Exiled

Начало книги

Two men walked along a flagstone path. The drawn face of the taller one was partly concealed by his midnightblack, shoulder-length hair. The deep-blue robes he wore did little to conceal his lean build. With every word he spoke, striations in his jaw muscles contracted and relaxed. Despite being in his midteens, his concerned expression and the weariness in his eyes gave him the look of a much older man. To his left strode a man who looked as if he lacked the strength to stand let alone keep the pace at which he currently moved. He was bent over a rickety-looking wooden cane that threatened to break every time the man’s weight shifted, bowing the shaft slightly. His white hair was marbled with streaks of black-the last vestiges of his more youthful days. He wore purple robes beneath which wide shoulders and a well-fed midsection pulled at the clasps. His face was calm.

The path appeared endless. Dark moss grew in the joints between stones, softening the men’s steps. It was lined with tall rectangular columns that reached just above the tallest man’s head. To the right of the path, a crimson sun cast long shadows from each column and spilled blood-red light through each opening.

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