Storm of Prophecy: Book 1, Dark Awakening by Michael Von Werner, Felix Diroma Read Free Book Online

quarters? It felt like he was asleep though he couldn’t dismiss the other senses he had experienced. The bed he lay on was indeed comfortable, and the rest seemed too horrible to contemplate. Wherever he was, he was safe now. That thought carried through foremost before he blacked out once more.
    It felt like no time had passed at all before he heard the voice speaking again. “Please go let the masters know that he is close to reviving. In fact, please go let everyone know, including that boisterous red-haired friend of his…you know, the one with the mustache that wouldn’t leave yesterday.” A woman acknowledged with a quick umhmm and went off to do as told.
    Vincent immediately knew they were talking about Rick Miller, an overly energetic and ambitious pyromancer who seemed to get along well with him despite Vincent’s less than spectacular power and low standing within their institution. In his groggy state, he felt touched to know that Rick was also the kind of friend who would come visit him like this and not just a passing acquaintance.
    Suddenly he came fully awake and sat bolt upright, taking sharp breaths while his wide-open eyes were taking in the scene of the infirmary with its rows of beds, each with white pillows, sheets, and blankets. Sunlight illuminated the entire room, coming through the killing slits carved into the wall on this, the third floor of the fortress. He had to blink several times because his eyes weren’t accustomed to the brightness. A thick crust of sand at the edges irritated them and so he wiped it away. He didn’t even remember having twisted to lay on his back again, but it was obvious he had by the way he was now sitting up.
    With a deep chill, he remembered the attack. All of it. The horror and mental imagery of having cut apart and killed two people, the spilling of their blood and viscera, it all nauseated him and made his skin pale. Then he remembered the masters wanting to speak with him, and knew that he would be shamed for letting his weakness and revulsion allow the other two to slip by. More people would die, and it would be his fault. He could feel his pulse throbbing in his head, and he began to sweat.
    One of the healers, a brown-haired middle-aged woman in a white dress, rushed up to his side and slowly pushed him back down with her warm hands on his chest. “Whoa, not so fast now,” she cautioned, “don’t put so much unnecessary strain on yourself just yet.” She had a kind and easy manner about her. Another healer woman with yellow hair showed up on the other side of the bed.
    Her words were not enough to soothe his anxiety; worry overtook him. “The vault.” His voice was firm at first when his head came back to rest on the pillow, but his distress was soon betrayed. “They broke in! I couldn’t stop them! Where are they!”
    “There, there, it’s okay now,” she comforted. He didn’t know if he had ever heard words that were more false.
    “How can it be okay! They must have stolen something! What was it!” He started fighting and scrambling around to get up against the pressure of her hands.
    Vincent was winning until the other grabbed on to help try and subdue him. “Sir, just calm down,” she implored in a strained tone. When he didn’t listen, they each put a hand to the side of his head, and against his own will, he fell back into a temporary slumber. He heard only their heavy breathing and then all was black.
    The next thing he knew, the same hands were touching the sides of his head and using magic to wake him again. When his eyes came open, his bed was surrounded by the same two women, and a short distance across the room past the foot of his bed there was a crowd of people wearing wizard and sorceress robes of every color. They had all gathered in the infirmary to witness his recovery. Three from the council of masters-Master Crafter Clemens, Grandmaster Treyfon, and Master Anthony-were among them.
    Master Clemens’ presence was to be