---- Proud wasn't the word, though Caro had claimed some pride to be justified. It wasn't righteous, she wasn't proud, it was some more... fateful. It felt... right.
"Are you okay?" the old man whispered.
"Aye," was all she said back. She didn't realise it was a lie until she stood. Her legs were worthless
and gave out from beneath her. She crumbled to hands and knees as the gentle rains heightened.
Mud swallowed her steel hand, but she didn't notice. The thing she had made took her eyes instead.
The corpse, the man that was, lay beside her and enchanted her attention until the final act of all
murdered men came, and the smell of sullied armour forced her to gag.
"Come, let's get you inside," Carolet said. In his efforts to lift her, everything overcame. The
dizziness, the risen blood, the loathing; but more than anything else, the fucking smell. It all struck
her harder than the supposed trader ever had. The day flowed from her lips and belly into the dirt
and blood beneath.
Chunks of rabbit and potato, ox beef and fresh grief. It poured as the rains did, all while Ashtik
hunched over on all fours.
---"Let it out, child. It's just the fear leaving you."
His leather hand stroked over her back, but she would have preferred him to pull the hair from her
face. The sickly strings attached themselves to her sweat and blood-soaked face, while the open
wound at her cheek stung like hellfire as the sickly rain filled it.
Once the worst had stopped, he took her weight into his shoulder and helped her away from the
fresh corpse.
"He was a scout," Ash muttered.
--- "Then it is fortunate that you stopped him from reporting back."
--- "I- I didn't realise in time. I was- stupid. It should have been obvious."
"But you did realise," he chuckled. "What's more than that, you won."
--- "Some- Someone shouted. A man... was it you?"
"No, I believe it was Goodman Vamet. He was throwing rocks at your attacker from the gate," Caro
chuckled once more.
The walk back felt like half a marathon. She hadn't realised how far the fight had taken her. Between her fresh exhaustion and the quickly deepening mud, Ash could barely manage enough breath to
keep awake, let alone converse.
Grey hairs and thin skin prodded over her wounds the second the gate rose. The Elder checked her
thoroughly but found only her lacerated cheek and the split at her forehead where the bandit had
struck.
He made no attempt to hide where his true interests lay. He took her hand into his and fussed over
the gauntlet. "It spread?"
"Aye," she panted. "After he died... or during the- the fighting. I'm not sure."
"I- feared it would," he choked.
--- "What does that... make me? A Champion of Death?"
--- "No, not that at least. It cannot be my place to speak beyond that."
--- "Then... who's place is it?"
--- "The Conclave, I believe. Though they will not welcome you."
"The Conclave? That's half a world away," Ash protested, gathering just enough heart to stand on
her own feet. "Why would some high priest care about me?"
The Elder paced back and forth. The muck swallowed his boots with each step, but he barely
noticed. Some scroll appeared from his pocket with the same golden seal as the night she had
gained the mark.
"Elder!" She demanded after a moment too long.
--- "You are a Champion, Ashtik. Of that, there can be no doubt. There are many gods out there,
and all have a Champion of their own... But you belong to none of them."
--- "Then who? Which god seeks to claim my life? Which god must I defy?"
"Defy?" He shrieked.
--- "The gods of the Conclave - these man-like divines – are not my gods. I will not bow to them
simply because they wish it. I am a huntress, a danger, not a plaything for immortal games!"
"You risk too much, Ashtik. The gods can be kind and generous, or they can be petty and cruel. If
the power they offer does not tempt; they may seek to coerce you through less sweet means." He
was worried and made it apparent in his wide eyes. He knew her to be making a mistake and though the words failed him, his eyes pled endlessly for her to reconsider.
--- "I'd rather die as myself than live as their pawn. If the gods have chosen me, then they can
have me on my terms, or not at all."
"Temujin!" Carolet panted from atop the gatehouse. "They're here."
---- The guess had been a dozen bandits. The guess was wrong. A dozen may have settled on
each wing, but a hundred or more made the centre of the horde. Green and blue stripes filled the
field as the plague descended.
A camp was erected quickly, and a wooden palanquin seemed to act as some single vanguard. Four
men carried it on their well-armoured backs. They must have been the bosses. Where their fellows
wore rags and scraps, they wore shining ring mail and leather-bound scale. They each bore
weapons of war, not single combat.
The front-most stowed a massive pike, fit for the heaviest of cavalry charges. Behind him was the
man Ash had spotted in the woods. His massive war pick rested on his shoulder while the palanquin lay on the other. The other men carried a halberd each.
The smith and his sons manned the walls, crossbows in hand, while Caro and Ash stood behind the
gate.
"Stop there!" Carolet ordered to the approaching men.
"The Duke shan't stand in mud before you, sir knight," The foremost man called. He spoke with a
heavy accent; one she couldn't place but precluded his ability to pronounce the letter 'm' as
anything but a 'v'.
"Your duke shall face a quarrel should he come any closer," Carolet replied.
"Hold gentlemen," a voice called from within the wooden box. His accent seemed lesser compared
to the others, though it was still blatant. "Sir knight! We simply wish to parley. Would stain this rite
with blood?" He remained within, though slid a window open.
"We may parley from here, though know we are unwilling to accept your surrender," Carolet
blustered.
The bandits turned aside and knelt in the mud. The door slid open and out came an inappropriately ostentatious man. He bore a garish pink chest plate and colossal war sword. The man himself was
somewhat below average in stature, and Ash doubted he could so much as raise the weapon let
alone swing it.
"Be that my man?" He called as he sullied his boots in the blood and shit of the dead bandit.
"Your man, and your first corpse. We'll grant you many more before we surrender our lives," Caro
replied.
"There is no need for this, Ser knight. We needn't come to blows. My men seek plunder, not death."
The Duke, as he had been called, toed at the hand of his disembowelled fellow.
"We have no plunder for you. We are a humble village, rich only in community and love," Caro said.
The Duke laughed at that, and Ash was half tempted to join him.
"That's the most disgusting thing I've ever heard," the Duke laughed. "Keep your community. I want your grain."
"It is the cusp of winter, to do so would be the same as falling upon your blades," Caro protested.
"No, it would be giving away your grain. Falling upon a blade is much more painful, as I fear you are soon to learn," he turned to his palanquin and made away without another word.
---- Carolet turned to the Elder and the two old men stood in fearful silence. "How long will the
Baron be?" Carolet asked.
"Too long, I fear," The Elder said with his gaze distant.
"Then we hold for as long as we can. Gather every abled body man and put them to the wall," Caro
said with a false determination.
"I do not believe it would matter. This battle is not our own," the Elder whispered, just loud enough
for Ash to hear. She walked closer to the two men as her gaze met the Elders.
"I need to get my family," Ash said, determined.
"I already have," Caro replied, patting her on the shoulder. "They're working in the fletchers."
--- "My father will want to fight."
--- "Yes, he does; and he will have to."
--- "I don't want him to, he's not strong enough."
"Then," The Elder interrupted. "He shall not." His pensive glare penetrated her. It stripped the
gauntlet from her hand and obsessed over the black abyss below.
"Temujin? We need every man. He is a hunter – and a fucking big one at that. He must fight," Caro
protested.
"It is not our decision, old friend," he said, unwavering in his assault on Ash's hand.
"No? You're the village Elder, I'm the village sheriff. Whose decision could it possibly be?" The old
knight wondered. He noticed the Elder's gaze and followed it along to Ashtik's palm. "Temujin?"
"We must abide the will of our Champion," the Elder humbly bowed.
"Champion?" Carolet repeated, almost in disgust, as he witnessed the old man bow before the
teenage girl.
--- "This is not a coincidence, Ashtik. Your patron has sent these men. This battle is yours."
"Temujin, she's a child – and certainly no Champion – this is madness. You cannot give her rein,"
Caro protested, moving to the Elder and forcing him out of his bow. He placed a hand on his old
friend's shoulder as he forced his gaze.
--- "Aye, she is young, but she is chosen for this. We must trust in her; and failing that, the gods."
--- "I trust in steel, and the men carrying it. Gods will do us no favours; she has no divine
weapon, no power over men. I will lead this defence as best it can be led."
--- "The Champion will win this day, Carolet. Not us."
"Hang on!" Ash shouted. "I don't know how to lead a defence. Caro is an experienced soldier; I'm
not even convinced that I am this Champion."
"Hence this day comes. Be it a lesson, or an origin, this day may well define you." The Elder took her gauntlet into his hands and squoze. It was strange that she could feel him doing so, even through the solid steel. "Be brave, Ashtik. You may not be your god's champion for now, but you must be ours."
"This is madness, Temujin," Caro huffed as he turned back to the wall. He knew arguing would be
pointless, that the Elder had the last word in all things.
"Carolet, wait," the Elder meekly ordered. "What would your plan be? How would we survive this?"
Carolet didn't face them. He barely acknowledged them as he stopped in place.
"They have thirty men for each one of ours, trained and blood-soaked. My plan wasn't to win," he
whispered, his voice full of fate and memory. "My plan was to die well."