18
The morning sun, shining bright in a beautiful, blue sky, was almost enough to make Kalia forget about everything that had happened the night before. A procession of thousands followed a dirt road on the southern outskirts of New Beloran, making their way westward.
Mothers carried young children; boys just shy of manhood walked with their heads down. Some wore fine clothing of silk or cotton. Others wore overalls and work shirts. Some were still in their bedclothes. They were young and old, dark and light, people from all walks of life. And they plodded along like condemned criminals on their way to the headsman.
Life was starting to creep into the fields on either side of the road, yellow grass turning green with the onset of spring. Birds fluttered about; squirrels carried nuts bac
