The Ghost's Crusade

Chapter I. Drystan (cont.)

Drystan groaned, knowing full well that Akkali had picked her sentence specifically to bait the mob into doing something foolish so she could have a legitimate reason for painting the cobblestones in their blood. She was frustrated at having lost track of the man they had been chasing for two weeks and was completely amenable to taking out her anger on the nearest person that happened to irritate her. The way they were staring at her as though she were worth less than a dead cat made himself and his constant companion think twice about whether or not they would join her in such an endeavor. Ultimately their consciences got the better of them.

“Let's not and say we did, shall we? We'd really prefer to avoid civilian casualties.”

"As if anyone would notice another bloody corpse in this place," she retorted with a chuff.

Settling into an unassuming defensive posture, she sat back and waited for the first incoming rock to justify her rushing forward and taking out as many as she could before he intervened. He knew that if the Enkiri decided to act upon her vengeful impulses it would immediately turn into an outright massacre of weaponless and half-drunk fools. The only way any of them would be able to lay a hand on her was if that particular arm had already been ripped free of their torso and she ended up tripping over it.

Luckily what came next was not a thrown stone but a pair of horses. A roan courser with a braided mane, in fact, and a second courser being lead along behind it that was pure black except for its white fetlocks. He recognized the rider on the roan as the youngest squire of his commander, a northern boy named Eoran Dorne. Everyone looked away from Akkali and towards the approaching horses in perfect synchronicity, almost as if they only shared a single mind between the lot them and that mind could only do a single thing at a time.

Although the boy was all of fourteen no one dared treat him as such. He had come to the order at ten after escaping what ended up being a massacre at the borders of the feuding countries of Eireness and Riordan. It had given him a very good grip on... reality, for one. His dark brown eyes always had a dour look about them that bothered Drystan. A youth's eyes were supposed to be alight with vibrant energy, not grim and sullen like man come home from a lost war. The boy had seen what most would not even glimpse were they to live to four times his years and it had withered him, anyone could see it.

Eoran pushed his way through the crowd using his large horse as a battering ram. He cared little for the people he knocked to the ground, mostly because he similarly did not care if they drug him off his horse and attempted to kill him for the slight. Drystan had never liked how he was always so ready to die, but the truth was the boy was almost as dangerous as Akkali simply because he looked as though he was harmless. In reality Eoran was a walking arsenal of dirty tricks and sharp knives, the very reason why he was a squire to a Taskmaster and not carting around swords for someone as insignificant as Drystan.

“The Taskmaster sends you a horse, Ser,” said Eoran, holding out the reigns of the riderless horse towards him. “A task has come up in Baedorn to the west. The Inquisitor General and Ovan there have requested Antenox's assistance in a matter suspected to involve demons.”

An abrupt and uneasy hush fell over the assembled mob like a woolen blanket as a few of them mouthed the word, Antenox. Their sudden shift in attitude made Drystan smirk; served them right for failing to take the proper measure of the people they intended to run down in the street. A few moments later and with more than a few wary mutterings the crowd began to disperse to the four points of the compass. Not one of them wanted to test their skills against an Antenox Inferi, much less one being accompanied by a savage Enkiri beast.

“Demons, you say.” He chuckled to himself and shook his head. “My, my, my, what are they up to now in that viper's nest.”