That was as much as Rittane had thought on the matter. It was a cold winter, and she spent most of her time peeking at the scrying orb they’d bought, which showed all the amazing parts of the world.
No one was a [Necromancer] here. Definitely not. People had checked, from Clairei Fields [Knights] to multiple nobles. And no one was a [Necromancer]…but Rittane knew her father was a [Corpseman] and her mother had a spellbook with a few basic death magic spells. It got cold up here. You could go outside, climb the terraces, and hoe the tough dirt and plant stupid wheat or potatoes, or your friend Alfren could do it.
Rittane, who was seven, slept a lot. She drank boiled snow water, which made her forget she was hungry. The flames had eaten both fields and warehouses, nevermind it had been bone housing their food.
Rittane didn’t say anything about food. Her parents were looking thinner than she was. And her father had passed out yesterday. No one said anything, but Rittane had heard, between watching the scrying orb, them talking.
Rittane didn’t say anything about food. Her parents were looking thinner than she was. And her father had passed out yesterday. No one said anything, but Rittane had heard, between watching the scrying orb, them talking.
Christmas was a long time away. Fifteen more days…Rittane figured she could sleep for another week. It was just mid-morning, and she was too tired to get to the scrying orb to watch.
Rittane’s father was drafting a letter. He was marking it in an envelope for the City Runner, if he returned. Explanations needed to be made. Perhaps someone could identify the half-Elf. He finished writing and signed his name. Then, he spoke, in a voice that was too low.
The man looked over for his wife. She had been eating most—she had to, to keep the undead moving. But Rittane’s father was lightheaded. He heard…a great rushing in his ears. The snow falling and the blizzard outside, a downpour of silence, had turned into shouting this morning.
Rittane’s father caught his breath as something odd happened. Unlike a regular voice in his head…the shouting had the spatial quality that made him think it was coming from outside.
“We’re delivering something early on behalf of Santa to a little girl named—dead gods damn it, nevermind. Is Rittane here? We got her letter. I am Normen of the Order of Solstice, a [Knight]! We’ve brought provisions!”
