Coming into view of the inner gate, its unopened state spreading whispers of frustration and impatience among the ranks, Ambrose could only pick up bits and pieces of the image that surrounded the door before finally seeing it for himself. The two men pulling the front of the chariot relayed back to Ambrose and his two companions that there had been some form of a pile up at the gates, bodies and horses alike stacked on top of one another. All of the mystery up ahead seemed interesting to Ambrose, but there was a more pressing matter that seemed to only be affecting him. He grappled with the possibility that he may be seeing things, for nobody seemed to mind nor mention the fact that a priest was following close behind the chariot.
Ambrose hadn’t realized it until the final street, with his best guess being the man had slipped out from the crowd in the capital center. If there was a bet to be made, Ambrose would have put in his house that the priest was not currently sober, or at the very least something had disturbed him. The man was wearing a white robe with a trim of gold around the collar and sleeves that stretched too far past his feet, resulting in constant shuffling and nearly tripping over his steps. The priest was swaying from one direction to another, and though he hadn’t made it close enough for Ambrose to confirm, his eyes seemed to match his robes, with no trace of pupils from the little glimpses Ambrose had been taking over his shoulder.
As the soldiers finally came to their destination, Ambrose recoiled as Veronica’s latest command could be well heard.
“Bring the chariot to the front of the line! And let the priest pass!” She bellowed from the front of the line.
So I am not losing my mind!
Ambrose continued pushing, as the rows of soldiers shifted to columns on either side of him as they passed. Again all eyes seemed to burn into him as he passed gold-claden soldiers to either side, and he quickly imagined that this was the moment some soldier would recognize his strangeness. Immediately he became more aware of the inconsistency in his own armour's emblem, the red circle a sore thumb that was not matched by any soldier he passed. He tried to push his chest and plate closer to the chariot, obscuring the view of anyone who may try to double-take at him.
As they got closer, and with the soldiers in front ceasing all marching, the faint screaming of pained men became more apparent. As the last soldiers in front split to either side, the final obstruction blocking the path between the chariot and the inner gate was now in full display; a small mountain had formed at the base of the gate, taller than Ambrose and nearly on par with the size of the chariot, a majority of it made out of silver armor, weapons and whole or partially whole horses that had already invited more than a few flies. A few soldiers in gold were apparent, with the majority reduced to speckles of gold flakes in the dump that was the aftermath of the initial assault. Close by and laughing, Veronica sat on her horse as half a dozen Holy Order soldiers took care of the pile, their blades out and wet with blood.
Only a dozen yards away, Ambrose reached his neck out from one side of the chariot to observe the soldiers more clearly. Two of them had pulled a Holy Order soldier from the pile, only to confirm his death before tossing him by hands and feet higher onto the pile with all the care one would take with a sack of manure. Other soldiers seemed to be more active with their blades, slaying any of the still suffering horses that pleaded for mercy, and likewise with the Silver Acre soldiers, quickly and cleanly slicing the necks. All the while the mountain seemed to be taking more of a strategic form.
“You’re looking at your initial cover, men.” Veronica said as the chariot finally came to a stop, “What better way to conjure intimidation and defense? There is none!” She continued laughing as a soldier struggled to manage a horse into the flesh wall.
The shuffling from behind him was crystal clear now as the priest continued to move forward. Ambrose could make out the gaunt, lifelessness in the features of the man's narrow face, which was almost void of any flush color. His mouth hung stupidly agape, with his eyes a blank canvas of white. Ambrose could only shutter as the figure moved past him, and though the expressions of his fellow chariot members were hidden under their faceguards, a tightening of posture was apparent as they stared forward.
As the priest came in line with Veronica, they exchanged a bowing of heads, Veronica’s much more pronounced and regal. The importance of this priest, and his status among these invaders, was something that could be felt in the air as a court will come to silence with the presence of its judge.
In what only could be defined as sickening, the priest opened his mouth to what must’ve been its full capacity, perhaps beyond that. He looked up at Veronica, the yellow of his top teeth on display for her, his tongue unmoving, and in this form he spoke clearly.
“There are many uses of these bodies before us. A wise decision to have them remain here.” The priest said, his mouth unmoving from its inhuman state, “Sebastian and your brother see us clearly from the tower above. On your command, the gate will open. Do well to leave one of the Whitewoods alive, should total victory be your goal, Visconti.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Veronica said with mild annoyance. Along with Paulo untrusting them to succeed, her horse had begun bucking in place again.
“You may think you know, and in due time you will. In due time.” The voice coming from lips unmoving.
Veronica moved to the middle of the road, her horse still protesting, before raising her arm.
“The chariot stays here, men. Leave it and flank my left and right, swords on the ready!” Veronica commanded.
Ambrose found himself unable to command his legs as his companions moved quickly to her position. The front of the line! I am surely dead here! Panic shook his core, yet the colid ice that ran in the tone of Veronica’s voice had been enough to motivate him to move to the front of the chariot. As he found himself looking at his companions, their stances strong and swords ready, he attempted to mimic their behavior. Holding the bastard sword he had been luckily given, standing in front of the large inner gate that led to the King and Princess of his beloved country, and at his back scores of men clad in gold, Ambrose felt like he was dreaming. He would’ve laughed then, had Veronica not called for him.
“Fifth wheel! On my backside!” She commanded.
Fifth wheel? That hurt him more than it should have, but like the coin, Ambrose could only continue to follow the direction others had set out for him. He now found himself staring at the arse of Veronica’s black stallion, its tail a white whip that moved with no agenda, and its right hoove making him incredibly nervous in the way it started to kick at the ground, a behavior the horse wasn’t doing a minute ago.
Veronica’s hand still raised, she moved her offhand to the side of her horse where her helmet hung. Unlike everyone else, her helmet was not gold, but pitch black as midnight with a gold cross that reached from top to bottom and branched out as eye slits. The ease which she put it on, along with the fact that she had decided to go this far without it, only further proved the growing title that Ambrose admittedly had no comparison for.
She may be the enemy, but has a more badass woman ever walked this earth?
Amid everything, the scores of soldiers behind him, the ruthless woman on horse only an arm's length away, and the freaky priest that still hadn’t closed his mouth, Ambrose noticed the incredible window of seclusion he had with his back to the chariot and all eyes trained on the gate. He had put the coin in a more available location, tucked slightly into his left gauntlet, and in the moments of pause they seemed to be taking, he pulled it out and held it tight.
Ambrose watched as Veronica unveiled her whip again, the rope balled in a circle in her off-hand yet the end of it moved with a will of its own. What none of them would witness, however, was Sebastian and Giovani also gripping their weapons, hands ready and watching as Veronica would soon make her move. Even the priest, controlled by Bishop Paulo so far away on High Hillford, factored into the equation as Paulo gripped the chalice tightly in both hands. Princess Elenor Whitewood stood next to her father, watching the gate, and pulled at her dress near her thigh in a nervous tick.
The ground shook then. Coinciding with the rumble, Veronica’s horse became violent. Ambrose couldn’t even start to rationalize what was happening around him, before taking a swift and unexpected blow to his chest plate. The horse had tried bucking Veronica forward, unable to rid itself of its owner, before bucking backwards, standing on her hind legs to ensure Veronica get tossed off. She landed hard on Ambrose, the wind knocked him out twice over.
In place, as the world began to shake underneath him, the horse continued to thrash around. Hopping, spinning, jumping, the horse seemed to lose its mind as the quake became more profound. Veronica had fallen directly on Ambrose before rolling off of him, the grunts of frustration evident in her breathing, but as she tried to sit herself up, the horse’s backside came in line and ready to kick back.
Ambrose reacted, pushing Veronica to her side and sprawling flat on the concrete as the deadly force that was the horse’s kicking made wind pass through his helmet's eye openings. Veronica was still lying yet seeing what Ambrose was doing, and as the horse spun in its madness, Ambrose raised the bastard sword and sliced left as the horse whirled right. The result was a clean, deep slice to the weakest part of the beast. The screams, a water-filled neighing that had not lasted long yet would forever be imprinted in his nightmares, filled the air. A flow of blood poured down the length of the horse’s breast and waterfalled onto the ground as the horse took its final, burdened step before falling over.
In the continued chaos, the rows of soldiers behind them could only manage to curse and sound alarmed as they seemed to be in the safest area away from the buildings. The demolition of one about one hundred yards behind them sent a new uproar of trepidation from the soldiers near had steered Ambrose’s attention that way. By the growing sounds around them, screams from both town folk afar, and the clamor that was becoming more pronounced within the inner keep, the quake was leaving the tattered and aged buildings of Runswick in ruin.
Ambrose could only continue to suck in air as his suit of armor rattled against the ground, the blood of the horse in front of him reaching his feet. Veronica was attempting to stand, failing at first before finding proper ground, and reached out a hand to help him up. Ambrose instinctively took it and was pulled to his feet with strength he was not expecting.
“Nice work!” Veronica may have yelled, although Ambrose could not hear her clearly at all. On his feet, trying to keep balance, Ambrose nearly fell and instead grabbed onto Veronica, with the two using each other as a crutch to remain standing. Ambrose looked at her and followed her fiery gaze to where it focused on the priest. He still stood there, wavering only a bit but seemingly unbothered by the whole ordeal.
In the next few seconds, the quake had begun to lose its ferocity, before finally falling dormant. The whole episode had lasted less than fifteen seconds, but for Ambrose, it felt an eternity. The shock and surprise from the quake, a foreign feeling that he had never experienced nor Runswick had endured in his lifetime, was only extinguished by the clarity provided by his blood-soaked right gauntlet. He saw the hilt of his borrowed sword lying flat and smothered by the horse he had killed, the beast lying lifeless and wide-eyed on top.
Presently, Veronica still had both hands on either shoulder of Ambrose, almost cautious to move in the new stillness. But her eyes still burned to the back of the priest, the only one capable of such a feat that is a natural disaster. It was only right to assume based on the fog, sent by the Bishop Paulo no doubt, that they had cloaked their arrival.
She broke off from Ambrose, unseeing as he lifted his visor to have a word of congratulations for his work in saving her from her horse. Ambrose could only purse his lips in awkwardness as she stormed towards the priest, unveiling her whip as she closed the distance.
“You may not interfere with my assault!” Veronica cracked her whip on the ground, a distinct, violent sound that was enough to straighten the heads of the bewildered soldiers behind her who had broken formation in the chaos. Men moved and yelled at one another to get into position as Veronica came to a halt at the priest's back.
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“Now you dare ignore me? What kind of everlasting partnership do you expect when you betray your own promises? No Visconti would stand for this insolence! I have broken all ties for you and your cause, our cause now I remind you!”
The priest stood there as if Veronica had not existed, only breaking to respond to what sounded more like a question in his own mind: “I did not imagine that five items would be such a catalyst this early on. This only makes things more desperate.”
“What are you going on about?” Veronica demanded.
Slow and methodically, the priest turned, his mouth still unnervingly opened as the bottom of his jaw reached nearly to his chest, “I have told you once before, that there are many things you do not understand. You are but an ignorant pawn right now, and should you remain with your head in the ground you shall sooner become a dead pawn in the ground. I speak harshly as haste has become a necessity. You must get one of the Whitewoods now. Preferably the daughter, as the King can remain in command and delay any signs of our attack today.”
“If you want this done immediately, you’d find it to your advantage to give me a recap of what just happened.”
A pause fell between Veronica and the priest. Tension filled the air between them, and though he was thousands of miles away, Paulo had the inkling of an idea to cut through this pressure and Veronica in one sweeping blow. The implications only annoyed him however, and if the quake had been any indication, Paulo knew time was of the essence.
“Including ourselves, there are five of us in this vicinity with our original items; your brother and Sebastian in the keep above, along with the lady Whitewood on the other side. I suspect in the readiness of battle we all had a hand on our respective items. It is above your understanding, for now, and we do not have the time for such detail. But in short, the loose film that was a barrier between such magic as our items and the power that rests around us at all times has currently been lifted. The more items in an area, the more power can be stirred in that area. The earthquake was only a meager, early example of what can happen. Even my most daring theories could not have expected the earth to be so charged so early on. If we wish to succeed before the next calamity, you will now call to open the gate.”
Standing still behind the chariot, his helmet still removed, Ambrose did well to still even his own breath as he listened to the otherworldly priest speak to Veronica. While he had heard what he said, Ambrose could not understand much of it, though discussions of magic and items sent a shiver down his own spine. Instinctively, he reached for his coin, feeling the cool silver between his fingers.
Veronica could only continue to stare at the priest, absorbing his words carefully as she plotted her next move. The influx of information was something she had desperately sought since she agreed to this campaign, and she could almost see the pieces starting to form on this puzzle that only grew larger by the day. Staring still, Veronica analyzed the whites of the priest’s eyes, the way the bottoms almost seemed to escape their sockets at the tension of the agape mouth pulled at them. She saw the inner parts of the vessel's jaw, the muscles stretched and possibly torn in areas from such an inhuman expression. The feeling of sick revolt for the followers of such a church was an ember that smoked in her mind, but presently she raised her right arm high in the air.
“Soldiers!” Veronica commanded, “Back to position!”
Behind Veronica, her soldiers had already readied back to the lines. Ambrose was the only one who needed the reminder, slipping his helmet back over his head, before noticing with horror that he still needed his sword. While the others of the chariot found their respective corners, Ambrose scrambled and attempted to fetch his sword from underneath the black stallion.
From atop the inner wall, a voice called down from the left side of the tower, “Sister! What just happened!”
“Back to position, Giovani!” Veronica shouted, annoyance in her tone obvious. Giovani could only shrug, before returning to the tower.
Ambrose, two hands on the hilt of his sword, stared stupidly at the top of the wall. Was that Gio?
“Soldier! To my side!” Her arm still raised, Veronica looked over her shoulder and to Ambrose, seeing as he stumbled backward with the sword finally unearthed from its captivity.
Ambrose, on his backside, first did a double take around him to see who she may have been speaking to, before realizing with a tinge of pain that it was him she wanted. He stood up, his bastard sword a mess of dark blood on one side, and was between a jog and a trance-like walk as he made his way to Veronica’s side.
“You did well in slaying my handicap of a horse,” Veronica started, “Let’s see how well that sword holds up against another.”
Ambrose swallowed, finding himself in another uncomfortable and new position. It wasn’t the fact that he had a blood-stained sword drawn at the head of an invading army as they prepared to breach his Kingdom’s inner gate, although that feeling would hit him next. He found that his inability to come to a clever rebuttal was his most immediate alarm, as just the presence and aura of Veronica caused him to choke on his words. In the instant his body allowed him to break the spell, he raised his sword towards and at the gate in front of him.
What I would do for a damn drink before this!
Veronica dropped her right arm, cutting through the air. The wooden gate before them began to rise, and as it did the silver armor of many soldier’s feet became obvious just beyond. Even with the gate’s squeaking opening, Veronica could hear the sounds of tense bow strings.
“Shields up! Get cover!” Veronica yelled, and as she did she threw her whip at the opening of the gate. Ambrose, watching it, was unexpectedly pushed to his side by Veronica, landing behind the mountain of bodies and horses that remained in front of the gate. Behind them, the movement of shields stacking on one another or finding home on the ground from the Holy Order soldiers rang through the air.
As the gate opened enough to fit the average man though, arrows shot fast and suddenly from the line of Silver Acre soldiers that appeared. The sound was like a flurry of heavy punches to Ambrose as arrows sank hard and deep into the dead bodies that acted as their defense. His line of sight facing the Holy Order soldiers, he watched as the columns of soldiers attempted to step towards the gate as the barrage of arrows continued. The leader of each column defended each man behind him, and as one of them fell first to an arrow in the knee followed by a decisive arrow to the open neck, the next in line was ready with their own shield, stepping over the fallen soldier.
From the other side of the mountain of bodies, screaming could be heard from one of the archers. Ambrose had to piece the words together among the raucous noise around him, but he had thought the man said that a snake entered his armor. To his side, Veronica crouched with the confidence that seemed to portray that the ordeal would be over soon, and this affirmed what Ambrose had thought he heard. To his other side, he had a moment to watch with delusion as the priest continued to stand in place. Arrows were stuck to him, and he staggered backward as another found home directly in his chest. But still, the priest took the assault.
As the soldiers of the Holy Order began moving more quickly, and the arrows reloaded more slowly, the cries of men on the other side of the gate grew louder. There was little sword-on-sword combat, but there was some assault happening that Ambrose could not find the courage to glimpse at yet. Veronica, on the other hand, did have the courage and curiosity, and stood as an arrow passed over the heap of bodies they hid behind.
Her new sight found the row of archers to be a frenzy of men attempting to either draw swords or find a target among them as more than a few of their peers already lay motionless on the ground. Her eyes immediately found her whip, as a soldier struggled with both hands at his neck to wrestle the snake crushing his throat, only to fail and fall to his knees and then to the ground. The snake moved out from underneath the man's chest armor plate, finding the foot of another soldier still standing and beginning on its next victim.
Another soldier, confused yet unhurt, stilled as a blade shot from the ground and found a home in his neck. The blade fell before the man did, swallowed once again by the shadow in which the man would go on to die. A very nice kill, Veronica allowed herself to praise her brother.
As the remaining Silver Acre men formed a circle, and her army came to either side of the heap of bodies, Veronica’s eyes widened in stunned delight. What had just been a space in the formation of the circle of the Silver are men, swords replacing their dropped bows as terror became paramount in their stances was now occupied by Sebastian and his greatsword. In a violent, lightning-fast spin, the sword carved through each of the men, the taller soldiers finding their shoulders and higher cut clean off their body, while the shortest among the group was cut between nose and eyes, leaving half a skull to be flung and forgotten.
What a day of discovery! Veronica mused as she moved from behind the mountain of death, more than two dozen arrows plunged into either human or animal flesh. Ambrose, finally convinced the initial assault was clear, quickly moved to be in stride with her.
As the last standing soldier brandished a shaking sword at Sebastian, Giovani’s blade emerged from the ground, shooting up and through the bottom of his jaw. Finding the soft, easily penetrable gap between jaw bone and jugular, the ebony blade’s hilt could still be seen as the blade could only sink deep behind the man’s face, before ripping out from where it had pierced. The man died instantly, falling where his shadow had swallowed the blade.
Ambrose had stopped in utter disbelief at the impossible in front of him. Starting from beyond the pile of bodies that protected his life, his inner imaginings tried to recreate plausible scenarios where nearly twenty-five fully armored soldiers could have perished so quickly and easily. All that remained was a man who must have stood a foot and a half taller than him, his perfect posture and the ease he waved his greatsword with one hand indicated enough that Ambrose needed to avoid this goliath’s path at all costs. Yet to his side, signaling with only a hand gesture to him, Veronica began to walk with cool, earned swagger through the gate’s opening and past the first few Silver Acre bodies to where Sebastian stood.
Ambrose swallowed hard and met to join them before the ranks of soldiers to either side of him could beat him to position.
“A very well done job, Sebastian.” Veronica said, her whip returning to her from underneath a soldier's body as she did.
“Praise? From you?” Sebastian said, continuing to look straight towards the inner keep.
Ambrose was to Veronica’s left, feeling extremely afraid. He may be on the same side as skilled, unmatched killers, but the final fleet of Runswick that defended the castle proved to be a larger number than he could have expected. The castle steps all but two hundred yards in front of them were void of any persons, but at the steps remained a crowd of people. No silver armor was detected at his first glance, seeing now with horror that the last line of defense would be all those who had been recruited in the last few weeks, along with any staff of the castle. Some were equipped well, others were equipped with what seemed to be left. It would be a bloodbath, one that would end in their invader's victory, but surely one that would have some cost. Ambrose could only estimate that the difference in numbers was five to one in favor of Runswick.
They will defend their home here, and should the fight be prolonged, the citizens will only find the energy to join the fight. Ambrose knew this to be true, and knew that the first sign of the invader's struggle the city would find the courage to block off all escape. It was a scenario that both terrified and seemed to excite him, as it was the only chance that Runswick be saved that day.
His bastard sword, still dripping with blood, was held firmly in his right hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the exposed flesh of Veronica’s neck, while the large man had taken another step forward.
If I can slay just one of them, then run to the steps… Even the most optimistic side of his brain could not allow delusions. He had seen this woman decapitate a man without needing to touch her whip, and the man next to her spent most of the morning slicing through dozens of trained men without so much as a scratch to be seen.
At least the people will remember me fondly this way. And I won’t go out a traitor - I will die a hero. The thought was nearly final, absolute, and as grand as a plan he had laid out for his time on earth since his Father had died. Veronica was tilting her head to one side as if teasing Ambrose's thoughts. Ambrose’s offhand moved tactically to his sword’s hilt.
“What is going on up there?” Veronica said.
Ambrose followed Veronica’s gaze, landing at the top of the stairs. There was a commotion there, a stirring of people that seemed to spread like a virus. First, others closer to the scene turned their heads, then those standing towards the middle of the stairs were turning their heads. A few were moving with haste, some dropping weapons. Finally, the thousands of eyes that found themself in the inner keep all watched as a girl, dressed in what was no more than a silk-white sleeping dress, started down the steps, parting the crowd of people as she walked.
“Princess Elenor Whitewood! Oh!” Ambrose said aloud, scaring himself as he had not intended to speak.
“Wait - who are you?” Sebastian said, taking off his helmet. He gave a questioning look to Ambrose, who remained still, before shifting to an accusatory look at Veronica.
“Jealous? This soldier saved me from that beast of a horse Sebastian, I owe him a bit more than gratitude, no?” She too removed her helmet, an emphasis of playfulness in her tone that was followed by a wink.
Sebastian scowled, “Well your new pet stays here!” Sebastian held a hand up, signaling for the troops to ease, before he and Veronica walked to cut the distance between the stairs landing and themselves.
Ambrose was puzzled by the back and forth but didn’t care as his anticipation to see the princess was quickly transformed into a terrible, foreboding sense of dread. As the Princess came into detail, the only outlier of color from the white of her dress, the paleness of her skin, and the gold of her hair was the stains of red that ran from both hands to elbow. Ambrose would not be able to make out the endless tears that betrayed the otherwise astute look she tried strongly to portray.
At the last step, Elenor Whitewood stopped. Nearly fifty yards away, Sebastian and Veronica halted as well.
“Princess Elenor Whitewood,” Sebastian called, his greatsword striking the earth and echoing through the still keep, “I assume this is your truce. Your father is a smart man, as I’ve heard before.”
The Princess did not respond right away, as Sebastian’s words could not be processed right away. She listened to the final drops of tears fall from her cheeks, looking down at both their descent and at the dress her Grandmother had given her.
“My father is dead,” Princess Elenor said, “Let his blood be the last that needs to be spilled today. I want only peace for my people, for they are the only love I have left in this world. What are your demands.”
Veronica and Sebastian exchanged a look of surprise and confusion, before turning to hear the robes of the priest sliding towards them. Littered with arrows from feet to scalp, the priest moved slowly and still with an unsettling, monstrous look.
Thousands of miles away, the only person more terrifying than the priest erupted in his private chamber at His Holy church.