Read Prisoner for Free Online

not distract from the pain in his head. It felt as if knives were being driven into the back of his skull and pushed through to the front. He bit back any sounds that would give away his discomfort and desperately sought for any distraction. It had been a long time since he'd had to live longer than a few hours without arcen easily accessible.
    The pain was as bad as he'd been warned. He needed more.
    Distraction. He needed distraction. Casting his eyes out, Beraht encountered nothing, but snow-drenched fields and a swiftly approaching forest. The dark, heavy, always-green trees were not usually found in Salhara. There was something bizarre about a tree that was always green. He'd always liked them.
    As they entered the trees, the going grew rougher, and despite himself, Beraht held fast to the arm wrapped heavily around his waist. He looked at it, not quite able to look at the trees rushing toward and at the last past them.
    Von Adolwulf was strong. In a handful of days Beraht had become more acquainted with that strength than he'd ever wanted to be. He ached in places he hadn't known it was possible to ache until von Adolwulf managed to bruise them. His wrists would not soon forget the chains—nor would his dignity. Even traitors in Salhara did not get carted around in chains. Chains were for slaves, something that had been outlawed years before, when it had become more and more important that Salhara have able, willing soldiers to fight against the Krians—and the Illussor when they showed up.
    The arm around his waist held him with no effort. He wondered if von Adolwulf even remembered he was there. His monster horse did not appear to notice the extra weight, either. If he didn't know any better, he'd swear the beast was enjoying itself.
    Hated though they were, at least the pace and the company kept him warm. Only the air he breathed in told him how chilly it was—and that it was getting colder. Hopefully, this temple von Adolwulf had mentioned would prove to be a real shelter. He frowned, scouring over what little he knew of that portion of Kria.
    No temple came to mind. So it was insignificant enough even the Krians didn't bother to mark it on a map? He'd never heard of their neglecting such a marker before. At the rate they were traveling, they'd be a hundred miles or more northeast of the Disputed Fields by nightfall.
    Of course, it was foolish to think that the Krians would let their best maps anywhere near their enemies. The maps of the Salharans were probably the work of children when compared to what must accompany Krian generals into the field. How he'd love to get his hands on one of those, rather than the crummy, faded scrap he'd been working with ever since he'd been given his stars-cursed assignment.
    *~*~*
    The Stone Temple was exactly that. Stone. And a temple. No wonder Beraht had never seen it noted on any map. It had to be the most boring thing he'd ever seen, right in line with that Krian taste for simplicity that more often ran toward painfully dull. Was there a spark of imagination in them anywhere?
    Back home, temples were works of art, constructed from fine wood that was polished to a shine and draped with soft, jewel-toned fabrics. They were lit by beeswax candles and filled with the songs of the devout. Here it smelled damp and stale. There were no candles, and only moonlight and wind filled the barren, open space. A single statue stood at the far end of the room. Beraht conceded the statue was impressive, eight feet high and depicting a man who looked as though everything amused him greatly. He pondered what little he knew of Krian religion. This would be the Spring Prince? It was not as grand as it could have been. There was not half the design to it that a similar statue back home would have carried.
    Still, he had never been in a Krian building before. His experiences were limited to the battlefield and sneaking around at night to do further harm. The only worship he had ever seen there had