Read Online Seeker (The Source Chronicles Book 1) by MJ Blehart - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: MJ Blehart
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Gara-Sharon. The goods on display ranged from clothing to spices to the last of the fall fruits to paper and writing implements to weapons.
Often this square was crowded, but never to the extent it was on a feast day, Solstice celebration, or public execution. The crowds were just beginning to truly fill in the area, awaiting the coming spectacle.
In an hour, the Sorcerer would be paraded out.
It would be her job to grab the condemned man, if she could. The gallows, which has been erected around dawn, along with a dais for the Crown and other ranking officials, was guarded for now. Timing would be everything.
Their borrowed horses were picketed nearby, among those of the other spectators. They were ready. Or so she hoped.
******
He was placed in a cage, tall enough for him to stand in. He was not chained. The cage sat atop a cart, drawn by a pair of large workhorses. Guardsmen were all around him.
It was a parade, with jugglers and larger-than-life puppets and drummers. They were in the courtyard before the main gate of the palace, awaiting the order to march.
He could see the King himself at the rear, atop a large warhorse. Varlock-Sharron was dressed in colorful plate armor and a cape with the seal of the House of Anduin, a pair of falcons in flight with a sword in their talons, over the crescent moon. Beside him sat another similarly attired, younger man. The only differences were the lack of cape and crown, and he held a long, ceremonial staff. The Sorcerer guessed he was some sort of important advisor.
The pair were surrounded by men in maroon leather armor, with square steel plates mounted upon it. Every one of them were riding atop fine war horses, and wore burgundy tabards with the device of the Kingdom of Sharron upon them, a proud falcon, talons extended, attacking the crescent moon. Upon the back of the tabards was the crest of House Anduin. These, he had learned, were the elite Royal Guardsmen.
He could do nothing with the little power he held, except to suffuse himself with calm. He was a man with no time.
A signal was given, voiced by a loud sergeant-at-arms. Banners were raised, bearing the device of the Kingdom. The gates were opened. The drummers began to beat out a rhythm for the march, and shortly the cart bearing the Sorcerer began to roll forward.
He knew his fate was sealed. He resigned himself to face death with every bit of dignity he could muster.
******
King Varlock-Sharron sat atop his faithful steed, watching as the procession marched out of the gates before him. It was a slow but steady pace, which would parade the Sorcerer to the center of the city over the course of an hour or so. He looked to the condemned man, who sat cross-legged within the cage, no expression upon his face.
The King spurred his horse forward, his guard spreading out some around him, a solid ring of protection. Lord Tulock was at his side, wearing a somewhat amused grin on his face.
“Word has it, my liege, that the crowds gathered in the marketplace far exceed any from celebrations of Solstice over the past five years. This will be quite the show.”
The King glanced over at his Seneschal. “I shall be glad to be done with it, Tulock. We have a lot of things to take into consideration. When this is over, we have to finalize plans to deal with the Falcon Raiders.”
“Aye, my Lord. Do you wish me to convene the Council tonight?”
The King shook his head. “No. Let them all enjoy the celebration this day. We will deal with this band of outlaws tomorrow. Let us take care of the business at hand, for now.”
“Admit it. You enjoy this like everyone else does.”
“The pageantry, the parade, I suppose so. The hanging? No. But it must happen.” Varlock-Sharron paused a moment. “I hope that by my example today, we will keep the rest of his kind from this land. After today, Sharron will be a Kingdom practitioners
Often this square was crowded, but never to the extent it was on a feast day, Solstice celebration, or public execution. The crowds were just beginning to truly fill in the area, awaiting the coming spectacle.
In an hour, the Sorcerer would be paraded out.
It would be her job to grab the condemned man, if she could. The gallows, which has been erected around dawn, along with a dais for the Crown and other ranking officials, was guarded for now. Timing would be everything.
Their borrowed horses were picketed nearby, among those of the other spectators. They were ready. Or so she hoped.
******
He was placed in a cage, tall enough for him to stand in. He was not chained. The cage sat atop a cart, drawn by a pair of large workhorses. Guardsmen were all around him.
It was a parade, with jugglers and larger-than-life puppets and drummers. They were in the courtyard before the main gate of the palace, awaiting the order to march.
He could see the King himself at the rear, atop a large warhorse. Varlock-Sharron was dressed in colorful plate armor and a cape with the seal of the House of Anduin, a pair of falcons in flight with a sword in their talons, over the crescent moon. Beside him sat another similarly attired, younger man. The only differences were the lack of cape and crown, and he held a long, ceremonial staff. The Sorcerer guessed he was some sort of important advisor.
The pair were surrounded by men in maroon leather armor, with square steel plates mounted upon it. Every one of them were riding atop fine war horses, and wore burgundy tabards with the device of the Kingdom of Sharron upon them, a proud falcon, talons extended, attacking the crescent moon. Upon the back of the tabards was the crest of House Anduin. These, he had learned, were the elite Royal Guardsmen.
He could do nothing with the little power he held, except to suffuse himself with calm. He was a man with no time.
A signal was given, voiced by a loud sergeant-at-arms. Banners were raised, bearing the device of the Kingdom. The gates were opened. The drummers began to beat out a rhythm for the march, and shortly the cart bearing the Sorcerer began to roll forward.
He knew his fate was sealed. He resigned himself to face death with every bit of dignity he could muster.
******
King Varlock-Sharron sat atop his faithful steed, watching as the procession marched out of the gates before him. It was a slow but steady pace, which would parade the Sorcerer to the center of the city over the course of an hour or so. He looked to the condemned man, who sat cross-legged within the cage, no expression upon his face.
The King spurred his horse forward, his guard spreading out some around him, a solid ring of protection. Lord Tulock was at his side, wearing a somewhat amused grin on his face.
“Word has it, my liege, that the crowds gathered in the marketplace far exceed any from celebrations of Solstice over the past five years. This will be quite the show.”
The King glanced over at his Seneschal. “I shall be glad to be done with it, Tulock. We have a lot of things to take into consideration. When this is over, we have to finalize plans to deal with the Falcon Raiders.”
“Aye, my Lord. Do you wish me to convene the Council tonight?”
The King shook his head. “No. Let them all enjoy the celebration this day. We will deal with this band of outlaws tomorrow. Let us take care of the business at hand, for now.”
“Admit it. You enjoy this like everyone else does.”
“The pageantry, the parade, I suppose so. The hanging? No. But it must happen.” Varlock-Sharron paused a moment. “I hope that by my example today, we will keep the rest of his kind from this land. After today, Sharron will be a Kingdom practitioners
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