Bondsman Keller sat huddled amid the ruins or Brin, a cold rain chilling him to the bone. He was so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open. He swayed back and forth, his head jerking as he caught himself from slipping into a much-needed slumber. Near him slept the other defenders of the ruined village.
Lord Crase, their hated foe, was relentless. He attacked their position every night with skeletal infantry, then harassed them during the day with wolves. There was simply no way to rest and recover from wounds.
Keller had to stay awake on his watch. Since he was from the Fallen South, home of the Necromancer Lords, he had to fight twice as hard as anyone else to prove his value. The other defenders were all from the Northern Kingdom. In their eyes he was an expendable sell-sword. Still, the two silvers he earned each day were worth it. After a year or so he might have enough saved to free his soul from a necromancer’s curse. If he failed, well, his corpse might very well be one of the shambling forms sent against Brin.
As these thoughts ran through Keller’s troubled and weary mind, the shadows of the day grew long. Soon, the undead would come.
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