Scarred Man Read Online Free PDF Page A

him almost as much as Waarde’s death, but still it was better than being a slave, being owned .
    If he had released that beast from its underground prison, he had to either destroy it or send it back.
    He skidded to a halt as he realised both the imperative of his decision and the fact that he had just done to himself what he had feared more than the vast, open sky above him — become a slave again, this time to his own decision. Cold sweat formed over his skin despite the icy wind. Trapped by his own actions and their consequences, he felt his heart begin to pound. His knees went weak and he fell forward onto his face. The white flash of pain when his head slammed into the hard ground was almost a welcome relief from the panting and the wave of panic that washed over him.
    â€˜Not again,’ he gasped. ‘I won’t let it happen.’ He pushed himself up to a crouch. Drawing on all his mental discipline and harsh training, he wrestled his breathing back under control. Gradually, his heartbeat slowed from its frenetic pounding. He wrapped his arms around his chest as his mind tried to hold onto the hard-won control.
    His concentration was broken by a hard slap on the shoulder.
    â€˜Hey, hard man,’ Hinrik gasped. ‘I thought you were tough. Why the —?’
    His words were cut short by the flash of a blade as Slave whirled around, moving smoothly to his feet, whipping the Claw out and slashing it upwards to rest, not gently, against the scholar’s throat. Slave snarled a bestial, out-of-control sound.
    Hinrik froze in horror at the sight of the unsettling silver eye shining softly with a light of its own. His fear rose as Slave started speaking in a low mutter, giving voice to a language he could not possibly have known.
    On and on the Scarred Man went, spewing out the most vile curses, calling down hideous imprecations upon Hinrik in the ancient language of the Revenant so long ago consigned to perpetual imprisonment beneath Vogel. Hinrik paled as he heard the words of banishment that were uttered by the mightiest mystics of the Mertian people when they, aided by the Varuun itself, finally drove the beast down.
    As a Reader, Hinrik had studied the old texts and learnt the ancient tongues, but nothing could haveprepared him for the sight of this Scarred Man, eye glowing, spitting out the words he had pored over in the cloistered rooms of the Ruthia. Hinrik swallowed hard and tried to keep motionless. The razor-sharp blade pressed against his throat had parted the skin. A warm rivulet of blood trickled towards his chest.
    The snarled curses slowed and then stopped. Slave was panting hard as if exhausted. The Claw wavered against Hinrik’s neck before being slowly lowered. Slave slumped onto his hands and knees, head bowed.
    â€˜Don’t stay near me,’ Slave gasped. ‘I will kill you if you stay.’
    Hinrik scrambled back. He raised his hand to the wound on his throat. It was shallow and thin. It would heal quickly, unlike this shock — the shock of hearing the ancient tongue of the Revenant spoken. When he was out of range of the Claw, Hinrik turned and fled.
    Slave flattened himself on the frozen ground and lay still, panting with the exertion of wresting back control of his mind and body. When the scholar had struck him, the black rage had taken him, and he had seen himself lash out in a killing blow. Somehow, he had held the blade back. For a time, Slave had felt the rage, the chaos, the need for destruction surge through him but the fury had seemed less urgent, less importune. Though he knew his grip on his own body and mind was tenuous, it was still there.
    Strange words had rung in his ears, muffled as if from a great distance, but as he slowly regainedcontrol, they faded and fell silent. He wondered if Hinrik had cast a spell on him.
    He wondered where Hinrik had run to.
    He wondered if he would be sane when he woke up in the morning.
    Â 
    The sun crept up