Chapter Four #3
As soon as the last skeleton is cut down, Moss immediately—and predictably—rushes to kneel next to the bird. “Hello, darling,” she croons. “Really saved my butt back there, didn’t you, sweetie pie?”
As most animals tend to do in Moss’s presence, the vulture warms up to her quickly, slitting its eyes and pressing its wrinkly bald pink head into her palm. It makes a disconcerting hissing sound that Sindra thinks means it’s happy.
One of the figures from the tree—the one with the bow—drops to the ground, and as the woman’s hood falls to her shoulders, Sindra sees dark hair framing a young face made older by dark circles under her eyes.
They crinkle with mild amusement upon seeing Moss.
“Have you made a new friend, Lord Gullet?” she asks.
At the sound of his name, the vulture flaps his wings twice before perching at the woman’s side.
Sindra has met rangers like her. Their connection with nature might not be as intimate as Moss’s, but a few of them respect the wild world enough to bond with animal companions who will fight at their side and obey their commands.
“Hello!” Moss pants as she stands. “Thank you for your help, all of you. I don’t know what we would have done without…” She releases a shaky sigh. “I don’t know.”
The older human does not turn to face her, not immediately.
Not until he completes a full survey of the land around them to ensure that every undead has been dispatched.
Only then does he regard Moss silently. His features are like a rough-hewn rock face, weathered and ragged, framed by overgrown hair that reaches past his shoulders. His brow sits low over clear gray eyes.
After a beat of quiet, Moss tries again. She sticks out her hand. “I’m Aramoss. Moss, for short. This is Sindra.”
“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says flatly.
A beat of tense silence passes between them. The ranger is the first to break it.
“I’m Officer Vera Ward, and this is my father, Captain Antoni Ward.
You caught us on patrol.” Her features are younger and more refined, but there are echoes of the older man in her own gray eyes and dark hair—though his has gone more salt than pepper.
Her expression is tinged with curiosity, but wariness lingers in the way she holds her bow loosely at her side.
“My father is right, though,” she says. “They should have stopped you at the border.”
“They tried,” Sindra says bluntly. “So we found another way around.”
“But why?” Vera asks, bewildered. “Moros is dangerous to outsiders, as you quickly discovered. Why come?”
Moss presses her palms together and offers a tentative, anxious smile. “We came to help.”
Antoni looses a derisive snort, and a new voice joins the conversation.
“To help!” There’s a high-pitched hoot of a laugh. “Your skull must be as empty as these if you came all this way just to help.” A bald halfling dressed in dark clothing approaches, shaking a skull teasingly in Moss and Sindra’s direction. There are two more tucked in the crook of his elbow.
“Mortimer…” Vera sighs, her tone one of resigned amusement.
The halfling—the last member of our rescue party, Sindra assumes—waves her off and fixes his stare on Sindra and Moss, his violet eyes wide with interest behind the thick lenses of his glasses.
The dark leather spellbook holstered at his hip marks him immediately as a wizard, while his black-and-gray robes and the skulls hint at his specialty: necromancy.
His sardonic grin is bright against his immaculately styled black mustache and goatee.
“Come, now. Why are you really here?” he huffs. “You don’t look the altruistic sort.”
Sindra pauses, and her fingers toy with Brightmorn’s hilt. If you’ve something to say, now would be a good time. Shall we trust them with your quest? Do you even care, or was it all a dream?
The blade’s silence rings in her ears.
Moss’s eyes flash to the sword, then to Sindra.
Sindra quickly shakes her head, but internally, she sighs.
She’s not about to try to persuade this group of strangers about the sword’s chatter when she can’t even convince herself she didn’t imagine it.
The broken magic sword hardly matters, anyway—it’s not the only reason she and Moss have journeyed this far. It’s not even the most important one.
“Honestly, I would love nothing more than to go back,” Sindra says. “But whatever is sucking the life from your kingdom is beginning to do the same to ours.”
Vera inhales sharply, and Antoni’s eyes go wide. Mortimer looks up with undisguised interest.
“We slayed a dragon yesterday that came back to life after we killed it,” Moss says, her voice tight with emotion.
“And on our journey here, we saw how the borders are changing. Morphing. My enclave—our home—sits not a day’s journey from the edges of Moros.
I will not let it spread, and I will not leave until I’ve figured out what’s going on. ”
“Let us help,” Sindra insists. “Maybe we can fix what happened here.”
Silence settles around the party. Vera is the first to break it. “Not what,” she says quietly. “Who.”
“Who?” Sindra snaps. “Someone did this?”
Vera licks her lips. “Prince Vadrien Ashe,” she spits, her tone acidic with hatred.
“He killed our king and stole the throne for himself. We tried to fight back, but the dark magic he wields is too powerful. The land withers, and the sun itself hides from him. Every soldier we lose rises again to fight for his cause. He drains the life from our kingdom to fuel his power and cement his control. A few more years of this, and I fear nothing living will be left.”
“How?” Moss asks. “I’ve never met anyone with enough power to affect so much in so short a time. What is he? A devil? A lich?”
“Worse,” Vera says bitterly. “A vampire.”