“Nice shot.” His grin widened and he nudged her aside to take his turn. Pride warmed her on this cool evening and she glanced at her brother for his reaction. “I can handle trouble.” Lysandra aimed her arrow at the target on a tree twenty paces away and let go. “You speak your mind far too much, little Lys.” “Hush,” Gregor warned, but he was laughing.
The chief was a liar and a thief who lived high and mighty at his compound, sucking back wine and food while the rest of us starved!” It was all just talk! It’s like they forget he taxed us all to death. “Honestly,” Lysandra grumbled to her older brother, Gregor, as they snuck out of their family’s cottage at twilight. “What will we do without him?” was a constant cry in the days and weeks that followed. They grieved a great man-a sorcerer who could touch magic and whom many in this land with no official religion thought of as a living god. The news of Chief Basilius’s murder spread swiftly, and villages throughout the land fell into a deep mourning.
Death cast a long shadow across the barren miles of Paelsia.
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