Aestas and Prysin have fled Draynor after receiving a message from a dead man drifted shore, which revealed that Lord Drakan was sending minions to the village to find Prysin.
Old Man Ral reclined on a barrel, doing his best to seem at ease. He had been undercover for the Myreque for a long time; deception came naturally to him. There were times when he forgot what the world beyond the walls of Meiyerditch was like. The overcast skies, the downtrodden people, the constant presence of the Vyrewatch: it had all become drearily familiar. He might have been there long before his beard turned white, or he even had one.
Yet now, in a world where stagnant misery and oppression were eternal, something was happening. Something big. What Craymer had set out to deliver was only the beginning. Old Man Ral had been in Meiyerditch long enough to know when the status quo had changed. The Vampyres were up to something, and that could only bode ill for Geilinor.
And so he found maintaining his guise in the face of the Vyrewatch a challenging task of late. Especially tonight. It had been three days since Craymer fled. Ral had not seen his departure, for he had been forced to duck out of sight when a patrol passed close by. He could only hope Craymer had made it. Since then, the castle had been in an uproar—or, as near to an uproar as a Vampyre dwelling ever came. The sky was thick with the flapping of great wings, prompting most of the human residents to stay inside. Drakan was apparently furious. Ral had learned a mere few hours ago that a detachment of the Vyrewatch that was supposed to have left shortly after Craymer had, for inscrutable reasons, been delayed for days.
Old Man Ral knew what the Vyrewatch were after. He did not know why they had not left sooner, but it was a stroke of fortune—one that was about to end. Tonight, finally, they were mobilizing. He fervently hoped that Craymer had made use of the time luck had bought him.
Overhead, something shrieked. Old Man Ral looked up in time to see two shapes leap from the battlements of the castle. They seemed to billow as they spread their wings, gliding on the still air. With a few powerful strokes the pair shot away, flying over the wall with ease. Two more followed.
Saradomin help us all.
Aleck diligently ran the net through his hands, searching for knots and tangles, smoothing them when he came across them. A good bit of it already lay at his feet, fixed up and ready to go over the side. Soon enough he could have this one in the water. He needed all the fish he could get this time.
It wouldn’t be so bad if he hadn’t been forced to sail far east of Port Sarim for his haul. There was just too much competition in the waters around Catherby. At least there he had been close to home. Now he was a good week’s sailing away, and if he didn’t pull in enough to keep the house for his next odyssey to the east he would be in some serious trouble. He was pushing his luck as it was.
Resolutely he continued to work at the net, ignoring the heat of the noonday sun. He could hear seagulls calling to one another, the waves sloshing against the side of his boat, the sails flapping in the halfhearted wind. He worked on.
Presently a new sound entered his world, one that was jarringly unfamiliar. He looked up. Gulls were wheeling about in a confused way, their cries more urgent than before. At the edge of his hearing, Aleck could—
The gulls were beginning to scatter, still stammering at each other like—
What was it?
Aleck looked to the east, where he thought the sound was coming from. There, advancing rapidly, were—
Four black shadows passed over the boat, moving at a remarkable pace westward. The glare of the sun prevented Aleck from making out much, but he wasn’t too fussed.
“In the name of Guthix,” he said aloud. Suddenly he was not so eager to be ashore again.