Elliot led them along the path haunted by the memories of Carabella crying as she bolted, saying she was going to tell her uncle about what they did. With a deep breath he tried to force the dread from his heart and hoped the ditzy horse goddess would forget before they had to face the wrath of her uncle Zatolen or father Vutha. He glanced back at Arneg and the large scroll cases he carried. “Those are the right ones, right? You didn’t panic when you heard fighting and rushed it, right? The scent didn’t wear off… you can read them?” He spoke hurriedly as a flood of disasters overran his mind.
“Calm down Ell.” Foxe said waving him off. ” Coordinates and numbers are simple enough to read without scent context. Also got some maps of other continents we might consider settling. No point in knowing the road if we don’t have a destination.”
Roe nodded his head with his golden curls bouncing. “Wonderful, we have a path forward and destinations to pick from.” He turned his head towards the sky watching the riders of dawn and dusk battle for every fading inch of light. Night stars started to sparkle as the curtain of night was pulled ever towards full night. In the fading miles of daylit canvas, he saw smoke rising from Ambeshire. He glanced around deserted fields that lined their path. Pens had been emptied their beasts gone. “Trouble.
Roe pushed Elliot behind him and took the lead as the four readied their weapons. Advancing quietly towards the village where the sound of metal hitting earth, the scratch of metal on stone, and the thump of earth being piled. The air was heavy with blood, smoke; several homes smoldered, but someone had extinguished the fire. They saw puddles of wet earth, discarded bronze weapons in the primitive fashion of the Marok’s slave soldiers. They approached the green where signs of conflict were heaviest and saw the outline of a man in worn trousers a tattered wrap of cloth over his torso was topped by a bronze breast plate that must have been repaired a dozen times faux abs had been hammered flat to repair dents and there were whispers of enamel decorations that had worn off in time. He moved earth digging graves for a pile of a dozen or so Wrightmark and two villagers Elliot recognized from their way in.
The group approached the man his head shaved close to his skull. He did not turn but acknowledged them with a simple greeting. “Evening.”
Elliot spoke as softly as he felt he could for the man to still heart without alerting any other possible hostiles to their position. “You’re with the Marok?”
“No.”
“You’re with us?”
He considered this. “More against them than with you these days.” He turned his head to look them over. One eye burned with Famill giving the green a glow that tinted all he observed in a slight sick imitation of emerald, green. His other eye was pale, foggy, white. Elliot recoiled from it, he felt it read him like the images on an amphora, it saw his histories, weighed his sins, could see him dying and if the fog would part, he would see the end of his story. “Elliot Hythe. A hero born of blood, bread, and games.” He looked over Aourel. “The beautiful Aourel, a face that men once fought over, once destined to marry a prince to become queen of Ebon until a Father failed his son and chose his pride over everything else.” The strange man’s face became somber and he grew quiet.
“OI, stop reading people.” Foxe spoke up from behind Roe’s bulk. “We’re not some curiosity you jackass.” He tried to comfort Aourel whose face had taken on a somber look of her own.
“Arneg Foxe…” The man seemed to look through Roe. “Mother?” He asked the sky. “Of course…” He seemed disappointed. “Mother has plans for you so I suppose I must let you live.”
Roe blanched and took off his helm kneeling down looking upon something Elliot and apparently the others could not see.
“That leaves you. Roe. It should be King Hathwaye.”
“It isn’t.” Roe responded and it seemed as if it took some great force of will for him to turn his attention to the man. “I am the Champion of Mealis.”
“I am aware. You have the sword though. From the throne, whomever could pull it free from earned.”
“I know my strengths. I would be a good king and a terrible leader.”
“Maybe you’d have been a great king, you are smart enough to know your flaws. A great leader makes up for what he lacks in the competent council of others.
Foxe looked annoyed and confused. “Who is your mother? Theres no one else fucking here.”
The man didn’t bother to respond to Foxe. “So, if not you who rules Ebon?”
“Lord Duncan is the regent patrician.”
“My heart is gladdened that Duncan still lives. How fares he?”
Aourel pushed her way forward and pointed a finger at the man. “You… you’re the King.”
“Once King.” He said with a shrug. “I would truly like to hear about my friend lady Aourel.”
“He is well.” Roe said rising from the ground and offering the King the Herald with a bowed head.
“Good, keep the old thing. I gave it up for a reason.”
“Wait, wait… that means his mother is Mealis?” Foxe cut in.
“It does. That’s the Avenger, my predecessor, as Champion of Mealis.”
“How could you abandon us! Forsake the most sacred artifact of the lady of light!” Elliot shouted his face turning red.
“Calm down boy. I might be her dog, but I refuse to wear the choke chain anymore.” He seemed to grow weary of the conversation and returned to digging.
“Don’t you dare try to ignore me. With you, we could retake the pass! We could destroy the Marok with our combined strength!” Elliot said excitedly. “We could win.”
“No. For one I don’t see wiping out even the Marok as warranted. Two, this fiasco is Fate’s doing. We could marshal all the Archetypes gain support of all the Gods and in the end, you know what would happen?”
“What?”
“We’d lose and be driven into the sea to chase some distant new land regardless. I know Fate. I have fought against her for so long that I’ve learned better.” He took a deep breath. “Three, I have enough blood on my hands. It’s getting hard to hold up an entire species, so it’s your turn now. I’ll just delay the monsters in the dark long as I might.”
Aourel approached slowly, and she had seen the contortion of his face, the grimace, the rage in his good eye. “Even so your majesty we will need all the heroes we can get in the new world.”
The King took a deep breath and closed his eyes, his face becoming a neutral mask again. “You won’t want heroes where you’re going. No… leave it to the tyrants, monsters, and fools before heroes can really be useful.”
“Sire?”
“I am no longer king.” He let out a sigh. “You really think you’ll find some unoccupied continents? That you’ll find some peaceful place to rest your weary heads? No, you’ll arrive somewhere. Anywhere. There will be people. Natives. They will not welcome a flood of invaders and since you lot barely get along with each other, you think they won’t raid and pillage to survive? You’ll be fighting for the survival of your species. You’ll do terrible things.” His foggy eye seemed to look off in the future. “So many terrible things. So much blood and sorrow. So many will burn.”
“We would n…”
“Yes, you would. What’s the life of some foreigner. Some creatures you might not even view as intelligent? I know monsters I am Mealis’ personal one after all. You will fight, kill, slaughter, butcher; everyone you kill will get easier as you justify it. And I can’t say you’re wrong for wanting your people to live even at the cost of another. It will eat away at you if you view them as people.”
“I still disagree.” Aourel said her face contorted in worry and mayhap compassion for a man so broken.
“Then don’t believe it. Stumble forward in the darkness meeting the tragedies and tribulations of ill fortune. I can see what is already written on stone by Fate.” He bent forward catching Elliot by the collar and dragged him close, his voice a whisper on dry reeking breath. “You… fate his chosen you as a sacrificial lamb.” He leaned in closer pulling the taller man down so he was eye to eye and horror spread across Elliot as the fog of the pale eye parted and he saw in it a burning city, mud and gore, him collapsing to his knees choking on the blood of a collapsed lung with an arrow in his back. “You will die. Though you can still choose what for. You can still be better than the Fate cast.” Elliot shoved the King off him, tripped over a Wrightmark corpse and crawled away in terror.
“We need to go… now.” Elliot croaked scrambling to his feet and speedily walking towards the highway. “Now!”
Aourel bowed to the King. “I do hope you find peace.”
“I am the vengeance of a god. Peace was never mine to have.” He inclined his head as she left, followed by a weary Arneg.
Elliot had turned to shout for Roe to hurry but seemed to think better of it as the massive man bowed his head and clasped his hands together in prayer. The King joined him and in this repose his face seemed to become younger, less ravaged by time and tragedy. The two parted and Elliot thought the two had come to know one another as kindred spirits without exchanging any further words.
They regrouped outside of the village leaving the King to bury the dead who would otherwise have rotted. Elliot led them towards Ebon, ruin, and woe his heart heavy. Like the end of a play the curtain of night fell, and they walked on in darkness.
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