Many fields surrounded Delden Town. They covered the hillsides and sprawled to the horizon. While Delden Town was known for its spice, that was not the only crop that grew among the fields. There were acres of wheat, corn, and roots that served to feed the townsfolk. There were orchards in the near distance of another hill that granted them fruit as well. Yet, in all these acres of land, the only set of fields that travelers seemed to care for was the famed spice fields on the other side of the southern hill.

  Beyond the Morosia Family home, amber and maroon stalks had grown under the ever-present beat of the day’s sun. These plants were the herbs that had been carefully harvested for decades to produce the famed spice of Delden Town. The stalks were ground to a powder. The petals were dried and split into fibers. The seeds were stored to plant the next harvest. Every aspect of the herb was used to either make the spice or preserve the art for a future day.

  All the while, the large home at the top of the hill watched. It stood like a warden against any that would try to defile the spice. In the distant past that all had forgotten, the warden had looked inward to keep those working the spice in place. The destruction of Delden Town had washed away more secrets than just those of the bandits that had come to collect a ransom.

  Now, as Imp walked around the hill to get to the spice fields, she wondered if there could ever be another life for the town. When she had come to Delden Town, she walked by the untouched fields of wheat. She had paused among the trees at the pristine orchard, going so far as to borrow a lamplighter’s apple for a snack. While the variety was sweeter than she preferred, it had made her wonder. If the town was truly destroyed, why was there so much left? If this much produce was waiting to be harvested, surely some noble family could come in and save what was left of the town.

  It had been weeks since the destruction of Delden Town. It had been at least a week since the rumors had spread to the farthest corners of the state. The Regent was surely aware of the state of Delden Town by now. Yet, no one came. Only Imp and the priest had wandered into the ruined township.

  As she finally rounded the hill to see the spice fields, Imp learned why. There was a sign erected at the edge of a burned-out field. Unlike the wheat and corn that Imp had passed through, the spice fields had not been spared the destruction of Delden Town. When she walked closer, Imp could feel that this was not the work of bandits. No souls were hovering in the distance, no dark specter waiting for a mote to make a meal.

  The sign stood waiting for someone to read it. Imp was the only one present, but her eyes could not pass from the field ahead. She remembered running through the field. The stalks of the herbs brushed against her arms while she tried to outrun her siblings. The glint of sunlight burned red as it passed through iridescent red petals. The taste of spice in the air was raw and potent.

  In the memory, she was small, smaller than she remembered being, and it had only been a few months since she learned to walk before, she started to run among the spice. She remembered tripping and falling, the feeling of the soil compacting between her fingers as she picked herself up. The workers in the field came to see if she was okay, but she disappeared among the stalks with a laugh before they got to her.

  Somewhere at the center of the field, there was a stone circle where no herbs were grown. Her mother had called it an altar to the land, but it was where Imp and her siblings had gathered to rest after a run through the field.

  Imp walked through ash and soil as she remembered the field as it used to be. She found the center of the field from memory but had to brush the ash aside with her hand to see the stone circle. If it had been an altar, this one was just as destroyed as the one in the chapel. The stones were charred and forgotten. Imp took a deep breath and tried to find a sense of calm that she had seen on her mother’s face when they were in the circle together.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  No calm came. The spice was lost. The land was burned. Delden Town was truly destroyed.

  Imp walked back to the sign that had been erected at the edge of the field. She knew the words before she even read them. Red Mage Four had been ordered to erect similar signs at the sites of battles where precious resources had been lost or purposefully destroyed to prevent them from falling into enemy hands. Imp read the words anyway.

  IN ACCORDANCE WITH THE LAW

  Delden Town was a prize jewel of the state. After it’s destruction, the art of spice-making has been lost to time. A skilled alchemist could recreate the blend, but it would be a betrayal of the lives that were lost in this land.

  BY ORDER OF THE REGENT

  The last remaining spice field of Delden Town has been razed as an offering to the spirits of those who once tilled the soil. On the smoke of this harvest, the state wishes that all fallen who drew life from this land are sanctified and can find rest.

  THESE LANDS SHALL REMAIN BARREN

  For future generations may come back to Delden Town, the township can be rebuilt. The produce fields and the orchards can be reclaimed. The market and the town can be resurrected. This field of spice, however, shall remain a testament to what was lost. Any being found trying to reclaim or profit from this loss will be held in contempt by the state. Be they of noble or common birth, the Regent’s judgment shall be merciless.

  Imp finished reading and turned her back on the sign. If she still carried a sword, she might have cut it down. What rest could be found for these spirits? They watched their bounty, their livelihood, their legacy be reduced to ash. All for a Regent and a state that allowed this to happen. The bandits had not been bandits, they had been former soldiers who bled for that same state.

  While Imp walked away from the field, a familiar face came into view. Sitting just around the edge of the rolling hill was the priest. Imp seethed, “Where were you when the field was burned?”

  The priest frowned, “Rannow Fields if you must know. I was finishing up my work there when I learned that this would be my next destination.”

  “They burned the fields to honor the town.” Imp cast a glance back over her shoulder. Part of her was still expecting to see the amber-red glare of the spice field. Instead, a dusty gray field of ash was all she saw.

  Imp was full of anger. She could not believe that the same state that praised Delden Town for its spice would simply cast it aside after a tragedy. Where Imp was angry, the priest only held a deep sadness. He spoke softly, “Those in power rarely do anything to honor the fallen. Some days I wish that my work would take me to their homes, not to the homes of those they were supposed to protect.”

  “Why doesn’t it?” Imp asked, “Are you not a priest? Couldn’t you go to their doorstep and lecture them on the true morality?”

  The priest shook his head, “Over the years, my kind have tried their hand at turning the hearts of those in power. One even went as far as to rule alongside a former Regent, but in the end, they were unable to sway the Regent’s heart from avarice.”

  Imp took a deep breath and let the words sink in. “So, you came here, after Rannow Fields, to put the spirits at rest? Is there another tragedy that you will go to next? Another domino that fell in the wake of the Regent’s war?”

  The priest shrugged, “Undoubtedly. Yet, I am here for now. The winds may carry my soul to another town at another time, but for now, I must protect those that can still move on to the next. I must also do something about those that can no longer move on.”

  “The dark specter?” Imp thought back to the shadowy figure that tried to devour the arborist and the one that tore apart the bandit’s soul.

  The priest stretched his arms and flexed his wrists. A small series of dull pops came from his joints. A silver light flashed through his eyes as if a low power was awakening inside. “You said that you wanted to help the souls of this place. Is that still how you feel?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then there are things you must know about those you wish to help.” The priest took a measured breath and watched Imp closely. He looked like a parent about to tell a child which fairytales were true, and which were told to scare them into staying inside at night. After a moment, he let Imp know the truth.

  He said, “The dark specter is not a distant force, it is the soul of a field tiller who died at this spot and watched the state’s men burn the very field he died to protect.”

  Imp frowned, “From his appearance, I had assumed he was the Grim Reaper.”

  The priest shook his head. The silver light rolled like waves in his eyes. “No… that would be me.”