Kara Read Online Free Page B

up. Shackles
weighed down his arms. His eyes widened as he recognized the
king.
    New strength allowed him to scramble forward
and reach out for the king’s boots. “Your majesty….please….”
    Tyr raised one foot slightly and stepped down
on the baker’s arm. The prisoner howled in pain as a bone
snapped.
    “I heard you have not answered my questions
satisfactorily. Now, why would you want to make me angry?” La’ard
said.
    The sniveling heap of a man looked up again.
One eye, half-closed by swelling, and a burn mark on his left cheek
marred his face. Life had melted away from the baker, seeped into
the walls, and escaped.
    “But…” A raspy whisper through the pain.
    La’ard nodded to Tyr, the slightest of nods.
The poleaxe, pole side, smacked the prisoner under the chin,
lifting his whole form up off the floor only to fall back again.
His face slammed into the hard, stone floor.
    Master Kreitan watched from the side, showing
no outward signs of enjoyment.
    “I am a patient man.” La’ard said. “But you
are spending that patience quickly. Your daughter will soon be with
us. And perhaps your Mordock brother, as well.”
    “What? No.” Even through all the pain and
hurt, the concern came through.
    “Then tell me what I want to know. Where is
the shard?” The king’s anger reared its ugly head.
    “W-why….”
    La’ard barely heard it. “Why, you ask? You
stupid, stupid man!” La’ard turned toward Tyr. “Make the prisoner
stand.”
    Roughly, the dungeoner hauled the baker to
his feet using one huge hand. Slowly Kirt’s legs firmed enough to
hold him upright without support from Tyr.
    The king kept his eyes focused on the
prisoner, but held out a hand. “Kreitan, your sword, if you
please.”
    Kreitan pulled his sword from its scabbard
and handed it to the king.
    La’ard admired the blade, turning it over in
his hands. “Your daughter will die today for your stupidity, baker.
I am only asking for information about a simple object, yet you
refuse to tell me what I want to know. What if I take your precious
little girl away from you? Maybe I will bring you her head and see
if that….”
    The prisoner lunged at the king. “You
wouldn’t dare, you tyrant!”
    Tyr’s strong hand crushed the prisoner’s
shoulder. The baker cried out and fell to his knees. The dungeoner
coaxed him back to a standing position.
    “I grow weary of your blatant disrespect of
your king.” La’ard approached and laid the blade against the
baker’s neck and pressed just hard enough to draw a thin line of
blood. “Last chance.”
    From the left came a squeal of laughter and
clanging chains.
    An emaciated man in manacles ran straight at
the king. La’ard ducked as a chain whipped by his head. It struck
the baker in the forehead, knocking him to the stone floor.
    Tyr’s large black hand shot out and grabbed
the escaped prisoner by the face and flung him back against the
wall with a crack. The assailant fell to the ground, unmoving.
    The king screamed in anger. “What is the
meaning of this? Do you let your prisoners run free?”
    “Sire, Jenkins has an uncanny ability to
escape.”
    “Then make sure he doesn’t do so again!”
La’ard turned away from Tyr and saw the baker was out cold. He bent
down, grabbed the prisoner by his hair, and shook him. “Where is
it? I was not going to kill you today! Where is it?” La’ard shook
him again, but there was no response.
    He shoved the prisoner away and glared down
at the unconscious man.
    “I tire of this charade, Master Kreitan. We
were close this time. Very close.”
    Kreitan did not say anything, but kept his
eyes locked on La’ard’s. The king looked away first.
    “The girl, then?” Kreitan’s voice held but a
simple twinge of delight. Delight for the future prospect of
telling the girl that her father was imprisoned, probably.
    La’ard rubbed at his temples and then ran his
hand through his hair. “Do you think she knows something?”
    “She did