Chapter 9 The Cursed

CHAPTER 9

Galen and Lysandra merged with the throngs of people streaming into Valtoria, a bustling hub of commerce and trade that pulsed with vibrant energy. The city's narrow streets and alleys were lined with colorful market stalls, guildhalls, and warehouses, while the sounds of merchants hawking their wares, the clang of hammering on metal, and the aroma of exotic spices filled the air. As they blended into the crowd, Galen wore a nondescript black hoodie, pulling the cowl up to shadow his face, while Lysandra donned her traditional Amazonian attire, concealed beneath a black cloak with the hood drawn up. The city guards, accustomed to the constant influx of travelers and traders, barely gave them a second glance as they passed into the heart of the city.

As they navigated the crowded marketplace, searching for suitable horses, Lysandra'sgaze swept across the sea of faces. But her attention was soon drawn to the town square, where the market stalls seemed to be arranged around a central, ominous presence. A chill ran down her spine as she realized that the square had been transformed into an executioner's platform.

The air was heavy with anticipation, the crowd's murmurs and gasps punctuated by the clanging of swords and the creaking of wooden beams. Lysandra'seyes locked onto the gruesome spectacle, her mind racing with the implications. What kind of city was Valtoria, where executions were carried out in the midst of a bustling marketplace?

Galen, sensing Lysandra'sunease, followed her gaze to the executioner's platform. His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched in a mixture of anger and concern. What were they walking into? And what did this ominous display portend for their own fate?

Drums signaling the condemnation of a criminal began to beat, their ominous rhythm echoing through the marketplace. The crowd's murmurs grew louder, their faces filled with a mixture of morbid curiosity and bloodlust. Lysandra'sgrip on Galen's arm tightened, her eyes fixed on the platform where the condemned prisoner was being led.

A hooded figure, flanked by city guards, was dragged up the steps to the platform. The drums reached a crescendo, and the crowd fell silent, awaiting the announcement of the prisoner's crimes. Lysandra'sheart sank, her mind racing with the possibility that this execution might be more than just a coincidence. Could this be a warning, a demonstration of Valtoria's intolerance for those who didn't conform? As the hooded figure was led onto the raised dais, Galen found that he could not look away from the scene, gruesome though it might be. An executioner wielding a huge axe climbed up on the dais and rested the staff of the axe on the ground.

Another man, resplendent in opulent silks that shimmered in the sunlight, stepped onto a raised platform, commanding the crowd's attention. The extravagant fabric, woven with intricate patterns and threads of gold, was a testament to his wealth and status. Lysandra'seyes narrowed as she took in the sight; only one person in Valtoria could afford such finery – the city's mayor.

The mayor of Valtoria, a stout man with a commanding presence, wore a richly embroidered velvet cloak with intricate golden thread patterns, signifying his high office. Beneath the cloak, he donned a finely tailored doublet and hose in a deep, rich blue, adorned with delicate Silver trim. A heavy, ornate chain of office hung around his neck, bearing the symbol of Valtoria. On his head, he wore a fashionable hat with a tall, curved brim, adorned with a gleaming Silver brooch.

The mayor's voice rang out, his words dripping with malice. "For years, I've overseen Valtoria's prosperity, welcoming traders from far and wide without prejudice. But I have one unyielding rule: we will not harbor the Gifted. Those born with the Marks of the dead gods are Cursed, and we'll treat them as such. This man," he spat, "is guilty of bearing the Mark. His execution will serve as a warning: Valtoria has no place for the Cursed."

With a flourish, the mayor raised his hand, and the executioner's axe flashed in the sunlight. Lysandra forced herself to look away, but the sound of the blade biting into flesh was unmistakable. The mayor's smile was a cold, calculating thing as he stepped down from the platform, seemingly unfazed by the bloodshed.

As the crowd dispersed, Lysandra'sgrip on Galen's arm tightened, her voice barely above a whisper. "We need to get out of here – now. This city is a death trap." Galen's eyes locked onto hers, his nod urgent. "I couldn't agree more."

As they inspected the horses, a group of unsavory touts emerged from the crowd, their eyes fixed on Lysandra with a mixture of curiosity and lechery. Galen watched with narrowed eyes as the five of them approached, their swaggering gait and slurred words betraying their intoxication.

Lyria, oblivious to the impending trouble, continued to haggle with the merchant over the price of two fine horses. "Hello, beautiful," one of the touts slurred, grabbing Lysandra'sarm and spinning her around roughly.

Galen's eyes flashed with anger as he stepped forward, his voice low and even. "That's enough. Leave her alone." But the tout merely laughed, shaking off Galen's restraining hand.

With a sudden, unnatural display of strength, the tout shoved Galen with a meaty hand, sending him crashing into a nearby stall. The wooden frame splintered, and the canvas roof came crashing down, burying Galen beneath a tangled mess of wood and fabric.

The commotion drew a chorus of shouts and gasps from the surrounding crowd, and Lysandra'seyes snapped toward Galen, her face set in a fierce scowl.

Lysandra'svoice rang out in outrage as she yelled, "Galen!" Her eyes blazed with fury as she turned to the touts, her warning clear. "Leave now, and you might yet live."

The tout's chuckle died on his lips as Lysandra'sgrip closed around his arm like a vice. She twisted it into an unnatural angle, and his scream echoed through the marketplace.

As Lysandra released the tout, her gaze locked onto the remaining four, daring them to make another move. The touts exchanged uneasy glances, their bravado faltering in the face of Lysandra'sfierce display.

Galen emerged from the wreckage, his eyes blazing with fury – and orange flames. Forgetting the crowd, he unleashed two fireballs that struck the backs of two touts, sending them screaming to the ground.

Lysandra'sheart sank as she realized Galen's anger had sealed their fate. The tout's terrified scream cut through the air: "He's Gifted!"

Galen's eyes snapped back to normal as he took in the scene: the burning touts, the scattering crowd, and the approaching soldiers, their faces set in determined lines. The mayor's words echoed in Lysandra'smind: "We will not harbor the Gifted." And then, she knew they were in trouble.