Surely it was a change for the better?
So Cristoff had thought. Fighting for the Queen’s Blades could not, by any means, be considered a pleasant job. When he had accepted the invitation, he had known this fully well.
The alternative though was to remain in the collapsing Whitemarch estate, where his father – angry, grieved and drunk – maintained feeble control over the guards and servants, who looted rampantly and had nearly driven his sisters mad with their antics. His two older sisters had been hastily married off – for there was little that remained in the Whitemarch estate for a woman – and he had personally arranged for his youngest sister to be sent away to a distant relative, where she should, he believed, spend a happier life away from the wreckage of her youth.
He himself would have wasted away into mediocrity, unable to utilize the talents that he had honed over so many years.
And of course, he knew he would be reunited with Tristan in the Queen’s Blades, a thought that aided him in his decision to join.
So surely it was a change for the better?
The sight of the mutilated corpse – a bloody mess, pecked apart by so many crows – nearly shook that belief. Could being forced to live among such horrors truly be better than dying in obscurity?
The journey had begun rather eventfully, with General Wolfblood having received a message – delivered by one of the very crows that watched them all throughout their journey to Arian – that seemed to predict his arrival. It did nothing to ease Cristoff’s nerves, but what made him more uneasy was the General’s obvious anxiety. He had met the General before, and he had seemed to him a man not easily given to worry. As such, his silence only served to add the foreboding atmosphere of their quest.
Cristoff had, at first, wondered why they weren’t taking horses; but it soon became clear that ordinary horses would simply have become frightened and run off under the circumstances they faced. Even two days out from the village, the group seemed to be watched, constantly, by a ‘murder of crows’, as the General so eloquently put.
Despite the ominous nature of the scenery, Cristoff could not help but notice his brother’s erratic behavior. Tristan seemed disinclined to speak to him at all; and, if his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him, it seemed to him that Tristan was actively avoiding him, going so far as to volunteer to fetch supplies or scout ahead in order to maintain his distance.
For a fleeting second, Lord Whitemarch’s accusations reverberated in Cristoff’s mind. He stared at his little brother for a fraction of a second, and wondered whether he was indeed guilty of murder.
No. He would not jump to conclusions; there was no reason for him to believe his father had even considered the matter, grieved and slightly unhinged as he had been. Of course Tristan was acting odd; he had, for all intents and purposes, been banished from his family home only a month ago – under accusations of fratricide, no less – and it was only natural that he would harbor a resentment for anything and anyone related to the Whitemarch estate.
It was the discovery of the diminutive corpse that brought these thoughts to a halt in Cristoff’s mind. From that point onwards, what little conversation that had passed within the party was stilted, and weapons were at the ready.
It was almost exactly a day afterwards that they arrived at Arian village, and the sight that met them could hardly be more desolate. Crows everywhere, and no signs of life; a shudder ran down Cristoff’s spine at the thought of just how many more corpses they would find here. The sight of lights at the houses eased his worries just slightly; the fact that they hadn’t gone out must mean that people were yet alive.
Aneura Shivan was the first to speak. "I'm sure you're all capable of noticing the ominous nature of this town, and I dare not proceed further without gaining a better understanding of it," she said, pointing at the nearest dwelling. "I say we inquire the owners of that building before walking further into the streets, and risk finding ourselves caught amidst something unpleasant," she explained.
Cristoff fervently agreed, and they walked up to the door. Tristan hung back slightly, slingshot at the ready, keeping a lookout on the streets in case of an unexpected attack. Cristoff allowed the General to get between himself and Aneura, and positioned himself with his back to a wall at such an angle that he simultaneously kept line of sight to the door and down the street that Tristan watched. He fingered the hilt of his sword, but he knew his primary defense would be the spell that he thought of in his mind; he was prepared to begin casting at a moment’s notice, to Bind or Cripple an enemy before he – or it – could strike.