The High-Wizard's Hunt - By Ashley Delay Page 0,12
followed the tentative, young Vigile as he led them along the walkway. Osric felt a rush of fear and concern as he observed the people all around him. The workers moving to and from the rubble carried themselves in a hopeless, half absent manner. Osric searched for, but failed to see, a single head held up with pride as they labored tirelessly in the twilight. Unfortunately, he doubted that their hopes would be rekindled in the near future. Although he hoped that the corruption did not extend far into the leadership of Stanton, Osric still felt apprehensive about trusting anyone other than Toby and James.
As they crossed over the path leading to the palace, they could just make out the sound of crumbling rock being joined into slabs for the walls by Stone-Melders. One large man caught Osric’s gaze as they approached. His dirty and tattered clothing hung from his frame. He sat against a tree alongside the path sipping water, and the soulless, tired stare shocked Osric, bringing him to a stop. The face of every man sitting on the matted grass was blanketed in despair. The big man stared blindly back at him, his entire body covered with dust and grime. His feet were bloodied from the holes worn through his boots, and seeping, swollen wounds were visible through several tears in his clothing. The crusty heel of a loaf of bread hung limply in his right hand. As though eating were an afterthought, he looked down at his hand and his eyes drifted closed. As his head sagged, the crust of bread rolled onto the ground near Osric’s feet and a low snore began to rumble from his chest. The man’s hair was matted to his tear-streaked face, and it seemed months or more since he last bathed. His left hand was clasped tightly into a fist at his side, white knuckled and clutching a lone, white daisy.
A chill ran up Osric’s spine as he realized he knew the man. He was hard to recognize without a nearby anvil, and the typical black leather apron was nowhere to be seen, but he knew the man. He was Macgowan, one of Stanton’s best blacksmiths. His wife, Kauna, whom he called Daisy after her favorite flower, had worked in the wash facilities in the palace. Osric had seen them many times stealing kisses as they walked hand in hand on the street. Macgowan walked his wife to work every day, whispering in her ear.
Her cheeks seemed to glow as they made their way through town, seeing no one but her devoted husband as he accompanied her on her walk. Kauna would run with a skip in her step, humming a tune and smiling, as she hurried to his shop to watch him finish his work every day.
A man as large and intimidating as Macgowan was rarely as affectionate; his muscled arms, massive frame, and rough, calloused hands turned tender when he closed his shop for the night and embraced his wife. Every man envied Macgowan, and every woman, Kauna. Osric could only assume the cause of his grief was the loss of his beloved, and he was sure he would know others that had lost loved ones in the attack. I grieve with you, friend. I know she was everything to you, Osric turned his head, unable to see someone so dear to Stanton changed forever.
Osric stopped abruptly in the middle of his stride and looked up at his escort. His uniform was neatly pressed with none of the grime that covered the exhausted, saddened workers nearby. Osric knew he could do nothing at that point to right the Vigiles’ failure to protect their loved ones, and he felt guilt weighing on his conscience. He couldn’t have done anything to stop the explosion, but he could do something to help the people.
“Dru,” he spoke sternly enough to get his attention, but not loudly enough to disturb Macgowan’s sleep. Dru turned with a quick, nervous jerk to meet his gaze.
“Yes, Contege?”
“Toby is in his temporary office, correct?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“We can find our own way to him. I want you to gather half of the Vigiles on guard duty and see to the needs of these men here,” Osric said, motioning with his head in the direction of Macgowan and those gathered around him in the grass.
“Sir,” Dru looked at the group anxiously, “there are hundreds of people like this in Stanton lately. They make the guards uncomfortable. All they do is