“Open the gates, ya damn layabouts! On with it, then!” A man’s voice shouted down from the wall of the keep, carried by the brisk autumn winds. Matthaeus leaned to the side to peek out from behind Reyland, staring up at the towering, imposing walls of the keep. They were a dark grey stone, nearly black in the fading evening light, and taller even than the trees scattered around the field. A moat surrounded the massive keep, and it was on the drawbridge over that moat that Griff, Reyland and Matthaeus now waited.

The rattling of many great chains clattered as slowly, the metal grate blocking their way inside was lifted. Matthaeus strained to see around Reyland’s much larger form, eyes going wide as he saw inside for the first time.

Everywhere he looked he saw soldiers in chainmail. Marching, training, tending to horses… They were like ants in a hive. Many were standing guard as well, long spear and shield in hand, watching the new arrivals carefully with guarded expressions.

All the eyes on him made Matthaeus pull back a bit.

“Names?” A man asked, as they walked through the now open gate.

“Master Griffith, Apprentice Reyland, and the boy’s name is Matthaeus,” Griff replied.

“The boy?” The voice asked, and Matthaeus peeked back out around Reyland’s back.

The man questioning them looked more… important than most of the other guards. He wore chainmail, like them, but at his hip was a sword, and a few scattered parts of his body were covered in plate, unlike the others. He wore a different helmet, too, with what Matthaeus thought was a funny little plume of red hair-like strands coming from the top. He also looked rather mean, with a bulbous, crooked nose, scraggly beard and a scowl that seemed permanently fixed to his face.

“What’cha doin’ with a kid? He don’t look like one a’ yers,” the man said, squinting with beady black eyes at Matthaeus. Matthaeus stared back.

The man slowly recoiled a bit, an odd look coming over his face, like he’d just bit into something sour.

“S’a Norlander doin’ ‘ere?” He barked, and a few guards nearby began muttering amongst themselves.

“Travelling,” Griff said, a note of warning in his voice. “As our guest, and ward.”

The unpleasant looking man sneered.

“Like ‘ell I’m lettin’ a bloody savage into my keep,” he called out, raising his voice just enough for the surrounding soldiers to hear. A number of them shuffled closer, and Matthaeus worriedly noticed the spears in their hands.

“He’s a child, and no savage,” Griff said back calmly, though Matthaeus could see him starting to bristle. The man with the funny helmet, however, didn’t seem to notice.

“He’s a Northerner, and a bloody damn threat, s’what he is,” the man shouted back, and a few heads in the crowd started to nod in agreement.

“Shite, this ain’t good,” Reyland whispered sourly under his breath. “Bloody Arkasians, mate, only thing they hate more than peace is a damn outsider.”

Matthaeus just kept staring at the unpleasant looking man, trying to piece together the conversation.

“Are you so unpracticed with that blade of yours that a child is a threat to you, Captain?” Griff called, and a few snickers went through the ever-growing crowd. The man’s face started to turn a little red.

“I know just what I’m damn well doin’ with this,” the man yelled back. “And yer ‘bout ta find out, if ya’s don’t get that lil’ bastard savage outta my keep right this instant!”

“He’s no savage,” Griff said lowly, sliding off of Umber and drawing himself up to his full height. The captain, now standing directly in front of Griff, barely came up to the middle of Griff’s chest. “And you’d do well not to threaten a Master of the Order, Captain.”

Matthaeus’ eyes went wide with shock. Not once, since he had met the man, had he seen Griff angry. Yet, now, every pore of Griff’s being radiated a threat that made the hairs of Matthaeus’ neck stand up. A shiver went down his spine, and he watched as the captain took half a step back, looking up with a certain nervousness at the towering figure before him.

Reyland’s shoulders moved up and down in a chuckle only Matthaeus could hear.

“N’what,” the captain shot back. “We’re ta take yer word fer it, then? That he ain’t some savage, worse yet, some mage from up north? That he ain’t gonna go castin’ spells on us all in the night, that he ain’t some bloody spy?”

At the mention of the word mage, a rustle went through the crowd. Soldiers bristled, whispers started, and dozens upon dozens of eyes came to rest upon Matthaeus.

“That’s exactly correct,” Griff said back. “You are to take my name and word for it.”

The captain sneered, then spat on the ground.

“And who d’ya think you are, sayin’ that shit?”

“Griffith, Master of the Order of Alexandros.”

There was a heavy silence, followed by sudden whispering. Now that the soldiers themselves were nearby enough to hear the introduction and it wasn’t just the Captain, something had changed. The eyes of the crowd were no longer on Matthaeus.

They were on Griff.

A puzzled look came over the Captain’s face, then something seemed to dawn in his eyes.

“B-... bah, common enough name,” the Captain sputtered. “I never believed those old stories anyways. Doesn’ change a bloody thing.”

“Jurhal Keep has always housed the Order on our travels. I merely request shelter, rations and drink for a night. No more,” Griff announced loudly, and the whispering in the crowd grew.

“To the Order, not whatever savage you bastards bring along!”

“Did I not tell you to stop using that word?” Griff said threateningly, leaning forwards to tower over the smaller man. “Or was I too subtle?”

“B-by the authority of the Kasin Empyreon,” the Captain stammered, his voice raising an octave as he drew himself up to his full, not very impressive height. “Jurhal Keep is left in command of His Lordship, Baron Pallas Aubrey. As his only sworn knight, I-”

Reyland choked on a swig he was taking from his waterskin as the man referred to himself as a knight.

“-bear the right ta’ speak on behalf of my Lord in his absence. Which means, Ordained ‘er not, yer-”

“More than welcome in my keep, Master Griffith,” a much smoother, younger, and more elegant voice interrupted. Every head present turned to face the newcomer, who strode up behind the Captain.

“M-m’lord,” the Captain said nervously, dropping into a low bow.

The lord, Baron Aubrey, smiled in response politely, his hands folded gently behind his back. He wore a long, embroidered robe of forest green, trimmed in gold and silver in intricate patterns resembling vines. His hair was a dull, brownish red that hung in waves down to below his shoulders, and he seemed to be in his mid thirties at the most.

“While I appreciate your service as always, Edgar, I am in fact quite present enough to speak for myself.”

“A-as you wish, m’lord,” the Captain said with another bow.

“My sincerest apologies, Master Griffith,” Lord Aubrey said, lowering himself into his own, polite bow. “It seems my men have caused you quite a disturbance.”

“Apology accepted,” Griff replied, bowing as well.

“Perhaps you would accept a greater token of apology, then?” Lord Aubrey said with a smile. “I overheard your request for bed, food and drink. While there’s plenty in the barracks with the men, it is not often we receive visitors, let alone such esteemed guests. We’ve much more pleasant accommodations within my tower, if you’d care to join me.”

“Sounds good to me,” Reyland said, and the Baron shot him an amused look. Griff visibly bristled in annoyance.

“It would be impolite to turn down the very Lord of the keep we rest in,” Griff replied with a sigh. “Then we shall take up your most generous offer.”

“Excellent!” Lord Aubrey said excitedly, with a clap of his hands. “I’ll have the stable boys tend to your steeds. Would you care to join me for supper in say, oh, perhaps an hour? That should give you plenty of time to rest and refresh. There’s a bathing hall inside, though I shall have some of the servants guide you to your rooms first.”

The next hour was an absolute whirlwind to Matthaeus. Unable to follow almost any of what had been said since arriving at the keep, he was swept away almost blind by the rapid pace of their settling into the keep. Servants guided them inside as Lord Aubrey departed to his own rooms, and Matthaeus found himself ushered into a private guest room that was small and dark, yet lavishly furnished and decorated. A bed with four posts holding up a curtain that surrounded it, a vanity, a chest for his belongings, even the wooden floor was covered in a rich carpet. The servant who was guiding him instantly chided him for standing on it while still wearing his riding boots, and he quickly took them off, a bit embarrassed.

Not long after setting his few belongings down in his room, namely his knife and the few things Griff and Reyland had shared with him, he was guided along into a bath hall, where he quickly discovered something.

He hated baths.

The same servant who’d chided him for wearing his boots came with him, a woman about as old as Matilda, with grey hair and wrinkles to match. She gaped at the state of his clothes, bandages and exposed skin, prattling on and fussing over him constantly. At first he tried to flee, running past the woman towards his new room, only to have her block the door with her foot. Then, he tried to flee within the room, leading to her chasing him as a few other maid-servants laughed at the scene while filling a large metal tub.

Eventually, pinned into a corner, Matthaeus had no choice but to relent. He covered himself with a towel, red in the cheeks, and slipped into the tub of hot water while the, now very frustrated, eldery maid scrubbed through his hair.

To distract himself as the small team of maids bathed him, Matthaeus examined what parts of him he could see above the, thankfully, foamy water. All of his bandages had to be taken off before he entered the water, and he could see parts of himself now that he hadn’t for some time.

His left arm was bruised from the wrist up to the elbow, something he’d never seen before under the wrapping. It was light now, just a faded yellow colour, but a few spots of a darker orange or purple could be seen around the wrist. He flexed his hand, clenching and unclenching, feeling the uncomfortable tightness that had been his constant reality since awaking in Arcaster. It was fading, if slowly.

Both arms, particularly his forearms, were also covered in small scars. Little nicks and cuts, mostly, now turned to white dashes of scar tissue against his already pale skin. Whether any would last or whether they would all fade in a matter of weeks or months, he wasn’t sure, but looking at them brought about a painful memory.

Running, fleeing wildly through a glowing forest. Vines, branches and thorns, reaching out as if to catch him. His arms cut and scraped constantly, blood dripping down over him as he sprinted…

He shook his head, accidentally flicking water out of his long hair into one of the maid’s faces. She sputtered indignantly as the other young maid laughed, and the elderly maid chided them both. Matthaeus hung his head shyly in apology, letting them go back to trying to untangle the many knots in his hair.

Matthaeus took a look at his arms again, turning them over to look at the underside of his arms and wrists. His skin was so pale he could see the veins running through them, and there, too, little scars marred parts of his skin, though far more lightly than the backs.

A tingle in the back of his neck left him with the feeling of eyes on him, and he slowly turned to the side. The maid who had laughed before, a girl with coppery red hair and green eyes, was looking solemnly down at his arms, all mirth gone from her face. She noticed him looking at her and met his eyes, a worried and sad expression on her face.

When she opened her mouth to speak, the elderly maid swatted the back of her head lightly, chiding her. Then, she simply went back to work on Matthaeus’ hair, her hands moving humourlessly through it.

The rest of his bath passed much more quietly. He thankfully was allowed to wash the rest of himself alone, as the three maids departed the bath hall, leaving him in solitude. He rushed to finish as quickly as he could, climbing out, drying himself and putting on the new clothes the maids had left for him. He then looked himself over in a mirror twice his height, having to rub away the fog that covered it in order to see.

He was paler than he had actually realised, now that the dirt was gone. Skinny to the point of being underweight, with his elbows and cheekbones poking out just a little bit too much. The new clothes were a bit too big, accentuating just how thin he really was, even if the clothes themself were much nicer. A proper tunic, woven of black linen and with bronze coloured thread around the collar which opened slightly into a V at the front. A light beige set of trousers, held up by a cord belt, and a new pair of drawers and socks to go with it all.

His hair now, too, was free of the dirt that had clung to it, and the knots that had infested it. It hung loose and unstyled down his back, ending just a little below his shoulders. Freshly washed, it was almost glossy in the candlelight, and black like the feather of a crow.

He could barely recognize himself.

Putting back on his old, still slightly-too-big brown leather boots, Matthaeus left the bathing hall feeling strange. It was the first time he’d been clean and unbandaged in his short memory. Then, when he managed to find his way into his room, a wave of exhaustion came of him.

He yawned as he entered the room, carefully taking his boots off and setting them aside before walking across the rug, then flopped gracelessly into bed. He was enveloped in warmth in seconds, sinking the overly puffy blankets slowly. He still wished for furs, even compared to the luxurious blankets enveloping him, but it was enough. His eyelids grew heavy, the weariness of their long journey catching up to him all at once, and in minutes he was fast asleep.

Reyland sighed contentedly, enjoying the feeling of a fresh set of clothes for the first time since they had first set out to Arcaster. It was a relief in a sense to have his armour off, as comfortable as the scale armour set was, and be in regular clothes for a change. A green tunic and black trousers, nothing extravagant, but it also wasn’t a half-destroyed-by-wolf-claws armour set, so he couldn’t complain.

The bath had done much to refresh him as well, though the constricting walls of the little metal tub had made him long for the hot springs and open bathhouses back at the Order’s main castle. How long had it been since he had bathed in a tub like that? At least since before joining the Order.

A nostalgic feeling came across him, along with a pang of longing, and sorrow. Then he shook his head, shrugged, laid a hand across the hilt of the shortsword he had loosely fixed to his hip, and continued his walk through the keep. Griff would scold him if he was late for supper, after all.

The dining hall wasn’t hard to find, even an hour after their tour of the keep. Taking up most of the third floor, it was an impressively sized hall for a keep as small as this one. As Reyland walked through the doors, Griff and Lord Aubrey were both already seated, with servants milling about carrying trays of food.

“Now, I’m certain I’m on time,” Reyland said casually as he sat down across from Griff. “But you’re both making me look late with how early you are.”

Lord Aubrey smiled, and Griff sighed.

“My apologies for my apprentice,” Griff muttered.

“Oh, none the matter,” Lord Aubrey said with a wink to Reyland. “We’re far from civilization now, aren’t we? Let us not stand too properly on courtesy, lest we trample what little of it we have left.”

“I knew you were a good and proper Lord,” Reyland remarked with a satisfied nod.

“Now,” Lord Aubrey said loudly, as the servants rested plates of what appeared to be roasted duck on the table between them all. “Will the young Norlander not be joining us?”

Griff shot Reyland another look.

“Were you not told to bring him along?” Griff asked, and Reyland shrugged.

“He was sleeping, I got him up but he’ll likely be a mi-” Reyland replied, cutting off as said Norlander walked quietly into the room, rubbing at his eyes. “Well, speak of the devil.”

Matthaeus looked carefully around the room. Lord Aubrey sat at the head of the long, rectangular table, with Griff and Reyland taking the seats immediately on either side of him. The boy seemed to be weighing his options carefully, then sat beside Reyland quietly.

Reyland brought a hand up and ruffled his hair with a grin, causing the boy to shrink down a bit and screw up his face.

“Well look at ya,” Reyland teased. “There was a boy under all the dirt after all!”

“I’m pleased to see you all making use of the facilities,” Lord Aubrey remarked, sounding pleased indeed. “It brings me great joy knowing I can still properly attend to my guests, even so far from home.”

“We give thanks for the hospitality,” Griff said. “However, a simpler accommodation in the barracks would have been more than enough.”

“Bah, nonsense,” Aubrey scoffed, beginning to help himself to the small feast before them. “We’ve not seen guests, from the Order or otherwise, in many moons. Few come so close to the Blight, even behind the walls of such a fort.”

Reyland caught sight of the exact moment the smell seemed to reach Matthaeus’ nose, which also happened to be the exact moment all traces of sleep left the boy’s eyes. Reyland smirked knowingly, then began fixing himself and Matthaeus both a heaping plate of duck, potatoes, vegetables and gravy. It looked like it was taking all Matthaeus had not to jump onto the table and feast like an animal while he waited.

“On that matter, actually,” Lord Aubrey continued conversationally in between bites of food. “The men said you came down the northern road, towards the land bridge and the Blight. We’ve not heard back from anyone that way for some time now… have you any news from the north?”

“We were sent as scouts to investigate a village known as Arcaster, which had yet to evacuate,” Griff responded.

“Ah, Arcaster, yes the name rings a bell… an old mining town, was it? Though I’d heard the mines had dried up several years ago.”

“That was not part of our business,” Griff continued. “We were told only what we needed.”

“Ah, yes, the Order and their ways. Such a mystery to us common folk, I’m afraid,” Lord Aubrey said with a smile.

“I’d hardly consider you ‘common folk’, my lord,” Reyland interjected as he finally handed Matthaeus his plate. The boy tore into it immediately, without a word.

“Well, we all have our stories,” Lord Aubrey replied knowingly. “I’d quite like to hear some of yours tonight, should we have the time… and the drink. My, where are my manners, forgetting such an important part of a meal. Dallos, Julietta, bring wine, and mead! Oh, and something for our young guest, as well!”

A pair of servants, a middle aged man and woman, who had been waiting by one of the small doors to the hall bowed, then left.

“Now,” Aubrey addressed the table again. His eyes sparkled like an excited child. “Where were we? Arcaster, yes? And was it truly not evacuated?”

“The town had been struck with sickness,” Griff answered. “We found the villagers sheltered within their church, tended to by a pair of village elders.”

“Fascinating, that would certainly explain their failure to evacuate. And this sickness, did you recognize it?”

“No. Even the elders, who had treated plague in their youths, had not seen this before.”

Lord Aubrey nodded, looking away from Griff only as the two servants returned with bottles of deep red liquid and a honey-gold coloured mead in hand. Reyland smiled deeply as he saw the mead, snatching a bottle to himself the moment it was on the table.

Griff and Lord Aubrey both poured some wine, and Matthaeus was poured a glass of a non-alcoholic table wine. Reyland stifled a chuckle as the boy took one sniff of it, crinkled his nose, and set it back down. He then went back to tearing through his plate just as ravenously as before, heedless of the conversation around him.

“And what happened while you were in the village?” Lord Aubrey asked excitedly.

From there, explained the full sequence of events. From their arrival in Arcaster and finding the church, to their venture to the waterfall and the first blighted wolf, to the tree, and finally, the battle within the church and the Order’s last minute rescue.

Reyland ate, sipped his pleasantly sweet mead, and occasionally interjected with a minor detail Griff had left out, adding what he considered some flair to the story. Though, with a slight frown, Reyland realised there was one major thing Griff had left out of his telling of the events.

Matthaeus. He hadn’t once mentioned the boy’s story, how he had been found at the river, or that he had joined them in their march north to the tree. Not even the boy’s mysterious dagger, or his participation in the battle, as brief as it had been.

“And so, you left the villagers with your brethren for treatment and evacuation, and left once again as scouts,” Lord Aubrey said with a nod. “And the Norlander boy, why did you bring him with you?”

“He was an orphan in the village,” Griff said, and Reyland took a sip of mead to hide his surprise at the lie. “He was in better health than the others, who were in no shape to look after him. We’re taking him to Castle Acheron, at least for a time.”

“Hm,” Lord Aubrey hummed in apparent sympathy. “Too many children lost these days, without the guidance of parentage. He seems young to become an Initiate, however. Will you be looking for a home for him, from there?”

“That is not my decision to make,” Griff replied. “I merely protect him as my ward in the meantime.”

Lord Aubrey and Reyland both looked over to the young, dark haired boy, who had since finished his plate and was staring at it hungrily. Quietly, Reyland took the empty plate from him and refilled it, stacking it just as high as the first plate, before setting it down in front of him once again. Matthaeus seemed about to dig in just as before, but must have noticed the eyes on him, for he timidly looked up at them all instead.

Lord Aubrey smiled comfortingly. “Feel free to eat all you like, child. My woods are stock with prey, and my pantries in surplus after the harvest. You’ve no reason to restrain yourself.”

Matthaeus, whether he understood or not, shyly went back to eating, this time at a much slower pace.

“Well, you have my thanks, as a father myself, for looking after the boy when his own cannot,” Lord Aubrey said, raising his glass in salute towards Griff. “You are most welcome in my halls, anytime you should find yourself passing by. Though I am tied down with work here at this keep, my home is in Addiron, and my family would be sure to accommodate you there, as well.”

“You’re from Addiron?” Reyland asked with surprise. “I grew up not far from there!”

“It’s quite nice in the spring, isn’t it?” Lord Aubrey said with a twinkle to his eye. “The Arklands will always be home, no matter how long I stay in service to Arkasia.”

“I knew there was a reason I liked you!” Reyland cheered, flush red in the face from the mead. “Shoulda guessed you were an Arklander, you never struck me as the Arkasian blue-blood type… same money, just missin’ the stick up the-”

“Have you any more questions for us, Lord Aubrey?” Griff interrupted.

“Indeed,” the noble said, pouring himself another glass of rich red wine. “I do believe I had requested a tall tale or two, once we had the proper drink… a time which I believe has well arrived.”

“Tall tales, you say?” Reyland said, leaning in with his elbows on the table and a mischievous grin on his face. Lord Aubrey seemed not to mind at the slight impropriety, leaning forwards just the same. “Then, my noble friend, you’ve come to the right Apprentice.”

Matthaeus finished his second plate, and shyly helped himself to thirds. Reyland quickly launched into a story, regaling Lord Aubrey with the promised tall tales of his early adventures in the Order. The night passed in merriment between the two Arklanders, as Griff leaned back quietly and enjoyed a glass of wine, interjecting only to add a detail Reyland had missed, before going back to slowly enjoying his meal. By the time the night was done, Matthaeus had stuffed himself on nearly five platefulls, Lord Aubrey and Reyland were drunk and completely red in the face, and Griff remained just as he was.

By the time it came for bed, Reyland was staggering through the halls with a grin plastered to his face. He stumbled into his room and fell into bed fully clothed, full and satisfied, not even bothering to crawl under the covers due to the excessive warmth of mead in his belly.

Far above, the twin moons shone down on the keep, as if highlighting this single night of peace. A single ray of blue light came in through the arrow-slit like window, laying across Reyland’s graceful features. He yawned contentedly, rolling over with a grin still on his lips.

Tomorrow, they would be back on the long road to Castle Acheron, the headquarters of the Order of Alexandros. Plenty of nights under the stars awaited them, but for now, they had stone walls and a roof to protect them, and the safety of dozens of soldiers watching the walls, and Reyland intended to enjoy every second of it. Tomorrow would come with its own struggles and hangovers, but tonight, he wasn’t going to worry about any of it.

Instead, he drifted off to sleep quickly and happily.