Ambrose was incredibly relieved to exit the woods finally. Seeing the other walls surrounding Runswick in the distance was bizarre and welcome; walking his accustomed path from this foreign direction was the final assurance that a fundamental change had occurred to him. In a shorter than full day, his purpose had shifted so especially to one of great intent that he already felt like a new man. Selfishly, he was almost bittersweet that it may come to an end should they be successful. And since the coin had said they should be, no doubt crept to his mind that they would be.
Helping the confidence of the coin was the unflappable Eleanor; she had quickly returned to her serious agenda, ignoring the existence of both himself and Gio as she blazed the path ahead. Her fists balled to either side of her, Ambrose would not want to trade places with the enemy. Amplifying her rage was her dress; the usual shimmer of black and purple likened to the night sky was exchanged for a scarlet red that swished at her knees with each stride. Vengeance had never looked so marvelous.
The long day that would be spoken of in Runswick for many generations to come was reaching its climax. The westering sun became half hidden by the walls of the city, casting an orange glow to the world about them. It had cooled, and for Ambrose quite considerably, as he had relieved himself of his father’s golden armor on their break. He had no qualms with doing so, but the question of his father’s ownership of it in the first place remained in waiting on his mind. His answer had been to blame it on the coin, realizing now why it had always given him a bleak future should he sell the disguise, but like all of the fallout that came at the hands of the silver it felt too easy an explanation. He filed his thoughts away for another time.
Quickly, they had cut the distance between the forest and the outer wall, now coming to the dozen homes and farms that resided just outside the city. The first to the left was Ambrose’s home, and to the right was his late neighbor’s. Ambrose watched as Eleanor, fifteen or so yards in front of them, halted abruptly as her attention found Ambrose’s residence, her head pointing to the bolt that was still erect in the field.
Ambrose did not follow her with his feet, only his eyes, as both him and Gio reached the spot where Eleanor had been stopped. She had made her way over to the bolt, but could not come within distance to touch it. The scene was not as Ambrose had left it, for the flies had finally descended upon the torso that remained pinned to the ground. It was a grotesque sight, and Ambrose found in the breeze a smell to accompany it that nearly made him wretch. But he could not turn away from Eleanor.
The Queen was shaking more than she had before; her head tilted up to the sky where tears began down and shone in the glow of the afternoon, her eyes remaining shut as they did. There was pain in her posture, real loss for a man that was indistinguishable beyond repair. Ambrose watched in frozen awe, while Gio shuffled his feet and darted his sight around uncomfortably.
She turned then, trying to compose herself, yet as she began towards the gate of Ambrose’s farm, her eyes opened to find the other casualty of the morning. Nested in the high grass that reached through the beams of wood in his fence, Ambrose’s neighbor Tom lied with his feet pointed up, his lifeless stare towards the darkening sky. Eleanor passed both Ambrose and Gio, her expression resolute yet another tear or two still breaking though her poise. Opening and passing through his farm's gate, she knelt at the side of the dead man. Ambrose moved to join her, leaving Gio where he stood in the road.
He joined her on a knee. The arrow’s feathers were near their eye level, protruding from where the head had either found itself deep in the jugular or through the man's neck entirely. They could not tell, and would not investigate. Eleanor sighed, not deeply as if longing but short and rushed like one that is frustrated would do, before reaching a hand over the man's eyes. She shut them, before turning her head to gaze where the dead one once did.
“I do believe we have lost a great farmer today, our tomatoes will never be so ripe without you, Tom.” Eleanor said.
Ambrose looked at her baffled, “Wait, you knew Tomato Tom?”
“You think I don’t know my citizens, Nola?” Eleanor said, a smirk emerging from her emotionless face, “I can’t claim to know them all, but the ones who fall within my proxy I do set to memory. He was a member of your farmer's guild, and like you was a specialist. In fact, how curious that the tomato and potato farmers live next to one another. There’s a joke you still have not written.” Ambrose could only smile at her in reply, before needing to look away. He hadn’t thought of that joke and wished he did now.
“That man in your farm,” Eleanor continued, “I...I’m afraid we may never know who that is. But it is obvious to me that he was no soldier yet, far too green. It may have been his first week, and no more than his third, yet now…” Her face grew dark again, and biting her lip she smashed a fist to the ground.
“Their loss will not be in vain,” Ambrose said, “We will have their justice, and it will be today.”
“Justice…” Eleanor said, trailing off before turning to face him, “I have always tried to be a good Princess, Ambrose. I am not burdened with the vices my grandmother pusuied, nor lamenting decisions like my father had done to this very day. I truly care about Runswick, you see? And now for it to be in pain on the very day that I am called to command it...they will pray for mercy, I have no doubt.” Eleanor stood up, suddenly returning to the form she had taken on the way out of the forest. She turned quickly and began out of the farm, and Ambrose caught up after giving one last look to his neighbor.
Eleanor stopped at the back of Gio, who was still looking towards Ambrose’s farm. With her full weight, which wasn’t much, she pushed the man. It only caused him to take a step forward, and both his face and mustache seemed to perk up with surprise as he turned on a heel to face her.
“Your majesty?” He said.
“You have a lot to earn before addressing me as such.” Eleanor said, her voice commanding, “Between you now are two lives lost at the cost of your invasion. And don’t give me lip, this was your invasion as much as it was those users back there. It was you who sided with High Hillford, you who spied in my city posing as a friend, and there is still much I wish to know about where that dagger of yours fell at the beginning of the day. Until then there is a burden you must bear, and if you’re a man of religion than you better pray to your God now. For not only will you have to prove your worth, but I expect the worth of at least two others to be your responsibility alone, so pray we don’t find any more along the way. Prove to me you fight for Runswick, and I may let you stand trial when this is over.”
Ambrose watched, both impressed and chilled with Eleanor’s demeanor, as Gio stared down at the unwavering Queen. He was the first to break from her defiant gaze, staring out and looking above her head in reply, his face serious, “I will not be praying, your highness. He has never heard me before, and for good reason. I will prove what I can through my actions, my service, and the true ebony is yours to command.”
Eleanor did not appear satisfied, but walked in the direction of Runswick all the same without another word. Gio was looking at Ambrose, and immediately his expression changed from the serious look he had given to one of a relieved man who had just escaped death. Ambrose made a face as if whistling, but dared not to if Eleanor was attentively listening. Gio began thumbing towards Ambrose’s farm, then pointed up at himself, before appearing to brush away sweat from his forehead. Ambrose looked at him aghast, but Gio spun on his heels and began to follow the Queen before confirming what Ambrose had thought the man was implying.
<><><><><>
Three items, of increasing interest, took Ambrose’s attention as they began to enter Runswick: the outer gate had remained open as they had left it, the immediate view of the street ahead appeared to be desolate, and the lack of guards armed and ready on the outer wall’s path far above their heads. He continued to look up until his vision found only the stone archway that was the entrance to the city, anxious for the calling of High Hillford guards scrambling to meet them or knocking arrows at them. It never happened.
The neighborhood they entered was nothing short of a ghost town. Silk clothing of many colors on a web of several clotheslines created a flapping in the wind, the only sound aside from their footfalls. Eleanor, still leading the party, appeared uninterested in any of it, her gaze seemingly attacking her enemy from afar. Ambrose and Gio were very curious, looking about themselves one way, then exchanging for the other. One time, Ambrose looked left, Gio looked right, and the two stared at one another. A wordless conversation was briefly held, before Ambrose leaned one way, and Gio the other, to see what the other had been seeing.
The houses they passed appeared to be shut in, locked up and the windows drawn. The sun did not yet cast a shadow, yet light should have been seen from at least one of the nearly dozen homes they had passed to either side, yet there was nothing.
Ambrose wanted to hold off the thoughts, but they had already pressed to the forefront of his mind: Where is everyone? Are they safe? Are they being tortured in the inner wall? They were negative thoughts, far from the promise the coin had made him.
But I only asked if we would take back the city! He realized, feeling for his coin in his pocket, I must ask about the safety of the people! Will they be safe? Will they-
Giovani reached out a hand, stopping Ambrose from pulling the coin from where it was hidden. He had his pointer finger up and in front of his face, and in the next moment Ambrose could hear something.
Whap. Whap. Whap.
The sound was like a rhythmic beating as if something was being thrown against something. It was coming to the other side of the turn in front of them, and they both became alert when they saw that Eleanor had just turned to face that direction without any sign of slowing. So the two sped up to meet it with her, but before they could turn the corner, the sound had stopped.
They both had imagined the worst, and yet in front of them was just a kid. A young boy, dressed in a white shirt with pants that appeared too big for him, and long unmanageable black hair. The sound had not just come from him, but more specifically the ball he had been throwing against the side of the building that was now rolling away from him. His mouth hung open, his eyes looked on the verge of falling out of his head, and he remained this way without even appearing to breathe until Eleanor came up to him.
She stooped to his level, softened her face, and placed a hand on the boy's head, “Run along and tell your parents that their fear should be extinguished. That’s an order from the Queen herself, so you best be quick.” She ruffled the boy's hair, smiling brightly, before getting up and returning to his business.
“T-t-the Queen!” The boy exclaimed, before running too fast and tripping over himself to the other side of the road. He passed his ball, uncaring, before bursting into the unlit home.
Ambrose and Gio continued to look at the home, matching smirks as a man, and then a woman came out to the open. She was farther away, but no woman in all of the land wore a dress that seemingly shimmered and dazzled without the need for a proper dress like Eleanor’s. Combining the faces of the two would have given the boy’s look of wonder, and the parents did not need to be told what to do next. The mother ran to the house on the left, while the father ran to the house on the right, the latter so excited he forgot he was only wearing silk underwear.
“I do believe we’re seeing a rumor spread, ho ho!” Giovani said.
“It’s no rumor,” Ambrose started, before raising his voice as great as he could, “The Queen has returned!”
His announcement had done well to bring a couple of curious people to their windows, but what started as the Queen’s first order to one of her people had begun to trickle long before they could even reach the center of the capital. There were many shortcuts and allies one could take in Runswick, the main road providing not a straight shot by any means to the castle, and Ambrose wagered that some of the talks had traveled in these places. What had been an abandoned city, quickly became a cautious city, before bursting into a bubbling one. Ambrose began walking backward, and Gio eventually joined him, for the sight was everything to behold.
The first to join in had been the same kid they ran into, this time accompanied by four other children of similar age, and they were laughing as they trailed the three of them. Eyes in windows became people on stoops, people on stoops became people frantically following on the sides of the road, and before long others began to join the children in the street. First, a family joined the children, then two, and then a few individuals poured into the street behind them. Fear and uncertainty seemed to be stripped away from them as they did, and from somewhere towards the back of the crowd a lute could be heard striking a song, much to the delight of the crowd. From a bird’s eye view, Eleanor had become the collar to an ever-growing cape.
“Ambrose Nola!” A voice called out from the crowd. Ambrose scanned the sea of faces, before falling on a waving hand attached to a middle-aged man he recognized from the bar. He waved, unsure of his name, but happy to see him all the same. This got him thinking of where his more distinguishable peers could be. He continued to look upon the many faces but did not find one that he could name correctly.
The excitement amid what had been a silent stillness that shadowed the city was reached far and wide, a wildfire set on wooden debris. As they had turned right before, they came now upon the left and would find them facing the city center. The most populated area did not fail to make their presence known, with Eleanor alone turning and inciting the sound of cheering and jubilation. The raucous crowd followed Ambrose and Gio wide-eyed and more animated than ever, and the two realized they would need to turn and speed up if they didn’t want to be trampled. They did, catching up to the turn and relishing in a moment that was the polar opposite of how they entered the city.
The air became filled with multicolored streamers from the balconies above their heads, hats, and even silk clothes joining the snow-like display. People swarmed the sides of the street in all different shades of garb, a majority finding it hard to see through tear-filled eyes which they rubbed to no avail. Some in the crowd were filled with both awe and shock, their eyes locked to and watching their Queen as she strode past bearing the cuts on her exposed flesh for all to see. There was dancing, high-fiving, two men chugging drinks (Ambrose watched these two until they had finished, a satisfactory effort but not impressive), and without a doubt seemed to be the peak of jubilation for an era of Runswick. But still, there was more.
For what Ambrose had watched, Eleanor had not hesitated nor reacted to any of the spectacle since the young boy. He did not need to see her face to know that she brandished the cold, hardened expression left to only those able to rule over a people, meant for the necessary air they may require. Hers did not disappoint, for the woman known as the young, dainty Princess and owner of the true silk returned seemingly aged, with experience both hardening her to a sharp point. Her posture remained immaculate; small in stature, she stood taller than anyone that day, her chin high and shoulders square as each step she took seemed to burn the ground underneath. Her dress, shimmering in shades of all colors, continued to swing about her knees on its own accord. She could have lengthened it at both the arms and legs in an instant, but would not hide the wounds dealt to her and subsequently her people. They made her more than a Queen, but a survivor.
They came finally to the center of the city. Ambrose felt a warmth in his heart seeing the old water fountain in the distance, the too-familiar route finally coming to his favorite point.
“Ambrose, look who it is! My valued customers, ho ho!” Giovani exclaimed.
Standing in front of the Barrel’s Bottom, was nearly all of the faces he had been searching for. There was Toot, who could play the flute and needed no tankard for he had his boot. Marley, the master of barley. Old Timothy, always asking to drink with me, and Ajab, who has a tab. And finally the most prominent of all was Lawrence, injured with the largest crutches ever made, pointing at him and nearly trying to run on his lame foot. They were all waving and hollering at him, and Ambrose waved back at them. Lawrence raised a hand with two tankards in it, then another with two more. Ambrose drooled, but Giovani slapped him on the back as he had almost made the move to steal away from any more duty.
“Look in front ya addict, to your Queen!” He said, taking a hand to Ambrose’s chin and manually moving his gaze for him.
Eleanor had come to an abrupt stop, just left of the fountain, before turning to face it. The crowd had still been going on before the message spread to quiet down. A few moments passed, and the entire city of Runswick stood still as they watched their Queen.
Eleanor took a step up and onto the rim of the fountain. There wasn’t much footing there, a drunken Ambrose knew very well from experience, and it took her a second to get her balance. Her arms stretched to either side of her, she began to walk on the tightrope that was the fountain. As she did, her dress began to shorten. With each step it seemed to creep up another inch of her thigh, the short sleeves of the dress beginning to wither away into straps. By the time she was nearly two-thirds the way around, her dress became no more than one-piece, a shimmering and alluring bathing suit. But it was not in the exposed skin of her womanly charm did the crowd remained enamored by what they saw, for the skin did not elicit temptation in its current state.
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Even Ambrose found himself appalled, a new anger rising within him. For their Queen, his Queen revealed to them all the extent of her injuries. Nearly complete in her circle, she graciously and brilliantly spun with ease, revealing that the altered dress now had no back to it. Her skin type could have been mistaken to be red, with slashes of pale and pink revealed here and there, for everywhere on her body the storm Ambrose had pulled her from did not fail to leave its mark. From her ankles, to her legs, to the backs of her arms, and reaching up to just below her chin, the Queen had been injured.
A pin would have been heard as it dropped in the center, evident when Eleanor jumped from the rim of the fountain back onto the road, a slightly wet sound heard as her foot made contact. She did not address the strained crowd right away, opting first to look to the sky, and before she continued her dress began to grow once more. Starting to swish at the knee, she did not halt it to showcase her cuts and scars, opting this time for the more formal length her grandmother had fancied. There was a calmness to her, and Ambrose wished that he could have met her then, but he was cemented in place like everyone else. The calmness ended when she brought her head back to the ruling position. She turned to face the main road, now a straight shot to the inner castle.
She raised one fist in the air and took a step forward. That was when the newest peak of emotion escaped from the people of Runswick; screams of admiration and cheering clashed with the busy movement of people trying to follow. Others began to frantically search for anything they could call a weapon, their eyes bloodthirsty and excited as they did. The men at the Barrel’s Bottom had either finished their drinks or were finished with drinking, opting to follow Lawrence as the hobbled man would not be denied a chance to serve his Queen.
Ambrose had lost Gio in the madness and found himself on his sort of side quest. Bobbing and weaving through the thick crowd, being pushed, shoved, and shouldered by seemingly everyone at once, he did not know how far away the Queen was. Somehow he kept pushing forward, although he wasn’t sure if it was the right forward anymore until he found the newest man to be pushing was Gio. The men grabbed onto the wrists of one another, continuing to push their way in the masses toward the inner gate.
The inner wall stood no more than a half mile out now, and Ambrose continued to try and get glimpses at it amid the bevy of people. Ambrose’s vision shifted between the backs of heads, shoulders, and brief peaks at the horizon beyond, dominated by the incoming wall. The massive wooden doors appeared closed, which marked one of the only changes since he had escorted the Queen from the city more than eight hours ago. He tried to find any sight of movement from the wall’s walk, but couldn’t see enough to come to any conclusions. Catching sight of Eleanor seemed impossible, and realizing the flood of people was getting the better of him, he began pulling Gio in his direction in a more haste attempt to shorten the distance. But as he pushed through, a commotion began in front of him.
“Stop! Everyone cut-”
“Halt! Halt you damn-”
“She’s stopped! Quit shoving you-”
The convoluted message reached Ambrose and Gio before long, with his current group in the crowd realizing it as they pushed into the backs of people standing, the result a range of curses and insults pleasantly asking for order. This spread upon the masses; their turn to be the ones nearly squished, Gio pulled his knife on an excited man trying to break through Ambrose and his still locked wrists. That man subsequently told another man to shove off when he tried to break through the ranks, and so on down the massive parade until the whole group was stopped.
There was still some bustling about, but for the most part, the group had quieted tenfold to figure out what it was that caused them to stop. Ambrose wanted nothing more than to shove through, but the people in front of him continued to eye over their shoulders, ready to launch more slander at anyone who dared move them. Ambrose caught himself and Gio doing the same thing, as the people in back continued to poke heads over their shoulders. Before the uncertainty of the crowd could boil over, Eleanor’s voice rang high through the air.
“My people,” She began, “I ask you now to stay where you are. I shall ask more of you in the hour, but I command every one of you to wait until my order is ready. Only two of you I require, let Ambrose Nola and Giovani Visconti through at once!”
“That’s us, ho ho!” Gio said, and the people around Ambrose and Gio gawked at them. Ambrose smiled brightly as the people in front of him immediately began to split, or yelled at others to move so they could get out of the way, and before long the two were receiving claps on the back and calls for good fortune. A harder slap to his back nearly sent Ambrose to stumble as he acceled forward. Turning his head revealed Lawrence, the man cupping both hands to either side of his mouth.
“Ambrose, you fool! Give ‘em hell!” He said, to which Ambrose replied with a thumbs up as he continued forward.
A few moments later, the group was split in front enough so that they could see ahead to Eleanor. She stood facing the group, her hand raised and open to halt the group, and turned as she saw the two coming up. Ambrose and Gio broke off from one another as they finally made it out of the dense conglomeration, with each jogging up to either side of the Queen.
“At your command, mi lady!” Ambrose said, taking in the full landscape in front of him. It appeared that no soldier of High Hillford came to meet them.
“It is about time you make yourself useful, Gio,” Eleanor started, not turning to look at him, “I must be sure we haven’t been seen. If there are archers in either flanking towers,” She pointed to the two towers situated at each front corner on the inner wall, “Or the central tower above the gatehouse, I want them dealt with.”
Ambrose found himself both impressed and unsettled with the chill in Eleanor’s command, a command to kill. Gio on the other hand, seemed to smile from both his mouth and his mustache.
“Long live the Queen! I thought you’d never ask.” Gio unveiled his dagger, before dropping it to the ground where his shadow was cast. Eleanor hadn't been interested, but Ambrose was and marveled at the way the ground swallowed the dagger. He watched as Gio closed his eyes, and began moving his right hand in the same fashion a conductor would lead a show. He was getting quite into it, his mouth and corners of his eyes twitching between concentration and satisfaction. Not more than twenty seconds passed, before the dagger shot itself from the ground, only half an inch in front of Gio’s face before he caught it in his hand. It was wet with blood, and Ambrose cringed as the blood-soaked Gio’s hand.
“Six of them my Queen! A good eye you have. No alarms set off, if anyone saw us I do hope they enjoyed their final view.”
“Both of you, grab a hold of my dress. Remember what I said about interfering from here on out.” Eleanor said, and Ambrose and Gio immediately moved at the consequential command.
The dress, much longer and the fabric much thicker than it had been for all of the day, began to whip about in their hands. The wind that had been trapped around her dress seemingly moved to Ambrose’s exposed ankles, and he watched as the ends to his pants blew with a wind that wasn’t really wind. Like all happenings regarding the true items, a change occurred that he could not remember seeing or feeling. Studying the power whipping at his ankles or the dress in his hand did not give it away, instead, he found himself confused with being unable to see Gio’s face from his point of view.
Then Ambrose looked down, where he found the top of an older man's head, riddled with liver spots. Beside him, staring up at him with the same look of bizarre confusion as he must’ve been giving, stood Veronica Visconti.
The two immediately recoiled from one another, flinching backward. The movement made Ambrose immediately aware of something large yet not necessarily heavy looming on his back. It all seemed to hit him at once; peering over his exposed shoulder which was much more was at least three times the girth of his own revealed a hilt of a sword longer than he had ever seen jutting from his backside. Ending just at his shoulder was the similar golden armor he had rid himself of, yet this version was sleeveless and now he admired the vascularity presently running from his biceps and branching out to large forearms.
“Holy shit! I’m huge!” Ambrose exclaimed, but the words did not feel like his own as a much deeper voice escaped from his mouth.
“You’re Sebastian!” It was Veronica, who was swapping between looking at Ambrose and peering down his shirt, “And I’m my fuckin sister! By mar, does she not bathe?”
Ambrose looked closer at Veronica, obviously, now Giovani cloaked her, and after a moment of focusing on her, he saw what appeared to be the semblance of an outline looming taller than the actual person. It was hazy, seemingly an after image, and when he didn’t look for it the outline didn’t appear there. He shifted his gaze to the old man between them, who had taken a step forward. Dressed in a robe of white and gold trim, Ambrose similarly stared at his back, and within the height of the man appeared the same sort of illusion of a girl’s figure trapped within.
“We don’t have all day now,” The decorated priest, Eleanor in disguise, said.
Ambrose and Gio followed. Ambrose elbowed Gio, meaning a nudge but nearly toppling the woman over, “Sorry! Hey, who is she posing as?”
“You watch it with that beast of a body now,” Gio replied, “And that is none other than the Grand Bishop of High Hillford, Paulo. The one who ordered this day from the beginning, and someone akin to God where he resides.”
Ambrose felt uneasy as he continued to watch the figment of Paulo walk forward, a sort of foreboding heavy on his brow and seeping into his mind. He couldn’t explain why, but there were more feelings than just that of anger stored for this man. Instinctively, he tried for his coin, only to realize that the anatomy of his pockets had instantly changed along with his physical appearance.
As they walked, Gio peered curiously at Sebastian, who wouldn’t have been the giant killer even if he had known it first hand. Sebastian would never look as ridiculous or alarmed as he did now, stopping and starting to examine crevices in the legs of his armor. Whispering words of frustration, Sebastian seemed to give up.
“What’s wrong?” Gio said.
“Can you find your dagger?” Ambrose asked.
A moment later, shooting out of the ground came the ebony dagger. The usual close call Gio seemed to fancy appeared to nearly backfire, the blade cutting just between the breasts he appeared to forget were there, creating a slit.
“Whoops! Well, the breeze is nice! Ho ho!” Gio proceeded to brandish the knife upside down, before reaching his offhand to his belt, where Veronica’s whip was famously located. Unveiling it, he cracked it along the road, a look of supreme satisfaction portrayed as he continued on with both weapons in either hand.
Ambrose reached over his back, finding this to be not such a small feat as his biceps were both awesome and slightly inconvenient, before pulling the blade from his back. The blade is incredible in size and design, it’s weightlessness is abnormal. Gio deftly side stepped as he did, for Ambrose pulled the blade with a surprised ease as he swung it around to the front of his body. The sound of an object falling to the road followed the act, and Ambrose stopped to turn, swinging the blade as he did and once again coming too close to Gio’s liking.
“Be careful with that!” Gio shouted at him.
“Careful with the coin? It’s fine you worry wart.!” Ambrose said, picking it up from where it fell. It seemed to have been on his back with the blade.
“That’s good! Would you look at us, two items a piece? The stuff of legend, that’s what we look like.” Gio said, tossing the whip in front of him with the same confident swagger Veronica always exuded. Ambrose watched as the whip fell lamely to the ground some few yards in front of them, where it lay still. The two looked at one another, perplexed.
Ambrose, one hand on the greatsword and the other holding his coin, dropped the coin between the gap in his neck and chest plate, where it fell to somewhere near his stomach. Stacking his off-hand underneath the hand already wielding the blade, he was surprised with the trivial result. He was now holding the sword with two hands, looking around for the carbon copy of himself that should have been produced.
“It won’t work like that,” As Gio picked up the whip, they both looked forward to finding Eleanor speaking in Paulo’s voice, “My silk can make copies of any object, but it can not copy the power of the object. It has been tested and tried, long ago. But that blade will cut, Ambrose, though I advise and command you to not fight. While under the power of the dress, you can not take injury, consume beverages, or enjoy food, or else the power will cease immediately. So, I ask you again to just follow my lead.”
There were only twenty yards from the still-closed wooden gate of the inner wall. A new silence was apparent now the farther they distanced themselves from the crowd, which was now quite far and their commotion had quickly subsided since the three had separated. On the other side of the walls in front of them, voices could be just caught in the wind. All three approached the tall door.
“I want both of you on me, and nothing more until I say.” Eleanor said, before reaching an arm out. The robe’s sleeve the hand was hidden in fell back, exposing skin of aged, wrinkled quality. Then, she knocked on the door.
Sebastian and Veronica, or Ambrose and Gio, looked at the old man, then each other. The amusement only doubled when Eleanor attempted to knock again, and the sight was nearly too much when the old man tried to knock more aggressively.
“Your highness, allow me,” Ambrose said, stepping up and pounding the door with the side of his balled fist five times. Ambrose heard wind escape from the old man's nose before the gate began to draw upwards in front of them
Gio was the first one to see, for he crouched to look while Eleanor stood stoically and Ambrose stood too tall, underneath the door the many prepared and golden boots no more than an inch away from the threshold. He looked to Ambrose, who was looking at Eleanor, who began to draw from out of the sleeves of her robe a sight he had only seen once. Holding it in both of her hands, was the true gold chalice.
On the other side of the gate, a dozen spears were pointed at them from bodies of only legs and torso, before the gate drew up another half yard. That was when the first soldier had made eye contact with one of the trio, before dropping his spear to the ground. Subsequently came the dropping of the other spears, falling on the ground or top of one another, at the hand of the most shocked group of people Ambrose had ever seen. Their eyes hidden in the slits of their golden helmets, Ambrose was excited to not need to see the whitening of their eyes at the whim of the silk’s power.
“Is this any way to welcome us? To welcome me?” Eleanor said, the words coming from somewhere beyond her grasp, yet precise in their use. The soldiers all immediately fell to both knees, talking over one another as each begged for forgiveness.
Falling to the ground relinquished their obstruction of the view inside the courtyard. Beyond the dozen soldiers attending to the gate, other High Hillford soldiers shone like golden statues in various placements in many areas; some were looking at them from along the path, others were staring from the stairs the path led to, and there were a few outliers in the courtyard itself. All of them had eyes trained on the three of them, and they were either staring in wonder or following their colleagues to the ground, praising in their direction. The main door to the castle could be seen at the top of the steps, open.
Eleanor took a step forward, walking between two men who did not dare to move, with Ambrose and Gio following suit. The silence in the courtyard felt deafening, only plagued by the giant blade bouncing off of Ambrose’s armor and the shuffling of both feet and robe produced by Eleanor’s movements. As far as Ambrose could count, no more than fifty soldiers were currently in the yard, a far cry from the nearly two thousand that had stormed the city. It was becoming more obvious that the collective army would be found within the castle itself.
They began taking the steps leading to the castle door. Soldiers were staggering seemingly to their own accord on either side of them as they walked up, either taking a knee or fully in prayer position with the forehead of their golden helms pressed to a concrete step. As they reached the top, two soldiers were found on either side of the open door, with sounds of livelihood coming from inside.
“Tell me, soldier,” Eleanor said, looking at a soldier with his head pressed to the ground. A moment passed before he realized he was being spoken to.
“Father! My apologies, I-”
“What did you do with the body of the King?” Eleanor’s voice came from a mouth riddled with fangs of ice.
“T-t-the King? He’s been killed sir-I mean father! We have moved him to the grand hall. He sits on the throne, father.”
Eleanor did not reply. The face of Bishop Paulo lacked any emotion in response, only still did Eleanor stare at the soldier, who had drawn himself back to the ground in prayer. Ambrose felt his heart sink, with it only plunging further as he looked to the open door to the castle. He wondered, and emphatically hoped, if there was any chance that the soldier had been wrong. But that seemed highly unlikely.
Gio stepped up then, drawing one of Veronica’s knees to her breast, and stomping down hard with a black laced, armored boot. Landing squarely on the back of the soldiers head, the metal-on-metal clanged, and so did the metal-on-concrete as the man's head ricochet once before his entire body fell limp, his face still buried to the ground.
“Who is it that ordered you to place the king on the throne? Is this some sort of jest to you? You shame his holiness!” Veronica said, whirling now on the other soldier at the door, the only conscious target the anger could be acknowledged by. The soldier was looking up at Veronica, and this one even took off his helmet before addressing her. Ambrose was immediately surprised by how young the soldier looked, his face soft with no trace of facial hair. He didn’t stare long, as the soldier's eyes were too white for his stomach.
“Captain,” He began, his voice slow with caution, “With all respect and many blessings, it was not one of us that planned to place the late King there. You ordered it before you left this morning. You had specifically said to not allow a proper burial, as he was not of the faith, with his resting spot being the place he rested the most. The throne, well because you said he was a fool-”
Gio cut off the soldier with a swift kick, the side of his sister's foot connecting with the man's jaw and sending him to his side. Ambrose gasped, sounding foolish with Sebastian’s low voice, and looked to Gio to find a seething yet concerned expression on the face of the fake Veronica. It was a face that was guilty, and ashamed.
Eleanor took the hood of the robe off the top of the bishop’s back and put it over her head. Drawing back deeply into the robes of Paulo, she looked resolute before shielding her face from Ambrose’s gaze.
“G-” Ambrose started, but the soldier under that had taken the latest kick from Gio was not unconscious, “Veronica! Don’t you think you have overdone-”
“No, I don’t.” Gio replied, sounding more and more like his sister the further he went, “I believe there is something far worse than a new jaw structure for those who perform such inconceivable barbarism.”
“B-bu ca-in-” The words came out as mere sounds, the young man's jaw was misaligned with the one kick. Gio dealt another swift kick, spinning on one leg and landing the back of a heel into the other side of the man's jaw.
For his sake, Ambrose hoped that straightened his issue. Looking down at the now still body, the man was bleeding from the mouth where it stuck to one side of his face.
Ambrose almost flinched at the sound of Paulo’s voice, his thoughts too busy to register it at first, “I…” Eleanor was staring down at the second soldier, her eyes locked into one spot yet still blank and distant, “Ambrose, you will be solely on weapons duty from here on out. I want all of the soldiers to be rid of any equipment. When they have relinquished all arms, send them to the throne room. Leave no room unentered, and no soldier behind. Gio, you will be with me. We are going to see my father.”
Eleanor started forward, yet Ambrose objected, “My Queen! Allow me to accompany-”
“Do you wish to upset me? Now?” Eleanor had stopped, unturning to pose the question.
“No, no! I only wish to be your comfort-”
“I am no child, Ambrose! I am a ruler of the freest nation, under siege currently by an invader! I gave you an important task, far more faith than a fool like you deserves, now go and do it without insolence!” Paulo’s voice was like the rumble of a storm, and Ambrose could feel the weight of the words. Eleanor continued forward.
“Gio,” Ambrose said, looking down at the much smaller Veronica, “Be there for her mate, ok? This could get worse.”
“Not sure what the worst could look like, but I got her friend.” Gio offered a smile, which came out as a devious smirk on Veronica’s face before the two followed the Queen into the lit entrance of the castle.