The market square of Split-Stone was packed with three thousand mountain freeholders. Just then, the bell of the stone chapel struck the tenth hour of the morning.
Beneath the shadow of the ancient stone Market Cross, an open-air court bench had been built from three massive heart-oak baulks laid across granite curbstones. Behind the bench sat High Circuit Magistrate Ronald, wearing the scarlet wool robes and ermine collar of the King’s Assizes. It was flanked by two armed court guards bearing the silver maces of royal power.
To the right of the bench stood Master Julian, Chief Trustee of the Dragon-Slayer Heritage Trust, with three silk-robed advocates from the High Bar of Bellwether and six heavily armed retainers wearing the Duke’s private livery. Julian was thirty-five, slender, with haughty high-born features, wearing a stitched doublet of black velvet bordered with silver marten fur. He looked at the gathered peasants with cold, high-born revulsion. He tapped his riding crop against his polished riding boots.
To the left of the bench stood Tomas Reed.
Tomas wore his worn charcoal-gray cart driver tunic, his ash pack frame resting on the flat stone slabs beside him. His left forearm was strapped in its buckled calfskin brace, resting against his ribs. Beside him stood Nessa Vale, her brass transit set up on the cobblestones. Captain Sile Rook, whose massive oak tall body-shield sat planted directly before the evidence table.
