He rode in a wagon, Carl sitting beside him, sharing bottles of wine,
It wasn't ale, but it was the best he'd drank in days, and his arms were numb.
At the side of the wagon, the lady, one of black hair similar to his majesty, stared at him, but he was too busy sharing stories with Fat Carl.
"Embers Three?" Carl said, grinning upon him mentioning the party. "Yes! A merry crew of youngins, I knew they'd have a fire in them the elder guilds would lack."
"They're alright," he said, sipping dry a third bottle of wine. "Ye' of Soulless, they'll find their way back."
"Indeed," a chin stroking Carl said. "We must get you to the apprentice at once. Those arms have seen better days."
The lady rode closer to them. "Your majesty, the hint is in her name. We should take the brute to the Master."
Carl waved her off. "She's worth at least two or three of those who call themselves 'master.' She'll get our champion up and ready within a day and a night's time."
The lady cursed beneath her breath, scooting away from his majesty, as a mounted Sir Robyn spoke into the wagon.
"My lord," Robyn wondered, "is Nathan still alive?"
He hesitated, waiting for Carl to pop open another bottle of wine.
"Yes. He's alive and well."
Robyn sighed, and after allowing he and Carl to enjoy another few swigs, he mentioned the young would be squire's plea.
"We had him bound in chains, the lad responsible for the massacre of the Graves. Though I believed one who my father regarded so highly wouldn't be so cruel, and I vouched for him to be set free. Those, Embers, found him soon after, learning of his fealty to you, my lord."
He took long chugs of wine, not wanting anymore conversation until the apprentice put her hands on him.
He'd make little difference, for himself, until he could lift his arms again, and Pyr's army was moving quick. They numbered at least a thousand, more than most armies he'd seen within the Burning Lands, and it was almost odd how confident they marched through the fog.
Carl pointed to the front. "Lord of Light guides our way. Father Willbress, Pontiff of The Order, can see every way as if the fog weren't here. We can sneak past thousands of troops with little trouble."
A light shined, at the head of the march for no more than a few seconds, then faded.
It was the same beam he saw within the mines, the warmth which took him over and allowed him to survive the long night against Saraiza. From what he could see, Willbress was a bald headed man, bearing light grey robes, wielding a staff.
Within another hour they arrived at a cluster of several muddy tents, a camp with an additional three hundred more soldiers of the kingdom, some with spears in hand sleeping.
One tent was without a single drop, its white-gold curtains swaying by midday's wind, where Carl's wagon arrived.
He dismounted with his majesty, who whistled for the apprentice. He and Carl made their way into the tent, where a pair of couches, a master bed, and small fire pit awaited. A few minutes later, another bottle of wine to keep him warm while he waited, and a young woman with black blue striped dress and a dark grey cloak entered the tent.
"Work your magic," Carl demanded, trying to stay awake, leaning back in the gold silk sheeted bed. "That's the Bane of….Razel's of the Bane…."
While the lard fucker snored, the apprentice stared up at him, her light brown eyes wide.
"I-I am Larosa, daughter of Milliam, First Apprentice of the Achieve Master," she mumbled.
"Bane of, Razelman, or whatever," he said, removing his helmet. "Drinker of all things ale and wine."
She swallowed a lump of air. "I'm afraid, you'll have to sober up in order for me to perform treatment. I can give you a couple tablespoons of torritus to help ease the pain, but I'll need you to rest for at least three hours."
"Torr-what?"
She straightened her hair. "A potion made from one of few naturally immortal animals."
He shrugged, and she retrieved the torr potion for him to take a few sips of. A tiny black bottle with a sapphire colored cap, she poured a few drops into a wooden spoon.
Within an hour, all the pain across his body seized. He felt as if he could've ran right back out into the battlefields, but when he grasped his flail it took every ounce of strength e head to lift it.
"One of a few side effects," Larosa explained as he sat on the couch. "It'll last until the next sunrise."
While leaning back on the black-velvet couch, he wondered what became of the Embers.
Would they make the journey all the way back? They would need that choir boy of theirs, and there was no way for him to let them know. Assuming he could even find his way back to the river himself, and he decided it was an issue for the gods to resolve.
Not that he was worried about the maggots, Allison in particular, but he needed to return to Marryvia.
Perhaps Alrieon was a worthy adversary, though the same couldn't be said for his dragon.
"What do you know of Alrieon?" He asked the apprentice, without question one of the smartest people he'd encountered.
She was checking on his majesty, who was snuggled in a pool of his greasy saliva, while answering. "He's High Lord of the Mountain Elves, and their most powerful rider, out ranking even his generals. Each one of his commanders could take over an entire kingdom if they wanted to, and he's feared among every single one of them."
He snorted, "Why don't they?"
"At one point they did," Larosa explained, sitting on the couch opposite him, "and for a thousand years all the kingdoms were united as a dynasty. Were it not for infighting and a combined effort by all the world, we'd still be under elvish rule. In fact, much of the common tongue is influenced from their language."
A look at his flail, thinking back to the mightiest black dragon of the mountain lasting no more than a good hit, and he shook his head.
He just needed a way to bait the dragons onto the ground.
"Are you…here for him? His majesty's offered a generous reward for anyone who brings him the head of Hardok and the White Rider."
"Got lost. I'm leaving soon as you work your magic."
She made a small grin. "It's not sorcery, but science."
"Then work your, sci fi on me, soon as you think the wine's worn off."
He closed his eyes, thinking off all the time he'd wasted on such a pointless endeavor.
Though he gained a memory from Livarza, it was little more than anything he already knew.
The game, what were supposedly his friends, and the Steelers. Not that it wasn't an interesting game, and maybe at one point he tried to play it for himself. It was almost like a battle, shield wall against shield wall, men shoving, fighting, killing, cursing, and all things for one's entertainment, though it was evident to be entertaining for many.
It couldn't have been more than an hour, and he awakened to see Larosa, writing in a journal with an ink pen before the blazing firepit.
She welcomed him to sit by her, and the firepits warmth brought about a similar effect to the wine. He watched her as she wrote, whatever it was he couldn't understand, though he'd gotten by just fine with knowing only his favorite brews.
"Can you not read?" She asked.
He gave her a sharp look, and she covered her mouth.
"Pardon me! I didn't mean to be so blunt, but, I have a better eye than most, and you just looked so curious."
"Curious? Or foolish?"
She waved a hand. "No, no! Never my lord, er, you were just so intrigued and concerned."
He sighed, then looked into the fire. "Aye, I can read a few fords. Was planning on getting to it whenever I had the chance."
"I'd be more than happy to teach you," she said, growing a small grin. "If you plan on staying with his majesty's army, when I'm not tending to mass casualties, I could give you some quick lessons."
She turned to a blank page, then started scribbling.
Letters, all two dozen of the common tongue, and a handful of the old.
"We can start with the basics, but it's useful to know some of the old language. An adventurer like yourself could come across some important artifacts, or ancient remains, and it'd be useful to know what you've discovered."
He examined the letters for a minute or so, then she pointed to the first three, explaining how to recite them.
His majesty groaned, waking up while rubbing his head, and Larosa closed her journal before standing up.
"He'll need another few hours your majesty," she stuttered, keeping her head down. "I must warn you, you've been drinking much more than usual. You're liver's at risk, and I-."
"Get out," his majesty muttered. "I need a word with our champion."
Larosa gave a quick bow, then tore the page of letters from her journal. She suggested he practice in his spare time, and promised to teach him more whenever the chance.
Alone in the tent, across one another from the fire, Carl asked him what he would do without the Embers.
"Will ye' slay the White Rider for us? I'll make you warlord of all Creahllachia, every royal house will swear fealty to your name, and there'll be no shortage of gold for you."
Only a madman would refuse such an offer, and he stroke his beard while thinking.
"And, of course, enough ale to last ye' a lifetime," Carl added.
You have my flail for the next thousand years, you and all your children, and their children to come, he was ready to say a hundred times in a row.
Though he could only think of the abyss, that old black place he'd seen countless times. Whether the cliffs leading into the forbidden woods or death's grasp on him when he failed, no amount of gold, or even ale, offered what he was missing.
"What do you think of ye' who are soulless?" He asked.
Carl frowned. "Hell difference does it make? Soulless, godless, heartless, long as you slaughter my enemies, I'll make you the most powerful man in all the kingdoms."
"Very well," he said, holding out his hand. "I'll knock the White Rider from his pet, then smother 'em both into blood soaked ribbons."
Carl shook his hand. "Excellent! I'll see if Larosa's willing to get started on you sooner, considerin' how tough you are compa-."
"I'll need an escort out the woods, soon as I'm finished."
A puzzled look, Carl asked, "What for? There'll still be four riders in the air, and the western front will need to be cleared."
"I'll slay the Alrieon, and nothing more, until I've returned from Marryvia," he said.
Carl sighed, growing red, "For what purpose would you have to be going into that hell?"
"I am Soulless, and I can fight and die, as many times as need be," he said, scowling him. "I get stronger with every major battle, and fighting against shield walls does little to even scratch my boot."
While leaning away from him, sweat leaking down his brow, Carl nodded. "I see. You're a bit like my brother, more than I could imagine. You're diligent in unconventional ways, always thinking ahead."
"I'll return to the front once I've dealt with a certain sword within the vampyres ranks," he promised, looking at his flail. "I and the Embers, if I find them."
Carl started to say something, but instead turned to a table full of wine bottles.
While his majesty drank, he waited on Larosa, who returned after a few hours to a tent reeking of drunkenness. She was relieved to learn he'd had none, then led him outside.
They made their way to another tent, one with two large tables, and a small one with vials, potions, plants, and other medical supplies.
She laid him on a table, rubbed a dark green ointment on his arms, then worked her science on him.