With Kestrel in the back, he and the company made their way out of the pine forest into an expansive grassland that slanted upwards towards the ruins of what was once a magnificent castle, still standing tall at the very top. Even though they still had a moderate distance to cover, the typically conversation-eager company Kestrel found himself with was silent, as if everyone were holding their breath. Kestrel looked around at the barren grassland, spare from the lone tree every now and then, almost expecting to see some undead monster roaming around. But there would be nothing. And soon they had reached the foot of the ruins.
Trynador Castle was larger than Kestrel had anticipated. Most of it was still roofed, and apart from the creeping vines and moss, it seemed rather strong in foundation. Its walls spanned lengthwise from the bulk of the castle perpendicularly along the grassland, longer than it was tall. The further walls and structures were worse for wear, as if the castle had been abandoned and rebuilt multiple times throughout history.
Trailing up a long since abandoned road, marked only by the odd patch of cobble or an old wooden pole still jutting out of the ground, they approached the main gate. Kestrel inspected the intricate walls which were meticulously built of varying sizes and shapes of white and gray stone. Along them were bored into the stone the occasional window holes, which vines and other greenery used as a doorway inside. Green moss adhered to the cracks of the stones at the bottom, and fallen stones and debris littered the vicinity.
Standing at the maw of the gate, the stone castle loomed over him as the sun fell nearer the horizon. With Cirasso in the lead, they came to a halt. The wicker-patterned portcullis was shut, as if Trynador was biting into the earth.
"Guess we'll have to find another way in," said Tullythor, axe at the ready. "Let's split up."
"There are many ways inside," said Urgnar. "I was stationed here back when there was more hope in the world."
"No, wait," said Cirasso, staring intently at the closed gate. "There's something not right here."
"Aye. No draugurs to carve up," said Valger.
Cirasso cracked a laugh. "I would not count that out just yet. But no, that's not it."
Cormorant, striding confidently up to the gate, crossed his arms and spoke. "It wasn't lowered last time we had an outpost here."
Valger scoffed. "Oh yes, maybe the postmen had the manners to close it after themselves before they left. There! Mystery solved! Freeze me over, what are you even trying to say?"
"Leave the thinking to the rest of us, ice-eyes," said Cormorant, irritation tinging his voice.
"No, I was here when we were overrun," said Urgnar, voice quivering subtly. "Most of us fell in battle. We didn't care to look behind us as we ran for the forest, let alone close the gate."
"Why was the gate open in the first place?" asked Kestrel, confused as to why they'd leave it open for attackers to come storming in.
"These ruins have a hundred different ways in. We reckoned best leave everything open so we don't get caught with our backs to the wall," responded Urgnar, shrugging almost imperceptibly.
"Time weathered the hoist mechanism. All mechanisms without repair give up eventually," reasoned Eyleen, but her eyes were elsewhere, scanning the area.
Soon group two had made their way up to their little gathering, and a man with a thick mustache, wielding a mace and a shield, geared in plate and baked leathers, called out. "What's the hold up?" If Kestrel recalled correctly, Krola had called him Manovar.
Group two consisted of three people in total, now that two had stayed with group three. Set aside from Ashamar and Manovar, there was the woman named Viella, dressed in saintly robes and half-plate. An iron-rimmed club was slung behind her back, and a thick tome engraved with the emblem of the Light was latched to her belt.
"We're pondering on a mystery," said Cirasso, shrugging. "The gates are shut, but I'm concerned as to why."
"I fail to see the relevancy," said Manovar. "Let's keep moving. Daylight will not last forever."
Manovar kept walking and so did Viella, but Ashamar stood still, looking up at the gate. His polished full plate was contrasted by a wide bellowing torn cloak with the emblem of the Light embroidered into its weave. It must've been expensive, once.
"It was the heathens," spoke Ashamar, and Kestrel held his breath. Ashamar's voice reverberated in the air, as if his tall helmet amplified his deep baritone voice.
"They lowered the gate," he concluded, and walked off with the rest of group two, tracing the walls of the ruins.
"The heathens?" Kestrel whispered so Eyleen would hear.
"I guess he means the undead," she said.
Cirasso looked troubled. "A draugur lowering a gate..."
Valger groaned. "Oh no! They shut the gate! Whatever shall we do?"
Group one shuffled awkwardly around in front of the gate.
"Oh, seriously!? You leaky barrel of herrings are scared of some gate-closing cocksucker?"
"You don't get it, like usual," said Cormorant. "If they did close the portcullis, it can only mean that they've been getting increasingly more intelligent."
"That could mean battle tactics," noted Cirasso.
"Which could mean traps," added Eyleen.
Kestrel swallowed a dry lump of nothing. The air felt colder now, and he crossed his arms to warm himself up.
"Well, group two are already being proactive," began Cirasso. "And Manovar wasn't wrong—the sands of daylight are trickling out between the cracks of our fingers. Let's clear the way for group three before night rains upon us."
"Viella and the others went thataway," said Urgnar, before pointing in the opposite direction. "There's a way in if we circle 'round there as well."
"It is good to have someone with experience. Let us go," said Cirasso, and group one began moving. Kestrel strolled carefree behind them, but a sudden weight began weighing down on his chest. He gripped Evynzhul for comfort, and steeled on. He knew that if he were ever in trouble—serious trouble—Eyleen would be there for him.
They rounded the ruins, and the further they went, the more decrepit it looked, eventually finding an opening in the castle. A thin crack in the wall—as if a giant had beheaded a snake of stone. They stepped over rocks and crumbled stone bricks to reach the inside of the walls, where the atmosphere hung heavily over them. Age old dust drifted in the air like morning fog, and it smelled of dirt.
"Well, we all know what we are here to do," began Cirasso. "There should not be many undead, and the ones that are here are probably dormant. But with the gate mystery and such, I would like you to keep your wits about you, understand?"
The group nodded and grumbled, and Eyleen stood as motionless as a hawk in flight, still cautious of the people around her.
"That means no head counting, no games, no distractions," said Cirasso, flicking glares at some troublemakers—especially the ice-eyes.
"We'll split up, I presume?" inquired Tullythor.
Cirasso pondered for a moment. "I'd rather not, but I don't think we'll get done clearing the area in time otherwise, so we're left with no choice. Maddis and Raghnar, you're with me. Urgnar, take Sameel and Valger with you-"
"I ain't goin' with no one of you cocks," said Valger, spitting on the ground before walking past Cirasso and continuing on alone into the ruins.
Cirasso sighed, then cleared is throat. "Alright, in that case, Urgnar, take Sameel and Tullythor with you."
"Got it, captain," said Urgnar.
"Cormorant-"
"Take the rookies, I got it," interrupted Cormorant, who gestured to Kestrel and Eyleen to get going before he hurried off down some rubble and into a forgotten crooked alleyway.
Kestrel looked at Eyleen who narrowed her eyes at Cormorant. She turned towards Kestrel and gave him an affirmative look, and they both followed Cormorant down the alley.
Kestrel picked up his pace. "Hey, wait for us! You're such a fast walker!"
Cormorant kept marching on, past old, broken-down doors and up loose stairs of stone. Kestrel was panting as they hurried along, but Eyleen moved gracefully as ever over the uneven terrain. Eventually, Cormorant turned into a chipped archway that looked dangerously close to collapsing on top of them, and into an abandoned building where light still managed to seep in from nooks in the foundation. Eyleen suddenly put a hand in front of Kestrel, stopping him. Eyleen slowly pulled forth a sleek knife and turned it backwards, hiding it behind her forearm. She stepped slowly inside the building.
"I've been meaning to talk to you," said Cormorant suddenly.
"I suppose it's not a confession of love," said Eyleen sarcastically.
Cormorant made no expression. "Is that what you expected?"
A scowl flashed over Eyleen's face. "Did they pay you good? Fine, polished silver, I bet."
"Wait," said Cormorant, a certain fret in his tone. "Let me explain."
"There's nothing to explain," Eyleen said taking a step forward.
"You may still be in danger," said Cormorant.
"I'm sure you think so," hissed Eyleen.
"I have knowledge you may wish to partake in," pleaded Cormorant.
Eyleen stared daggers into him.
"Maybe he's not the one," said Kestrel, realizing that it wouldn't make sense for Cormorant to be the assassin. He was too well-dressed. Too haughty.
Cormorant took heavy breaths at the escalating situation. "The man who tried to take your life, Gregothy. He was a soup chef and a tradesman."
Eyleen kept her gaze burned into him. "Go on."
"A man with a lot of connections. It makes sense for him to pick up a bounty on someone."
"So you do know of the bounty," remarked Eyleen.
"Indirectly," began Cormorant. "Two seasons ago, when the flowers were still blooming, there was one man who kept asking around for an individual. I did not see or speak to him directly, but word went around. The description in question was a blonde woman. Tall and with amber eyes. At the time, there was no such individual, but now-"
"Yes," said Eyleen. "Here I am."
"The man who was looking for you. I said I did not meet him in person, but-" said Cormorant.
Eyleen cocked her brow. "But?"
"-but, I heard he was a woodworker. Gregothy was no woodworker."
"The second assassin..." muttered Kestrel. "Woodworkers... they're part of group three, are they not?"
"You are correct," said Cormorant.
Eyleen sighed. "So, if you're not lying, the assassin is part of group three. Meaning, after we clear out these ruins of the undead, they'll stroll in with their, what was it called, Wyvern? And then when night falls he'll try to stab me in the back. Classic."
"That makes sense," said Kestrel. "How do we prepare for that? To make sure he doesn't get to you."
"Now that I know of his plans, I'll see him coming. Don't worry, Kestrel," said Eyleen, smiling softly.
"Don't celebrate just yet," said Cormorant. "There are some things to consider."
Eyleen looked back at Cormorant, this time seeming to take him seriously.
"Group one. It's a flawed, rag-tag team of rookies," he said.
"Clearly," said Eyleen.
"What I mean, is that group one was put together just recently. Mostly of volunteers."
Kestrel knew the implications of that, and a reignited sense of worry flared up from within him. "If the assassin knew you were joining this campaign, they could have volunteered for this mission to always be near you."
"So, they could still be in group one..." mused Eyleen.
"Or group two," noted Kestrel.
Eyleen frowned. "That complicates things."
"I'm at the very least pleased that you're able to see it from my perspective," said Cormorant, sighing in relief. He looked at Kestrel. "You won't be able to save her from the assassin."
"I can save myself," hissed Eyleen.
"I can!" said Kestrel, raising his voice. His own words had come unexpectedly, even to himself.
"I mean," he continued. "I'm more capable than you think. Just, not with the sword."
Cormorant looked off to the side in a dismissive manner. "I'd be better suited to protect her."
Kestrel was shocked almost as if by lightning, as he heard Cormorant's words escape his lips. He looked over to see Eyleen's look of discontentment on her face, which for reasons unknown to Kestrel gave him a sense of relief.
"Look, I appreciate you sharing your information, but I don't need your protection," said Eyleen, dragging her words distastefully.
"Eyleen," uttered Cormorant. "I am Cormorant of House Layanour. Firstborn of Eremorn—my father. I am high royalty. Silver runs in my veins. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes upon. If you would become my betrothed, I would bestow upon you riches beyond what you could ever imagine. Riches you deserve. I can save you from those assassins. From the tough life you've lived up to this point. You deserve the likes of me, and I would be honored to make you my wife. My vows to a goddess like you would be sworn in the halls of light themselves, unlike this lowborn."
Kestrel felt his stomach knot into itself. Turning and churning. 'This lowborn'. Just at that notion, and the notion of him thinking that Kestrel was trying to court Eyleen in some fashion, lit a fire of rage in his chest that spread to his shoulders and all the way up to his ears. He was tempted to lay out his lineage right then and there—prince of Shebac, first born and heir to the throne of the Swarth—that his blood ran in an even deeper silver than his. But he wouldn't. He felt shame even at the thought. The word 'silvershone' echoed in his head. The words of not only Marquis, but many people before him. Yet, the fire in his chest would not let up, and it burned like cinders in white charcoal.
"Silver blood? As if I'd swoon at your feet because of your self-important arrogance," said Eyleen. "You're not as charismatic as you think you are."
'But he was handsome, more handsome than me,' thought Kestrel, and immediately tried to repress his thoughts. He was not here to court Eyleen as he concluded, so why did it matter who was more handsome or not. Not to mention, this was not the time or place to discuss such trivial matters. They were in an abandoned ruin home to undead creatures. They had a job to attend to.
"I..." began Kestrel. "We should go and kill those draugurs."
"We don't kill draugurs. They are already dead. We drape draugurs," corrected Cormorant.
"I kill draugurs. Like it or not," said Eyleen, pulling on Kestrel's arm as she left the abandoned building. Kestrel tumbled along, but Cormorant stood still and alone in the empty house.
"Shouldn't we wait for him?" asked Kestrel as they returned to the derelict pathways of the ruins. Truthfully, he did not want Eyleen to say yes.
"He'll be fine. Let's go just the two of us," Eyleen said, eyes on the path.
Kestrel gripped onto the hilt of Evynzhul once more. He had never swung it at something he intended to have die before, but today would be the day. The day he'd kill a draugur.