Several days earlier. . .

  They huddled around Green Thumb’s snoring body, the dark druid ensnared by dreams. He’d slept through the whole fight. Sixty-four men had died, and their leader was taking a nap.

  “You wake him up,” Lana said.

  “No way, I’m not getting turned into a sprig,” Timmins responded.

  “He needs to know. He’s gotta make those adventurers pay!” George declared.

  The army of bandits all shouted in approval—then Green Thumb snorted and scratched his body-long beard.

  The bandits clenched their breath.

  But Green Thumb merely rolled over in his fur sleeping sack and continued to snore.

  “Maybe we’ll tell him tomorrow.”

  “Fine plan.”

  “Agreed.”

  ***

  . . .Later that week. . .

  Timmins couldn’t remember how he had died, but when he woke up he didn’t see any blood or wounds. His skin was quite pale and tight to his bones. In fact, he couldn’t remember much of anything.

  He lay on some muddy ground, and in front of him were wooden stakes and walls that surrounded a town. Up a small slope where hundreds of men and women clashing against each other with farming tools and swords.

  Then a majestic voice rang in his ears. “Feed!”

  It was commanded by a skeletal figure dressed in a very fine outfit. Master, is what he was called.

  Timmins did not know how he knew this, but he did. He did not know where he was, or why he was there, but what he did know was that he must feed.

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  So Timmins scrambled to his feet and lunged at the nearest of Master’s enemies and tore into their flesh.

  ***

  . . .The Present.

  Night had fallen, and Timmins still stood vigil from Master’s window. A few more peculiar things had happened, such as an old man who walked in circles on the road singing to himself. The song was not something that Timmins knew, though it may have been at some point. That was the odd thing. Some things he remembered, like what things were called, but other things like his past he did not remember. Not that he should have a past worth remembering, just it only made sense that he had a past, as he was a thrall and thralls came from people who were once alive but were now dead. Such was all life, was it not? Sprouted from the soil of a million generations before it.

  As the night passed, most of the people had gone into their homes. There were very few groups that left the town that day. In fact, less people seemed eager to leave the town in general now. Perhaps most of those who had desired to flee had done so, and those who remained had meant to stay; Master’s people, Master considered them. Timmins was also a person of Master’s people, though not in the same sense as the townsfolk. Master had multiple people, some bonded in life, others in death. He was the meeting point between the two, and it was with him that Timmins could stand here and admire the beauty of the circle of existence.

  After the last light in the tavern was snuffed out, when it seemed that all but a few night guardsmen had gone to bed, there was a creak and bell jingle that came up the office stairs.

  Timmins crooked his head to see what it was.

  Another thrall emerged through the door. This one was a woman, whom Timmins knew as Lana, though he did not know why or how he knew this—he simply did.

  She had long black hair, and skin as pallid and tightened as his. This was not the first time she had wandered into the office. This was her role after all, to patrol the town hall rooms. However, she seemed to linger in the office longer than Timmins thought would be necessary. She just walked inside and stood there, slouched, glowing eyes that never blinked.

  Timmins felt himself drawn to her, though he would not leave his post. He kept one eye on the road, and one on her; this was possible because one of his eyes had been loosened in his death.

  Lana said, “Urugh?”

  “Muh?” Timmins responded.

  “Gruuh. Muh, urugh.”

  Timmins looked away from her. He didn’t know why. There was a sensation in him, very small, very distant. But real.

  “Urugh,” he finally said, turning an eye back to her.

  She nodded her head, waved her hand that was strapped with a bell, and jingled away as she continued on her patrol.

  For the rest of the night, Timmins kept one eye on the road and one on the office door, waiting for her patrol route to bring her back to him.

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