Rebel Spring

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Death cast a long shadow across the barren miles of Paelsia.

The news of Chief Basilius’s murder spread swiftly, and villages throughout the land fell into a deep mourning. 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.

“What will we do without him?” was a constant cry in the days and weeks that followed. “We are lost!”

“Honestly,” Lysandra grumbled to her older brother, Gregor, as they snuck out of their family’s cottage at twilight. “He never showed any true magic. It was all just talk! It’s like they forget he taxed us all to death. The chief was a liar and a thief who lived high and mighty at his compound, sucking down wine and food while the rest of us starved!”

“Hush,” Gregor warned, but he was laughing. “You speak your mind far too much, little Lys.”

“I’m sure you have a point.”

“It’ll get you in trouble some day.”

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