“Please help us!” a woman cried, holding the body of a dead infant whose skin had turned as black as if it had come out of the ashes of a fire.
Lucius held his breath as the smell careened with his senses, as if they had ridden into a wall of decay.
It seemed that each person was sicker than the last, those who were less sick having had the strength to push their way to the front of the small mob.
“Stay back!” Lucius said, the fear of plague overcoming him for a moment. “We mean you no harm!”
“Let us pass!” Dagon said.
Beneath the cowl of his cloak, Einion’s eyes were wide and watery. The state of his people’s lives was like a dagger to his gut then, and he knew he had let them down waiting so long to return. He had failed his family, his duty, by not killing his uncle on the day of h
