Eyleen
***
Eyleen despised crowded places. A large, open area, preferably outside on a sunny day, with lots of wind—that's what she liked. Yet, here she found herself, again, cramped in a carriage full of stinking men. Loud men. Stupid men. Next to her sat an old brute of a man, eye patch over one eye, and a beard crusted with gravy. His hands were dry and his fingernails yellow, not to mention his blackened gums that peered at her whenever he spat his brutish words. Every time they hollered she just wanted to close her eyes, close her ears, and for goodness sake, close her nose if she could.
The carriage shook as it rolled over the suddenly rugged terrain, and Kestrel bumped into her left side. His smaller frame gentle on her shoulders, not like the brute to her right. Kestrel was a skinny boy, one who ate too little and exercised too rarely. When she had first met him he wasn't very impressive; he was frail and too young for this dangerous world, but that also made him stand out among the others. He was nervous last night, and she had tried to calm his nerves in the chaos. At first she believed it was her logical reasoning that made her attempt to calm him down. Reasoning that if he lost his nerves he would prove a liability to her. But she realized that she had perhaps felt pity for him.
Kestrel had looked innocent in those glasses and that expensive cloak. Looking at him now, cloakless and glassless, he fit in a tad bit better among the other men. But only a tad bit. His palms rested politely on his lap, fingers curled into soft fists, as if he was waiting for his turn to speak. His rich blue eyes were almost curtained by his wavy brown hair that twirled down his forehead, parting just off-center. His lips looked soft, like the rest of his still clean shaven face. Considering their encounter last night, he was well-groomed. 'That's a silvershone for you,' thought Eyleen sarcastically, reminiscing on the late Marquis' comments.
The carriage took a hard turn before coming to a stop. Cirasso made his way past the ice-eyes and opened the doors. Light poured into the dark and Eyleen was forced to squint, putting her hand in front of her as if to block the day itself.
"It's only a short stop," said Cirasso. "Eat something, get geared, and get ready. We will regroup here in short."
He hopped out of the carriage and turned around to face them. "Well then, what are we waiting for?"
The men came to life and began streaming out like a cascading river at a junction. Typically, Eyleen would have been the first one out, but she didn't want to leave Kestrel's side. For his sake, of course. He looked eager to stand up, brushing his clothes off and gripping his newly acquired sword, but it was as if he was too polite to take up any space.
When most of the brutes had tumbled out of the open carriage, she promptly stood up, Kestrel following her lead hastily. Making her way out of the carriage she landed light-footed on the forest floor below. The scent of pine enveloped her and she took a deep breath in. 'Finally free', she thought.
Kestrel groaned behind her. "Finally free!"
Silly boy.
"Let's go get you something to wear," said Eyleen, noting Kestrel's 'not exactly combat-ready' peasant tunic.
"I am wearing something," he said, pulling at his tunic.
"And what was your plan when an undead swings its sword at your chest? Block it with your hands?" she said.
"Block it with my sword!" said Kestrel almost proudly.
"And what if your sword fails to block?"
"I'll block it with my magic. Or, well, I'd rather not be in such a precarious situation to begin with. I'll keep my distance," said Kestrel.
Eyleen cocked her brow. "So, you're saying you're going to march into potential battle like that?"
"Well, no. You're right, I was just playing around," he said with a pout.
Eyleen didn't think life and death was a game. If he didn't take this seriously, she'd fear he might get hurt. But his naive carelessness was amusing. She felt herself smile at the thought, and accordingly she turned away from Kestrel so he wouldn't see.
"Come on, let's go," she said bluntly, and Kestrel obeyed.
Moving alongside the flow of workers, fighters, and outriders mounted high on their horses, they followed a river upstream. A fleeting fog clung desperately to the running waters, and it wouldn't be Mistfall without it. Brown birds flew overhead, chirping shyly among the tall trees.
Not far in front of them extended an old stone bridge across the water, half covered in moss, connecting to a wooden gate framed by two stone towers with wooden roofs jutting out like the canines of a dog, both connecting to rickety walls of stone that ran perpendicular to the river before curving off deeper into the sunlit forest.
"If the winds blew hard enough, perhaps they'd topple over," said Kestrel.
"You mean the walls?" asked Eyleen.
Kestrel rubbed his chin. "Isn't it strange how such a decrepit looking place hasn't yet been taken over by the undead? I mean, if all of the Swarth except Hedgelen has been conquered, how come this place remains untouched?"
Now that he said it, Eyleen supposed he had a point. Any force formidable enough to conquer the entirety of a kingdom shouldn't struggle with sieging the likes of Wolfbridge Lookout. In fact, it would be a stretch to call it a siege. More so an excursion.
"I've been tellin' Richard just that," said a voice from behind. The ice-eyes strode with long legs, matching their pace. His stature was freakish—thin long arms packed with dense muscle. He wore nothing but pelts, and he hunched forward as he walked, still managing to be taller than Eyleen. "His control of the lookout, it's an illusion. If they wanted to attack it, they'd barge in and have Cirasso's cock on a spike in one night."
"Why don't they?" asked Eyleen.
The ice-eyes cursed under his breath. "Maybe the draugurs will tell you if you ask nicely." He spit on the ground. "Maybe we're just not all 'at important anymore. They already got the kingdom. Some draugur is prolly crowned king by now. He's prolly married to a beautiful draugur queen I reckon."
The man cackled at his own wit. Eyleen didn't share his jolly. Kestrel frowned. He didn't seem to have liked that joke either.
"How many draugur babes do you think they'll fuck into this world?" continued the ice-eyes. "I'm guessin' at least a hundred."
"Could you please quiet down?" demanded Kestrel.
"What was that, boy?" The ice-eyes darkened his voice. "I'm just bein' funny. You a draugur or something? What's with that face? You got a problem with me?"
Eyleen felt the ice-eyes' rotten voice scraping against the inside of her ears. But her focus shifted upon Kestrel's resistance—it caught her off-guard. His look was steeled and unrelenting, nothing like what she was used to seeing. She looked back at the ice-eyes, but before she could say a word a man from behind her spoke up.
"He wouldn't be the first, Valger" said the young man. His black long hair went past his shoulders halfway down his back, thin yet lustrous. His back was straight—he was a lean and handsome man, as if one of her sleek knives had gotten a personality. A long scabbard was slung over his shoulder, and his lightly armored torso was veiled in a dirty white cloak.
"Oh, cocks you, Cormorant. Nobody likes you either, ya prick," said the ice-eyes Valger.
Cormorant unslung his long steel sword and held it at the ready. "Perhaps I should cut yours off. Sometimes the dog must be castrated."
Valger was imposing, but he was unarmed for the moment. Then again, he seemed the type to bring fists to a swordfight.
"I'm not surprised you'd cut down an unarmed man, ya coward. Had I me axe you'd go running back to suckle on yer mums teat," said Valger, uprighting his spine to tower over Cormorant like a crag over still waters.
"Dogs don't wield axes," said Cormorant with a scowl.
"You're just scared to fight me like a man," Valger said with slow, deliberate words.
Eyleen turned to Kestrel who still carried a frown on his face. "We should get out of here before things get ugly."
In truth, Eyleen just wanted to be as far away from those two men as possible.
As things escalated between Valger and Cormorant, they both halted their hostilities as the rustling of plate approached from the back of the convoy. The graveyard knight strode with calm steps, and both Valger and Cormorant parted to let him through. The ice-eyes muttered something under his breath and Cormorant glared off into the distance, but the knight gave them no mind. 'The paladin?' thought Eyleen. 'Why is he here?'
As he passed them completely and walked off toward the wolfbridge, Kestrel's mouth hung open.
"He's here! I didn't think he'd come," he said turning to Eyleen. "Do you think he'll fight alongside us?"
"He must. He's no worker," said Eyleen, still not sure why'd they send someone like him along to capture an old castle ruin that was supposedly 'free for the taking'.
Valger grumbled something under his breath, "we'll continue this later, Cormorant," he said before leaving.
"That's Ashamar. He doesn't talk much. He acts. Among the fighters in Hedgelen, he's one of the finest," said Cormorant, his posh accent hinting at a nobler birth. "Girl. What was your name again?"
Eyleen stared silent daggers into the man, unwilling to answer.
Cormorant scoffed. "Well, whatever. But you and your little squire should keep your distance. Ashamar performs his duty in draping the undead, and he performs it well. But the winds of death follow his every step. I heard he's got a troubled past—more troubled than most, even here. Allegedly, something very vile happened to him. Something very... evil. Most likely tainted his heart. You cannot trust a man like that. I doubt he even swore the oath."
"I'll keep it in mind," said Eyleen, brushing it off.
"He's the other survivor, isn't he?" noted Cormorant as Eyleen began walking off. Kestrel turned towards him stoically.
"I am," Kestrel said.
"I supposed its true, what they say," began Cormorant. "It is the little mice that survive the forest fire."
"I have my tricks," Kestrel said.
"That sword of yours. It's not for swinging. Clearly a decorative piece," said Cormorant, and Kestrel held on to his pommel. "To survive such an endeavor... are you an enchanter? Alchemist? Mage? What's your secret?"
Eyleen scowled. What was this guy's problem? "He doesn't answer to you," she spoke.
"It's okay," said Kestrel, calmly. "I'm an apprentice spellcaster. I survived because I cast my spells. But more importantly, because Eyleen saved me."
Cormorant narrowed his eyes.
"Eyleen fended the beast off with fire after I cast a shielding spell," continued Kestrel.
"Fire, huh?" murmured Cormorant. "I did not ask without reason. Since we will be fighting together. It's important to know what each of us are capable of."
Kestrel paused for a moment. "I hope I'll be of use, but I can't promise anything."
"Spellcasters are a rarity nowadays. I'll be expecting a lot from you."
Cormorant slung his scabbard back over his shoulder before walking past Kestrel and Eyleen who stood at guard. "Oh, and... you should acquire yourself some armor. The undead will carve you up like a squash if you go in like that."
Cormorant walked off and Eyleen clicked her tongue. "I hate that guy already."
Kestrel sighed. "He was judging me. I felt kind of intimidated."
"Don't be. He was just putting on an act. I can tell," said Eyleen. "Anyway, I really don't want to agree with that pompous ass, but you do need some protection. Let's go see if we can't find you some."