“By Gods!” The man said between his own choked laughter and the laughter of his peers, “This guy doesn’t miss! You got another one before we reach the gate?”
“Well,” Ambrose said, his hands placed on the chariot yet exerting no strength, “have you four ever heard the bit about the jousting volunteer?”
“The jousting volunteer?”
“Yeah, otherwise known as the freelancer!” Ambrose proclaimed with a wink.
“A freelancer! Ha! Quick and good that one is.” The man to his right said.
“Eyes up, men. We’re here.”
The chariot slowly cut through the fog, another ten paces finally revealing the great wall that loomed largely over all of them. There were a lot of them, Ambrose noticed, as the chariot stopped at the backs of the last line of foot soldiers. His second realization, to his surprise and horror, was the fact that the massive gate that should not have been opened yet stood agape.
“Forward men! To the inner gate, and let no man or woman impede our progress!” A female voice boomed over the crowd of men, their reaction one of pure delight and bravado as swords were raised and the air and spearheads bounced up and down.
What am I doing? Have I gone mad?! Ambrose thought, as his chariot companions around him slapped each other on the shoulder and began to take their position once again. Everything in his gut told him that it was far too late to change course. Then, his feet began moving as he grudgingly pushed on.
The line of men in front of them was gaining more distance, as the chariot proved to be an intense labor that would not show mercy. Coming through and past the outer wall’s gate, Ambrose heard one of his companions curse over the fact that the road was made of gravel instead of solid concrete. Ambrose would have quipped with the fact that they were doing a horses job, had he not been panting.
Hooves started next to him, and Ambrose was surprised to find that the woman who had voiced the commands was now walking alongside them.
“Who ordered five to push this damn chariot?” The woman said, her tone accusing.
The men to either side of Ambrose tilted their heads to him, and he could feel their pressure to answer the question put a weight on him.
“You did mi’lady captain! A damn fine idea, these roads are a torture.”
“Ay, all roads in this country seemed paved out of shit!” The one who had complained as they entered said.
“Ay!” Said one soldier in the front.
“Ay!” Said the other in the front.
She continued to stare at Ambrose, and while he would not return the look, he could feel the eyes trying to undress him. As a sweat broke out on his brow, she laughed.
“Ay! A good idea indeed. What a shithole we find ourselves in. Are these supposed to be homes around us? The homeless in High Hillford sleep in better quarters than these heathens!” She spits in the direction of one of the homes.
Ambrose surveyed the scene around him the best he could; they were passing over what could only be the freshly made indents of hooves to earth that the riders who had killed his neighbor must have created, giving ample time for the residents to awake. To either side of them, men, women, and children alike stared fearfully at the soldiers and himself. None of them hid or cowered, but none would retaliate as well, Ambrose knew.
Not in this part of Runswick. Closer to the center is where there could be trouble.
Ambrose began to curse the coin under his breath, as the damned thing had led him to being cursed out by this overbearing woman. While she sat atop the strongest horse he had ever laid eyes on, she continued to yell furiously at himself and his unlucky companions.
“We need this chariot, men! Put your all into it! Let up and you will find out!” She unleashed a whip then, and as it struck the ground nearly half a yard from the feet of one of the men in front of him, Ambrose wrinkled his face in confusion.
Did I just hear a hissing?
Ambrose couldn’t even concentrate on his thinking, as the chariot once again became stuck in the gravel that was the road. The two men from the front quickly moved to aid Ambrose and the other two men, and the five men heaved the chariot back into momentum. He wagered that his bit of strength had played no role, as the combination or armor and chariot had been enough to exhaust him.
I should not have drunk last night!
“I can’t even see the soldiers any more! You men do know the importance of this chariot, right? Without it, all this is for naught!”
“About that,” Ambrose started, giving another heavy shove before continuing, “I may or may not have understood what we are lugging here Captain.”
The soldier to his right turned to him, “You don’t know? We’re hauling the queen’s private escort!” The man said proudly.
“That’s right, I am sure the Queen Whitewood will appreciate that her accommodations come with the rest of our party.” Veronica said, a smirk drawn on her face.
“The queen Whitewood? She married?” Ambrose said, shock only half hidden in his voice.
“What?” Veronica said.
“Uh…” Ambrose tried to find a convincing story, “reports say she's married then, captain? I had thought she may still be the princess Whitewood is all.”
A moment of silence, filled in with the creaking wheel of the chariot and horse’s hooves continuing down the road.
“Well no, she sure could be a princess still. Though she could be a frog or a fool and I couldn’t give a rat's ass. In this box, she will go!” Veronica said, and the men around him fed off the energy she invoked.
They were coming to a turn now, and as Ambrose’s head swam with all of the incredibly gloomy information that seemed hellbent on breaking him, he became distracted when Veronica charged her horse forward. Drowned out by his thoughts, the sound of screaming could be heard not far ahead.
Losing his grip and interest in the chariot, Ambrose felt his stomach drop as they came within view of the busy scene. A section of the line of foot soldiers broke into a defensive circle, as residents from the town were now throwing an assortment of items in their direction. Following the screams that continued to carry Veronica’s horse, Ambrose found one of the High Hillford soldiers had stained their swords with blood. A pace away, feet and legs could be seen thrashing at the ground. A group of people surrounded the body, including the woman who could not stop screaming.
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A second later, one of the men that had been crouching with the body rose, showcasing an enormous frame, to face the soldier who had attacked. The soldier extended the blade out and upwards, so that it cut the distance between himself and the giant man, and he left it there with the blade only a few inches off from the man's jugular. The man did not back down, and others were coming from either side to his aid.
Lawrence! You fool! There had been no doubt about it, as the man had half turned his head to display the beard that his friend had famously worn. Someone of Lawrence’s reputation, beloved by so many in Runswick, would have the chariot wading through Runswick’s blood should the soldiers engage now. Ambrose’s feet moved past the chariot and began running.
“Soldier get back here!” It was one of the soldiers still towing the chariot, “Know your role!”
Ambrose, to his disappointment, had obeyed the stranger and enemy at once. He found himself in the expanse between the front of the chariot and the temper-filled groups ahead, unable to decide what option was best. He looked to Lawrence and the soldier, the two men generating plenty of support from their comrades on either side, then looked to the chariot, his disguise teetering on a tightrope that would surely snap should he act out of turn.
The coin! He was trying to take off one of his gauntlets, a chore that only amplified his panic. It may have been a tiny task, but in failing to take off the gauntlet he found that he was failing Lawrence, failing Runswick, and once again failing himself.
Whap! Whap! Whap!
A whip cracked overhead once, twice, and then a third time. It was Veronica, and all commotion ceased as she spoke.
“Listen here and listen well, Runswick!” Her voice boomed over the silence, “Unless you want a quick death, and no ability to provide for your families and neighbors, I suggest you stand down, now! By decree of His Holiness, the Grand Bishop Paulo, and the Holy Order of High Hillford, we shall be taking command of this capital and your country. We will pass, regardless of how many of you fools wish to fall in the process. Know that when we take this city none of you will be harmed, should you comply!” She swung off her horse and came between the soldier and Lawrence.
Lawrence turned to Veronica, fearlessness blazing in the proud man’s eyes even with the blade nearly touching his neck, “Runswick will never fall to the likes-”
“Was this man unarmed? Move away from the body!” Veronica completely ignored Lawrence, instead grabbing the blade of her soldier and commanding the group that still knelt by the body.
Ambrose had a better view as the people moved, but he had only managed to be back in line with the chariot. The men in the back motioned for him to quickly get back into place, but Ambrose first took in the lifeless body near Veronica and Lawrence. No weapon appeared close.
The soldier tried to lower his blade, but Veronica seized it. Throwing it to the ground, she stomped on the hilt.
“Remove your helmet soldier!” Veronica commanded.
The soldier moved quickly to take off his helmet, his face too far for Ambrose to take in anything memorable. But Ambrose would not soon forget this man, for as his helmet found the side of his hip, Veronica had already reached for her whip. With the slightest flick of her wrist, the whip lashed out and curled around the man's neck. Blood-curdling screams came choked from the soldier, as his peers moved indecisively either away from or towards the soldier.
“Stop!” Veronica raised both hands, “I made it clear to Sebastian what would happen should any of you slay an unarmed man! No one came to this coward's aid!”
Even the devoted chariot crew had stopped pushing as clarity stuck them. Ambrose couldn’t understand what he was seeing, but even with Veronica letting go of her whip entirely, the weapon continued to coil around the soldier's throat. Tightening even more, the color of the man's face reached a deep purple that seemed otherworldly to the spectators around. Shocks and gasps fill the air as Veronica turned back to Lawrence.
“We shall be taking this land, big man. I give you my word that no resident should fall like your friend here, and as my soldiers know I am quite serious about this consequence. Had your friend been armed, however, I may have promoted this soldier behind me.” Veronica turned to look at the soldier now, the life nearly escaped from his body, and she clenched the hand behind her back. The whip tightened to an even greater extent, before completely severing through the neck of the soldier.
Screams filled the air as the head bounced off the ground, the headless body falling lazily to the ground. Ambrose’s attention was fixated on the whip, as it slithered away from the growing pool of blood, went up Veronica’s leg, and found its home in her hand. As she held it, the animated whip that had moved like a serpent looked to be dormant once again.
The ferocity escaped Lawrence, and Veronica knew it, saying: “You would do well to spend your energy relaying my message of peace and understanding to your fellow Runswickians.” She turned and left him, stunned.
As Veronica headed to her horse and mounted it, the soldiers fell back into formation, and Ambrose was once again pushing the chariot. The mindless task was well suited for the day he was having, as so many feelings wanted to burst through his exhausted body. Around him, the crowd had been drained of all vitality. Faces of men and women alike seemed lost, either staring unbelievably at the backs of the soldiers or to the faces of their neighbors.
Ambrose could only spare a glance at his friend Lawrence, the weight of guilt too strong for him to handle. He should be on the other side, standing up for his friend and standing against these invaders, yet instead, he had willingly joined and rejoined the enemy company. His entire life he had waited for a moment like this, for this chance to truly redeem the lack of impact his existence truly had, and as he shot his glance to Lawrence he knew he was once again missing it. Lawrence was busy with other farmers, more than a couple recognizable to Ambrose, seemingly coordinating what to do next. Others were crowded around the men and women, heeding their words and soaking them to calm both fears and nerves.
Lowering his gaze, he found the woman who had been screaming back with the body of the Runswick man, holding it closely and crying even as the blood wet her own face. Tears and blood dropped down on the lifeless man, his neck a deep gash that allowed it to tilt back further than should be possible. Ambrose could only continue to push obediently, staring down at his own feet as they passed one another, wondering when this nightmare of day would end. It had to end, had to end with him alive based on what the coin had said, although the fear of not checking in and asking for his trusted silver was accumulating within him. He decided he needed to, no matter the risk.
Getting past the first wave of citizens only revealed the incredible number of people that had taken to the streets since the soldiers on horse passed through. The message Veronica had made clear must have spread like wildfire, as any resistance to the invaders was void. Though Ambrose could not see from his place in the back of the march, the people who had taken the streets were quick to move back to where they were, and as they reached the center of the capital, thousands of eyes burned in their direction from every direction. Some citizens stood extremely close, almost temptingly, with soldiers only an arm's length away. Others were on rooftops, inside their homes behind a window, or at attention just outside their homes with the rest of their family watching in tense unease.
Ambrose had half a mind to begin screaming, as he felt the weight of each person’s fears and animosity piling on him. What nearly sent him over the edge, was passing the Barrel’s Bottom, its puzzle-like, large door unopened in the still early morning. The pressure that only a true addict feels was back in the sides of his temple, a stimulus that made it alright to want to step away from the coin’s safety that was this damning role he found himself in. Even if it cost him his life, a drink among his peers may very well be worth it.
He would find out now. If the coin revealed that his path was not the one he should be following, he was ready to be rid of this. The bar he frequented was now only a few dozen yards behind him, and he would have his last drink no matter what.
“You two believe in destiny?” Ambrose said, as he finally rid himself of one of his gauntlets.
“We’re men of God, God assigns our destiny and we decide our fate, or something surreal like that.” The man to his right said.
“I’ll take that as a long way to say yes,” Ambrose said, reaching into the gap in armor between his midsection and thigh, where he pulled his silver coin from.
“Does destiny cost something nowadays?” The man to his left chimed in.
“Oh, surely it always has. But it’s much more expensive than this, my good man. I just like to test the waters to see how I’m doing from time to time. Like, am I doing the right thing right now? If it’s heads, yes! If tails, no.” Completing his question, Ambrose flipped the coin.
“Well? What was it?” The man to his right said.
Ambrose pushed the chariot with one arm, unbelieving and trying to negotiate with himself that he may have worded the question wrong. Clenched tightly in his hand, the coin had revealed heads.
“It was heads.” Ambrose said somberly.
“Well, there you go.” The man to his left said in a tone lathered with confusion, “How about a flip for us, huh?”
“Yeah, ask the coin if we win the day. Bet you another coin that God flips it yes!” The man to his right said eagerly.
“Wouldn’t take that bet! I’m on your side ya fool!” The man to his left said.
“Ok, alright,” Ambrose started, “Will we win the day?” Ambrose flipped the coin, a silent prayer passing his mind as he imagined many skulls piling on one another as the coin’s answer.
Slapping the coin to his hand, he revealed the heads to both men. Exchanging a celebratory cheer, the men both thanked Ambrose for the much-needed boost in energy and confidence. Ambrose could only drop the coin, where it fell yet never hit the pavement, and continued to push the chariot as they neared the inner wall.