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I followed as he led the way out of the room.
CHAPTER 8
That night I dreamtof war.
I sat upon a horse on the peak of a hill at the edge of a forest.
Down below me, a village burned. The smoke was blowing eastward, leaving my view clear.
A ring of soldiers on horseback surrounded the village. Some of them were on foot. I watched as they went from house to house, lighting each one on fire and dragging the people out. Men were put to the sword. Women fared worse.
I watched as they neared the village’s small temple. The shrieking and wailing of women filled the air. A group of girls–acolytes most likely–were pulled forward, their dresses torn. A boy ran forward to try to tug a girl away. A soldier made a swift movement with his arm and an ax flew through the air. The boy fell, the ax embedded in his skull.
The girl screamed and screamed.
Fire lit the sky. The killing went on.
It was all senseless.
I sat on my mount, trembling.
This was a victory. I was meant to take the news of it to the king. Pendrath was triumphing over the enemy scourge in Tintagel.
But to call this a triumph was a perversion. How could this be victory when such brutality was used against defenseless peasants and priestess girls?
Torches were thrown onto the small thatched roof of the temple and it erupted in flames.
Lastly, I watched as a pyre was erected in the center of the village. The king had decreed that Tintagel would be made an example of for daring to join Lyonesse in such defiant rebellion. Rebellion of what, I now wondered? We were not Tintagel’s masters. Were they not a free kingdom?
Of course, the worst would be saved for traitorous Rheged. Rheged who had dared to withdraw its support after swearing it.
If we ever managed to get that far. I had my own doubts.
The girls in white robes were dragged to the pyre.
Mumbling a prayer to the Three, I turned my mount away, my stomach churning, the smoke hoarse in my throat.
