Game of Truth: The Athronian Chronicles, Book 1

Kaston curled against the back of the wagon trying to settle his body down. Sweat rolled into his eyes and the stinging forced him to hold his neck cloth against them for several long heartbeats. Tragador cast frightened glances over his shoulder every safe moment he could. The Ghouls were on the road, following without slowing.

Kaston wrapped the neck cloth around his forehead and damp strands of flaxen hair, fought the unrelenting bounce of the wagon and pulled himself up to look out the back. As he squinted into the fog, he thought they had lost the Ghouls until the mist swirled a bit and reflected an unnatural pink hue. The pink faded further and further back as the wagon clattered down the road. Kaston took deep claming breaths knowing that they would make it in time to warn the people of Baniston.

"Those are bloody Ghouls," Tragador rasped as he pushed his team far beyond their accustomed pace.

Kaston glared at him. Some comments just didn't deserve a response. "We've got to get to Baniston before they do." His voice sounded unnaturally strained.

"And then what?" The farmer arched a shaggy eyebrow and glanced back at the young man.

Kaston leaned back against the rough timbers. The mixture of fog and sweat soaked his light cotton shirt, prickling his skin with chills. Everyone had to be warned, but that wasn't enough to stop Ghouls. At least that's how the frightening fireside tales went. As far as he knew, Ghouls hadn't been seen in that district for centuries. His mind froze on the thought that he would warn Baniston and it wouldn't matter.

The change in the sound of the horses' hooves against the road jarred him out of his chilled reverie and alerted him that they had made it to the cobblestone road of the village. He crawled to the rough seat and pulled himself up to stand behind Tragador.

"Ghouls are coming! Here! Now!" he shouted as hard and loud as his emotion-strained voice allowed.

Curious heads popped out of second floor windows of the tidy stone buildings that lined the major street of Baniston. Shopkeepers sweeping their tiny front stoops before opening for business looked at him with mild surprise. No one showed panic. This kind of alarm was so foreign to them that they assumed it was a youthful prank. Tragador swept his fury-filled eyes around him and yelled, "Get to the Banish Hall Grounds! Ghouls are on top of us!"

That did it. Tragador was a respected farmer. All at once panicked villagers flowed into the streets. Brooms, breakfast and all things that were important only heartbeats before were for- gotten. Not accustomed to panic, the people of Baniston moved in dazed, quiet shock. Only later did fear overtake when they were behind the one high stone wall in the village. The wall that protected the Banish Hall.