To walk with fate is a strange feeling. To know destiny parts from your every step. To know a thousand years of death and strife dog at your heels. To see the entirety of heaven in a single wildflower, and to know it was planted a lifetime ago in hopes that you might simply pluck it. Sparrow-Knight, Black Champion, Fateful arbitrator; so many new titles, yet the same worn-out old boots. The path before her seemed so empty, though a thousand passers-by obstructed it. She did not march forth. She trod as gently as she ever had, as to not disturb the cobbled streets any more than needed.
It was a short path back to the inn. One filled with formless thought and boundless angst. She passed a tavern filled with the baron’s soldiers. They laughed and cheered; drank and danced. One even called out to her, though his voice failed to pierce her haze. She carried on completely unaware of his beckons.
A chapel stood tall across the street. Three statues stood atop of it. Simple and carved of abundant wood, though as majestic as anything holding the visage of a god ought to be. In the centre, she of Gold. The kind and gentle form of the all-mother. A flow of jet-stained wood marked her free-flowing hair, and a thin sheet of golden leaf gave her a cold metal gaze. As always, to the right of her stood she of Steel. The patron of purpose, bloody as she was. Her grim face was masked beneath a full steel helm, though she wore a heavy cloth robe across her shoulders. A parchment, stained red, fluttered in her hands and battled the breeze. To the left of the duo was the formless being that had claimed Ashtik. No carver could capture his cold facade, so a mound of ashen wood took the form of a man’s shadow. The mass atop of it could have been a head but lacked eyes or even a nose. The outstretched mounds could have been arms, or tendrils, but seemed to her like branches on a flame scorched tree.
Everything bore his suggestion. Shadows watched her walk. Sparrows seemed enthralled by her mark. Folk walking past her seemed to look with four eyes; two of their own, and two of his. Ash cast off the feeling as well as she could while she made her short journey back.
The mouldy wooden door eked open to a near silent inn. Three men sat in the corner, nursing their cups, while a scattering of others sat around. A pair of young lovers made eyes from the shadows, and a well-built young man scoffed down a bowl of fragrant pork stew with a frantic effort.
“Child,” the innkeeper nodded from behind his bar. “Are you well?”
Ash scanned over the inn one more time, finding no trace of the Veytors within.
“Yes, thank you.” Ash whispered. She slid along to the bar and took a seat before the innkeeper. “Was there any trouble?” She asked.
“None.” He grunted. The old man clashed his cleaver down and tore it across a chicken leg. He managed to cut straight through the bone with the single swipe.
“My sister sleeps?” She asked.
“Dunno'.” He simply replied. “Hasn’t left her room since you left.”
“That’s unlike her.” Ash whispered.
“Being threatened by Veytors tends to sour yer’ mood.” He said, cutting again into his chicken.
“True enough.” She sighed.
“Can I get you anything?” The keeper asked.
Ash grunted in approval. “Whatever’s strong enough to burn.”
“The only spirits allowed here are in the sepulchres. Rest of us gotta rough it with posset ale and sugar wine. I think the tavern up the road has some piss weak vodka imports, though.” He said as he poured her a tankard of ale.
“What’s posset ale?” She asked. She took the large metal tankard from his hands.
“It's something old women like to drink during the winter. Hot milk and ale.”
“Hot milk and ale?” Ash gagged. “Wouldn’t it curdle?”
“Yup.” He sighed. “Makes it creamy. Supposed to be quite nice, but I’d never touch it.”
“Me neither.” She grunted from beneath her drink. She drank it all too quickly. The tankard, near as large as she was, had almost been emptied in a single breath.
“Slow it lass.” The keeper said. “Plenty of day yet to go.”
“I know.” She sighed, taking another swig and slamming the freshly empty cup down. “Just preparing myself for this next bit.” She rose from her seat and made away from the bar.
“Oh, and here.” She called out, throwing him two gold disks from across the room. He hid them quickly and for the first time, he smiled.
“Take care of yourself, lass.” He called out.
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Three meagre smacks called out against the shabby wooden door. Tiny footfalls pattered forth from within. She could see a shadow cast under the door as Evara stood behind the threshold.
“Who is it?” Evara called out. She took a strange tone. She spoke deeply, as though mimicking the voice of an older woman; though the true result suggested a thirteen-year-old boy stood behind the door.
“The grand Champion.” Ash sardonically replied.
“Ash!” Ev called as she swung the door open.
It was gorgeous within. Truly the ‘luxury suite’. Where the mouldy wooden door suggested a dilapidated interior, Ash realised it was a disguise. Camouflage to protect the luxury within. A hearth lay beneath an ornate silver mirror. Velvet curtains draped over the oak bed frame. A plush carpet lay across the entire floor. Even a wooden bathtub sat at the far end. Ev stood in some clearly borrowed robes, her hair soaked and flowing down her clothes. She ushered Ashtik into the room and Ash quickly removed her muddy boots before they could stain the carpet. She sat atop of the king-sized bed and noticed Evara’s tome open at her side.
“You’ve been writing?” Ash noted.
Ev blushed as she noticed her sister’s probing. “A little.” She awkwardly whispered.
“What does it say?” Ash asked. She tried to parse the meaning of even a single word. It was of no use; she had gathered more meaning from chicken tracks than she could from these ornate markings. Evara lay on her back beside Ash and took the tome into her hands.
“Does the sheer act of greatness preclude goodness? Can one be both good and great? My experience is little, though my readings are vast. In many men of renown have I found a commonality. A tipping point where directed goodness became terrible greatness; where they made a choice and decided that their goal was more important than their hearts. I worry that my sister will make such a choice, should she be ordained. I worry history shall remember her, and that memory shall be written in blood.” Evara recited.
“It's never jolly with you, is it?” Ash giggled.
“Would you rather I write some smut? It seems all anybody wants to read anymore.” Ev joined Ash’s laugh, though hers was faint in comparison. “So, come on. What happened?” Evara finally asked. She sat up and propped herself on her elbow. Her sprawling mess of damp hair dripped down her forehead and off her nose.
“Your hair’s gonna tangle, Ev.” Ash grunted. She walked to the bathtub and took a towel and brush back to the bed. She wrapped the towel around her sister’s shoulders and started combing through her hair.
“Why are you being nice?” Ev laughed.
“When am I not nice?” Ash asked as though offended.
“You aren’t exactly the ‘brush my hair’ kind of nice. You’re more the ‘I killed a bear for you’ type.” Ev said. “Are you trying to soften me up or something?”
“I...” Ash sighed as she mindlessly combed through Ev’s long – and thoroughly knotted – mane.
“What? Did something happen?” Ev pressed. She didn’t turn to look at Ash, she knew it would be easier for her to speak if Ev wasn’t looking.
“I’m the Champion, Ev.” She finally whispered.
“Oh...” Was all Ev could manage.
“Champion of Black.” Ash half groaned.
“So... Like, the end of the world?” Ev slowly said.
“Yeah.” Ash sighed. “End of the world.”
“Well... Shit.”
A little candle flickered in the corner. It danced over Evara’s dirtied clothes and discarded armour. A shadow sprung across them as the sun bled through the drawn curtains. The hearth held the only heat in the world, so far as Ash was concerned.
“Then...” Ev whispered. “What’s the plan?”
“I don’t know.” Ash admitted. “But White told me to head west.”
“West? You plan on going for a swim? And who’s White?” Ev asked.
“White, the Champion of White.” Ash scoffed.
“What!” Evara exploded. She quickly spun around to face Ash, seemingly unfazed by the brush catching in her hair. “You met the Champion of White?” She shouted.
“Aye... Gave him a smack in the teeth as well.” Ash grunted.
“Bullshit.” Ev replied. “He’s never been hit before. Not even the blood queen could get him.”
“Then I'm proud to have popped his cherry, and his nose.”
“No, you don’t understand Ash. The man can see the future. He knows what you’re going to do a month before you do it.” Ev insisted.
“So he knew I was the Champion before the mothers met?”
“I don’t think so. I read that anything further than a few seconds into the future gets increasingly fuzzy. He can see long enough to dodge a punch, but a conversation a day away would sound as though it were taking place underwater.”
“Well,” Ash snickered, “he didn’t see me coming.”
“I’m still not convinced.”
“No?”
“You got your ass beat by a bunch of random bandits; yet you hit the untouchable man?”
“First off, I won both those fights... technically. Besides, I didn’t beat him, we just fought for a bit.” Ash recounted with an ever-increasing self-doubt.
“People don’t fight the Champion of White; they survive him.” Ev sighed. “But you aren’t a liar, so how did you do it?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. I think... it was something to do with my glove thingy.”
“Your gauntlet?”
“Yeah, that.” Ash snorted.
“What happened?”
“It... started glowing, or something. Bands of purple lightning shot from the metal, and there was this... aura? Like black dust in sunlit mist. I couldn’t move, and it was icy cold, but I could still look around.” Ash dreamily recalled. “He had his blade to my heart; I think he thrust it in, but then he was frozen. Everyone - everything - was frozen but me.”
“So, you hit him while he was frozen?” Ev pressed. Her steel eyes lit up as she wrapped herself in the tale. Ash could almost look behind her little pupils to see the imagined battle raging in her head.
“I knocked his bloody teeth in while he was frozen.” Ash boasted. It made Evara laugh for a moment, though she quickly grew grim and sat back before her sister.
“What’s the bad news?” Ev bluntly asked, her brow crooking and wrinkling.
“I never said there was bad news.”
“But there is, isn’t there?”
She dreaded telling her. She dreaded her tiny sister’s colossal wrath, but she knew she had no choice.
“You’re going back with the baron.” Ash finally said.
“No, the fuck, I'm not!”
“Ev-”
“Shut up, I'm not going to let you fight off the apocalypse alone!”
“Listen to m-”
“You’re useless on your own! How are you going to forge an alliance if you can’t even make eye contact?”
“Evara!” Ash finally managed. Her sister had jolted to her feet and begun pacing across the decadent room. “Now listen to me, this is not up for debate. I am fighting the apocalypse, you’re right, but I'm also fighting the Conclave and every allied nation. It is no place for a fucking child. You’re going home where you can be safe.” Ash snapped.
“But-”
“You can throw all the tantrums in the world. You can insult me as much as you like but come the dawn; you’ll be riding with the baron.” She hissed.
“Ash-”
“This is probably going to be the last time we see each other - maybe for a very long time - let’s not waste it. Please, I won’t change my mind; don’t waste our day arguing.” Ash pled.
“Then,” Ev sobbed, “what? How are we supposed to spend our last day together?”
A tear fell, and a dozen more. They seemed to flow so easily for Evara, and so harshly for Ashtik. She was ‘strong’, she was ‘stoic’, she was a rock that didn’t know how to crack.
“Don’t suppose you wanna’ get drunk again?” Ash tried to joke.
“No.” Ev choked. She ran into her sister and forced a soggy hug.
“It’s not all bad news.” Ash said.
“No?”
“I got you a bribe; I mean present.”
“What is it?”
“I haven’t picked it up yet. We’ll get it together.” Ash took her sister’s face into her hands. She felt the wet of her hair through her steel skin. She felt the warmth of her blushing cheeks and the very beat of her heart.
“A parting gift?” Ev choked.
“Don’t call it a parting gift, call it... Me spoiling you, one more time.”
“‘One last time’, you mean.” Ev grunted.
“If I meant it, I’d have said it.”
“It’s not fair, I can’t get you anything.” Ev groaned on.
“Don’t worry about it, you can get me something next time.” Ash winked. “Now get dressed.”
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The child could spend the entire day and night getting dressed, but the urgency of a last moment together pushed her along. Still, it took her nearly an hour before she stood ready.
They made their way across the city, stopping at oddity stores and strange attractions. They toured the old silver monolith at the limit of the northern quarter. They tried foreign treats and heard alien music. For a final day, it could have been much worse. Their route had been meandering but intentional. They were headed to the smithy as slowly as they could. What might have been a five-minute walk became a six-hour adventure. They stopped at every mummer and busker, every stall and tale-teller. It was only as the smithy came to view that they decided the time was right to get some food.
The two found a small café across from the smith and settled within. Evara ordered some fanciful dish, found only in the Conclave. Olives and garlic, cheese and herbs, and some kind of bloody meat. It looked undercooked to Ash’s eye, but Evara insisted it was supposed to be.
Ashtik settled with something more typical and wholesome; beaver tail stewed in ginger, garlic and onions. A real meal, not like Evara’s.
“How is it?” Ash asked as she stabbed a chunk of fat with a sharp wooden skewer and brought it to her mouth.
“Hot.” Ev laughed. “But I suppose that’s the point. Do you wish to try?”
“No.” Ash scoffed. She appraised the absurd dish with complete distain. Meat with a pulse was a sure way to catch an illness, and pulsating her dish was. Every time Evara would stab into the admittedly tender chunks, a gush of red juice would pour from within and soak over the peeled potatoes beneath. It was an awful cut, to Ashtik’s sensibilities. Not a string of fat clung to it, just pure meat. She’d be better off living like a hermit, eating mushrooms and mould.
“What did you think of the monolith?” Ev asked.
“Bigger than I expected. Did that guide say there were more of them?”
“Yeah.” Evara nodded. “They mark the Champion’s claims.”
“Right... Each Champion gets a kingdom of their own.”
“I’d love to see what kind of land would call you queen.” Ev laughed.
Ash joined her laugh and said, “somehow I doubt queenhood is in my future.”
“You’ll find out in the Forgelands, I guess.” Ev said. She tried a smile, but it didn’t seem to fit. She couldn’t keep her eyes high enough to look at Ash. Her whole demeanour changed in an instant at her own mention of the Forgelands.
“I’ll tell you what,” Ash whispered with a grin, “if I get my own castle; I'll drag you over so you can rule it for me.”
“Deal.” Ev grinned, though her eyes never lost their weight. “Though, I get the big bedroom.”
“All the bedrooms will be big, sis, and each'll have their own bathhouse attached.”
“Yeah, and a grand feast hall with a hearth every three seats.”
“A big marble table at the head for you to preside over...”
“And a little cupboard nearby, for you to hide in when they want to celebrate your many heroic victories!” Ev cheered.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“I’ll get right on it.” Ash laughed.
Once bellies were filled, and as the sun shrank beneath the tides, the two made for their final destination. They crossed the cobbled street and came upon the clanging of steel on steel. The smell of pitch and iron. The heat of the open-air forge.
The forge master ruled over his anvil while his assistant kept at the bellows. It was no wonder the smiths she had known were better built than any soldier. The young assistant glistened with sweat despite the somewhat bitter air. He kept a perfect pace as he puffed his bellow, like a rhythmic drum at the rear of a vast orchestra.
The master's work seemed no less operose. He wore a strange band around his head which seemed to wick away any rouge beads of sweat. He shattered his hammer down time and again against a molten rod, turning it upon each contact.
A third man stood silently in the forge; one she had seen briefly in the early hours of the day. His name didn’t come to her but she recalled his purpose. He wanted to be taken on as the smith’s apprentice. It seemed that despite his blatant refusal, the man had yet to give up. He seemed entranced in the smith’s art, noting his every exertion and movement.
“Excuse me!” Ev called out to the smith. His focus broke from his work and his eyes lit up as they came upon Ash.
“Sparrow!” He excitedly called. “Callum, take a rest boy.”
The younger man nearly collapsed back from the bellows, but the third was kind enough to catch him.
“Master Toblik, would you like me to maintain the heat?” The third man offered. The smith sighed and seemingly only just realised that the other man was still there.
“Don’t bother, I’m done for the day.” Toblik, the smith, sighed.
“Then I’ll return on the morrow, ser!”
“Hang on.” Toblik grunted. He seemed to appraise Ashtik for a moment before he turned back to the interloping man. “Sparrow, please step inside.” He offered. “Sujin, follow.”
The third man’s face lit up at the invitation, but a dose of hesitant scepticism carried in his steps.
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The forge shop had grown dark in the early dusk. Ashtik and Evara patrolled the stands and oddities while the smith lit a set of oil lamps at his countertop. The room seemed much cosier by lamplight. The golden glow shimmered and danced from the cuirasses and blades. The wind seemed to swirl within the glass confines of the flame and brought a billowing shadow across the oak above them. A cast of Evara’s little face reigned over a painting of the Conclave, while Ash’s own skulked across the floorboards.
“I assume this is the sister then, Sparrow?” Toblik bowed.
“I am indeed, Evara, Ser.” Ev returned a curtsey.
“A pleasure.”
He drew from beneath his counter a large rough leather wrap. He loosened a copper buckle and unravelled the cover. Beneath lay a beautiful steel spear. Along it’s thin silver shaft, the forger had inlay channels of shimmering iridescent black and violet. They wrapped around the shaft like the vines tattooed to the side of Ash’s neck. The spear tip itself was a vibrant silvery white shard. Longer than thick, with deep serrations on one side and a straight blade on the other. Two smaller blades jutted out from the base of the tip, possibly to catch other blades or to hook onto an opponent. The bottom end of the spear held a smaller tip usually found on pikes rather than spears. It was meant to be jammed into the dirt to fend off horses or bears.
Ash ran a delicate finger across the ornate, yet visually simple blade.
“It’s beautiful.” She whispered.
“It needs a name.” Toblik beamed, clearly proud of his work.
“I don’t...” Ash muttered. She looked to her sister with pleading eyes, hoping she would have some meaningful title to bestow upon the masterpiece.
“How about Stabby?” Ev suggested.
“Stabby it is!” Toblik chuckled. He took the spear and sprinkled some strange emerald dust against the shaft. He gently blew the powder into the day’s final sunbeam and revealed beneath the new name, seared in steel. ‘Stabby.’
“No...” Ash groaned. “Why stabby?”
“It’s cute, lil’ Stabby the spear.” Ev giggled.
“It’s not supposed to be cute.”
“Well, it is. Get use to him.”
“‘Him’?”
“Aye, it seems a bit cliché for it to be a her. Ser Stabby it is.”
Ash had no words, just sheer disgust. She groaned and swallowed her disappointment as her eyes came back to ‘Stabby’. As unfortunate as the name might have been, it didn’t the fact that he was a piece of art. An absolute masterwork. She took it in her hands and lifted it for the first time. It was near as light as air, and thrice as nimble. She could slash it through a rainstorm and not catch a single drop, or she could thrust it forth and split a droplet in half.
“Look there.” Toblik pointed. She noticed a small sparrow sigil set in the spear shaft’s base. “Press it.”
She did, and nearly lost a finger for her trouble. The tip had exploded out from the shaft and imbedded itself deep within the wall across from her. The tip and handle remained connected only by a thick thread of silver chain. The shock of the explosion loosened her grip enough that the shaft slipped from her hand and tore through the air back to the head of the spear.
“Explosive rune and dican steel chain. Press the sigil and the spear shoots out, release the sigil and it retracts.” Toblik explained. He walked over to the spear and, with a valiant effort, extracted it from his wall.
“That’s incredible!” Sujin gasped.
“It’s terrifying.” Ev corrected. She had covered her ears after the explosion and had yet to stop.
“Thank you, master Toblik. It’s more than I could have ever hoped for.” Ash muttered as he handed the spear back.
“That’s just the start, remember?” He laughed.
He dragged out a wooden case from beneath his counter and kicked it open for her. Within was the rest of her order. At the top, above a fur lining, lay Evara’s bow.
“That’s pretty.” Ev said as Ash removed the bow.
“It’s yours.”
“Fuck off.” Ev gasped. “Truly? Thank you, Ash!” The child didn’t know whether to take up the bow, or attack Ash with a vicious hug; so she did both. She gripped the dawn birch bow and wrapped her arms around Ash’s neck, nearly knocking her to the ground as she went.
“I’ll practice every day!” Ev swore.
“I’m sure.” Ash laughed. Her sister scuttled off to string her new bow while Ash ruffled through the case. She drew two sets of travel gear contained within two great leather packs while Evara grunted and huffed and swore like a sailor behind them. She turned to see her sister leveraging her entire bodyweight in an attempt to compress the bow enough that she could attach the string. “Would you like some help?” Sujin offered.
“No.” Ev snapped like a rabid dog protecting a bone. She carried on her display of athletic prowess and Ash left her to it.
The next item drawn she had believed to be a leather breastplate, but quickly she realised it was steel. Black steel, not all that dissimilar to her own gauntlet. It was lighter than her leather armour, yet she could feel how solid it really was. It was of a northern design, though the features of a huntress had been replaced with the features of a Champion. Where her leather had been thick and padded, this was not a fingernail in width. Where her belly had been exposed, now the impression of a six-pack had been engraved into the steel. It seemed as formfitting as any tailored dress could hope to be. How the smith had guessed at her exact measurements was a thought best left buried. At the top of the plate, at the neck hole, a large jut pushed forwards. A blade trap, meant to deflect slashes away from her head. The black shoulder pieces within also had juts of their own to protect her neck. This really was knightly armour rather than that of a huntress.
She could not don it here, but she placed the pieces to her body one by one. The armour had been riveted to set of underclothes. It was another northern practice. Most plate steel would require two people to attach, but this armour could be worn like any other clothing. The leather pants were cut at her ankles as to make room for the boots. A chainmail skirt could be attached or removed with ease.
The armour was like nothing she had ever dreamed of wearing. Her lifelong aversion to steel and plate would soon be defeated by sheer awe at the beautiful craftsmanship. When attached to each other, the armour appeared almost seamless. The black steel, unlike the spear, held no shine. It was designed for shadows. It seemed to diffuse the lamplight as it was struck.
Finally, she found the book. ‘A novice’s guide to magics and arcana.’ The true present for her sister. Ash turned to look at the girl as she continued to struggle with her new bow.
“Ev.” She whispered.
“One moment.” Ev grunted. She gritted her teeth and pushed one final effort and one grand mass of will into her bow. Finally, and just barely, did she manage to attach the crystal string to both limbs. “Yes!” Ev panted with one hand raised. The stranger, Sujin gave a gleeful little clap for her perseverance, but quickly stopped when Toblik shot him a glance.
“Stand there, boy.” Toblik ordered before disappearing into some back room. The remaining trio could hear some clanging and metallic rustling but had no idea what was happening. Ash knelt by the chest and silently admired her new equipment while Sujin stood perfectly in place.
“Hello.” Ev eked after a moment of silence. “I’m Evara.”
“Sujin.” The other man bowed.
“Did you contract the forger?” Ev asked.
“No, I was hoping to be taken on as his apprentice. They say there’s no greater enchanter in the world than he.”
“You are an enchanter?”
“Indeed, or an aspirant I suppose. I completed my tutelage back home so now I’m searching the world for a great master.”
“Where are you from?”
“The Forgelands. Ravenfield, specifically.”
“Oh, that’s the capital, right?”
“It is. A Ducissa there sponsored my pilgrimage here. It’ll be a shame to tell her the master is uninterested.”
“A Ducissa?”
“A newly minted Duchess. She’s a first-generation aristocrat.”
“I didn’t know that was a thing.”
“They try to be meritocratic back home. They fail... but they try.”
The kindly small talk came to an abrupt end as the great Forgemaster came lumbering in, a black leather case slung over his shoulder. He plonked the hefty pack down on the counter. A torrent of sawdust and metal shavings exploded out from beneath and settled along the old countertop.
“Sparrow,” Toblik grunted, “I have a... mutually beneficial proposition.”
“You do?”
“Aye. This man, Sujin,” Toblik motioned, “is a truly talented enchanter. He also happens to be on his pilgrimage. My offer is that you take him with you on your travels. He can maintain your gear and help guide you through much of this world.”
“If he is so talented, why won’t you take him on yourself?” Ash asked.
“Indeed, I’d also like to know.” Sujin pressed.
“It isn’t personal, boy. I have a young daughter and wish her to be my apprentice. By the time Callum’s tutelage is complete, she will be of age to learn. I simply haven’t the space to take you on.” Toblik said.
“But why would I enter the service of this stranger?” Sujin asked.
“That’s my end of the bargain.” Toblik began. He drew out a strange sheet of iron with an ornate stamp over a thin seam.
“Is that-” Sujin stammered.
“My vouch. Each master is awarded two in a lifetime; one I shall keep for my daughter in case I pass before her training is complete.” Toblik whispered, more so for the benefit of Ash and Evara. He stepped forth, not to Sujin, but to Ash. “Take this.” He said as he handed her the iron letter.
“Me?” Ash questioned.
“Aye. Should this boy be of proud character – a steadfast ally and good-hearted man – then grant him this vouch. It shall ensure him a tutelage under any master on the continent.”
“Does he get any say in this?” Ash protested.
“My lady, this is an honour!” Sujin blurted. His whole face lit up at the sign of the vouch. “I will be of greater service than you could possibly imagine, I swear it.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. She stands to declare war upon the Conclave. Would you really be party to that?” Evara interrupted.
“I would do battle with the very gods should you wish it, my lady.” Sujin bowed.
“You’ll probably die.” Ash grunted.
“There can be no death so sweet as a death in service of purpose.”
“You don’t even know where I'm going.” Ash insisted.
“Yes, I do.”
“Where?”
“Where you must, and I travel at your back.” Sujin grinned.
“I’m headed west.” She sighed.
“To the sea?”
“To the Forgelands.” She corrected.
“Then you ought to head east, my lady, lest you intend to swim the whole way.” He said.
“East?”
“Indeed, towards the portgate in Meomi. Tis’ how your countrymen tend to go about it.”
“Ash, did you not know the route?” Ev sighed.
“Well... it’s west. I’d sail... West.” Ash murmured.
“Gods...” Evara groaned.
“My lady,” Sujin mumbled, “the expanse is too great to sail in a timely manner. It would be much more advisable to head to Meomi.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to show me the way.” Ash sighed. “Oh, and it’s Ashtik. Don’t call me lady.”
“Very well, Ashtik.” He bowed.
She turned from the young man to the old and thanked him one last time before the party parted.
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They made for the baron’s parade. He sat atop a sumpter beast, much stockier than a horse though not nearly as beautiful. He must have bought it within the city. He seemed decked from head to toe in new garbs and garments. A garish silver crown lay heavy against his brow, an ornate black steel blade lay across his lap as a dozen of his personal retainers marched in crimson robes, styled in the manner of Balialan nobility; steel skirts and platformed boots. A clip at the belt to attach to a halberd or longarm. Elegant and lazy.
“Sparrow!” Baron Maren called from atop of his great beast. He tore at the reins and rounded to her side. “There you are.”
“Hello again, baron.” Ash nodded.
“So?” He impatiently urged.
“My lord?”
“Are you the Champion?” He excitedly asked.
“I- It is complicated, my lord.”
“Complicated? Were you chosen, or not?”
“My lord,” Evara called, “my sister has been declared Champion of Black.”
He knew what it meant. The red face of an avid drinker came to be whiter than that of a ghost. The glee of the question had given way to the depth of the answer, and the gravity of the truth.
“Then... Why is that complicated?” He stuttered.
“The Conclave will declare her a heretic.” Ev answered.
“To stop the spread of panic...” Maren realised.
“Aye, my lord.”
He seemed to take a moment to consider what he had been told. The whiskers atop his lip bristled into his nose as some great thought came through a deep sniff.
“Then I must break our deal, Sparrow.” He said as though it were a kind thing.
“What do you mean?” Ash asked.
“I cannot take your sister along, nor can I host her in my home.”
“What?”
“My responsibility is towards my barony, towards my people. I cannot have Veytors marching through my territory looking for heretics.”
“You gave me your word, Maren.” Ash spat.
“Aye, and now I must break it.” He said with all too little sorrow.
“And our parents? They still live within your keep.” Ev interrupted.
“I will forget that fact, as a favour to the Sparrow-knight. They will blend in as villagers remain unnoticed.” He proudly stated. “But, Sparrow, your sister is too obviously your own blood. She cannot hide it.”
“You don’t think they’ll find our parents?” Ash doubted.
“I do not. All they will find is a cancer riddled old man and a beautiful foreign woman. There will be no way to link them back to you.” Maren declared.
“I beg you, Maren. Whatever you want, you shall have. Please, just take her back home. She needn’t live in your keep, but it isn’t safe for her with me.” Ash pled.
“It will be no different at my side, except that I will not fight to defend her.” Maren swore.
“I won’t forget this, Maren. I swear it.” Ash threatened.
“You will have greater foes to fight than I, Sparrow. I will be but a speck of a memory.”