Free Chronicles of Gilderam: Book One: Sunset by Kevin Kelleher Page B

out of here. I’ve got a bad feeling about this place. We’ll have to make repairs in New Gresad.”
     
     
    Along the way back to Gilderam , traffic in the street dwindled until, eventually, there was no one left in sight. The periodic roaring of a nearby crowd told them that something was underway at the cathedral, and from the sound of it the entire population of Erand was in attendance.
    The deafening clatter of feet, hooves and buggy wheels pounding the cobblestones earlier was replaced by the lonely footfalls of the eight travelers pattering along the empty avenues. The change in atmosphere made the hair on the back of Pawl’s neck stand on end. The group hurried across abandoned boulevards and down quiet alleyways, impatient to return to the safety of their waiting vessel.
    Their route back to the hotel Vavishna led them across a wide street, and down one end of it they saw the edge of a crowd. They were cheering something loudly, almost riotously, but faced the other way. Whatever caused the ruckus remained a mystery to the wary visitors, who rushed quietly to the other side of the street.
    “I think we’re nearly there,” said Shazahd. “Should be just around this….”
    They followed her around the corner of an office building and stopped dead in their tracks. An overturned carriage lay directly before them. The horses that drew it were dead on the cobblestones. Shop windows were shattered along both sides of the street, and goods from inside were spilled and broken all around.
    “ Threithumé! ” Cavada gasped.
    “By the Sledge of Sor’nan…” said Galif.
    The rioters responsible were just a few blocks away, smashing windows and kicking in doors, shouting and cursing. Just down the street, on the other side of the chaos, was the bridge that would lead them to the hotel Vavishna.
    “Come on!” said Owein, and pulled the group onward through the wreckage.
    Whatever had taken place at the cathedral was now over. The proclamation had been made, and crowds were dispersing throughout the city as violent mobs.
    Teams of young men, like the one they had confronted earlier, rampaged with swords drawn, screaming about the monarchy or the Church. They threw their fists in the air, calling for allegiance to the gods or the Empress. Owein, Gor’m, Fulo and Cavada formed a shell around the others and shuttled them through and around the rioters. The threat of their drawn weapons kept the locals at bay.
    At the crest of the bridge that crossed the Vulc Muri, a Terical priest in a white alb stood on the parapet professing to a small gathering. His sermon was spirited, and he spoke of the arrogance of the Empress and the rashness of her decision to go to war. In the calculated lulls of his speech, his audience cheered their affirmation.
    The bridge wasn’t small, but Owein led the convoy as near to the opposite side as possible anyway. More people on the banks of the river, attracted by the booming rants of the priest, wandered closer. As they crept innocuously by, the priest became suddenly hushed.
    “…the price of disobedience is oblivion, my brothers,” he preached. “It is clearly written in the Book of Teric that the gods…” and he trailed off. The swelling crowd was enraptured, waiting with bated breath for the next word.
    But there was none.
    The priest’s eyes were locked on Owein, tracing his progression over the arc of the bridge. His mouth hung open, and his finger hovered meaninglessly in the air. It was as though his mind had been erased mid-sentence.
    “You…” he breathed at last. His finger followed Owein along the bridge. “ You! ” this time he shouted it. “Owein Maeriod!”
    Every head whipped around, and Owein froze.
    They were all looking at him.
    For the first time in a long time, Owein didn’t know what to do. He felt paralyzed by the staring faces. Now the priest seemed to have found himself again, and he gestured deliberately in Owein’s direction. His eyes were glowing