Prologue - The First Victim
Kip stopped brushing Midnight and leaned against the horse's flanks for a moment. He just didn't feel good today. He was grateful to have a place in the stables at Dol Guldur, the fortress above his village. The wages were good, and he didn't want to be dismissed for slacking.
"Kip, don't just stand around, get a move on!" Old Tom cuffed him on the side of the head, then, more gently, touched his face. "You're burning up, lad. Go lie down while I fetch the healer."
The healer was one of the soldiers in the fortress who also sewed up wounds and mixed draughts for fevers, but when Old Tom came back a few minutes later, instead of the healer, he brought one of the black cloaked creatures that ran this place. There were two or three of them at least, servants of the Necromancer, but Kip had never seen one up close before.
The creature filled the doorway, blocking the light. It entered the room, and the muggy air in the stables suddenly felt cold.
It took a step forward and knelt beside him. He closed his eyes and turned away. Icy hands touched his face, then probed under his jaw, his armpits, and low on his belly. The creature's touch was expert, and surprisingly gentle. Kip felt the fasteners of his shirt being undone and the fabric lifted aside.
"Do you see that rash? Each spot is surrounded by a rosy ring," it said.
"What does it mean?" asked Tom.
Please no please no please no …
It's Plague," said the creature.
"I want to go home! I want my mum and dad!" Kip struggled to twist free from the creature.
"We can't risk of infecting them, too," it said.
"I'm sorry, lad, I know. It's hard," said Tom.