Rancewyn's Dragon by Mike Richmond

Author:Mike Richmond [Richmond, Mike]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781727387872
Published: 2018-11-30T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 25

Landon Carthage had been waiting hours for the knock on his door, which finally came near midnight. He quickly gobbled the last bite of soup-soaked bread and pushed away from his kitchen table. Cursing the aches of his fifty-seven-year-old knees, he ambled to the door and pulled it open.

“They’re ready,” said Exeter Samson, standing just outside.

“Finally,” said Landon. “All are now awake?”

“Yes.”

“And the other one has been brought to them?”

“Yes. Just earlier. I came straight here from there.”

“No more trouble from him, I trust.”

“No. Twelve men accompanied him, including myself.”

“Hmmm. Tough brute, that one.” He turned and walked back to the table. “Allow me to get my things, and I’ll be right with you. He shrugged on a loose coat, collected a few items from his table, and stepped outside. “Lovely out tonight,” he said pulling closed the door.

“Good weather expected tomorrow, too,” said Exeter as they walked.

“Let’s hope it isn’t ruined by a quartet of grisly executions.”

Exeter chuckled. “You say ‘ruined,’ but others might consider it a good bit of entertainment on a lazy day.”

“Bloodthirsty wretches,” said Landon.

“The criminals get what’s coming to them,” Exeter countered.

“Of course,” said Landon. “Those who deserve death should get death. I have no quarrel with that. It is our manner of execution that troubles me. You know that. We’ve been having this argument for years.”

They walked along a narrow, winding path that cut through the densest part of the settlement. Dwellings were tucked into every allowable nook and cranny among the thick uprising of tall trees. Some homes were huts set on the ground. Others were grottos cut into slopes. Many more were intricate tree houses reached by rope ladders and connected by wooden bridges.

“Yes, and for all of those years I have been hoping to bring you around to logical thinking,” said Exeter.

“Logical?” scoffed Landon. “What is logical about being pounded to death by that monstrous pile of rocks cooked up by Gregor?”

“The logic is found in its deterrence,” said Exeter. “A kindly, quick death deters no one. But an ugly, painful one gives a would-be criminal pause before committing a crime.”

“Or so goes the theory,” responded Landon.

As they walked in darkness, their steps were guided by a pleasant pinkish-purplish glow that lined their path on both sides. The glimmer radiated at ankle height from the tiny leafs of morath clover, which had been planted along both sides of every path in Winstonia. The clover had replaced torches, which had to be lit every night – a monumental task that had required dozens of workers nightly. Morath, on the other hand, illuminated itself when night arrived. No one knew quite how, but the acceptable theory was that the clover leafs somehow absorbed ambient light that reached the forest floor during the day, then released it at night. And even though a sunny day above the tree canopy meant little to the people below it, they benefited at night with brighter-glowing morath along the pathways.

The opposite was true, too, of course. And

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