Krystal leaned against the wall with her head in her hands. “How can he be gone?” she wailed. “I’ll never get him back!”
Maston rubbed her shoulder. “Hey, hey,” he murmured awkwardly. “It’ll be all right. We’ll find him.”
“How?”
Now he paused. He really had no idea; it just seemed like the right thing to say. “Well, think about it…Where would they take him?”
“To be hanged?”
He hadn’t considered that kind of ‘gone’. Maston took Krystal’s arm and guided her back outside. “Well, let’s check!” In an instant he swung her smoothly back into the saddle, and they galloped hastily to the town. When they reached the gallows that blotted out the sun, never empty these hard days, he reined up and scanned the dangling bodies. Some were old and rotting, others fresh, their faces still pallid blue, eyes bulging.
Krystal leaned away and retched. Maston’s stomach churned, but he forced himself to examine each corpse, searching for golden hair and bright clothing.
“Not a pretty sight, is it?” muttered a sailor as he passed by. “Each sunset there’s more. The guards force the people to watch.”
“Were these people all named traitors?”
“No. Most of ‘em are thieves. Traitors…They always get shipped out. Nobody really knows where, the guards won’t tell us much. Some think it’s to one of the big cities, y’know, for a real trial. We saw one get taken out just this mornin’, couple o’ hours afore sunrise.”
Maston whispered to Krystal, “So he’s still alive.”
“Do you know which way?” she rasped to the sailor. “Toward Falador, or toward Draynor?”
The scruffy man shrugged apologetically. “Couldn’t say. Nobody followed them out – Last time someone tried, they say, the guards cut him down. For sport, they said. Now most people just try and avoid ‘em.” He frowned, then. “Pardons, but I’ve got to get back to me work.”
24-Jun-2007 21:16:02
- Last edited on
24-Jun-2007 21:16:39
by
Crystal Smee
