My mouth gapes. “You can talk?”

“No, sire,” the horse responds. “You can talk.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about talking. What are you talking about?”

I groan in confusion.

*PetSpeak is active*

The system is back. Tinny. I should’ve known.

*What does it sound like?*

I gawk.

*It was just a question.*

*It allows you to speak to animals.”

*It’s your Hero skill.*

*You didn’t ask.*

Stupid system.

So be it then. I can talk to animals.

Wait. That’s actually kind of…..cool.

“So what sort of horse are you?” I start with.

“I am a royal war horse of Astria, bred in the King’s stables and trained by Sir Kelus, Master of horses for over 30 years.”

“I was thinking more like Arabian, Spanish, or Clydesdale, or something?”

The horse shakes its main. “What are those, sire?”

Right. Nevermind.

“Let’s just call you a white horse then.”

“I am certainly that, sire.”

I point to the distance. “What do you make of that smoke?”

The horse scrunches his nostrils. “Smells like trouble to me, sire.”

“But you suggested we investigate it.”

“Indeed. Some troubles need to be run from. Others need to be run to.”

“And why is this trouble the latter?”

The horse paws at the ground impatiently. “Because we have to protect the King.”

I pause. There is a sinking feeling in my gut.

Could it be? The smoke? Could the king’s wagon be burning?

The king’s wagon was of me, so far ahead, there’s no way to know if they were ambushed without investigating.

“Mary,“ I call out. “Mary.”

the old woman sticks her head out of a wagon.

I point to the smoke. “I’m going to scout out that smokestack. Keep everyone moving on the road. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Mary takes one look at the smoke, another at me, then shakes her head with determination. “You can’t go alone Sir Ethan.”

I stand my ground. “Mary, you can’t come with me. It’s too dangerous, and I need someone to look after the wagons while I’m gone.”

Mary steps out of her own wagon. “Oh, I’ll stay if I must, Sir Ethan.” She puts her hands on her hips and looks like an immovable boulder. “But you cannot go unprotected.”

I thought I was the one doing the protecting but before I can object Mary motions to a rider in the rear. Soon enough, the tall, goofy Charles reappears. I haven’t seen much of him since lately, but Mary’s friend has always been kind to me, if only to offer a cup or share a smile. His white hair is wispy and flops about much like the kings did, though his skin is quite pale, like he never got out much growing up.

Something I can relate to.

“Yes, my lady,” Charles says with a grand, unnecessary bow that nearly causes him to fall off his horse.

There is a flash of girlish glee in the old nurse’s face, but it quickly becomes serious again. “Young Sir Ethan requires an escort, Charles.”

Charles raises an eyebrow. “Does he now?” I thought he was the one escorting us.”

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I laugh but Mary shoots me a reproachful gaze. “He’s still young, Charles. Would you feel comfortable sending your son into the tall grasses alone?”

Charle’s amicable features sour. “My son is dead, as you know Mary.”

“So let’s not lose another of our youth, Charles.”

The old man sighs. “Very well. I’ll do what I can. Where are we going?”

I motion to the smoke in the distance. “What do you make of that?”

Charles squints. He doesn’t look quite so old as Mary, but I can tell his sight is not what it once was. “Looks like field sharks to me.”

“Field sharks?” I ask.

“Just peasant slang,” Mary adds. “They’re bandits basically.”

“And they swim,” Charles adds. “Or appear to. They will stay low in the grass, so you don’t see them until they strike. Helps conceal their numbers as well I believe.”

Lovely.

“Sounds like a terrible threat for the king,” Mary adds ominously.

Charles scowls. “Usually not. The sharks are cowards, preferring to pick upon the weak and the vulnerable.”

Mary smacks his leg. “Charles, we are the weak and vulnerable.”

Charles scratches his head. “Oh. Right.”

I’m increasingly concerned. “Alright, I’m going to scout it out. You with me, Charles?”

“Of course.” Charles replies. “Lead the way.”

We turn our steeds into the grass and clomp toward the smoke column. The plants are high but thin and our horses push through them with ease, leaving a river of swaying stems in their wake. Soon we arrive at the scene: overturned wagons and bodies strewn on the ground. It’s terrible.

“Sharks for sure,” says Charles. “Looks like they forced the wagons off the road.” He pauses. “Before pillaging them.”

I see Darren, the King’s guard lying in the dirt, and I gag. Charles sees him at the same time and we both dismount. Around him are the first signs of our enemies: broken bodies of the tanned men and women who live forever under the sun of the expansive plains.

“Looks like he honored Astria,” Charles remarks quietly.

Darren’s face isn’t angry; it’s just sad. Riddled with despondency and pain; hollowed out from all the pain and suffering. It’s too much to bear and I look away.

He deserved better.

“Maker be merciful,” Charles adds.

“I’ll miss him,” is the most spiritual thing I can manage right now. It also happens to be true, which I figure counts for something.

My horse neighs. “Look at his arm”.

I look down again and see the right arm outstretched, with nothing remarkable about it save the bruises of battle. Then I get to the fingers and I see it: they’re pointing, with the forefinger outstretched toward the closest wagon.

“Look at that,” I say to Charles. “It’s like he’s pointing.”

The old man scrunches his brows. He glances at the fingers then lifts his eyes toward the wagon as well. “Doesn’t seem to be much over there.”

“Still, we better check it out.”

Charles smiles. “Mary wouldn’t have it any other way.”

I grin back, sharing a moment of mutual affection for the old broad amidst all the sorrow. We walk toward to the burnt-out wagon and start poking around the remains. The wood is singed and splintered. Nearby bodies smell and I feel a bit nauseated by it all.

“Everybody seems dead,” I say.

“Any sign of the King among the bodies?” Charles asks.

It’s a good question and I start paying more attention to the remains. “Nothing. You?”

“Not a thing. You think they captured him?”

As if in answer there is a thump, like someone knocking on a door.

“Did you hear that?” I ask.

“Hear what?” Charles responds from the other side of the wagon.

I push through piles of wood toward the noise. It comes again: thump, thump. It sounds intentional. Eventually I find a barrel, a bruised and battered cylinder that stinks like the skunky beer it once contained. Thump.

“Charles,” I say, “I found something.”

My compatriot tramples over and he hears the noise as well. “Open it.”

I unsheathe my broadsword and use it to pry open the top. The lid falls off, the barrel rolls over, and out flops a very rumpled monarch. King Leo stinks and looks like a peasant his appearance is so disheveled.

“Thank you,” he manages. “I was starting to fear I’d never get out.”

“Your majesty,” Charles says and kneels.

I kneel as well. “Majesty.”

The king looks down and pointlessly presses his ruffled clothes. Then he looks about him, taking in the scene. He sours considerably. “Everyone dead?”

I stand. “Looks that way, Majesty,” hating to be the bearer of such ill news. “What happened?”

He snorts. “What happened is that we are old and slow. Darren saw them first; I heard him yell out a warning. Then they jumped out from the field and we went as fast as the horses would take us. First on the path and then on the grasses.”

The king pauses and shakes his head. “In my time on the throne I always thought the ‘shark’ stories were exaggerated. Just tales that merchants told me to convince me to spend more of the treasury on patrolling these edges of my kingdom. Now I feel like they understated the actual threat.”

“So they caught you I take it?” Charles asks quietly.

The king nods. “That they did. They don’t have horses but they ride some sort of giant rat. Things that are lower than the grass blades so they can't be seen until they strike. And they have these wicked grins on their faces. It’s incredible any merchant could move between elves and men without an escort.”

“Was it Darren who hid you in the barrel, your Royal majesty?”

The king stretches, as if the mere mention of the container makes him feel cramped. “Yes, brilliant idea. I wish we could have done the same for all of us. It’s not like we were fit for combat.” His voice grows lower. “Have you found Darren’s body?”

I nod and direct the king back to the remains of his personal guard. The man kneels and a tear falls from his face onto the dirt. “He was a good man.”

“Who died honorably,” Charles adds.

“Dead nonetheless though,” the king replies. “Like so many others.”

The king’s looks to the distance and I see in his face the death of so many soldiers, so many loyal subjects who have died under his care. And Astria itself has fallen. The situation is grim.

“Your majesty,” Charles says, “I think we should go.”

“I would like to take the time for a burial,” the King responds. “Darren deserves that. I only wish we had a cleric for the ceremony.”

Charles shuffles uncomfortably. “Perhaps it would be better to linger in a less dangerous area.”

The king shrugs. “All the plains are dangerous. And why would the sharks return here? They've taken whatever they want. What few treasures we brought with us.”

Another thought hits me, a thought that I should have considered before. “Only the treasures in these wagons. There are still the others. The ones we left behind.”

Charles looks at me and shudders. “The other wagons. And Mary.”