Page 37 of Immortal Origins (Chronicles of the Immortal Trials #1)

A mbrose wasn’t sure what to expect when they reached Cidaer, but the barred gate and fortified town walls that rose high above their heads weren’t it.

Two guard keeps towered above the walls and trees, one to the east and one to the west, housing guards in each who eyed anyone that approached.

Travelers from all over were arriving and formed a line as they waited for their turn to enter the town.

Two of the Imperial Guard stood at attention, one on either side of the entrance as beings filed in one at a time.

“Stay alert,” Felius warned, his broad, stocky shoulders tense.

It took a moment to see the draconians that lined the inner walls of the city.

So dense, it was difficult to see the wall through their scaled bodies as they watched the crowd through yellow eyes.

Their presence only seemed to slightly disturb the people of the town, though, the number of them highly disturbed Ambrose. Not even the palace had this many.

She took comfort in the fact that while life in the village continued on with only some sideways glances at the draconians, Felius was just as unsettled as she was.

His eyes darting from each half-dragon while his dominant hand flexed on the handle of his battle axe.

There had to be a story there and she couldn’t help wondering what it was.

Everyday citizens, as far as she knew, had nothing to worry about from the draconians.

They were lap dogs of the kingdoms and yet, seeing this many congregated at post, was highly unusual.

As they passed through the gates and could get a good look at the town and its people, it became quickly apparent that Felius and Ambrose weren’t the only ones on edge.

Townspeople shuffled through the streets, eyes turned down without speaking much to each other.

Shops had very little people in them and some were even boarded up as though someone had left in a rush.

Broken pieces of pottery and glass littered the street as people mindlessly stomped them into smaller pieces.

“What happened here?” Podara asked as a crimson-cloaked figure brushed past her.

Ambrose stepped into the crowd that moved around her like mindless animals being herded along. “I don’t know.”

Maybe this was normal. She’d never been outside the Capital, not really. Maybe this was what the larger towns and cities in the kingdom were like. She wondered, but she didn’t believe it.

Sounds of a commotion came from the center of the courtyard and the crowd hurried towards the noise to see what was going on. Ambrose pushed her way through, her own curiosity getting the better of her.

“Raia!” A boy who couldn’t have been older than sixteen—still just a juvenile—was being restrained by two crimson-cloaked men as he kicked and thrashed against them.

In the center of the courtyard, another robed figure stood on a raised platform over a bound girl with red hair. Tears streamed down her face as she stared at the crowd, pleading for help. Draconians stepped forward, encasing them as the townspeople watched the display in horror.

The robed figure raised a hand, tattoos wound their way from the back of it, up his arm, and into his sleeve. “Ladies and gentlemen. Citizens of Eltoria. Before you is a criminal of the worst breed…”

The robed mage stepped aside as more crimson-cloaked figures climbed onto the platform and stacked a large wooden post standing upright onto it.

They started to place dried grass and straw around the base in a large pile as a pit sank into the depths of Ambrose, her heart racing.

She looked around at each terrified face as they watched in stone silence.

She turned to Akadian and the rest of her party who shared either her confusion or fear.

“Raia Greymouth, third of her name, citizen of Eltoria, turned sixteen today.” The mage glared down at her with disgust. “And she has failed to receive her calling.”

People in the crowd shifted uncomfortably, one woman even sobbed hysterically, but no one moved otherwise.

Was this a trial? Where was the Magistrate? Who were these men and why wasn’t this trial being overseen by the Enforcers? Servants lined the edges of the stage, heads bowed, wrists and ankles cuffed.

The figure continued, his pale face and tattooed forehead shining against the red contrast of his hood. “For this crime…”— Wait, since when is being an Unclassified a crime?— “Is death.”

The boy screeched and tore at those restraining him like a feral animal. He screamed and cried her name as the cloaked figures hoisted the girl to her feet, tied her to the post, her tears staining her tunic as they did so. Her screams reached to the heavens but none of the gods were listening.

Ambrose looked frantically at Akadian who stared in shock. Being Unclassified wasn’t a crime, he could order these men to stand down with one word—

“Stop!” Ambrose was surprised when the word tore desperately from her own throat. Someone from behind clasped a hand over her mouth before the sound could escape her lips just as one of the cloaked mages thrust a hand towards the girl and she burst into horrible screams and flames.

Ambrose fought whoever held her back as she watched the girl writhe and the townspeople turned their heads to the ground in somber silence.

Someone had to save her. She was innocent.

Being born without Magick wasn’t inherently a crime, she couldn’t control how much Mana she had. She was just a girl .

“Please, there’s nothing you can do, this isn’t the place.” Someone whispered with a broken voice in her ear. She couldn’t see his tears but she heard them. Her own spilled tears down her cheeks as the girl stopped thrashing and fell limp on the post.

“That wasn’t a trial,” Ambrose sobbed. “That was murder .”

Akadian seethed beside her, muscles tense as his charge cut through the air and he started to approach the tattooed figures. A wrinkled hand reached out and grabbed his arm. “Please, Your Highness. Not here. Not now.. It will only make things worse.”

Ambrose turned to see a stout farmer with a white beard, wrinkled face and eyes that reflected both joy and sadness. “Who are you?”

“The name’s Artie Rowe.” He pulled a cap from his head and bowed slightly as he faced her.

“I’m a friend of a friend. I was told you might be passing through this way and was asked if I could take care of you all.

I’m sorry you had to witness that.” Artie turned towards Akadian and nodded respectfully. “Your Highness.”

The boy that had been calling the girl’s name had broken free and was on his hands and knees at her charred feet. His shoulders rose and fell in silent sobs as the robed figures pulled her body down and tossed it onto a cart. The cruelty of it made Ambrose want to vomit.

“What is going on?” she asked furiously.

“I’ll explain later, I promise,” Artie told them in a hushed tone.

“I can’t talk here. If you lot don’t have anywhere to stay tonight, might I offer my barn?

I can explain more later. Meet me at the Traveler’s Tavern, it’s off the main street and down an alley to the left.

My daughter works there, she’ll make sure you’re cared for in the meantime. ”

Ambrose opened her mouth to protest but Akadian placed a hand on her shoulder. “There’s nothing you can do for her now.”

“Of course you don’t care,” she bit out and was surprised to see her words actually wound him.

Akadian took his hand from her shoulder. “There’s nothing to do. It’s done.”

Artie glanced at them, his face set with deep, worried wrinkles. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

Podara huffed from behind them, anger etched into her features as she forced her way through the crowd that was already dispersing as the townspeople resumed their mindless shuffling. “I need a drink.”

* * *

The Traveler’s Tavern was dimly lit with firelights along the wooden walls.

Almost every table was full of beings aside from two, only one of them with enough room for Ambrose and her friends.

A crew of sailors that could only have been pirates—although, admittedly, Ambrose had never met a pirate—occupied more than three long dining tables, elbow to elbow.

Gods, were they loud.

They drunkenly slammed their fists on the table as they roared with laughter. Stuffing their faces as grease from the bird they devoured ran down their mouths and they did nothing to clean themselves, only stuffed their faces further.

There were rumors around the palace of pirates. Ambrose had only heard stories—and who knew if they were even true—of a pirate queen with the force of a thousand ships and their captains at her command. A queen who could control the sea itself.

Ambrose caught the eye of a burly man with an unkempt black beard and the hair to match under a leather hat adorned with a bright red feather and a decorated curved sword at his side.

A scar cut halfway down his face from brow to lip and unlike Podara’s, this wound had claimed his eye, an eye patch in place where it used to be.

He wore many silver chains around his neck and rings as well—one in particular with a giant aquamarine stood out among them.

His lips curled up into a smile and revealed that even two of his teeth matched the silver on his hands and neck.

She quickly looked away and wondered if that was one of the captains she’d heard legends about.

To her surprise, two draconians sat at a table, sharing a pint between themselves.

When they saw Akadian walk in, they rose from their seats, placed a closed fist over their hearts and bowed.

Aside from the half-dragons, no one else bowed to the prince as their group took their seats at a table.

It didn’t surprise Ambrose to see draconians, it did surprise her to see them…

relaxing. Actually, it unsettled her but she did her best to ignore them.