surprise and horror. He was not the axe-man’s first victim. The edge of the scaffolding was lined with the heads of his friends.
Flare stopped and stared, afraid he was going to be sick at any moment. Then he saw something else. It wasn’t just the Guardians, but the heads of his half-brothers and sisters lined the edge as well.
Confused and disgusted, he scanned the row of heads again and stopped on the one in the very middle. It was King Darion, his father. Someone had mockingly set a thin gold crown on the severed head.
Confused even more, Flare searched out the nobles who were gathered all along the stairs that led up to the scaffold. Swallowing hard, he recognized them, but not from his time in the Telurian Palace. These faces he recognized from his time at Mul-Dune; they had led the goblins attack. Sure enough, Zalustus stood at the head of the line, grinning in triumph at Flare. For the first time, Flare realized Zalustus now wore the dragon armor, Nerandall, and Ossendar was belted to his waist.
At that very moment , Flare wished he could gouge his own eyes out so he wouldn’t have to see that abomination.
Something changed, and the small part of Flare that knew he was dreaming thought it was in the dream, but it wasn’t. The change was real.
Flare bolted upright, gasping for breath. The dream had been so real, so vivid, that he felt he might actually be sick. Still breathing hard, he swallowed several times, trying to keep the bile down. He was covered in sweat and it wasn’t from the heat, it was the nightmare. That was when he realized that something really had changed; the need had come back. It was time to return to Sha’al to learn from another dead ancient master.
That couldn’t be right, he thought. Surely it hadn’t been more than two weeks since the last time he had gone. When he had first heard of Sha’al, he had been told that he would know when it was time to return. He had also been told that the interval between visits was not necessarily a fixed time; he might go two or three months between visits and then be summoned twice in one day. Still, it felt like it was too soon. Perhaps, he thought, time grows short and the training is being rushed. He sighed. A lot of good the training will do if it kills me.
He climbed to his
He didn’t look behind him, but he was being led by a contingent of the king’s guard. These were some of the best-trained soldiers, and they were fiercely loyal to the king. They led the way in formation, crisp and military-like.
The streets were lined with people, old and young. Most just watched him trudge by, but a few threw things at him. They didn’t throw anything that would hurt him too bad, as they wanted him in decent shape when they killed him. After twice being hit in the face with rotten fruit, Flare kept his face down and watched the cobblestones move past. It didn’t keep the spectators from throwing things, it just kept the mess out of his face.
The guards stopped abruptly, and Flare nearly walked into their backs. The guards parted, half moving to the left and the others moving to the right. In a way, it was a weird parody of an honor guard.
The whip crack rang out again , and the pain seared its way into his back. Grinding his teeth against the pain, Flare started forward.
He could see where he was going now. A scaffold had been erected in the middle of a large city square. A large, black-hooded man awaited at the top holding an axe.
Flare sighed in relief; at least it would be quick. He could think of many worse ways to go.
Just then , he caught sight of something else and he tripped in surprise and horror. He was not the axe-man’s first victim. The edge of the scaffolding was lined with the heads of his friends.
Flare stopped and stared, afraid he was going to be sick at any moment. Then he saw something else. It wasn’t just the Guardians, but the heads of his half-brothers and sisters lined the edge as well.
Confused and disgusted, he scanned the row of heads again and stopped on the one in the very middle. It was King Darion, his father. Someone had mockingly set a thin gold crown on the severed head.
Confused even more, Flare searched out the nobles who were gathered all along the stairs that led up to the scaffold. Swallowing hard, he recognized them, but not from his time in the Telurian Palace. These faces he recognized from his time at Mul-Dune; they had led the goblins attack. Sure enough, Zalustus stood at the head of the line, grinning in triumph at Flare. For the first time, Flare realized Zalustus now wore the dragon armor, Nerandall, and Ossendar was belted to his waist.
At that very moment , Flare wished he could gouge his own eyes out so he wouldn’t have to see that abomination.
Something changed, and the small part of Flare that knew he was dreaming thought it was in the dream, but it wasn’t. The change was real.
Flare bolted upright, gasping for breath. The dream had been so real, so vivid, that he felt he might actually be sick. Still breathing hard, he swallowed several times, trying to keep the bile down. He was covered in sweat and it wasn’t from the heat, it was the nightmare. That was when he realized that something really had changed; the need had come back. It was time to return to Sha’al to learn from another dead ancient master.
That couldn’t be right, he thought. Surely it hadn’t been more than two weeks since the last time he had gone. When he had first heard of Sha’al, he had been told that he would know when it was time to return. He had also been told that the interval between visits was not necessarily a fixed time; he might go two or three months between visits and then be summoned twice in one day. Still, it felt like it was too soon. Perhaps, he thought, time grows short and the training is being rushed. He sighed. A lot of good the training will do if it kills me.
He climbed to his
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