I awoke to find not the birds chirping, the sound of silence, comfortableness, but cold water being doused over me. I cursed at whomever threw water at me. The freezing water stung my skin, my clothing soaked it up quickly which left me with the feeling of coldness even more. Mist clung to the air, and I wasn’t in a bed but a ship. A small canoe by the looks of it, obscured by the mist two figures sat in front of me. Behind my head, in place of a pillow was the hard backpack I wore.
“W-What’s going on, “I yawned, as if awakening from a long sleep. Somebody grunted, then stopped oaring the ship.
“Well, if it isn’t Sleeping Beauty! You sleep for five damn days, Pentus! What the heck were you dreaming of! Dang, that Aeron must knock people out hard. And. . .he still hasn’t returned,” a voice yelled. The familiar sounded like . . Almar’s.
“Almar, is that you?” I groaned and got up, but a soft hand pushed me back.
“Yeah, it is,” the soft voice commanded, “I’ll explain things while you lie down. You got a nasty bruise behind your head, you don’t want to get up. When Aeron knocked you out - which was funny to watch - we stole a ship tied to the harbor and waited for Aeron to return, but it was too late since a lot of soldiers were coming towards us so we sailed away without him. Ever since this darn mist came up. And you were knocked out for five days, if not for me we would be lost. And according to some Almar navigation sense he said it should take a day before we head to the Forbidden Lands. Got it?”
“Uh. . . sure,” I muttered. I groaned then sat up. The thick white mist clrung to the air, adding a strange humidity to the air. It clung to my clothes and obscured my vision. The only thing I could see was two silhouettes of Almar and Aria. And what scared me a little, was the feeling that even though I knew who they were, and that they were my companions. In the thickening mist, their figures seemed almost, sinister.
Relax, Pentus. Their your friends, you know them. They wouldn’t harm you. This stupid mist is just playing with your mind, I assured myself. But even then, I kept my guard up. I reached for my scabbard to find it empty.
“Hey, where’s my sword?” I asked them, practically yelling.
Almar did a backflip, and swiped at my head with the wooden oar. I instinctively ducked down to dodge it, a spray of freezing water landed on my face, awakening me. Almar grunted then attacked with his other oar. I raised my wrist, the blow bouncing off my gauntlets.
“Your not Almar! Who are you?” I yelled. The fake Almar chuckled, “If I told you that, it wouldn’t be fun, kid.”
I growled, “Fine, have it your way! But when I’m done with you, you’ll tell me where the real one is.”
The fake Almar smirked, “We’ll see about that.”
Determination flashed on my face. So I beat this puny, fake Almar with no weapons. While he has two wooden oars. Great.
YOU ARE READING
Dark Magic and Assassins of Akranhor (Book 2 of the Shadow Chronicles)Fantasy
The 2nd Installment to the Book 1 of the Shadow Chronicles. . . A new adventure writ in shadows, wielded by steel, and awaited in betrayal shakes Astrania once more. . . Pentus once again finds himself trapped in an inevitable war between the Emp...