Welsh stood still, gazing solemnly at the most elaborate building in the camp. It was a long, wooden structure adorned with carvings along the trusses, representing the king of Keldarn’s camp, to whom he was loyal. Welsh reached back and rubbed his neck in an attempt to relieve stress. There was a good reason to fear the Overseer; he was among the most powerful beings in the world. Welsh would need to choose his words wisely.

  He ran through his options in his head. Why would the Overseer be sending him into the Orchard? The fact that the Rotundra didn’t do much to protect those subservient to them was well documented, but they weren’t wasteful. There had to be a reason he was being sent—one that Welsh couldn’t quite wrap his head around.

  After a moment’s thought, he forced his right foot forward and approached the door. Before opening it, he paused, leaning close to listen.

  Footsteps were clearly making their way toward the door. Welsh took a large step back to make room. The metal hinges were rusted and produced a nasty hiss as the door opened inward. A roaring fire pit in the center of the hall emitted smothering heat that rolled out of the room and into the evening air.

  The creature who exited was not who Welsh had expected. A tall, slender, snake-like female came through the door and immediately noticed Welsh’s presence.

  She stopped. “Hmmm.” She cocked her head to the side in curiosity. “Large yellow beak. Glimmering, multi-hued scales... You must be Welsh.”

  While it may have taken her a moment to discover his identity, he had no such trouble. She was well known throughout the empire.

  “Overseer Lyssindra. It’s an honor,” Welsh stammered, trying to sound as formal as possible.

  Lyssindra smiled, her eyes narrowing. “I’ve heard about you. It’s quite the rarity to see a lesser youngling rise to elite status. How does it feel? The power. The respect. I would imagine you take great pleasure in your new position.”

  Welsh had never spoken to her before. It was unusual to see an Overseer from another camp roaming around. He noticed she had the unique ability to sound as if she were telling the truth and lying at the same time.

  “Sure,” he said, knowing that was the answer she was looking for. “It certainly has its perks.”

  Lyssindra stepped around him and walked down the steps of the porch they stood on. She took a deep breath before sending her slithering tongue from her mouth. It flicked and waved in the air in front of her before returning.

  “Yes. I’m sure it does. It’s a shame my business with Keldarn concluded so soon. I’ve always enjoyed the scent of this camp. The deadrot mixes well with the sweat and blood of humans,” she said before turning to leave.

  Welsh watched her disappear up the path behind one of the distant log cabins. He couldn’t help but wonder why she was there. Was it related to why the Overseer had summoned him? Did she have something to do with why he was being asked to venture into the orchard?

  It didn’t matter, he thought. No use speculating on matters he couldn’t control. He finally turned and opened the door, stepping into the Overseer’s hall.

  Inside, a wooden floor was lined with pew-like benches leading to the end of the hall, where a raised platform hosted an elaborate chair. It was covered in silks and filled with the soft feathers of animals that hadn’t been seen in hundreds of years.

  Keldarn stood at the edge of his platform, just before his chair. He looked down on him with glowing yellow eyes. Keldarn was a sand-brown creature who, for the most part, stood with the posture of a human. He had horns sprouting from random places along his body, and his thick hide made it appear almost as if he were wearing plated armor.

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  “Welsh! You’ve finally made it,” he said, seemingly excited to see him.

  The Overseer was an interesting character. His outward persona could fool those who didn’t know him. He seemed welcoming, even friendly at times, but this couldn’t have been further from the truth. Keldarn’s interests were the same as the other Overseers: he would do whatever it took to please the King, even if it meant sacrificing those loyal to him.

  Being a Rotundran elite had always been a test of morality for Welsh. On one hand, he lived a relatively comfortable life, as most elites did. On the other, he had committed some rather horrendous acts while following the orders of his Overseer. He had to remind himself that he, too, had been the victim of mistreatment and that he had worked hard to make it this far. Sometimes, this helped him sleep at night.

  “Overseer Keldarn. You sent for me?” he asked, trying to sound courteous.

  “Yes,” Keldarn replied, hopping down from his stage. “I’m looking for a brave soul. I imagine you saw Overseer Lyssindra leaving my hall.”

  “I did,” Welsh said bluntly.

  Keldarn strode deliberately toward Welsh, stopping inches from him. Keldarn’s eyes always glowed with a translucent yellow color, but when he stood close, the truth of his eyes revealed itself. Behind the yellow hue, where most creatures would find the white of their eyes, Keldarn’s sclera was perpetually covered in scarlet red blood.

  “Overseer Lyssindra has requested a favor from our camp. She needs deadrot and has specifically requested timber from the Orchard,” Keldarn said, his gaze locked on Welsh. “This is a difficult job. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors.”

  Welsh nodded. “I have,” he said ambiguously, not wanting to overstep by sharing too much information.

  Keldarn’s eyes squinted, causing the glow between his eyelids to intensify. “The Orchard now seems to be part of the Korvis’ hunting grounds, and we are in need of deadrot from that region.”

  Curiosity made the question Welsh had been mulling over press itself against his beak. He wanted to ask why. Why was the deadrot from that region so important? Typically, when the Korvis changed their hunting practices, the harvesting locations were shifted.

  He didn’t ask.

  “And you need me to take a group of choppers into the Orchard?” Welsh responded.

  Keldarn smiled, likely happy the elite didn’t ask questions. Not that it would have mattered.

  “Exactly. We need an elite capable of harvesting the deadrot while dealing with the potential threat of the Korvis. Do you think you’re up to the task?”

  Welsh knew the question was rhetorical. He didn’t have a choice. In his head, he considered the threat. He had never personally dealt with the Korvis before, but he had heard the stories. He knew how tenacious they could be.

  “How many deadrot trees will we be harvesting?” Welsh asked, knowing the length of the trip would ultimately dictate the odds of a Korvis attack.

  Welsh was taken aback. A typical deadrot harvest was eight to ten logs. Why was this trip so special? If they were only after one log, it had to mean the harvest was for reasons beyond their typical uses.

  “One, my Lord?” Welsh asked, confused.

  Keldarn turned and began walking away, explaining as he made his way back to his chair. “Yes. One deadrot from the Orchard. That’s all we need.”

  Welsh paused for a moment, hoping the Overseer would give him a reason why, but it didn’t come.

  “Yes, sir,” Welsh replied submissively. “I’ll gather a small group of choppers and leave for the Orchard at first light tomorrow.”

  Keldarn nodded in acknowledgement but then added, “You will not travel alone. I want you to take Soralees with you.”

  It was customary for elites to travel alone with their slaves. Most considered traveling with another elite an insult. Not only did different elites discipline their slaves differently, but it also insinuated that the elite wasn’t capable of handling the job alone.

  Traveling with Soralees presented a host of potential problems. For one, he, like many other Rotundran elites, was cruel and relentless in his treatment of slaves. Welsh would need to bite his tongue when witnessing the mistreatment of slaves. Additionally, Soralees was considered the “lead chopper” and would serve essentially as a spy, more than willing to report the events exactly as they happened back to the Overseer.

  However, Soralees’ addition to the expedition certainly improved Welsh’s odds of survival. The Korvis had little interest in attacking Soralees. His small stature offered very little in the way of meat, and killing him would be a difficult task. This didn’t even take into account the fact that Soralees' screech was perfect for dispersing hordes of reptilians.

  Welsh would tolerate it. As for how Soralees would take it, he wasn’t so sure.

  Keldarn had a way of focusing his gaze so that you knew when he was being serious, and this was one of those times. “Each of you will take two choppers and head past the Ruined Fields into the Orchard. Once there, harvest the first deadrot you find and return,” he said.

  With that, Welsh bowed his head and turned to walk out the door.

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