Wolfbridge Lookout was a rickety fort on the outside, and though it was more cramped on the inside than she had initially thought, it was rather well-maintained. Purposeful houses had remnants of old and new, rebuilt to withstand time and the elements. Smithies, stables, barracks, and the like dotted the walled inside. Wheelwrights and technicians carrying planks and tools hurried their way past Eyleen and outside the lookout, likely intending to tinker with the Wyvern. There were about three dozen individuals gathered here—not enough to bump shoulders, but enough to catch whiffs of oil, iron, boards, and sweat.
Eyleen scanned the busy area; most were in a hurry, some were taking a rest. A larger building with a pointier roof than the rest caught her attention at the far end of the lookout. People were entering and leaving it on occasion, entering empty handed and leaving with a steaming bowl of something.
Among the crowds of people she noticed a worker carrying piles of tanned leather, and she followed him walking to a grayish slope-roofed house. He let go of his large pile of leather onto one of few workstations that were set up outside the perimeter of the house, and quickly got to work. Eyleen approached discreetly, inspecting the tanner as she did, not intending to speak with him. Her eyes were set elsewhere. The workstations were cluttered with hole-punchers, knives, leathers, and other tools of iron too specialized for Eyleen to know their use. She circled a workstation piled mostly with leather—her steps silent on the dirt below.
Kestrel looked to her and attempted to say something, but Eyleen quickly stopped him with a finger to her lips. Her hands inspected the treated leather, tough and supple, before finding her prize. Among the leather lay a pile of leather torso armor, studded with steel and identical, mass-produced for the cause. She slid her fingers under the top layer and put it under her arms, before walking away from the tannery inconspicuously.
Kestrel hurried beside her and spoke in a hushed tone. "Are you allowed to take that!?"
"Why not? You need it, probably more than anyone else," Eyleen said, handing him the armor, which he reluctantly accepted.
"If he sees me wearing this and recognizes it as his work, he's going to think I stole it!" said Kestrel, tone still hushed.
"Kestrel, look around you," said Eyleen. "Half of these crooks are wearing the same piece. You won't stick out."
"But still..." Kestrel groaned, inspecting his new garment, keeping it close to his person as if to hide it from view.
"Don't be shy. Put it on. Then let's eat something," said Eyleen. Kestrel looked around awkwardly before sliding the armor on like a glove. They proceeded to the mess hall, entering the pointed house along with a number of other people.
"I look weird, don't I?" said Kestrel, touching his new armor.
"It fits you," said Eyleen.
Passing through the oval-shaped doorway of the mess hall, the scent of herbs and boiled vegetables wafted their way. Eyleen felt her empty stomach growl. She was never a big eater, and had only fancied a small chunk of bread when they visited the Brimming Cup. Eating made her worried, so she often had to force herself to eat out of necessity. Sometimes, the gnawing hunger even felt good, as if she was clean on the inside. Today was not one of those days. She did not eat prior to departing for the Swarth, and she had barely eaten in Hedgelen. If she kept this on, she might just fade away. Like a seeded dandelion in the breeze.
They approached a man dressed in checkered clothing, who from a large iron pot ladled amber soup into wooden bowls, handing it to them. The man stared intensely at Eyleen, his eyes almost bulging out as he handed her the bowl. Eyleen accepted it with her one hand, ignoring his persistent glare. Cynical thoughts about men crossed her mind, but she brushed them off and continued.
The soup was thin but chunky with potatoes, carrots, and onion. Pieces of rosemary and dill drifted around in the soup, joined by glittering speckles of oil. It steamed in Eyleen's face as she put it up to her lips for a draught, the scent intense with herbs and boiled carrot, but it tasted only warmly of earth and nothing else.
Kestrel seemed to enjoy his soup more than she did. He could be a real glutton, she thought, as he wolfed down the soup and its contents. He seemed so innocent, and that innocence tugged at something within Eyleen. After sticking by each other's side up until this point, it almost felt as if they could keep this going until the end. He had come to her in the morning, asking her to aid him in finding his family. It was surely a fruitless effort, she reckoned. If they weren't in Hedgelen, they were no where at all, but she didn't have the heart to tell him that. Nevertheless, she wouldn't stick around for long. She knew that. She didn't want to get his hopes up, but at the same time, she wanted to be there for him while she was still here. After this ordeal at the fort, she'd leave the Peregrins and leave Kestrel. Eyleen wished she could get to know Kestrel better. She-
"Hey, are you even listening?" repeated Kestrel, for who knew how many times now.
"Sorry, I zoned out. What were you saying?" asked Eyleen, bowl of soup still full in her hand.
"That ice-eyes and the other guy, they're about to fight!" said Kestrel, pointing towards a building commotion near the gate.
The simplicity of such crude men got on her nerves.
"Let's go and look! Perhaps we can stop them!" he said with conviction, before dashing off in their direction.
Stop them? To what end? Eyleen didn't understand where Kestrel's naivety came from, but it was endearing. She took a sip of her soup, then poured the rest of it on the ground. She wasn't hungry.
Hurrying past people after Kestrel, from between the gaps of people's overlapping shoulders she managed to spot Valger, longaxe in both hands, circling Cormorant who stood at the ready with his blade still not yet drawn. Voices egging them on cascaded over the crowds, and some cheered for a fight to happen. Most carried stern faces, as if they'd seen this before, and had had enough of it.
Kestrels smaller frame made its way past bigger men, and she pushed herself through the crowd in order to follow.
"-nobody ever liked you. You think you're better than us," said Valger, raising his arms at the crowd as if to invite them in.
Cormorant scoffed. "'Better than us'. No, no, I do not think that. I only think that I'm better than you. In fact, all of us are better than you. You are scum."
Eyleen managed to catch up to Kestrel, who had made his way just behind the front row of the crowd.
"Thems fighting words, ain't them?" Valger spat on the ground. "Draw yer steel."
Cormorant narrowed his eyes. "Not. Here. And certainly not now."
Valger scowled, and his icy eyes seemed to blister. "You were always a coward, Cormorant. Look at this coward, ye good folk. Do ya really think this cock of a man is going to have your back in a fight? I think it's more likely he'd cut your legs and run home!"
Kestrel turned to look at Eyleen, his thin eyebrows narrowed to a frown. "What do we do!?"
What do we do? Why should we do anything? "Just let them fight it out," she answered.
Suddenly, cold chills ran down her back, as if the Hoarwinter storms themselves had come. A tight feeling gripped her heart. She felt eyes in the back of her neck—and not hers. Not more than a mere moment passed before a cloaked figure lurched at her from the inside of the crowded commotion. Something flashed silver as she ducked and threw her arms up in a martial motion, blocking an arm of which hand held a long polished dirk, pointing at her neck. She struggled to break free of her assailant's grasp, managing to drop down, slipping past legs in the crowd, but the cloaked figure did not struggle to keep up. She reached for the insides of her coat still crouched on the ground, grasping at the handle of one of her knives, but she was too late. The dirk came hurtling towards her neck again, and crimson splattered before her eyes. A curved sword swung up through the gaps of the crowd—like wind through a chasm—cleaving the assailant's arm at the elbow. A shriek erupted from the man who collapsed onto the ground soaked with his own blood. Suddenly all eyes turned her way as people made space, and Kestrel kneeled beside her.
"Are you alright!? What happened!?" he cried. Next to him stood Cirasso, wiping his sword off blood with a colorful rag.
"Someone, please take his hood off. Let us reveal the identity of this one," he said.
Approaching came the older man with the eye patch, who promptly ripped off the assassin's cloak, revealing an individual dressed in checkered clothing Eyleen felt like she had seen before, but she couldn't put her finger on it.
"Ahh..." murmured Cirasso. "Who was this one again?"
"That's Gregothy, captain," said the eye patch.
"Thank you, Urgnar. Gregothy...?" inquired Cirasso.
"The soup chef," reaffirmed Urgnar.
"Oh, well that explains why the soup was so bland," said Cirasso with a shrug.
Gregothy pleaded through his cries of pain. "Please, spare my life. I can explain. It's all a misunderstanding!"
Cirasso let out a short laugh. "'Misunderstanding'. This one has been extinguished."
"No, no! Captain! I haven't been extinguished, if you'd just let me explain!" cried Gregothy.
"No, I don't think I will. Could somebody pass me a dagger? I don't want to dirty my sword again," said Cirasso, eyeing the crowd.
Eyleen had enough. Before she could even think, her hand had moved into the depths of her black coat and drawn forth a sleek dagger, throwing it in the same motion. It flew straight and true, hitting Gregothy in the forehead with a wet thump. Any words Gregothy had attempted to say to plead for his life escaped him at once in an awful groan as he collapsed onto the ground, hollow, still, and dead.
Cirasso stood at ease for a moment. "Well, you do my work for me. How are you doing? Did he hurt you?"
Cirasso reached his hands out to Eyleen who did not mean to respond to his gesture, but her hand moved involuntarily to grasp his. Kestrel stood up to the side and Cirasso hoisted Eyleen to an upright position.
"I'm fine," said Eyleen, mind numb.
Pushing their way past the gathered crowd of people came Valger, rowdy as ever. "What's all this!? Interrupting me fight!"
As he finally made his way to the scene of the crime, he stopped. "Ohoh, nasty work, there. Should bury the body."
Eyleen couldn't think straight. Someone had targeted her life, and the concerning part is that she knew exactly who. She briskly walked away from the scene, feeling glances from Cirasso, Kestrel, and other people in the crowd. She needed space. Space to think. She walked out of the gate, away from people who could stab her. She stopped by the edge of the bridge, leaning over to look at the calm currents.
Eyleen looked at her hands, trembling slightly. They had come for her here. In fact, their assassins were already here. They had anticipated her being here.
"Eyleen!" called Kestrel from across the bridge. She felt more at ease when she heard him, but didn't dare face him as she was now.
Kestrel ran up to her and asked. "Are you alright?"
Eyleen tried to force a smile but her lips remained frozen. "Yeah, I'm fine."
"Who was that? Why was he after you?" asked Kestrel, a concerned look painting his face.
"He was no one. No one at all," said Eyleen, looking back down into the running river.
"No," said Kestrel, raising his voice. "Don't keep me in the dark. I know that we haven't known each other for very long at all, but we're only alive right now because we've helped each other."
Eyleen felt her heart rate increase. She wasn't confident her words would come out as she expected them to. "This has nothing to do with you..."
"Please, you must tell me. Please, Eyleen." Kestrel pleaded.
"I have a very troubled past, Kestrel. I'm not a good person, and many people want me dead," she said.
"Who would send assassins into the Swarth to have you killed? Being in the Swarth itself is punishment enough, isn't it?" argued Kestrel.
"It's complicated," said Eyleen.
Kestrel sagged his shoulders. "Alright, I understand it's something you really can't tell me. It's a shame but, I understand. At least the assassin is gone, now."
Eyleen's eyes widened at the thought. "No, they're not. They always come in pairs. There is someone else who wants my life."
"There you go again, with the 'they'!" said Kestrel. "I'd like to help you but I've no idea what manner of foe you are facing! You don't need to face them alone. I'll help you. I promise."
This boy was far too nice for his own good. Not to mention, he did not understand what kind of world he would be stepping into if he decided to help her. Actually, just being with her may pose a danger to him. But the way he pleaded, so desperately to help her. Something shifted inside Eyleen, something she never liked to talk about or even acknowledge.
"They're..." she began, hesitating. "I'm being targeted by a bank. A powerful bank. I did some things that didn't agree with their, well, worldview, and now they want me dead. I've been on the run since the Year of Iron."
"A bank," muttered Kestrel. "That's... concerning."
Eyleen felt her heart sink. "I know, I know, I'm not a good person. That's what I was trying to tell you."
"No, that's not what I mean. If the bank is after you, there are not many ways to get them to stop, if any at all," said Kestrel.
"Tell me about it," said Eyleen, almost scoffing.
"Also, you're not a bad person," began Kestrel. "You're the loveliest person I know."
Eyleen went silent at hearing his words, and suddenly Kestrel's cheeks flushed red.
"I mean, in the Swarth! And, the Swarth doesn't have many lovely things in it so of course you'd be lovely, and so-"
"You mean to say you wouldn't find me lovely outside of the Swarth?" asked Eyleen, cocking her brow.
Kestrel began shaking his hands erratically in a disagreeing gesture. "No, no, no, that's not-"
Eyleen laughed. It erupted naturally from somewhere within her chest. Blooming forth like a winterflower in spring. "Thank you, Kestrel, for thinking I'm lovely. You are among few who do."
Kestrel's face went red, and he did not seem to be able to find his tongue as he grumbled.
The man with the eye patch, Urgnar, approached them from the gate. "Terrible thing, that. Who'd have thought Gregothy of all people was after a young lady's life?"
Eyleen felt the laughter escape her face as the man approached. "Not my first time."
"Well, you survived that ordeal. You survived the attack last night. I'm sure you'll survive whatever else is to come," he said. "Either way, Krola is doing a head count. We're about to embark again. Best you two head back."