Castel has spent the past two years at Fort Mael, setting up a military base in the mountain pass between the Dreadlands and the kingdoms of Erya, throwing himself into the work in the hopes it will help exercise his demons. He's had relative succes...
Sir Castel, Commander of the High King's military units at Fort Mael, stared at the documents on his desk and tried not to notice how it wobbled slightly. He failed. Any time he moved, the blasted piece of furniture shifted slightly. It was infuriating. This had not been an issue earlier in the day, only starting after he returned from the evening meal a short while ago.
With a sigh, he gave up on reading the correspondence and stood to have a look at the uneven desk. Putting a palm on one corner, he pushed lightly. The desk wobbled. Hoping no one would come to see him, he got down on all fours and looked underneath one of the desk's legs. Ha! The culprit was a small note that had been double-folded and wedged in to cause the unevenness.
"Boreas," he muttered under his breath as he pulled out the piece of paper. The Spymaster had joined the High King's forces at the fort shortly after Cas and the first group had arrived. It was easier to coordinate his agents on location for their missions into Dreadlands. Fort Mael sat in a strategic position in the mountain pass connecting the kingdoms of Erya to the vast unexplored land to the north.
To Cas's frustration, the Spymaster was rather fond of practical jokes and often chose him as the target. Something about needing to lighten up and live a little. He wasn't sure. He had not been paying attention, as he'd been too busy reading the latest reports from their units.
Still sitting on the floor, he stared at the door when it flew open and a rush of cold air and snow swept inside his tower chambers. A hooded figure stepped inside, closing the door behind them. A courier? He stood, annoyed that they hadn't knocked before barging in. The dark, hooded cloak bore no insignias or other symbols to identify the wearer.
Brushing the dust off his knees with his palms, he watched the visitor warily. They remained quiet, standing still inside the door, their face in shadow. It was a woman, he realised. Short of stature and with a slight form. The hint of a simple robe showed beneath the heavy cloak.
"Can I help you?" he asked, maybe more brusquely than planned. It grated on him that the visitor had yet to say a word. It must be one of the Spymaster's agents or a courier who was too shy to speak. Apparently, he intimidated them. According to Boreas, he wore a perpetual scowl.
"I hope so," the woman said, and for a moment he could have sworn he recognised her voice.
She took another step into the room and pulled back the hood. He felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. Looking into her all too familiar face, he swallowed painfully. He hadn't expected to see her. Not here. Could he not escape her even at the edge of the world?
"S... Sorceress Isobel," he stammered, suddenly feeling like the foolish young man who had longingly watched her in Highglaive all those years ago. "I wasn't... I mean, we weren't expecting you here."
She smiled faintly. He remembered that smile. Once upon a time, he had coveted that smile.
"Please. Call me Isobel. We were akin to friends once. I would like to think that has not been lost through the years, even if much has happened since."
Everything had happened since. The world had burned. He was not the same man he was before the Dark Disciple took the city of Messina and Highglaive with it. Like many others, he carried scars deep in his soul from the years of terror when Deva was in control.
"I remember our time in Highglaive," he said. "But it has been nearly a decade since I was a Sentinel in service to the sorcerers."
The Sentinels were the guards stationed at Highglaive, home of the sorcerers. Most had been killed when Deva invaded and set up his headquarters in the tower, and those who survived had moved on, leaving Highglaive primarily empty these days, with only the remaining few sorcerers in residence.
His eyes met hers. "You're not just Isobel though. You are Sorceress Isobel. The Sorceress Isobel. You saved us all."
Her smile flickered, and she made a small wave with her hand as if swatting away an annoying fly. "We all had our part to play in defeating the Dark Disciple."
Nodding slowly, he could understand if she didn't wish to discuss the past. He didn't blame her. Neither did he. "Why are you here? Have they sent you to assist us? We didn't know you were coming."
"I'm afraid I'm not here to help. Rather, the opposite." A shadow crossed her face. "I require your help. Recently, I ran into a spot of trouble, and... I need somewhere to recuperate."
"Recuperate?" he replied stupidly. It was only then that he realised she was looking pale, and there was a tenseness about her he'd not registered before. The shock of seeing her had obviously dulled his senses. Fool.
"Yes, and I must ask you another favour... Don't tell anyone I'm here. Please."
"Of course," he said quickly, even if he did not understand why it needed to be a secret. "But what is the matter?"
"I will explain in a moment," she said, her voice slightly slurred, as if what remaining energy she had was quickly waning. "Just... Let me rest for a moment."
She took a step towards a chair by his desk but faltered. For a precarious moment, she swayed on the spot, before her legs suddenly buckled and she fell. Cas reached her just in time to keep her head from smashing against the stone floor.
Staring down at the unconscious woman in his arms, he slowly shook his head in bewilderment. What in the world was going on?
~~~~~~
اوووه! هذه الصورة لا تتبع إرشادات المحتوى الخاصة بنا. لمتابعة النشر، يرجى إزالتها أو تحميل صورة أخرى.
