The Domini saga 2

The road toward Warlock's Crypt climbs through wet grass and thornbush to an overgrown burial mound. Pale grave-fire rings a stranded caravan, its wagons and horses motionless beyond the cold flames.

Beside the mound stands Larloch the Shadow King, an ancient lich in layered black vestments, his skull crowned with tarnished iron and green witchlight burning in empty sockets.

A villager in mud-stained clothes, a young adult woman with a slight build, wind-tangled brown hair, and a pale green scarf kneels before him, shoulders trembling. Their ordinary shadow stretches across the grass, then jerks sideways while their body remains still.

Stone grinds beneath the kneeling figure. A seam circles the mound, widening as buried darkness exhales through the soil and pale fire bends toward the opening.

Behind the flames, a wagon driver, a middle-aged man with a broad build, weathered brown skin, a close-cropped beard, and a soot-dark coat shouts for help while the horses strain against their traces. The mound sinks another handspan, awaiting Kynes's response.

Kynes's words cut across the burial mound with measured force. The pale grave-fire bows inward, and the buried darkness stills beneath the stones.

The lich inclines his crowned skull. Green witchlight sharpens in his empty sockets, while the seam around the mound stops widening.

The kneeling villager raises her face, hope breaking through the terror in her eyes. Behind her, the caravan's horses quiet as the cold flames settle.

The question strips the ritual grandeur from the mound. Even the grave-fire lowers, as though the buried dark itself waits for the lich's answer.

The driver goes pale behind the wagon rail. The kneeling villager turns toward him, her scarf snapping in the cold wind as his silence becomes an accusation.

The demand carries across the caravan with unnatural weight. Wagon Driver releases the wagon rail and steps into the pale grave-fire, boots sinking slightly in the wet grass.

He stops several paces from Kynes, hands raised and empty. His weathered face glistens with sweat despite the cold, and his eyes keep darting toward the sealed mound.

The driver's face drains of color. Kynes's threat settles over the caravan, heavier than the cold, while the grave-fire gutters toward the mound.

He spins toward the wagon and drops to one knee. Before any count can finish, he reaches beneath the driver's seat and drags out a black iron lockbox crusted with mud.

The driver sets the box on the wet grass between them and backs away, palms raised. A dull pulse answers from inside, and the mound's buried darkness stirs once beneath the stones.

Larloch extends one skeletal hand. The lockbox rises from the grass and drifts to him as the grave-fire withdraws from the wagons, leaving only damp smoke.

The horses surge forward, dragging the wagons clear of the mound. The driver bows repeatedly while the villager scrambles aboard, her pale green scarf streaming behind her.