Kestrel followed Eyleen as they walked briskly through the ruins. He kept his guard up, scanning every nook and cranny, and flinching at every sound. They climbed a set of stairs leading to an open space that spanned onward toward the bulk of the castle. From another set of stairs leading up to the same clearing came Urgnar stomping up, followed by Tullythor, and then Sameel.
"Found any draugur yet?" asked Urgnar.
"Not quite yet," said Kestrel.
Urgnar surveyed the area around Kestrel and Eyleen. "Where is Cormorant?"
Kestrel checked behind himself as if Cormorant would've been there waiting. "I'm not sure."
"We split up," said Eyleen. "His idea."
Urgnar looked to Kestrel as if for confirmation, and Kestrel shrugged.
"Alright, well, in that case, since you two are newcomers..." said Urgnar before thinking for a short moment. "There'll be five of us, but since Sameel is also relatively new, we can make this into a lesson of sorts."
Eyleen eyed Sameel, but his eyes did not meet hers. He stood there in his oversized Omoqari garments, looking off into the ever-darkening horizon.
"There shouldn't be many undead, so just follow my lead and do your best," explained Urgnar. "If it gets tough, don't be afraid to take a step back and reassess the situation. And remember to communicate. Communication is key."
They walked along the top of a wall, and Kestrel looked at the distant grasslands flowing into carved mountains. The view was eventually blocked by walls of stone as they neared the heart of the castle, and soon they found themselves before an old wooden door. It creaked loudly on its rusted iron hinges as Urgnar pushed it open, age-old dust pluming in the air. Kestrel coughed as they entered the musty castle—cracks in the walls still allowing stubborn needles of light to pierce the inside. Treading past some old decor, they collectively noticed marks on the floor: disturbed dust, pieces of rag, and scratches in the stone floors.
"We were never here when I was stationed," said Urgnar. "They've been roaming around."
"Looks like a scuffle," said Eyleen, kneeling down to look at the tracks. "Look," she said, tracing her finger along the ground. "They shuffled from here, then fell on the floor. It looks like they wrestled before one of them crashed into this cupboard."
A shattered cupboard stood there as a remembrance of past violence and evidence of Eyleen's observation.
"So the undead fought each other?" asked Kestrel.
"Well, someone did," said Eyleen.
Urgnar pointed to the piece of rag on the ground. "A real catfight."
Tullythor almost cackled, and Sameel approached the rag. He pulled out an exotic metal instrument, sharp and thin, and scraped the material. He then pulled out a vial of glass filled with an unknown transparent liquid and put the metal instrument inside. Nobody paid it any mind, except Kestrel, who identified Sameel as an alchemist. Perhaps this was the clue he was looking for—the alchemist assassin who poisons his targets. But then again, why send a learned man to a place like the Swarth? Something didn't add up with Sameel being the assassin. Considering the assassins were a pair, they must've been working together, but he couldn't imagine the likes of Sameel working together with someone like Gregothy. Of course, perhaps that was intended. It was hard to say.
"Let's keep going," said Urgnar, and they walked deeper into the castle. Passing empty, cold rooms and walking through corridors, they eventually reached a door leading out to a courtyard. Urgnar made the decision to turn back, and they took another turn that led into an area in the castle without daylight, and so Urgnar lit his torch using a fire-starter of rope.
"Bloody dark in here," he said. "I'd be wary to keep going if we hadn't known this place was already as good as abandoned."
"Do we know for sure?" asked Tullythor, holding firmly his axe with both hands.
"The scouts have been around here ever since we lost it to the undead forces a year past. It took a while, but they've left. I trust our scouts. I have to. We have to."
Kestrel opened his satchel and pinched a small number of seeds, flicking them into the air and whispering 'lysa' to himself. The seeds blossomed into warm light that painted the walls in a muted yellow.
"By the-" uttered Urgnar. "You're a spellcaster, boy!"
"Did I not say?" asked Kestrel, a satisfied smile dimpling his cheeks.
Urgnar flung a thick piece of cloth over the torch, and it died with a sear. "I suppose we won't be needing this."
"Leave illumination to me," said Kestrel, scanning the faces of his group for approval. His eyes met with Sameel's for the first time, bright yellow and deep set, his face a chiseled artwork of dark clay. Long black hair like thin, stacked rope hung from his head and over his face, and three dots were painted in the middle of his forehead. He averted his eyes as soon as they met Kestrel's, and Kestrel averted his. Now that he thought about it, weren't Omoqari eyes black?
"Wait, hush," Urgnar whispered loudly. "I hear something."
The group froze and listened carefully. Echoing in the corridor was movement, slow and unpredictable. Hollow thuds like dried wood on marble reverberated unrhythmically in the air. Kestrel swallowed hard, his eyes jarred open and staring into the dark of the hall. Soon, the faint form of a man surfaced out of the darkness, and it was soon clear that this was no man at all. The hollow cage of a man shuffled closer, its motives unclear. There was no muscle, no sinew, no cartilage—only dry, dirty bones. A skeleton walked in defiance of the natural order, as if it were being marionetted by evil itself. Its bony hand gripped tightly onto the chipped remnants of what once was a fine cutlass. It picked up pace, still slow to charge.
"A sack o' bones," noted Urgnar. "You're in luck! These fellas are by far the easiest to drape. Kestrel, would you do us the honors?"
Kestrel froze for a moment, his hands trembling. He gripped Evynzhul with all his might to steady his fear, or perhaps this was excitement. He felt Eyleen put a hand on his shoulder as she whispered, 'you should kill it, you will need the experience," and in response he drew Evynzhul in all its golden glory. It was long and handsome and brought forth courage in the hearts of men who saw it. Kestrel pointed it towards the approaching undead. He waited for it to get close enough where he could lunge at it if he pleased, and when it did it lurched forward, sword-arm first, striking clumsily downwards as if controlled by a puppeteer. Kestrel slashed at the skeleton's broken saber as he took one calculated step backwards, parrying it to the side, before lunging back into range and cleaving the impossible carcass in half. The animated bones crumbled onto the ground in a clattering cacophony, and Kestrel controlled his exhale. If these were the enemies he had to face, he was ready.
"Wonderful, boy!" said Urgnar, cheerfully.
Eyleen approached Kestrel as he still stared intensely into the pile of bones. "That was great. Good defence."
"With talent like this, you'll be settled in as a proper Peregrin in no time, I bet!" said Urgnar, patting Kestrel on the back, making him feel not only warm on the inside, but also powerful, as if his bones were made of steel. Perhaps he had a knack for swordfighting.
Sameel approached the piles of bones and picked up the cracked skull in his hands. He suddenly closed his yellow eyes and put the forehead of the skull to his own as he hummed low.
"What are you doing!?" cried Tullythor.
"Wait," Urgnar said in response. "Let him finish."
Eyleen had a look of concern subtly contorting her face, but Kestrel felt rather intrigued. This was no mere alchemist. Sameel's hum faded into silence before removing the skull from his forehead, letting it drop to the ground with a clack.
"Moorhtozhoni niirhyssdorr..." he muttered in a language Kestrel identified as Sadaari, one of the many languages spoken in Omoqari. "Through darkness I see. The roots of corruption are deep here."
"What did you see, Sameel?" inquired Urgnar.
"More ytrhasmiir. Dead men," he said in a burnt voice, his accent distinctly Omoqari.
"Can't say I'm surprised," said Tullythor. "Were there many?"
"Many more than what we think before," said Sameel. "Careful we must tread."
The group looked ahead, and Kestrel steeled his gaze. 'Let them come'. And as if he himself had conjured his thoughts into existence, distant echoes of hollow shuffles and terrible groans washed over them.
"The draugur have come," said Urgnar. "We must fight now, together."
Urgnar pulled out a long dirk for piercing with his right hand, and a long-shafted iron hammer with his left. Tullythor readied his axe, Eyleen her daggers, and Sameel stood, watching. Kestrel aimed his blade out in front of him. His hands were still shaking, but he did not mind.
Revealed by the muted light came shuffling the forms of the undead. There were more walking skeletons, each wielding splintered weapons, then there were draugurs. They still resembled men, but they were simply corpses; rotten and gray skin clung to withered sinew and bone, with dark sockets sunken in their hollow faces, only pretending to be eyes. They groaned and moaned, low and innately, as if they had no other choice. They too carried weapons, and they wielded them crudely.
Urgnar took the lead, Eyleen shadowing behind with her daggers drawn. Sameel stood in the back and watched, his hand holding onto something within his garments. Tullythor surveyed the situation, then he spoke, "on your right, two draugurs. I'll take the left one," and quickly stepped up.
Kestrel's breath tightened in his throat, but his legs followed Tullythor's attack with conviction. Tullythor sprang up to the walking dead man on the left and lifted his axe up high and heaved down, and the draugur could barely react before its skull had been cleaved like a log.
Kestrel promptly approached the one on the right, blade pointed towards its neck. It stumbled over its legs as it lurched at him with surprising speed, waving its dull weapon in front of it, and Kestrel instinctively pulled his sword up into a guard as he stepped to the side—clashing with ancient steel. The draugur tumbled past him but balanced itself as if it were walking on stilts. Before it could turn around, Kestrel swooped in with a horizontal slice—Evynzhul finding its mark at the corpse's nape, but its head was not yet severed. It jerked violently, almost yanking the hilt out of his grip. Kestrel held firm, dragging the blade through its neck with a dry scrape, and the rotten head thumped to the ground, followed limply by its corpse which sent a waft of musk billowing in the air. He intended to wipe Evnyzhul's edge off of blood, but there was only a dark dust coating it.
Kestrel looked up towards his group, a cold bead of sweat trickling down his warm forehead. Urgnar and Eyleen stood among rolling heads and piles of bones, and Sameel approached calmly from behind, inspecting the darkness ahead.
"We continue," said Urgnar, weapons still at the ready.
Kestrel did not sheathe Evynzhul, for he still heard awful moans echoing in the castle.