The sky was gray and overcast. Even at noon, the sun was nowhere to be seen.
The martial law and public executions of the past few days had done nothing to dampen the festive mood. Candles or windproof oil lamps stood outside every shop along the streets, waiting to be lit at moonrise to guide the souls of loved ones home.
Perly and Renato sat on a bench beside a street in the inner city, sharing a small bag of dried apples they had just bought.
The dried fruit was brown and shriveled, but it offered a rare hint of sweetness.
"When I was little, we dried apples every autumn," Perly said indistinctly as she chewed. "I picked up the apples, and Mom cut them into even rounds and laid them out on straw mats to dry."
"In winter, all we had was pea mush or wheat porridge. It always tasted earthy and was awful to eat. Sometimes Mom would add a piece of dried fruit to the porridge... Back then, that felt like pure happiness."
Today, the little mage had traded her usual black mage robe for a thick, dark blue woolen dress with a white cotton shawl.
Renato leaned back against the bench and said:
"Your mother must have loved you very much, Perly."
"Maybe. But I think she loved money more."
A jumble of footsteps sounded in the distance as the festival procession approached. People began gathering along both sides of the street, and Renato and Perly stood up to watch.
The procession drew nearer. Its members wore old-fashioned, patched militia uniforms and carried crude weapons, mostly short spears, woodcutter's axes, and hunting bows.
The old man at the head of the procession had a hunched back and wore a tattered, bloodstained surcoat. He held a badly