"Lad?" Vilon called, without turning, his eyes mesmerized by what he was seeing.
"Yes ser?" Owen replied, his voice pitched as high with wonder as Vilon had ever heard it.
"Have you ever been to Yarzat?The capital I mean."
"Never, ser. It was the village head's son that was always sent to deliver our produce for sale at the capital's market. I never set foot outside my village until I marched off for the king." He turned toward Vilon, a sheepish look crossing his face. "I fear I won't be much help as a guide."
Not that anyone could have been, with the sheer chaos that greeted them. Along the road from the Magna Strata, Vilon had heard travelers dubbing the whole affair the greatest tournament the South would ever see. And while Vilon hardly had the knowledge to deny that claim, nor to confirm it, there was one thing he could not deny in the slightest.
Many were those who clearly believed it true.
