The canter of three horses slowed to a trot as Volk and his men rode into Mossglen. They passed the market, heading for the temple by the lake. A priest appeared from its sacred walls, signaling the men with a raised hand. Their horses headed for the small path to the temple’s outer fence.
Volk released the reins of his horse, placing his left hand on its neck. The priest looked up at the man, shielding his eyes from the setting sun. The mare had a wavy black mane that had been meticulously brushed away from the eyes.
“Bravo, Grav.” Volk smiled. When he dismounted the priest noticed his right arm was missing. Volk continued to speak with a soft, caring tone, but it was in a language alien to the priest. He reached into one of the saddle bags, pulling out a small apple. He placed it into his mouth, chewing off a large chunk before placing the apple onto his shoulder. He used his cheek to hold it in place as he removed the chunk from his mouth, giving it to Grav. One of his men approached, holding a hand towards the apple. Volk shook his head, grabbing the apple and taking a bite for himself. He swallowed before speaking to the priest who had just crossed the fenced church grounds. His accent was light, but resembled pirinia blooming in the fields of the northern lowlands.
“I am Ser Volk, Seeker of the Dragonguard.” He said, stepping towards Nils.
“I am Father Nils, you stand before my sanctuary. I take it you saw the blast from Nizini?”
"Blast? What-” Volk was interrupted by Grav swinging her jaw into his shoulder, “What blast?”
"Happened last night. A girl was hurt; she’s in the church house."
“I knew nothing of this.” Volk said, “May I see her?”
“I doubt she’ll be able to speak in her condition. We had to leech venom from her body, she’s still recovering from the effort.” The priest stepped towards the temple. Volk followed, as did his men. When he crossed the threshold he put a hand at the base of his neck, bowing slightly. His men did not share in this small act of reverence.
“We have balms for her cuts and yarrow for the pain.” The priest replied, “Her father is watching over her.”
Volk turned to his men. A small wave of the hand kept them in the sanctuary as Volk followed the priest to the private rooms. He knocked on one of the doors, quietly opening it when he heard Arthur’s voice on the other side. The powerful scent of herbs came over the men as Nils opened the door.
“Arthur,” The priest called, “You have a visitor.”
The smith rested on the chair in the bed chamber, his head in his hands. Upon hearing his name, Arthur slowly looked up, spotting Volk and the men behind him. They wore black tabards bearing the silver dragon, but small accents that gave insight to the men’s origins. A Khadinan had a small sporran with a snakelike creature burned into the leather. The Alostian wore tartan trousers that peeked where the tabard ended and his boots began. A pendant bearing the silver blood of Anlun was tied to Volk’s right side, its leather cord interwoven with hemp. It was dainty, likely worn by a woman. Above it, layers of plate mail lined his ribs, and scale covered the stump his arm once sprouted from.
“I know what you’re here for, seeker.” Arthur said.
“You know what I am.” Volk’s voice lifted.
“I do.” Arthur stood up, facing the man as the priest quietly stepped away, “I wrote a letter to the Dragonguard a few days back. I assume you’re here for the todesspucker.”
Grief bled from Arthur’s eyes like resin from freshly cut cedar.
“My priorities have changed for the moment.” Volk spotted Viola laying in bed. Her breaths were surprisingly strong for how battered her body was, “The todesspucker did this?”
“Yes. I’ll tell you what I know, but… not here. She needs rest.” Arthur said. He adjusted Viola’s covers, speaking softly to her before leaving the room. The door shut with a defeated groan.
“There was an explosion. Big sweeping lights. They hovered in the air like smoke.” Arthur began, barely leaving time for Volk to speak.
“The spitters were just charred corpses when we got there. Some of them had knife wounds in the head and chest. It looked like…” Arthur strained, trying to think of anything remotely comparable. There was nothing else like it, “They were spit-roasted. We found Roy’s dagger and signs of struggle in the trees.”
“They’re attacking out of season.” Volk said, “Scarcity makes them bold. Likely not enough deer.”
“I’m not going to talk around the porridge with you.” Arthur said, “The todesspucker here behave unlike anything I’ve seen. They’re almost maddened.”
“You mentioned Roy. Was he a friend?”
“He was a new apprentice of mine. He was with Viola when-” Arthur inhaled, blowing air between his lips, “We couldn’t search for him. Viola was dying, if we lingered she wouldn’t make it.”
“I understand, as terrible as it is.” Volk said, “Had it been my daughter I would do the same. This boy; what does he look like?”
“He’s roughly chest height to me. Dark hair, greenish-brown eyes.”
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“Prior history of magic?” Volk stepped towards a fire sparked within the temple hearth. He pulled his glove off with his teeth, shoving it into his coat.
“No.” Arthur said.
“How old is he?”
“Fourteen, I think.”
“You think?” Volk’s brows furrowed.
“Orphan. Nothing else to go on.” Arthur said, “Three of you won’t be enough. There are whole packs of spitters in the forest. They’ll ambush you.”
“I can find their nest. Keldengen would have forces to destroy them for good.” Volk said.
“Look, it isn’t much.” Arthur fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a few sterna, “You find a solution, you end years of despair. Get something to eat.” He held the coins up to Volk. He refused with the wave of a hand.
“I need to speak with the guard captain. Do you know where he is?”
“His home is on the other side of town where the creek splits off.” Arthur said, “I haven’t seen him in a couple of days.”
----------------------------------------
The stone steps peeked from the snow. Boot prints led up to the door and stopped beyond the threshold, then looped around the home. Volk followed the path, walking past coop full of quiet chickens. Beneath the cover of a goat shelter he spotted a single black boot attached to a snoring lump. One of the goats laid at his feet, ears pointed forward as its eyes spotted the stranger.
“Captain!” Volk called, his voice commanding knightly authority. Klaus did not respond. Volk called again, but it was to no avail. A rustling peeped out of the window of his home. Volk spotted a pale blur behind the glass. The door opened, and Samuel approached him. His hand rubbed against droopy eyes as he spotted a lean figure standing over Klaus.
“Hello.” Volk said, turning to face the boy, “Is this your father?”
“Yeah. You can’t wake him up.” Samuel groaned, “He’s drunk.”
“We’ll see about that.” Volk said. He left the homestead, snatching a bucket from a hook on the fence. Samuel stared at his father’s boot as it peeked between snow-covered hay. Volk walked up to a well sitting between a cluster of houses. He filled the bucket, then returned to Klaus.
“What are you doing?” Samuel asked, “Who are you?”
“Captain!” Volk shouted, lightly tapping the goat’s rear end with the toe of his boot. The goat hopped away as water cascaded over Klaus’ legs. The captain gasped, jolting up as he cursed.
“God dammit, damn you! What? What do you want?” Klaus blinked, rubbing his eyes as the morning light trickled into the glen.
“I need your help investigating the attack.” Volk said, “You know where the explosion was. You’re taking me there.”
“Fuck, I’m spinnen…” Klaus groaned. His words were slurred.
“Come on, up.” Volk ordered. He grabbed a shovel and began poking at Klaus’ thigh.
Klaus stumbled, using the goat shelter as leverage. He swatted the shovel away.
“Fuck off.”
“I come here seeking help and you’re drunk as a mother.” Volk huffed, “How are you supposed to help your village this way?”
“Can’t.” Klaus’ head swayed, “Leave me be.”
“I have questions.” Volk threw the shovel onto the ground. Klaus repeated Volk’s speech, mimicking his accent.
“You talk like a lowlander. You Nizinski?”
“Very observant.” Volk said, “How long have these attacks been happening?”
“First we get Bjornshites now we got a god damn-”
“You’re being ugly.” Volk’s voice raised, then lowered softly, “I don’t tolerate ugly people.”
“Then get out of my sight!”
“Do you want to save lives or not?” Volk said, “I can not rid you of the todesspucker if I don’t know where they are. Surely the village reports sightings to you?”
“What? A man of the Dragonguard can’t follow a fucking burn scar?”
“Captain, children were hurt. I do not have time for this dishonorable display.”
Klaus shot up stepping up to Volk with anger in his eyes, his knuckles clenched, “You dare question my honor in my home?”
“We’re not in your home.” Volk said, “Oh, my mistake. This must be a Gairman home. Is this your bedchamber? Did I wake your wife?”
Samuel gasped as Klaus’ balled fist flew upwards. Volk caught Klaus’ forearm with his left hand, pulling the drunkard hard enough to stagger him. Klaus stubbornly slumped against the side of the house, panting.
“Don’t do that.” Volk said.
“What? Dragonguard running out of good men? They had to send a cripple to help us?” Klaus spat.
“I’m willing to save a village from a pack of wild beasts. Be a man and defend your people. Don’t just sit here reeking of piss while a cripple does your job for you.” Volk waved his hand, turning towards Sam. He was moments away from stepping out of the goat pen when a voice gurgled.
“You’re not leaving.” Klaus leaned into the wall. He blinked heavily, heaving.
“Good idea, spew and sober up.” Volk said, “We’re leaving from the temple tomorrow morning. Like it or not, you’re coming with us.”
“And if I don’t?” Klaus spat again. He shook his hand as Volk reached for the shovel, trying to avoid the seeker’s wrath. Volk’s boots crunched into the snow as he walked away.