Talon the Black (Dragonwall Series # 1)

Chapter 36 - An Unexpected Request

Kastali Dun

Desaree and Jocelyn found Sarah just after sunset. Together they made their way to a vantage point right outside the keep's gatehouse. It was an ideal place to watch the start of the procession. Ranks had already formed as everyone assembled to watch Lord Cyrus travel through the city.

The warm summer air had not yet let up, and those carrying torches added to the heat. As if afraid to disrupt the mood, mourners cried soundlessly. Only hushed whispers could be heard as they floated through the orange glow. The speculation of a thousand onlookers created a sea of undertones that carried itself down the lines of progression where Cyrus would soon be carried.

Packed tightly in the crowd, Desaree, Jocelyn, and Sarah stood on their tiptoes to see over the heads of the other watchers.

"I have never seen this many gathered," Jocelyn whispered, eyes wide. It was true. She'd never taken part in a gathering of so many people.

She turned her gaze to where the main assembly was. From the gate, the parade would snake its way through the city until it reached the defensive walls. Outside Kastali Dun, there was a huge pyre constructed by the cryptons. In keeping with tradition, Cyrus's body would be burned by the fiery breath of the king himself. This was the way of the Drengr Fairtheoir.

Musicians had already formed ranks to take the lead. They stood motionless like statues, holding their instruments at the ready. Then, as if cued by her gaze, they began. A hauntingly sad tune echoed from the towering walls of the buildings that bordered the street.

The musicians began the march, pulling everyone else forward. The people in the crowd cast flowers onto the ground, covering the way for the procession. In that moment, the great sorrow permeating the air burst like an inflated pig's bladder, and the cries of many joined the heart wrenching tunes of the sad music. Grasping Sarah's and Jocelyn's hands, she gave each a reassuring squeeze.

"Here comes the king!" Sarah gasped. Indeed, the king had just come into sight. His proud form, heightened by the gold crown upon his brow, was difficult to miss. "Do not look directly at his face," Jocelyn warned, her voice hushed. "He will know."

She didn't dare!

The common rumor was that the king despised any attention brought about by his scarred face. In truth, his reputation was more frightening than the deep lines upon his skin. But she wasn't willing to take any risks.

They were unable to see much over the heads of everyone else, but Desaree saw the bier lifted by the cryptons who carried it. Cyrus rested atop. An ornate beaded cloth had been draped over him, hiding what lay beneath. Her eyes were drawn to the beauty of the rich beads that shimmered and sparkled. There must have been thousands sewn into place.

Flanking the bier were the king's five remaining Shields. The king walked in front, his head bowed in defeat. Like the crowd, these Drengr also wore steel gray—the color of a sad sky—with dragon head sigils embroidered just above their hearts.

She tried to get a better look at Lord Verath, pushing herself as high as her toes allowed. When she caught sight of him, her heart stuttered. His expression was hard and grim. It spoke volumes to how he felt, escorting his fallen comrade. All of the Shield's faces were that way—etched with grief.

Just as quickly as they came, they passed. The music died down, and the procession continued further into the city. She heaved a sigh. Most of the crowd trailed after, making its way down the street. With them went the sad cries. Her longing gaze followed after them.

"We'd better run along now," Sarah murmured, breaking the spell. "Tess will have a fit if we're late. Jocelyn? Will you be returning with us?"

"I think I'll continue with the procession," Jocelyn said, bidding them farewell.