Blackwood - Dawn of Shadows

A large crowd had gathered by the time the boy arrived at the square. It seemed the king was in attendance. The royal guardsmen, clad in their baronial armour, lined the streets, glinting white and gold in the midday sun, and the imperial chariot stood stationed near the podium.

It was chaos. Commoners shouted and cursed, making obscene gestures whilst the gentry stood back, watching the scene from a distance as strays sneaked amidst the crowd, pocket-snatching.

Pushing his way through, the boy listened to the gossip.

“Who would’ve known?!” a heavyset woman exclaimed, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“That’s the thing with heretics!” another replied. “You can never tell them by their appearance!”

It can’t be, the boy thought, clinging to hope as he pressed forth.

And yet, as he neared the front of the crowd, squeezing past the gawking masses, what he saw made his blood curdle.

“No!” he cried.

A crew of men were laying kindling at the base of a pyre. Bound tightly to a stake at its heart was his mentor, benefactor and cherished guardian.