Meramon’s lack of appreciation for my choice did not change today. I felt it unfair. Why couldn’t he take the throne? He was as fit to rule as I, if not even more so. He had Sasha for company and authority. He had skill with a blade and, with that, disciplined control over his body. I was thin and useless with anything but a quill.
Meramon had gathered all he wanted and glared at me strongly enough to wither a meadow of spring flowers. Intimara did not have her horse, though. Meramon spoke fondly of an ivory mare with a flowing mane and a gentle disposition; she must have been stolen by looters. So Intimara rode behind Meramon. She wore a thick hood and cloack even though it was a warm day. Sasha rode double with Eliana. She spoke for the first time today. Her voice was deeper than Eliana’s, and not gentle. She slurred some of her words. She spoke very little, and it seemed that she only spoke because Reyla was riding apart from her. Tim seemed amused.
We had Intimara, and there was nothing left for us in Kil’ead but echoes and a broken throne. I said we should follow the refugees along the road to see exactly where they were going. We took a couple of different roads on our way back toward the eastern gate, and on the second, victims of either muggers or murderers lay to one side, broken and bloody. One of them, a man, was almost naked. A broken sword lay beside his hand. A soldier, perhaps, or a guard. So much for the power and security of Brucia…
The road east was much emptier than it was two days ago. The crowds had thinned, and the only and few remaining people were stragglers. Brucia is thin on Brucians; they are scattered and fleeing. What happened to the Wyvern Lords? I haven’t seen any dragons here yet, but I’m sure the lords couldn’t have kept them out.