I don’t know what sort of dark necromancy is afoot, but that thing is clearly not a member of the living.
“What the Skyhold…” Natasya breathes just as the horse snorts and takes off after us, bringing its headless rider closer. I whirl, grabbing Natasya’s arm as I race past her.
“Run,” I say, and since she doesn’t seem to react quickly enough, I yank on her arm again. “Run!”
Natasya whips her head around and takes off after me. I don’t let go of her arm though. I hope somehow, I’m propelling her faster as I race toward the tree line where I saw Brom.
Behind me, I can hear the pounding of hooves and the heaving breaths of the steed.
The rider, however, is eerily silent.
I duck my head under a branch as we break through the tree line. I don’t slow my pace at all. These trees won’t stop the horseand its rider, but they can slow them down. And in the process offer us some cover. I don’t know where Brom went, but I hope that he has gotten himself to safety.
I don’t know what this headless rider wants, or rather what the necromancer that raised him wants, but I don’t intend to stick around and find out.
I’ve already been held against my will by one necromancer too many today. I can barely believe that I’m still alive after discovering who Natasya really is, and I have no intention of testing my luck. Just because I somehow found the only non-bloodthirsty necromancer in all of Ruskhazar does not mean that I’ll survive a second necromancer. Indeed, I fully expect I wouldn’t.
And for that matter neither would Natasya. Necromancers do not tend to get along together. They see themselves as each other’s rivals.
They are power hungry creatures and they do not like to see someone else wield that power as well.
A branch snaps against my cheek as I push toward the deepest parts of the forest. But I can’t help but wonder how long we can keep this up. Natasya and I are both breathing hard. If not for these trees, the headless rider would have caught us already.
Just as I’m thinking this, Natasya tugs on my arm.
“There,” she says, gasping out the word.
I turn my head to see that she is pointing to an old half rotten oak tree. Its roots are twisted and gnarled and form a slight hollow underneath the tree.
I slip in fallen leaves as I veer off course, heading toward the tree. I release Natasya’s arm as we reach the tree. I turn glancing around wildly as she drops to her knees and crawls in ahead of me.
I can hear a whinny and it’s close. I drop into the hole. I’m not entirely sure how I managed to contort myself to fit in thespace, especially with Natasya there, or how I managed to do so as quickly as I did.
I likely scraped myself in several areas and I just haven’t processed the pain yet, but at the moment, my world has narrowed down to the measure of my attempt to control my breaths.
Natasya pressed up against me, her chest is against my arm and I can feel her heart hammering against her ribcage like a frightened bird’s wings.
The roots wrapped around us hopefully offer us enough shelter.
The black hoof stepped into view only a stone’s throw from where we are hiding now.
I hear the sliding sound of a sword being pulled from its sheath and suddenly a blade lowers in front of us, hanging beside the hoof.
It’s an old blade, broken and bent, but still sharp enough to cut and already stained in dried blood.
Natasya shrinks into my side, and unthinking, I wrap my arm around her shoulder, holding her close.
Suddenly, I hear a twig snap a short distance away. The horse snorts and then in a thunder of hooves it is gone bearing its rider and that bloody blade away with it.
“That’s my papa,” Natasya says in a proud whisper.
The ghost harrumphs reminding me that he’s still there.
I push up, poking my head out of the burrow. Natasya grabs my arm, yanking me back.
“What are you doing?” she hisses. “It’s still out there.”
“And so is Brom,” I say as I crawl out of the hole. Whatever is happening here at this mass grave, I intend to find him before that horseman does.
