Escape from Evil Read Online Free PDF

Olu’s head.
    The two slaves ducked to avoid the blow, and both of them gasped as the moonlight illuminated Truli’s face. The jailer was fast asleep, but he was also preparing for another strike. Whatever enemy he was facing in the dreamlands, he seemed determined to overcome it.

    Olu put all his strength into hoisting up his part of the chain. “Is he—”
    â€œSleepwalking,” Decimus finished. “We need to get out of here, before he walks into something solid and wakes up for real.”
    They hurried from the room, barely supporting the enormous chain between them—and made for the roof of the arena.

CHAPTER VI
    THE DESCENT
    D ecimus hooked the end of the chain around one of several stones that adorned the circular roof of the stadium. He and Olu managed to haul the incredible bulk of the chain over the edge of the arena roof, but neither had considered the noise it might make as it unraveled. The resulting clatter was enough to wake half the surrounding town, not to mention the many inhabitants of the arena below.
    Sure enough, several torches struck up in the darkness as the two slaves began to descend, pausing carefully between each section to ensure they didn’t grab a handful of spikes by mistake. The distant sound of slamming doors signaled that the servants were now aware that something was happening, but Decimus and Olu were already more than three-quarters of the way down the chain.
    â€œDrop!” Decimus cried, as the sound of the great portcullis rumbled nearby. “Now, Olu, While we’ve got a headstart!”
    The slave lowered himself through two further links, then let go of the chain and plunged to the ground. He landed awkwardly, but seemed to be unharmed.

    â€œIt’s not that far, and the ground is soft!”
    Decimus released his grip on the link and dropped after his companion.
    â€œThe town,” he said, stumbling as he landed and quickly bursting into a sprint. “We need a place to hide.”
    The two friends picked up their pace, and dashed off in the direction of Avellino.

    Several hours later, in a palatial room at the top of a vast manor on the edge of Amalfi, two servants admitted trial-master Hrin to a private audience with Slavious Doom.
    As the doors were closed behind him, the tall master moved into the center of the room and bowed low. He did not raise his head as he started to speak.
    â€œMy lord,” he began. “I have grave news to report.”
    Slavious Doom, resplendent on a golden throne, didn’t bother to rise in response to the statement. Instead, he yawned a little, removed the golden helm that adorned his head, and focused his eyes on the trial-master bowing before him.
    â€œDo not raise your head until I give you permission to do so,” he said.
    Hrin said nothing. He maintained his position perfectly, his ragged breath alone betraying him as a living creature.
    Doom blinked only once. “Continue.” “Two slaves have escaped Arena Primus,” said the bowed master.
    â€œI see. How, exactly?”
    â€œWell, my lord, they . . . stole a spiked chain from the jailer’s quarters—one used in the trials—and—”
    â€œHow clever.” Doom’s voice was silky, almost snakelike. His lips split in a sickly smile. “It is no great surprise that a slave would escape eventually . . . even two. They must be incredibly resourceful.” He leaned forward on the throne. “You will find them, of course?”
    â€œOf course, my lord.” Hrin paused. He was beginning to shake slightly. “But . . .”
    â€œThere is something else?”
    â€œYes, my lord. One of the escapees is a boy called Olu. The other is . . . that is . . . he—”
    â€œWell?”
    â€œHe is the boy you personally requested that we find, my lord: The one who the scriptures say will . . . retrieve The Sword.”
    â€œDecimus Rex,” said Doom, slowly rising