Fable - Ask For King and Kingdom, On the Banks of the Cairou

[Elizabeth Auclair]

When Elizabeth awoke, the world was dark. It took her a few moments to realize she was presently face-first in freshly-trampled soil, at which she slowly raised her head, rolling onto her back and wiping some of the dirt and blood off her face with her gloved hand before really opening her eyes. When she did, the world seemed to be spinning around her, blurry and unclear, yet though her vision was failing her, her sense of smell was not, and she was reminded at once that she was in a battlefield, surrounded by the stench of blood and steel. At last, she sat up, revealing the world around her to be filled with nothing but the corpses of mostly her former fellow soldiers, most of whom had been sent to their grave by the spear of an Aberassai Horseman's spear.

The memories started to flood back into her mind, causing her to clench her face as her head swelled with a sudden pain. The Kingdom of Dalradia had invaded them, and here, on the eastern edge of the Cairou River, Caladale had made their stand, offering open battle with them. But they hadn't anticipated the sudden flank of the Aberassai mercenaries the Dalradians had hired, which had collapsed their line almost immediately. What happened after that, she didn't know, because she had found herself beneath the galloping horses, her thick armor only just enough to prevent herself from being completely crushed, but one hoof had caught her in the head before everything had gone dark. This much she remembered.

Among the line would have been Caladale's sergeants and the entirety of their infantry forces. Their knights had been trying to secure a flank as well, and among them would have been King Peter, both their commander, and the man she loved. Elizabeth's heart grew hopeful at the thought that perhaps while the infantry had faltered, Caladale's knights might have prevailed. However, without the support of the infantry, and the archers in particular, she didn't know what they could have done against Oban's Griffin Knights, as well as the Aberassai Cavalry that likely would have returned... and that also meant...

No, she thought. Peter would have had a plan for this. We spent weeks strategizing for how to defeat the griffins...

She shook her head, which was painful but necessary to clear her head of that darker thought. Then, she stood, her armor shifting and clinking as she did so. She had lost her halberd, and her sword had somehow slipped from her belt in the chaos. There was little she could do if the forces of Dalradia returned, but she would die on her feet, sword in hand if they did, that much she knew. She did not take lightly the oaths of her station as one of the King's royal guard, and she would gladly die for him in battle against the enemy. Only, the enemy was gone from the field now, any chance of honor for her stolen when she was incapacitated without fighting.

There was only one thing to do now, really; she needed to scout the area, and see what had transpired in the rest of the battle. She began walking towards where she last knew the Knights of Caladale would have been, though on foot she suspected it would take quite some time to arrive. As she marched on though, the number of bodies around her began to weigh increasingly on her mind, as she knew almost all of the bodies were the men of Caladale, with hardly a downed horse in sight. It was more than just a loss--it was a rout. Their entire line had collapsed and been run down by the horsemen. Where they had gone was a mystery, too.

She passed through the remains of the infantry, whereupon she reached an open space that was without death, at least for some time. These were the fields she had grown to love, the ground fertile and lush from the natural irrigation provided by the nearby Cairou River, a massive body of water that turned much of Caladale both into fertile farmland as well as marsh in many places, especially in the north, closer to the sea. If defeated, then the Dalradian forces would have turned north to cross the Farenst Bridge to reach Stonebrook itself, and begun to lay siege. While normally a long, arduous process, Dalradia had their griffin knights, who could likely overwhelm the castle's defenders too quickly for any kind of relief to arrive. However, with the destruction of their forces here, only Peter's knights could bring salvation to the Keep...

...And yet there was little sign of the knights. Onward Elizabeth marched through the knee-deep grass, her heart beginning to weary as much as her mind, as the fatigue was starting to outweigh her hope. As she was about to give in, however, she saw the glint of armor at the end of the field, just near a tree line; as she ventured closer, more bodies were revealed, hidden at distance by the tall grass. In time, she would reach the bodies, the outcome of the engagement still uncertain as the bodies of man, griffin, and horse were all intermingled, stacked high enough in some places that Elizabeth had to walk around some of the larger mounds.

So many dead, she thought. But it's still unclear who was the victor... Perhaps if I--

Her thoughts were cut off as a glint of gold reflected in her vision. Her eyes widened and she stopped moving, startled and wondering if she were simply imagining the sight. She took tentative steps forward, feeling that if her eyes weren't deceiving her, then she would be unable to bear the truth. Finally, she forced herself to take those last few painful steps, before realizing that the corpse before her, clad in gold-leafed plate and a crowned steel helm, was the unmistakable body of King Peter. Wordlessly, she kneeled next to the face-down body, which was contorted and displaced, clearly untouched since the moment of his death and left in an unpleasant state. After a moment of hesitation, as tears welled in her eyes, she rolled Peter's body over, revealed the bloodstained plate on the other side as well as the face of her former King and paramour, whose face was now marred by a large scar directly down the middle, likely the work of a griffin's talon.

No... she thought. This... This is all wrong... this couldn't have happened... Shouldn't have...

Tears streaked down her cheeks now, her teeth grit as she made sure his limbs were proper before lifting his upper torso and head in her hands. There, alone in the field, she began to weep, her eyes tightly shut as she gave in to the crushing despair the scene instigated. Long had she loved Peter, and long had she accepted that the two of them could never be together, but it was enough that he was alive and they could see each other regularly, and speak the conversations she had grown to love so many years ago. Now, it was gone, and with the death of the knights, her kingdom likely was, too.

For many moments she wept, unable to bear the horrid truth which had unfurled like some dread tapestry before her. What now was left for her? Stonebrook would fall in weeks, maybe sooner. The army had been destroyed, and likely all of Caladale would soon be under Dalradian control. If she were found, she would be executed as one so loyal to the crown. What resistance could she offer, if any? It was hopeless now--the light of her kingdom had been snuffed out, trampled beneath talon and hoof alike.

Perhaps some may have heard of the conflict, but if they had, then it would be too late now. Scavengers might soon be picking at the corpses, too. Reinforcements may have been coming, mercenaries or otherwise, but they would arrive too late to help, now. Elizabeth knew she needed to get moving, but she couldn't bring herself to do anything but hold on to the fallen King for just a few moments longer, no matter what may have come to interrupt her...

 

[Vulpesen]

Every step, every crunch and squelch of gravel and mud beneath his feet made Vulpesen want to vomit. But it wasn't the corpses. It wasn't the reek of death, the sight of blood, or even the knowledge that on this field, there had been an unimaginable loss of life. It wasn't the snuffing of souls like the great wind through a call of candles that disturbed the warlock, because he had been Varos' chosen, he had been a soldier. This had been his life. Scrounging and scavenging for loot among this field had been as much his job as fighting, scouting, riding, and commanding.

No, the death didn't disturb him, for as much as he hated it, he had long ago accepted it. What turned his stomach inside out was the memories. Every step he could hear zorren howls of agony and screaming pleas for mercy as his friends, his family, found themselves slaughtered all those years ago on the fields of Almerand. "Why?" he whispered. Varos had sent him here, but for what purpose, he hadn't the slightest clue. All around him, blue and silver flashed with blue and gold. Oak trees turned into canine heraldry. On human faces he saw pointed ears and fangs.

'To learn,' Varos whispered back, his voice creeping into Vulpesen's mind through their bond. 'To heal.'

'Open wounds don't heal,' he growled back, his physical voice now silent.

Varos' response wasn't words. It was a focus. Vulpesen's eyes were drawn to a lone living figure. Like a monument in memorial, a woman weeping over a gilded corpse. It was a moment he never had, having been dragged from the fight before he awoke. But it was a moment he had lived the last decade or so living in. Of course, Varos hadn't sent him here for his own sake. The creator of his kind knew better than that. Zorrens didn't grow stronger for themselves. They did so for others.

Slowly he approached the knight, keeping his own weapons sheathed beneath his black cloak. "They may send riders back. And looters are rarely charitable. Its best you leave this place." He did his best to speak gently. He was loathe to breach the peace of her mourning, but greater than his own pain was the instict that lay within all Zorrens. Protect.


Elizabeth Auclair

 

[Elizabeth Auclair]

Elizabeth had hardly heard the footsteps of the stranger as he approached, or if she did, she had ignored them as she wept, clutching the body of her beloved king. Perhaps it was a scavenger, or a soldier, who was going to finish the job by slaying her as well. And in the moment, that didn't seem so terrible a fate, as she felt a growing tightness in her stomach at the thought that she was the only one who had survived the debacle. Yet when the stranger had drawn close enough to speak, her teary eyes shot open and she turned to see the man, looking at him as if he'd walked in on her bathing. It was only momentary, however, as the melancholy shortly returned, once again drowning her spirit in the deluge.

"It would not be so terrible a thing if they claimed me," she said. "My King... My love... he is dead. Can't you see?"

The presence of this stranger was undeniably sobering, however, as the stench of dead man and dead horse flooded her nostrils again, making even a seasoned fighter such as herself begin to feel queasy. Dark deeds were done by many men this day, and the very air reeked of it. She gave the mauled face of King Peter one more look, and the horror of his death became all the more evident to her, yet she found she could not bear to look away either, even with this new presence urging her to do what her instincts were telling her to do, to escape and to live to fight another day. Yet her mind questioned: what else was there left to fight for?

"I was his bodyguard, one of many," she said. "I am Elizabeth Auclair, defender of the crown. Yet my shame is unbearable, for I could not be there at the moment of his death. I was away commanding one of the infantry companies, when on our flank rode in the Aberassai cavalry, whose unexpected presence caused the men to rout... I survived only because my helmet shielded me from a horse's hoof, and I lost consciousness, though for how long, I cannot be sure, only that it were long enough for our knights to have fallen, though how such a calamity befell them, I also know not."

Her tears had stopped, though her face was still streaked with them, and her eyes watery and a little red.

"What you say is reasonable, stranger. Yet how can I go on? There is naught left for me now. Already the forces of Dalradia march on Stonebrook, and there is no army to protect them. It is over. I may as well throw myself into the Cairou, and let the river carry my carcass into the sea, where in its depths I might at last conceal my shame..."

Vulpesen

 

[Vulpesen]

His left eye twitched slightly as he heard her despondency. Once more, a sense of familiarity flowed over him, though as her story unraveled, he knew that to some extent, his own pain had been outclassed. His regiment was gone. But Veradune still stood. The alliance still had members around the continent, and hideouts wherein they could meet in safety. His people were alive. Hers were doomed for extinction.

He didn't say any of this, rather he simply offered a hand to help her up. "Once you are gone, your friends will be truly dead. Someone must carry their stories and you are the last of those who might. There is no shame in losing. Shame exists for those who surrendered to despair." His people lived, but he had felt the same sense of lost purpose after Almerand. How could he return when the traitor worked so closely under him? How could he look the families of those hundreds of men in the eye? What was left for him?

His answer had come in Varos. In learning and growing strong enough to take revenge. In truth, he had no idea what could be left for the broken woman before him. But he knew that a grave was too grim an option. "Survive to find the answer. Maybe all you can do is keep their stories alive. Maybe there's something else for you, something grand. There's only one way to find out." As he spoke, his golden eyes gleamed a bit brighter, and behind him, his tail flicked slightly into view. While a servant of the lord of secrets, there was no hiding who or what he was. Not in a place like this where he was so close to what had forged him into what he now was.
Elizabeth Auclair

 

[Elizabeth Auclair]

She took a moment to ponder what the stranger was saying, her eyes still fixated on the tragically broken figure of her former king. In truth, he was right—she was far from the sole survivor of the affair, with the royal guard likely being the only thing she was the sole survivor of. She still didn't have an answer for the failure she blamed herself for, the collapse of her company when the cavalry charged in from the flank, and she would continue to blame herself even though such a thing had been completely out of her control. But the man was right about something else, too: they needed to get moving, or else risk being overrun by stragglers on the hunt for survivors.

With a heavy heart, she lay the body of King Peter down, resting his hands on his chest, then closing his visor. She stood up, and, seeing a nearby banner, pulled it off its flagpole, and draped the Oak and Crescent Crest tapestry over the king's carcass. Perhaps surprisingly, however, she picked up the king's sword, a magnificent blade with a gold-leaf hilt and gem-socketed pommel, sheathed it, and tied the blade to her belt. She wiped the final few tears from her eyes, looking quite a sight as a woman clad in armor, yet whose cheeks were tinged with the stains from her tears.

"Thank you," she said at last, softly. "But you are right. We must be moving. There is naught left for me here, save tears and ashes, and the men of Dalradia will already have descended upon Stonebrook. But my duty is still to my king, and my people, and even in such great sorrow I cannot abandon them. If I have survived, surely there must be others. I cannot ask you to accompany me, stranger, for my task is grim and my purpose fatal, but if there are any men of Caladale who still roam these dread fields, we must find them. Then, I must make my way back home to Gwynning, where my parents are, and see them off, for I cannot stay in this country and expect to keep my life, even if at the moment I feel little need of it."

With that, she finally turned away from Peter's body, and began to make her way out of the remains of where the fight had happened. It was still unclear what exactly had transpired or how; Caladale's knights were some of the finest in the whole continent, yet they had been utterly destroyed, it seemed. While they looked for other survivors, Elizabeth would be looking for answers. Stranger or not.

Vulpesen