The soldiers had stacked the multitude of dead bodies into a massive grave made by the wave of Bialo’s hand. No words were spoken, or visible strain was seen as the very earth itself opened its hungry maw. Devouring them in but seconds with another wave of his hand. The simplicity of the act left Michael reeling in confusion and surprise. Bialo had to do nothing at all except gesture, and the world reacted in obedience to his call.
Giving a small prayer to the deceased, he stood in silent remembrance of the ragged people that died for striking at him. In truth, he felt kind of bad for them. Not because they died, no he had nothing but apathy for those that would allow their greed to control them into attacking him. Instead, he felt sorry for those they left behind. Those that had nothing to do with the stupidity that brought them head first into Jax’s blade.
Those dead bodies they had stacked haphazardly were brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, or grandparents. Someone out there would be waiting for their loved ones return only to be left in their lonesome. Michael felt terrible because he had existed for months in a condition he deemed to be similar. Without family or friends to speak to, just the dark and dusty prison he was placed in. Images of him trying to talk to the guard that had brought him the nasty slush they called food, only to be wholly ignored brought phantom pains he would be better off never feeling ever again.
“Young Master,” called Bialo as he walked towards Michael. Having given him time for himself, to deal with any demons he carried, Bialo needed to speak to him. To discuss their next move.
“Bialo, I’ve been meaning to speak with you. We’ve just been rushed, haven't we?” said Michael, his eyes still stuck on the unmarked grave they had made.
“Yes, we have much to speak of. But first we must leave this area, we do not need monsters to harry our path more. They leave a very distinct trail,” said Bialo as he began to lead Michael towards the caravan wagon he had woken up in.
As they walked towards it, Michael noticed that everything had been cleaned from blood stains and camp ready to move at a moments notice. It had Michael a bit confused wondering how long he had just quietly stood there thinking. Time moved too fast, extremely disconcerting considering it took forever to pass for his imprisonment.
Shaking his head, he walked up to the wagon, finally seeing it as it was. Massive, it was coated with a brown exterior that matched the wood used underneath. With a pointed roof, and covered in tiles, it was far to decorated for the forest. The wear and tears of travel was already visible on the walls as scratch marks, and a couple of arrows made their mark. Walking up to the door, Bialo made a hand gesture, raising the ground to form steps up to the door. Making it easier to climb.
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The door wide open, Bialo extended his arm towards the opening as he lowered his head. Making it clear that Michael was to enter first. Taking the stone and dirt steps up, he entered and was quickly followed by Bialo, closing the door after his entrance. Already seated on the bed, Jax, his frame somehow made to fit, and Agata were seated patiently, but they rose to their feet the second they noticed Michael step in through the doors. They waited on their feet, only seating themselves after their liege had been in his chair.
Unlike before, the wagon was emptied of boxes and things, cleared up leaving space for chairs and a table too, where they sat around. Michael was resting on a red, gold, and plump seat that had soft cushions that he sank in. The others were on chairs of wood with little to no comfort added. As they stayed silent, the rumbling of tires hooves and commands sound clear to them as they began to move once more.
Clearing his throat, Michael gestured for Bialo to begin as an image of meetings his father had forced him to participate in seemed to guide him on specific protocols and mannerisms. Only speak sparingly, never rest your elbows on the table, let others talk and report to you while you only guide the discussion. There were too many to count.
“As your father's final step, we are to head towards the desert Empire of Rimal. And past that into the Kingdom Atop the Mountain. He had accounted for a great delay and threat in which we would have to go through Death's Forest instead of around it. Though, I would find great comfort knowing we can still go around,” said Bialo frowning as he finished off.
Having just seen the man raise the earth to make stairs, gobble up a multitude of bandits into the earth, then close the enormous hole he had made, Michael was kind of surprised anything could make Bialo anything less than comfortable. And if there were things out in the wild, that could, well that was too frightening of a prospect to think about.
“While it would be a definite increase in safety to go around Death’s Forest. I am not sure we can,” said Jax in reply. “If the dregs of society knew which road we would follow, it is all but guaranteed that those with much more resources know too. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were hired for the sole purpose of slowing us down until more capable people arrive,”
Hearing this Bialo’s frown deepened and a contemplative look crossed his face. As though he would risk being outmaneuvered and caught by larger forces just to not enter a forest. After what looked to be an internal debate, Bialo agreed that it would be wiser to move through the woods than around it. Having also gotten Michael’s approval to move forward, Jax, Agata, and Bialo excused themselves to give him some space and time alone.
But, before Bialo left, trailing the other two, Michael called for him. Waving him to return for another conversation entirely.
“Bialo,” said Michael, as a few vague memories of his time in imprisonment came into view giving him a headache.
“I still don't understand, why did I have to be stuck for three entire months in that hellhole?”
Instead of the response, he was expecting, Bialo looked at him with a confused expression. For a few seconds, that awkward silence extended until Bialo cleared his throat.
“You haven’t read The Scripts of Kings, have you?” Bialo said, noticing Michael nodding sheepishly.
“It was your father’s life work, read it and internalize it. It will help you become as great, or maybe one day, greater than your father had been. May his soul forever rest in the spirit realms. Now if you will excuse me, Young Master, I must see that we are following the correct path to Death’s Forest,”