Blade of Glass: The Prisoner
They came to kill a sinner. The cage’s iron presence rode at Geneve’s back. It was made of good Tresward Smithsteel; cold metal fingers waited to clutch their prize as it rode their creaky wagon. It knew how to carry prisoners better than she did. Two oxen pulled it with a trudging step. She rode her blue roan beside them as the cart made its trundling way toward Calterburry. She’d named the roan Tristan. He was young and eager for the road ahead, just like her. Vertiline said he prances too much, but that’s how Geneve liked it. Unaware of their grim duty, Tristan tossed his mane, harness jingling like silver bells. The noise made Israel turn. He led from the front atop a massive charger that looked like it could eat a man whole. Road dirt dusted his honey-brown skin Read More …