The Written by Ben Galley Read Free Book Online Page A

view of ugly
men like this.
    ‘You idiots don’t get it do
you? Leave me alone or you won’t live to see another day.’ Farden’s
eyes bored into the dimwitted froglike stare of the bald thug. The
man leered and spat. ‘Get ‘im lads! Get ‘is coins!’ He yelled and
ran wildly at the lone mage, feet pounding through the muddy street
and dagger flailing. Farden took a step forward.
    The two men collided with a
massive crash as Farden turned to the side and met the mans face
with his elbow, stopping him dead in his tracks and knocking the
knife from the thug’s hand in one swift strike. The bandit’s legs
flew out from under him and he crashed heavily in a shower of brown
water. In an instant the mage dropped to his knees and drew his
sword with a loud metallic ring, waiting for his prey to come to
him. The next assailant sprinted to attack and Farden swung the
longsword left in a wide arc. The blade caught the thief square in
the ribs and there was a sickening crunch as it smashed through the
bone to hit flesh and spine. The man let out a petrifying scream
and crumpled to a bloody heap next to the first, writhing and
spilling vital organs into the incarnadined mud.
    With a shout the last thug ran
towards the powerful mage wielding a long club high above his head.
‘I’ll kill yer!’ he yelled. Farden smacked his wrists together and
threw a quick bolt of fire into the night. The sizzling bolt burst
against the mans chest with a blinding flash of light that burned
the clothes from his skin. He hit the mud flat on his back with a
short yelp and choked on rainwater. Farden dashed towards the
charred man while he struggled to lift his head up from the
clogging mud. Without missing a stride he sent his boot flying into
the grimy thug’s nose with a lethal kick. The man’s face exploded
with blood and bone and his head slammed back into the ground with
a nauseating thud. He did not move again. Farden skidded to a halt
and then leapt to his feet, and listened to nothing but the
dripping rain.
    The bald man stirred under the
carcass of the other bandit. His face looked like a crimson
landslide and he lifted shaking fingers to feel the damage,
breathing through cracked teeth. Farden retrieved his grimy sword
and wiped it on the leg of one of the downed men. Farden watched
him struggle. Durnus would not have been happy with such a vicious
display, he realised. But Durnus wasn’t there. Farden shrugged to
himself and spat on the bald thug, sheathed his sword, and
left.
    The mage walked alone, letting
the rain drip down his face and cool his hot angry skin. He let the
fight replay in his head. A smirk curled at the corner of his
mouth. Might as well start the night as he meant to go on, he
thought. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the soaking
piece of parchment, looked at the lines and contours of the map, at
the word Jergan , and then shoved it back into his pocket. He doubled his pace and
jogged into the night.
     
    Eight hours later a lone figure
crouched on the summit of a low hill, his long cloak billowing in
the stormy wind, rain lashing his unblinking features. The man was
staring avidly at a small hovel cowering in a shallow valley
between two hills. It was barely surviving the weather, its rough
wood and stacked stone walls were shaking violently in the howling
gale. A single struggling candle peeked from a tiny window. The
man’s eyes flicked to the cloudy sky as a fleeting gap in the
clouds revealed the white saucer of the full moon, radiating blue
light down on the hills for a split second. His watchful gaze
returned to the hut.
    Farden had been watching this
poor excuse for a house since finding it three hours before. His
headache had finally gone, and he could feel the power swelling in
his wrists and head now, magick running through his veins like a
strong river pulsing and surging through a canyon. A faint glow
came from under his cloak. But he tried to keep it under control,
creatures like Jergan