Kurt Hanss: Cover art and website design
Sarah White: editor
The drifting snow gusted up and around twenty young men. They had been pulled from their homes by soldiers fighting for the monarchy. Taken because they resembled Francois Mond, the architect of the rebellion.
Francois Mond himself had heard only that one of his young friends had been arrested, but when he followed the soldiers to the meadow just outside of the palace grounds, he saw his friend in the group in the swirling snow. He watched from a thicket as they were given spades and forced to dig a trench in the frozen soil. He bit his lip in frustrated horror as his childhood friend and the others were bayoneted, quietly, and shoved into the trench.
One soldier beat a young man to death with the spade as he attempted to crawl back out of his makeshift grave.
Francois turned away, clasping his hands over his eyes. He longed to kill Belfour's soldiers, but he was alone, without a weapon, and he was afraid. If they ever caught him, they would draw and quarter him. It was the punishment reserved for regicide, and his speeches alone had helped turn the common people against the Belfour family. He thought of all the royalty who had been hung because he had a way with the quick turn of a phrase.