Chaos Read Online Free Page A

turned fifteen, they were old enough to hear their fate. According to the laws of Teufel, anyone who did not hear their fate by the age of twenty was accused of rebelling against the church and Teufel and hunted down and forcefully dragged to Unheilvol.  Those like David, who lived so far away, usually waited until the penitents were older and better able to make the difficult journey. "I leave at the end of the month to make the journey. I am grateful for the opportunity to hear my Lord Teufel's plans for me."
    "As you should be. Hope that your fate is not to die because of disrespect and stupidity," the sorcerer said.
    David said nothing, just fought back tears as he was dragged to the city square and up to the stone dais where announcements were made—and punishments administered. A man currently rattling off city notices fled as quickly as he could when he saw them, leaving the dais empty. The people in the square slowed to a stop as they realized a punishment was about to take place, and the sudden lack of movement drew even more people to the square until it was quickly filled. The sorcerer cuffed him hard enough his ears rang, and David began to strip off his clothes, throwing them in a pile well away from the post to which he was promptly chained. The cold metal bit into his skin, the combination of chilly winter air and fear making him shake.
    He'd been whipped once before, when he was a little younger than Killian, young enough the whip had not had barbs. It had been a token whipping administered by the village chief. Looking back, he knew it had been for his own safety, to make him fear breaking the laws about leaving the barrier without permission.
    The beating he was about to suffer was being administered just because the sorcerer could, because they all could. Nobody crossed a sorcerer, except Killian and his light-stealing mouth.
    David screamed in agony as the first blow landed, painfully aware that there was silence all around them despite the people who had filled the square to watch him be punished. The second blow was worse, and by the fourth, his screams were constant. The leather burned as it struck his skin, and the metal bits sliced through his skin as though it were little more than cheap cloth, pain on top of unbearable pain as metal and leather and blood mingled.
    The law said lashings could only carry on so long, never more strokes than the victim could handle, but David also knew sorcerers were as happy to disregard that law as they did so many others. He had lost count of the number of strikes by the time he passed out.
    His world was nothing but alternating flashes of agony and blissful darkness until he finally woke to the sound of someone softly crooning a song he vaguely remembered his mother singing when he was a boy.  He licked his lips, then tried to ask, "Where … "
    "Shh," the stranger said. "You're in the temple; your companions brought you here after the sorcerer finished with you. I've cleaned and numbed your wounds, but they'll probably start to hurt again pretty soon. Lay there, don't move. The cuts are deep and many, and they won't heal properly if you don't let them."
    Tears stung David's eyes. He was alive. He hurt, despite what the priest had given him. He couldn't move, couldn't work—couldn't do anything. How was he going to get home? What was he going to do if he couldn't earn his keep? Reimund wouldn't keep him on if he couldn't work.
    The priest said something, but David didn't catch it as unconsciousness mercifully took him away once more.
    When he woke again, dingy gray light spilled in through one papered window. He could just see Reimund and Sigmund, Killian's father, standing with their hats in their hands, murmuring quietly with the priest.
    Reimund saw that he was awake and approached him, kneeling down beside him. "David, I know you're in pain and we don't want to move you, but the guard is ready to go …"
    David nodded, understanding. Travel between the