Page 3 of The Hollow King

The woman came again. This time with a pale dress that reminded me of grey skies before the storm followed. Another serf followed her and this time it was with food.

I could smell the roast pheasant, bread and vegetables. I glanced at the tray and my eyes widened when I saw the abundance of food. There was cheese and fruit.

It had been so long since I had eaten meat and fruit. Stale bread and cheese had been my staple in my husband’s house.

This was to be my final meal on this plane.

The Enchantress of the Souls would meet me this night and guide me to my mother.

I was prepared.

While I ate someone began to thread flowers through my hair and pleat it down my back. I almost laughed.

Did they want me to look pretty for their monster? Had they not seen my angry pink scar across my face?

The nobleman came to do a brief inspection. I saw the disgust in his eyes as he turned his back on me. He was glad to be rid of me.

I was led back to the cart.

This time my hands and legs were bound before I was placed in the cart. A procession followed me through their village. I heard the whispers. The gratitude to god that they would survive another year. Their crops would survive. Disease would not fester and claim generations of families.

I continued to stare at the darkening sky.

The cart climbed upward.

The people left.

A short while later, I saw skull after skull impaled on wood, sockets black and weathered smooth by years of wind.

I closed my eyes but the cart continued to jolt me, keeping me in this terrible nightmare unlike any other.

The cart drew to a halt.

I was thrown over a shoulder before being tossed to the ground. My head exploded in pain and darkness engulfed me.

This was not so bad.

Chapter 2

Varga

“Sacrifice arrived, Master,” Borin said before he backed into the shadows again.

“Transport it to the dungeon.”

“Borin string it up, Master?”

“Not yet. It is always better to terrify them slowly. Not rush and gorge on them, Borin. You should know this by now.”

I had a week to savour this kill. Cut by cut. One slow drip at a time.

He dropped to his hands and knees.

“I beg forgiveness, Master,” he cried before he began to beat his head on the stone floor.

I let out a slow breath and rolled the stiffness from my shoulders.

“You are forgiven,” I said, my voice low. “Clean the blood off the floor before you go.”