Daybreak (Fate's Forsaken Book 4) by Ford Shae

Author:Ford, Shae [Ford, Shae]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-09-17T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 32

Lowlanders

“You’re running out of time, pirate,” the mage hissed.

The floor danced before Lysander’s eyes. Wet warmth coated his lips and ran down his chin. He spat it away, watching as the blood soaked into the grain at his knees.

His lip had been busted at the middle. Though it stung him horribly, he forced himself to grin. “No, you’re the one running out of time — and options, I might add. You’ve burned me, shocked me, split me. What do you plan to do next? Skin me?”

The mage smiled. “No … we’re going to hang you. We’re going to leave your body dangling there for the next man we question — and I’m certain we’ll get through to him much quicker.”

Lysander’s grin faltered. His stomach bunched into a knot as his throat suddenly went dry. “What do you mean, the next man ? There is no next man. I’ve already told you that all of my original crew perished in a tempest on our way back from the mountains. These men don’t know anything.”

“Do you honestly expect me to believe that?”

“Well, it was a monster of a tempest. We never saw it coming.”

“I’ve had the pleasure of torturing dozens of men in His Majesty’s name,” the mage said, eyes trailing around the darkened room. “A moment with you, and I knew you’d never utter a word about what happened to the Sovereign Five — even if you do know the truth, you aren’t giving it up.”

Lysander glared. “Why did you keep me here for so long, then? ”

“To give us time to finish the gallows, of course.” The door opened, and the mage nodded to the man behind it. “Perfect. Right on schedule.”

Two sets of hands clamped around Lysander’s arms, pressing painfully against the raw burns the mage’s spells had left behind. But he hardly noticed — all of his worries turned elsewhere. “You’re wasting your breath. They’ll never talk to you!”

“Oh, one of them will,” the mage assured him as he followed with a smirk. “There’s always one.”

A muted red sky hung over Harborville — the last faint shred of a dying light. Soldiers milled about the village square, spears propped over their shoulders. They’d taken the houses for barracks and seized the shops. Makeshift camps filled the alleyways, packed to their seams with guards.

Lysander balked when they reached the heart of the square.

Bodies already littered the area around him. The sunken remains of men hung from stocks, several pairs of legs dangled from iron cages. A damp wind blew across it, waking the stench of rot and decay. The noise of the guards’ march startled the carrion birds from their feast. They took off in a flurry of indignant squawks but stayed circling overhead — each of their mirror-black eyes fixed eagerly upon Lysander.

He soon forgot about the reek and his stomach heaved against something else. The gallows steps became like a mountain before his eyes: they stretched and wavered at their tops, shrouded by a haze. He ground his heels into the cobblestone and shoved back against the guards.

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