Oh muse! Sing in me, and through me tell the story
of the girl born of love,
a warrior skilled beyond measure,
searching for her home…
It was a dark and moonless night. A gentle breeze blew through the forest and the call of an unseen nocturnal creature could be heard. High atop a hill in southern Snowdonia there stood a lonely castle. The unremarkable castle was quiet that night except for the footsteps of a few guards patrolling the ramparts. One of the guards paused at the corner of his patrol and looked out into the darkness. There was nothing to be seen. However, had the guard's eyes been keen enough, or had the moon been present that night he would have seen the intruder.
In the valley below, a single, cloaked figure emerged from the nearby woods. The intruder's gait was quick and steady; the shadowy figure did not stop until it had reached the castle's outer wall. With delicate precision the intruder searched the wall for footholds for a moment before slowly ascending, pausing only to avoid detection by the guard that passed below on his patrol.
Halfway up the castle wall, the intruder paused for a moment to look up and the hood of their cloak fell back revealing the soft features of a woman. The woman's small frame and strong grip would have allowed her to infiltrate almost any castle in the three realms, but her speed and well-practiced steps made it obvious that this was not her first visit Castle Hurbury.
In the local language it was known as Caer Hurbury, and in the eighteen winters since The Fall it had become the loneliest outpost in the Albion's Old Frontier. The merchants and travelers in the caravans that frequented Caer Hurbury rarely gave the castle a second thought. Many of the soldiers protecting the castle found it equally dull. No army had attacked the castle in years, and – aside from the occasional wildlife that needed clearing out – few of the soldiers had seen conflict during their service to Lord Hurbury. It was the perfect place to go if you wanted to forget. It was also the perfect place to send someone when you wanted to forget about them, and if they happened to disappear no one would notice or care. The woman who scaled the walls of Caer Hurbury that night was an Infiltrator – an assassin of Albion's Guild of Shadows – and she was about to break into one of her own castles.
The infiltrator halted her ascent again when she reached the top of the wall. There she waited below the crenelle as another guard on the rampart above walked by. Without a sound, the woman swung her body over the wall – her fingertips gently brushing the guard's cloak. Sensing a chill, the guard turned to look behind but saw nothing.
The infiltrator kept to the shadows cast by the sconces that were found throughout the castle. With practiced skill that spoke of her years of experience, she quickly made her way through the castle towards her quarry – all the while dodging several guards. Finally the woman found herself at a familiar door in the quietest section of Castle Hurbury. And as usual the door was open just a crack.
With one hand resting on the pommel of her sword, the Albion Infiltrator pushed the door open and quietly stepped into the room. The quarters were spartan save for a desk, a bed, and shrine to the Church of Albion's Christian god. On the bed sat the cleric that the woman had come to see. The infiltrator closed the door behind her and smiled at the cleric who had been holding her breath.
"Thank God it's you," the cleric said as she blew out a relieved sigh.
"You know that you never have to be afraid when I'm around, friend," replied the infiltrator. The cleric leapt to her feet and the two women clasped hands before embracing.
"The dreams have returned." The cleric – a Briton woman like the infiltrator – had waited until after she and the infiltrator had broken bread together before breaking the news. It was a tradition the two women had shared for over a decade, but this night their ceremony had been muted. The cleric was quiet and the infiltrator suspected something was amiss with her friend.
"Like they were before The Fall?" the infiltrator asked after a pause.
"Aye. But stronger than they have been in almost two decades." The cleric sighed and gently wrung her hands. The cloaked woman before her sat down and tried to calm the cleric. "I fear my time here may be coming to an end, my friend," the cleric said.
"Why?" The female infiltrator looked curiously at the cleric who shrugged. "Because of these visions?"
"I am not sure… I do not know what they mean…" The cleric trailed off and looked to her unlikely companion. Whether the tired gaze was a silent request for support or from lack of sleep, the infiltrator did not know. But the woman was experienced enough to recognize a lie when she heard one.
"You do know what they mean."
The cleric stiffened and turned away at her friend's words. "Aye," the cleric admitted after a long pause. "But I fear the choice I must make." The Albion Infiltrator brushed the hair from her eyes and paused for many heartbeats before speaking.
"My time here is ending as well," the infiltrator finally admitted.
"What?" The cleric became concerned, but before she could ask, the infiltrator gently placed her fingers on the woman's lips.
"Something is happening in Camelot. I know not what, but I can feel it. There is evil spreading throughout the realms, and I fear for our dear homeland as well as our lives." The woman left the cleric's side and stood up. "But I must tell you something. I have heard… rumors. 'Tis only whispers among my order, but I believe you and I alone hold the key to understanding the implications."
"What is it, Katherine?" the cleric asked furrowing her brow.