Caeden folded the spyglass and glanced at the sky. His golden blonde hair and white Ashen Keep surcoat blew gently in the mild wind. It felt cool on his fair skin. The ocean air still had the crisp, fresh smell of rain, but the sky was clear and bright. Not a cloud spotting it, yet. But he knew better than to predict the Dark Ocean’s fluctuating weather patterns. It was best that they make headway now before they get caught in or wait out another long storm.

He turned toward the sounds of heavy footsteps behind him. Ser Morley’s sword grip clinked against his steel-plated greaves with every step. Though he was twice Caeden’s age the Knight-Commander of Ashen Keep’s Royal Guard still looked robust. The only signs of his fifty-two years showed in the lines at the edge of his grey eyes and the slight greying of the red hair at his temples.

“The captain has no record of the colours it bears, nor do I know of any nation that uses a flag with a plain grey field. No one here can figure out what it ought to signify other than the land we suspect it hails from. It is of dwarven make, of that the captain is certain,” he said, taking his place beside him on the forecastle and looking through Caeden’s spyglass.

Caeden squinted at the ship, his green eyes scanning it, looking for any movement beyond its gentle sway with the waves. The ship appeared on the horizon once the storm calmed and now drifted aimlessly in the ocean’s waters. It was square and bulky, made for carrying a small load and not for speed or warfare. A dwarven passenger ship. Yet, it had veered so far off the trade routes and was flying strange colours.

Its sails were ripped to shreds, no doubt by storm winds, and it lay low and heavy on the water. Either it was overburdened or taking in water. But the worrisome part was that there were no sailors and no response to his men’s signals.

“Suppose the storm took them by surprise?” Caeden suggested, tugging at the embroidered gold pouch at his belt. The forlorn ship made him nervous.

“Or there was no one alive to be taken by surprise?” Morley countered.

“Well then, we shall have to find the answer on board,” Caeden told him, turning to step from the forecastle.

Knight-Commander Morley followed. “The dwarven ship gives the men chills. They would prefer to leave it to drift the oceans until it sinks. But, if you are set on boarding her, they will follow as any loyal soldier would their emperor, Prince Caeden.”

“The men should know that if they are following anyone, it will be the bastard second son of their Emperor’s Mistress. I am neither their emperor nor their future emperor, only ever a Prince. I wish you would stop encouraging their treason.”

“I cannot deter men from thinking, Your Grace. Your birth and station mean little to them. They need no encouragement from me or anyone to know they would fare better under your rule than your brother’s. You cannot stop them from wanting you upon the throne.”

“No, but Kael sure can and I would rather not have my men beheaded over a foolish hope. Their like would be hard to replace.”

Knight-Commander Morley tried to stifle a smile and shook his head at his commanding officer’s stubbornness.

Caeden had already set a few plans in motion, and he could already tell that they irked Crown Prince Kael, or irked his mother rather, Queen Aeline. She would not stand idly by when faced with treasonous subordinates while her son’s future reign was being subtly undermined and threatened by his half-brother.

He had put those plans on hold for this mission, Queen Aeline’s and Gildaen’s idea. No doubt to get him away from the Casimir Empire and solidify Kael’s and their positions without his interference. Bless the woman and her magical court jester.

The empire’s investigations into the strange plague and the appearance of wights in the Ashen fields had led them to Spectermere. If played just right, he might just get his heart’s desire while exposing Kael’s advisors as the imbeciles that they are. He could abandon his treasonous plans and rid himself of the bad blood that developed between himself and his brother.

“Ahoy! We’ve come to lend assistance. Are there any alive onboard?” Ser Shael yelled. Caeden’s thoughts returned to the matter at hand. Only the mild sloshing of waves against the vessel’s hull disturbed the silence. Caeden gave his Knight-Captain a short nod. “Prepare to be boarded!” Ser Shael bellowed.

Caeden rushed along the plank and onto the deck of the drifting ship, his men fanned out around him and scoured the deck, hands ready on the hilts of their swords. The Knight-Commander and a few of his guards stayed at his side as he searched for signs of the missing crew.

The ship reeked of death and decay and there was a soft thumping echoing below deck. The thumps were periodic and consistent, like a slow heartbeat. Caeden caught Ser Morley’s wary glance before they moved to its entryway.

A choking moan stopped them short. A dwarf shuffled out from the darkened entryway, his skin was blue and macerated, and the veins behind it were as dark as night. His entrails spilled from his belly and trailed along behind him as he walked. His pained moan turned to an angry hiss, and it rushed at them.

Knight-Commander met his charge, moving in front of his Prince and taking the dwarf’s head off. He moved away as both pieces fell to the ground in a lifeless heap. Caeden bent over the remains to inspect them. What he saw was disturbing.

“How could he continue with his entrails trailing in that manner?” the Knight-Commander asked incredulously.

“Perhaps the better question would be how could he continue after he has long passed on?” Caeden replied.

“A symptom of the Dark Plague we were not yet aware of?”

“Perhaps, it was best that we burnt the bodies after the infected expired as Oswin suggested. Have him look at this,” Caeden told his Knight-Captain before moving down through the entryway towards the sound of the consistent thumping.

Caeden slipped when he stepped down to the floor at the foot of the stairs, only the Knight-Commander’s steadying hand kept him from embarrassing himself in front of his guard.

“Why, in Holden’s name, is there ice below deck?” Caeden exclaimed, nudging the offending piece away with the toe of his steel-plated boot.

More pieces floated in the ankle-deep water. The vessel was taking on water slowly, but the Dark Ocean’s waters were not cold enough this far north to form ice. Where did it come from?

“This ship is cursed. Best finish our business quickly and be on our way,” the Knight-Commander whispered.

Caeden ignored Ser Morley’s warning. He knew the Knight-Commander was the superstitious sort, throwing reason to the wind when he came across a situation that he did not fully comprehend at first. Still, he was more likely to fall back and analyse than overreact. The ship had him on edge. It had them all on edge., judging by their wary glances and stiff gaits.

The thumping came from a lanky boy, trying to ram his body against a closed door in the passageway. The way he went about it was all wrong. He threw his whole body into the door, as if unconcerned by the possible injury he could inflict upon himself. There was a heavy limpness in the way his body moved.

“Hey, boy! What, in Holden’s name, do you think you are doing?” Caeden asked when the boy's head banged painfully against the door and left a bloody smudge behind.

Knight-Commander gasped when the boy turned toward them. Half the skin on the boy’s face and neck was missing, the bone visible beneath the torn flesh. The creature abandoned the door and rushed at them.

Caeden cursed. The passageway was too narrow to draw and use his great sword; instead, he halted the boy’s charge with his arm to his chest. The boy struggled at arm’s length, twisting his face to nip at Caeden’s armoured hand. The smell of rot drifted from his body.

How odd that he does not use his own hands to remove my arm. He turned the boy to the side, shoving him against the wooden wall and stretched as far as he could from him without losing his grip. Knight-Commander’s sword swung between them and took the boy’s head off. It bounced off Caeden’s outstretched arm and landed with a splash. He released the body when it grew limp.

“Ghouls?” the Knight-Commander suggested.

“Out in the middle of the ocean? I doubt it. Perhaps this is the fabled draugr? No, it does not match the tales either, not quite. This must be something else entirely. Oswin may know something about it. But first, let us find what it was after.”

Caeden tried the door. It was unlocked and opened when he turned the latch.

“Whatever they are, they are not the intelligent sort,” Ser Morley noted with a raised eyebrow.

The room they entered smelled of wet dogs and sick. A little girl lay on the ground before a massive bundle of wet grey fur that might have been beautiful once. Caeden rushed to her side and pulled her face from the shallow water, wiping away the long, wet tendrils of dark hair that covered it. She was alive, but just barely.

“Fern’s breath, ‘tis a hybrid! I knew there was something unnatural on this ship. We must kill it now before it spreads its evil,” the Knight-Commander sneered, turning ghostly pale with fear, and drawing back his sword.

“Wait...”

A growling hiss emanated from the fur bundle and slitted, yellow eyes opened and glared threateningly at the Knight-Commander. The massive creature lunged at Ser Morley with teeth and claws.

He went down with a grunt, his sword falling from his hand at the creature’s impact. Caeden drew his great sword and charged at its backside.

An arrow whirred passed his face, so close that he felt the wind of it brush across his cheeks and lodged itself in the wall behind him. Caeden turned in bewilderment at the place it originated from.

The girl was on her knees, an odd orcish bow in her hand. The arrow she nocked wobbled unsteadily as she struggled to aim. She looked feverish, thin and on the verge of collapse. But there were no dark veins behind her strange skin.

Caeden slowly sheathed his great sword and raised his hands in surrender.

“We are only here to lend assistance. We mean no harm. The creature protects you, yes? Please – call it off my man.”

The girl looked uncertainly at him and the creature, unable to decide whether a threat stood before her claiming to be peaceful. The hands holding the bow shook from the weight of it, but they held the bow with enough skill and certainty that Caeden knew that she would not miss a second time.

“Beast, come!” she whispered, falling to her hands, and dropping the bow. She struggled to keep herself upright.

The creature jumped from the Knight-Commander’s chest and limped to her side. It was suffering from a leg injury. It spilled the contents of its stomach after a few paces and flopped to its belly, moaning unhappily, but watching both men warily.

“This is folly,” Ser Morley opined, standing and retrieving his sword with an equally wary eye on the creature.

“Sheathe your sword, Knight-Commander. Fern’s Grace has allowed the girl to live this long, it is not for us to decide her death now without due cause.”

“Fern’s Grace or The Reaper’s? This whole ship is due cause...”

“Enough,” Caeden interrupted, kneeling before the girl, and catching her before she fell over.

He cradled her in his arms and inspected the wound on her shoulder. The veins surrounding the cut were dark and angry. Curse the Reaper, she has the Dark Plague.

“Ser Shael.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” The Knight-Captain answered from the doorway.

“Have Oswin come immediately, we may have found just what he seeks.”