The Ghost's Crusade

Chapter VIII: Drystan (cont)

They had been tracking the fugitives for much farther than Drystan had realized. By the time the reached the city gates the sun had long since set and the rain had been drizzling down lazily for over an hour. The watch that had greeted him on the way in that morning had been switched out for a half-dozen slightly older men who were none too pleased to be roused from their half-sleeping states as they spotted the travelers on the road in.

One decently armed man could open up the defenses of this entire city without trouble, Drystan thought bitterly as he examined the lackluster defenses from a distance. In little more than a minute he had picked apart the wall man by man without even consciously willing to do so, noting the weak points to attack and the entrenchments to avoid. One never knew when they would have to make a rapid egress, and he would rather take the path that had the fewest people along the way—he would likely be making an escape with Akkali, and she had absolutely no mercy when things became that dire.

Abruptly the Enkiri herself stalked out from the foggy treeline and approached them with her hands tucked into her sleeves. She had never cared much for the highland weather either, and it was fairly evident she was just as miserable as he about being stuck out in it. The narrow-eyed scowl twisting her fine-boned features was impossible to mis-translate. “They've boarded up the entire city, or so it seems.”

Her sudden appearance startled Tiernan, who visibly flinched and turned to stare at her. “Where have you been?”

“Consorting with Pandemonium fiends, as all Enkiri are apt to be doing after dark,” she retorted with a derisive grin. “Say, most of your order tend to be virgins, right, Inquisitor? I might need some ingredients later of of the pure, untainted and crimson kind.”

Though it looked like he had to put a lot of effort into it, Tiernan ignored her obvious attempt to bait him by simply shaking his head and glossing over what she had said. “They've been doing that for the past week. Started with a few shopkeepers in Uptown and spread like a plague.” He shrugged and headed towards the gate. “Come on, we can stay in the barracks at the church for the night. They're small but they're dry.”

The Enkiri's face closed off instantly, eyes going cold and lips all but vanishing into a thin line just above the collar of her buttoned-up coat. She seemed about ready to say something particularly scathing, then turned on her heels and marched back off into the fog. “I'll meet you at the campsite tomorrow morning, Drystan. Have fun with the zealot.”

The Inquisitor frowned as she disappeared almost as silently as she had come. “Absolutely charming.”

“Honestly, can you really blame her?” Drystan asked with a shrug.

“I...” The man grunted and his scowl deepened at having to admit that he was not surprised in the least with any foul-mouthed attitude the Inquisition received from the Enkiri. “No, I suppose not.”

“Just leave it be, Tier. You can try and change the heathen's opinion on the church tomorrow.”

“I have a feeling she'll cut my tongue out for trying.”

“Ah...” After thinking on it for a moment, Drystan furrowed his brow and added quickly, “On second thought, it's best just to leave that sleeping dog very much alone.”

For a brief moment Tiernan seemed willing to consider that he was saying such a thing in jest. When his serious expression failed to dissolve into a mocking grin, he sighed, shook his head, and let the matter drop.

As he had expected, they passed by the guards at the gate without so much as a second glance. Trying to be optimistic, Drystan told himself that it was because he was walking in the front door with an Inquisitor and not because the guards were too lazy or afraid to challenge them. Anyone reasonably concerned with the safety of the city would have at least asked them where they were from. All the two men received were wary stares and one uneasy grunt from a bearded man who smelled as if he'd been consistently drunk for the past week.