Arc 1: Chapter 13: Castle Cael
The mist lingered — I imagined it would so long as whatever will was behind it wanted it to. It writhed and curled around the edges of the boat as the vessel cut the murky water of the lake, the wispy tendrils parting only sullenly around the wooden hull. Lanterns attached to the hull of the boat helped light our path, but I moved us forward slow and cautious all the same.
I propelled us through the mist with a long oar while Catrin sat at the front, occasionally giving me direction. She seemed to know her way well through the fog-laden expanse of the those waters. Which was, I was certain, a problem. She’d known the ghoul mercenaries by name. She knew the baron was gathering Things of Darkness to him… which led me to suspect she might be one of those things.
But what, exactly? Not a ghoul, I thought. But I didn’t think she was just an ordinary resident of the village, either. She seemed very human, but that meant little for some beings. I could try to use my powers to look through that mask, but if she was something inhuman then she’d sense me doing it.
Better to pick my moment.
“You listening?”
The question ripped me from my thoughts. The slow, steady rhythm of my rowing faltered, and it took me a moment to realize I’d missed the last thing Catrin had said. I glanced at her where she sat at the front of the small fishing vessel. She’d donned a yellow dress and brown bodice over her night garment, though she was still underdressed for the chill air over the lake, the skin of her neck and shoulders exposed. I felt chilled even under the weight of my heavy cloak.
When I still failed to reply, Catrin arched an eyebrow at me. “I asked you what your name was, big man.”
I hesitated a beat before replying. “Alken.”
“Ooo…” Catrin lifted both eyebrows then, leaning forward with interest. “Haven’t heard that before. Sounds fancy. You some kind of lord?
I was struggling to place her accent. It sounded like a Marchlander a bit, though she spoke with an impatient, breathy haste that made her words blend together. It seemed more the product of a verbal tic than a dialect.
“Not a lord,” I said in response to her question.