Feydian struggled with his horse quietly, trying not to bring attention to himself from the so-called knights that surrounded him. The last thing he needed was for them to realize that he was deathly terrified of the beast beneath him and wanted nothing more than to be anywhere but on its back. If it weren’t for the fact that Lord Pelslow said they’d travel faster on horseback, he would have just walked.

  Gripping the reins, he tried to lower his hands to the horse’s neck, emulating the postures the others took. He tried to sit back, but that only made his backside more sore.

  Two weeks takes its toll, I guess, he mused silently before sighing and biting back a groan.

  He hated his job. He hated the whole damned forest. If it was up to him, he’d be a simple shopkeeper selling potatoes or fish or something. But alas, that was not to be. Nobody cared what an indentured servant wanted. He was no better than the rest of the Pelslow family slaves. The only difference was that he was human.

  And yes, he was human. Pointed ears didn’t mean anything. Plenty of humans had sharp ears. Plenty of elves and gnomes did, too, and they were considered human so far as the laws of civilization were concerned. Just because Feydian had an uncommon name and pointed ears, didn’t mean he was feyblood. It just meant he had fey blood. Two words. Very different. Lots of elves had fey blood from ancient ancestors thousands of years ago. Why would he be any different?

  “Hey Fairy Boy, you’re making your horse nervous,” said one of the knights that served as Lord Pelslow’s personal guard.

  His companions snickered at Feydian’s unfortunate moniker, but he bit his tongue and kept quiet. It was a ridiculous notion anyway. He couldn’t make the horse nervous; the horse was making him nervous.

  He hated the beasts with their beady eyes, bloodthirsty teeth, and hooves that could cave in a man’s skull with only a glancing blow. They craved violence. Specifically, they craved violence against him. It had been over a year since the accident, but one only gets kicked in the head by a horse once to learn from the mistake. He still couldn’t remember his life before the blow, just vague memories of a girl with ears like his. She was probably his sister or something, but he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that he woke up in the Pelslow’s care and entered their service in order to pay the debt.

  “Shuffle up. Silvershield up front.” The order was delivered succinctly and without malice, and quickly, hooves pounded and the marching order shuffled. Feydian stayed where he was, but the man who delivered the order slowed his pace until his horse was right beside Feydian’s.

  “M-my lord?” he asked, bowing his head to the Pelslow heir.

  Vidor Pelslow’s flaxen hair was soft and well-groomed. Though the majority of it was pulled into a loose ponytail at the base of his neck, his bangs couldn’t reach, and thus, were gently swept to the side of his face. His eyes were cold and gray, like a storm blowing over the forest, but when he smiled at Feydian, it was much more playful than the rest of his demeanor suggested.

  “Just relax, LaVerre,” he instructed. “You have the most blast-proofed horse here. A fireball could go off over his head and he wouldn’t flinch.”

  Feydian wasn’t so sure, but he answered with a swift “yes, sir,” and tried to do what his lord said. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t seem to relax his shoulders. Beneath him, the horse nickered before throwing its head into the air. Feydian reeled back in surprise, losing his balance and very nearly toppling from the saddle all together.

  “Easy, it’s alright,” Lord Pelslow caught his shoulder, steadying him in the saddle. “It’s not a monster. It won’t eat you.”

  “It might?” Feydian offered a sheepish smile, which made the young lord laugh lightly.

  “I wouldn’t be too worried about it.” He let go of his servant’s shoulder. “Harpies, naiads, dryads, and trolls would be more likely to eat you than the horse.”

  Maybe his job wasn’t so bad, after all. Lord Pelslow’s family might have been horrible, especially his conniving uncle, but the young heir wasn’t so bad. It was only thanks to that uncle that they were all out here in the first place. It was a feeble attempt to kill his nephew, and everyone involved knew it. In fact, Feydian knew for a fact that Lord Pelslow wanted to be in Felsporo even less than he did, having listened to many rants about his uncle’s decisions while preparing his nightly meals.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll be there soon.”

  “My lord,” one of the knights said. “The guard should have ridden out to meet us by now.”

  Lord Pelslow rolled his eyes. “They probably forgot I was coming. When we get there, remind me to—”

  A screech like the cry of a demon straight from hell pierced their ears. Torches flickered as a fell breeze chilled the group to the bone, making Feydian tense again as his horse shuffled nervously beneath him. Several of the knights’ mounts stamped their hooves and whinnied in alarm.

  “My lord, what was—” Feydian’s words were cut off by the sound of bells tolling in the distance. Felsporo was under attack.

  But that wasn’t the only sound on the wind. The bells came from straight ahead, but from the right, a horrible chanting filled the night air. The two sounds almost mixed together as the chant shifted its tempo to match the tolling bells.

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  “Harpy song,” Lord Pelslow said with disgust in his voice. “Vile monsters. We should have purged the entire forest of them long ago.”

  “They don’t seem to be attacking the town though,” Feydian offered. After all, the two sounds were in different directions.

  “They’re off the road. Probably squabbling amongst themselves. The town is the priority.” Pelslow urged his horse forward, moving to the front of the group. “We ride for the town. Don’t let anything stand in your way!”

  “Try to keep up, Fairy Boy,” one of the knights muttered just soft enough that Lord Pelslow couldn’t hear. That didn’t stop several other knights from laughing.

  In an instant, they were off. Feydian pressed his legs into the horse’s flanks, just like he’d been taught, and it took off after the rest of the riders. He clung to his saddle, hunching over to better keep his balance…which only made the horse run faster.

  The walls of Felsporo came into view first, and Feydian’s heart shot further into his throat at the sight of hundreds of gray-skinned monsters surrounding the walls. Some of them looked human, but he spotted several monstrous species of trolls and caitkin amongst the masses, as well. They surged over one another, trying to climb the walls.

  What in the hell? Feydian briefly thought. He opened his mouth to warn the knights in case they hadn’t seen the monsters, but he never got the chance.

  The forest exploded with a groaning roar. An enormous troll, its skin half-eaten through by some kind of disease slammed straight into the middle of the group. It snatched one of the knights straight off his horse and tossed him to the side.

  Feydian’s horse spooked. Before he knew what was happening, the vile beast spun around and fled, running for its life.

  “LaVerre! Come back!” shouted Lord Pelslow.

  If he’d had any sort of choice, Feydian would have done exactly that, but the horse was gone, and him along with it. He clung to the horse’s neck, practically laying on top of it as it careened down the road. When another of the monsters lunged from the underbrush, the horse turned sharply, very nearly throwing him off. He doggedly kept his grip.

  “Whoa! Whoa! Hey! Stop!” He cried, trying desperately to regain control. He’d lost hold of the reins, and one of his feet had fallen free of the stirrups.

  The horse didn’t listen.

  “Help! Lord Pelslow!”

  His lord was too far away, and no doubt too busy with the monsters to deal with a mere servant. Gathering his courage, he pushed himself upright, trying to grip the horse’s mane and pull it back.

  “Whoa! Stop!”

  The horse didn’t slow. Fear gripped it too tightly. They burst from the tree line and onto a farm, only for the horse to lean back, its hooves skidding on loose soil as it desperately tried to stop. Ten of the gray-skinned monsters awaited them on the farm. They turned, suddenly interested in the new source of food that had arrived on the scene.

  One of the monsters lunged at the horse. It reared back, flailing its hooves at the enemy before it.

  Feydian was thrown free of the saddle, toppling down the horse’s back and landing with a solid THUD. The wind was knocked from his lungs, and he curled into a ball. The horse was bucking and kicking its hooves. Brief flashes of something hard hitting him in the head cut through his mind. The ground shook.

  I’m going to die! There was no question in his mind. They wouldn’t find the manservant in one piece. They’d find him with his head caved in with an imprint of iron horseshoes in the viscera. If they even found that much…

  But then, the shaking stopped.

  Feydian uncurled slightly, lifting his head to look around. The horse screamed as it tried to run, but one of the monsters clung to its saddle while three more shambled after it. It didn’t last long before a gash was torn across its neck and throat. It bled out as it ran into the forest, but even Feydian could see that it was already slowing.

  But…he was still alive. His head was still in one piece, although he felt sticky blood running down his cheek from where a branch cut him during their flight. He could live with that. His head was distinctly un-caved, and that was the most important.

  He stood shakily. Everything hurt, and his hands trembled in terror. However, what little luck he might have had for surviving the equine death trap, quickly vanished the moment he took a step towards the trees. Eight sets of hungry eyes turned to face him.

  These ones looked like people. One even had a tattered farmer’s hat clinging to its head. But, the hunger in their eyes was anything but friendly.

  “Of all the times to be alone. At least it’s not a herd of horses,” he muttered. If he were still with the group, the knights would have protected him. They actually had levels and magic. Feydian had none, despite his appearance and supposed fey lineage.

  His hand went to his throat, gripping at the shard of glass that rested on a thin chain. He didn’t know what it was or why he had it, just that it was important. The rest was lost along with the rest of his memories from before the accident. It brought him some small level of comfort as he backed away from the monsters bearing down on him.

  Another shout rang through the air, and for a moment, Feydian’s heart jumped at the thought that Lord Pelslow may have come to save him after all. But the voice was too high for the twenty-year-old noble. This was much younger.

  Shambling undead were far less frightening to him than horses—something that made perfect sense to him, if no one else. He turned and ran towards the sound. Somewhere near, there was a child in trouble. Though he might only be an indentured servant, he was still a servant of a noble house. If he ignored the cry for help, he might bring shame upon himself and Lord Pelslow.

  And if he actually helped in this crisis…maybe the knights would stop calling him Fairy.

  The boy came into sight quickly. He must have only been twelve or thirteen, but he was backed against the side of the farmhouse, one of the undead shambled closer, its arms limp as saliva dripped from its lips.

  “Mom! Mom stop! Please!” the boy cried.

  Feydian mustered all his courage and ran faster, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Rather than use a weapon, for he had none as a mere servant, he tucked his shoulder and slammed into the monster. The two of them tumbled to the ground.

  He registered that it should have hurt, but rather than dwell on it, he popped back to his feet. Spinning around, he faced the child.

  “Come on!” he said. The boy needed no encouragement. He was on his feet in an instant and they both ran.

  “This way! The town is just beyond the trees!” the boy cried.

  Feydian briefly allowed himself to feel hope, only for it to be dashed as a large form limped out of the trees. The stench of decay filled his nostrils as it glared at him with beady eyes and stamped a hoof. Blood stained its flank as gray wisps of magic rose from its flanks like smoke.

  All his courage failed him as he and the boy drew to a halt, surrounded on all sides by death. The boy fell to his knees, curling inward in defense. Feydian wanted to do the same, faced with a creature that was both horse and monster.

  More likely to be eaten by a harpy, huh? He thought bitterly before he put his arms over the boy’s head. Maybe his death could mean something, if nothing else.

  The decayed horse charged. Feydian gritted his teeth, but stood firm, shielding the boy as best he could. At the last second, as the beast’s breath was so close that he could feel the last heat of its life pressing down upon him, he reached up to his neck and clasped the glass shard.

  And a light filled the field.