direction.
After a hundred feet of circling around tents, he spied a tall, upright post in the distance. A body hung from the pillar of wood while a fire burned at it’s feet.
It was the crucifixion, the one he and Markwood had spotted from atop the hill outside the city days before.
Kron was intrigued. What crime had this person committed that would cause them to be hung for three days?
He moved forward, then circled around more tents and a few soldiers up late for guard duty or early for breakfast.
Kron came up behind the crucifixion. He moved around the pillar slowly, staring at the long, dark hair hanging from atop the victim’s head. When he reached the front of the fire, his eyes locked on the face hanging above him, the woman’s hair spilling out around her pallid cheeks.
Kron stood like stone, his eyes unblinking.
Adara.
His hand eased its way to the heavy sword on his back, gripping the weapon’s pommel sticking out above his shoulder.
Chapter Eleven
The first soldier died for his curiosity. He was roasting a skewered bird over a fire when he noticed a muscular fellow in a black cloak, looking like any of a thousand other Kobalan soldiers. What was odd about this particular man in black was he stood beneath the crucified woman, a drawn sword in one hand while his other hand reached up and tugged on one of the thick nails impaling the woman’s feet.
“What you doing there?” the soldier asked as he dropped his crispy bird into the fire and approached.
The man with the sword turned at the sound of the voice. Shadow from the cloak’s hood hid his face.
“You wanting her for yourself?” The soldier ambled up to his death. “She’s only three days gone. I guess you could still have fun with her.”
Kron’s blow chopped through the man’s neck, nearly separating head from body.
“Holy Ashal! Did you see that?” someone yelled.
Kron wiped his sword clean on the dead man’s breeches as the body collapsed.
“Hold it right there!” someone nearer shouted.
Kron looked up. A ring of six soldiers had him surrounded.
“What the hell did you do that for?” one man asked.
Kron lunged, his long blade stabbing into a leg. It wasn’t a killing wound, but it would keep the man out of the fight.
Weapons were drawn all around. There would be no more talk.
Two soldiers charged, one from either side. Kron slashed out, slicing one man nearly in half with a cut across the stomach while his free gloved hand batted aside a weak cut from the other opponent. Continuing his motion, Kron spun, his sword swinging high and catching another soldier across the throat.
Then suddenly there were too many of them. Men from the tents charged into the melee. Scores of heavy soldiers with heavy weapons appeared. Kron was surrounded. There was nowhere to flee.
In the background, an officer yelled orders to form a line of pikemen.
Kron whipped out the last of his grenados and flung the clay balls into the advancing soldiers. Smoke and fire burst forth, blinding some and killing others.
Kron dove into the black smoke he had created. He dressed like these men. He was their size. He would blend in.
Rolling and scrambling along the ground through and around the chaotic legs of men, Kron quickly found himself outside the circle of death. Flames from the grenados created dancing shadows on his face as he sheathed his sword and gave a last glance at Adara’s hanging body. She had deserved better.
“Put out the fire!”
“It’s magic!”
“There he is!”
Kron shoved a Kobalan aside and darted between two tents. Looking up to see the city walls were within running distance, he unraveled the silk rope and its attached grapnel from his belt.
“Where did he go?” a soldier yelled as Kron eased past a group of running men in thick leather armor.
Continuing his momentum, the man in black charged for the tall, stone walls. He passed at least a hundred Kobalans on his way, but none halted him or
After a hundred feet of circling around tents, he spied a tall, upright post in the distance. A body hung from the pillar of wood while a fire burned at it’s feet.
It was the crucifixion, the one he and Markwood had spotted from atop the hill outside the city days before.
Kron was intrigued. What crime had this person committed that would cause them to be hung for three days?
He moved forward, then circled around more tents and a few soldiers up late for guard duty or early for breakfast.
Kron came up behind the crucifixion. He moved around the pillar slowly, staring at the long, dark hair hanging from atop the victim’s head. When he reached the front of the fire, his eyes locked on the face hanging above him, the woman’s hair spilling out around her pallid cheeks.
Kron stood like stone, his eyes unblinking.
Adara.
His hand eased its way to the heavy sword on his back, gripping the weapon’s pommel sticking out above his shoulder.
Chapter Eleven
The first soldier died for his curiosity. He was roasting a skewered bird over a fire when he noticed a muscular fellow in a black cloak, looking like any of a thousand other Kobalan soldiers. What was odd about this particular man in black was he stood beneath the crucified woman, a drawn sword in one hand while his other hand reached up and tugged on one of the thick nails impaling the woman’s feet.
“What you doing there?” the soldier asked as he dropped his crispy bird into the fire and approached.
The man with the sword turned at the sound of the voice. Shadow from the cloak’s hood hid his face.
“You wanting her for yourself?” The soldier ambled up to his death. “She’s only three days gone. I guess you could still have fun with her.”
Kron’s blow chopped through the man’s neck, nearly separating head from body.
“Holy Ashal! Did you see that?” someone yelled.
Kron wiped his sword clean on the dead man’s breeches as the body collapsed.
“Hold it right there!” someone nearer shouted.
Kron looked up. A ring of six soldiers had him surrounded.
“What the hell did you do that for?” one man asked.
Kron lunged, his long blade stabbing into a leg. It wasn’t a killing wound, but it would keep the man out of the fight.
Weapons were drawn all around. There would be no more talk.
Two soldiers charged, one from either side. Kron slashed out, slicing one man nearly in half with a cut across the stomach while his free gloved hand batted aside a weak cut from the other opponent. Continuing his motion, Kron spun, his sword swinging high and catching another soldier across the throat.
Then suddenly there were too many of them. Men from the tents charged into the melee. Scores of heavy soldiers with heavy weapons appeared. Kron was surrounded. There was nowhere to flee.
In the background, an officer yelled orders to form a line of pikemen.
Kron whipped out the last of his grenados and flung the clay balls into the advancing soldiers. Smoke and fire burst forth, blinding some and killing others.
Kron dove into the black smoke he had created. He dressed like these men. He was their size. He would blend in.
Rolling and scrambling along the ground through and around the chaotic legs of men, Kron quickly found himself outside the circle of death. Flames from the grenados created dancing shadows on his face as he sheathed his sword and gave a last glance at Adara’s hanging body. She had deserved better.
“Put out the fire!”
“It’s magic!”
“There he is!”
Kron shoved a Kobalan aside and darted between two tents. Looking up to see the city walls were within running distance, he unraveled the silk rope and its attached grapnel from his belt.
“Where did he go?” a soldier yelled as Kron eased past a group of running men in thick leather armor.
Continuing his momentum, the man in black charged for the tall, stone walls. He passed at least a hundred Kobalans on his way, but none halted him or
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