“Hail, stranger! What brings you to this holy ground?” Words that would normally have sounded true coming from a palace guard or a priest of some kind were coming out of the drooling, opened mouth of a vagrant that grasped the horses’ reins. More for support than to stop Mordred’s and Eldren’s progress, though the horses didn’t feel supportive. Mordred pulled the reins back, letting the drunkard drop to the muddy ground. For once, Eldren didn’t protest or point out a “lack of morals in this generation of humans”. He laughed and pointed out a place to keep the wagon and horses for the night until they made their way to the Palace for their audience. A stable attached to an inn. Mordred moved the team toward the gate of the stables where a pointed-eared, gray-skinned boy ran to grab the lead horse's harness and buckles, leading them in. “Hey, boy! The big lunk head here can do that!”
“No, no, sir! I was called here to help you! You’re welcome here at the Inn of the Golden Goat! By Divine Order!” He grinned wide, honored by this calling he believed he just received. Eldren shrugged. “Let’s hope that he doesn’t hold that skinny little hand of his out for a tip. I thought his race didn’t like us goblins…” He grunted and snorted, watching the boy suspiciously. The elfin boy was true to his word. He unhitched the horses as the two of them got down off the wagon, grabbed their bags but kept an eye on the boy as he raced about, determined to do his apparently royally appointed task with perfection in his own slanted eyes. To Eldren’s surprise, the boy left quickly back into the inn, a big smile engraved in his small face with no open hand.
“Us?! I’m not two hundred years old and cranky as hell with purple skin.”
“Too true. No one is perfect.” Eldren knew that Mordred was growing more confident, not just in his fighting ability and control of the were-bear, but in his past fear of Eldren’s criticisms and vitriol aimed at Mordred after a fight. He wasn’t sure how welcome this change would be as they continued to travel. IF they continued to travel together. He craned his neck before going into the Inn at the Palace at the far end of the town that surrounded it. “What exactly has this boy gotten into…” He shrugged again, grub and grog awaiting him. The Empress and her gold would wait.
“Your most Great and Holy Empress of the Land. Will you require anything else before we retire for luncheon? And, would it be possible to convince you to grace us with Your Presence this time?” Yesel meant well, but he still either refused to or failed to understand the Empress’s need for “time alone”. As High Minister, he was only doing his job, as far as he knew it to be, but this desire to get and keep everything in perfect track, smooth order at least in appearance was a wearing task on The Empress. If he only knew that, during the luncheon break from Royal Duties, she divested Herself of some of the outer Royal Garments and her Crown, climbed to the flat part of the sleeping quarters tower and walked around in the sun…..Yesel would have guards sealing the windows and locking the door to the Royal Chamber. After he had his Royal Fit, of course.
“You and your merry band of bureaucrats will be just fine without me for a couple of hours as always, Yesel.” As far as Marlina knew, they had no question regarding why she wanted a minimum of two hours for lunch. With all of the Duties of keeping the Kingdom running after the great Armageddon many years ago, a long, mid-day break was a nice change and the Dukes, Nobles, etc, seemed to appreciate it. As soon as Yesel made his deep, low, devotional appearing bow and left in his usual huff, Marlina began her routine of carefully removing the heavy crown, the overbearing overcoat, royally weighted undercoat and set them on hangers near the window overlooking the smoking chimneys in the Palace’s shadow. The floor maid brought her lunch before Yesel’s lecture, so she wrapped it all up in a towel like a sack.
She jumped to the sill of the window, climbed to the edges, grabbed the still-green vine growing to the rooftop and started climbing with her packed lunch in one hand. The vines were thankfully somewhat soft, so there would be no scratches to send Yesel and the house chambermaid into fits of concern for the invulnerable Empress’s well-being. Besides, this was great exercise, despite the court physicians’ insistence on Her Royal Highness’s fragile state as a Royal Highness. The wind was kind today, not attempting to freeze her in mid-climb. At last, she reached the flat rooftop over her bedchamber and hefted herself and lunch up to the solid stone. The view was marvelous, as usual. She stood up, brushing what little dirt off she had on the Royal Garments she wore under the cloaks and overcoats of her Office. There would be time to clean Herself up before climbing back in. But for now, there was lunch. She picked up the towel, set it on a ledge nearby, now a makeshift table. Once again, she owed the cook a debt of thanks for making items that can be easily carried around instead of the soups or hefty roast legs of…somethings…. Sandwiches. “Peasant” meals to be carried around while working their jobs or farms. Practical, not showy. She appreciated that. She walked around the flat rooftop, chomping her Royal teeth on the simple fare, breathing in the air, the alternating cool and warmth of the late springtime in the full sun on her well-being. This was when Marlina gave thought to what life was like outside of the throne room, outside of ceremonial procedures before official meetings, away from the advisors who “knew best” and chambermaids that fainted from panic attacks when Marlina sneezed or rubbed the bridge of her nose. It was in mid-bite, the feeling of sliced mutton attacked by her Royal Teeth, that the “vision” came to her once again. The Knowing that her intended guests had arrived close by. From the suddenness of the vision, they must be at the gates. Putting the sandwich down, she closed her eyes, allowing the mind-sight of the savior arguing for access to the Palace grounds. She focused, as Aa’l’iatia taught her before gaining the throne, entering the First Guard’s mind and “told” him to allow the vessel known as Mordred to enter. She felt him stand straight upright, clasp his arguing mouth shut and waved he and his companion in. She shook off the aftereffects of the Knowing, the unwelcome thoughts from those nearby and the one that she was to welcome into the Royal Abode. She looked at the rest of the sliced mutton sandwich and sighed before devouring it rapidly. She despised lunches that had to be cut short and those seemed to be happening more frequently. Perhaps it was time to seek out another hiding spot.
No. Not yet. She liked this view. The wind in her long, red-brown hair visited so rarely anymore. Not like when she was a princess of many ages ago. Before the Fall. Before Her Father became like one of….them. She shuddered, almost dropping her lunch to the cobblestones below where her guests were arriving and soon to be settled in. She still liked leaning over the precipice of this rooftop, no matter what.
As far as anyone knew, She was “merely” the Princess of King Ararantia and Queen Brealan. Truthfully, the kind-hearted Queen adopted her after her birth father, a noble of the southern province, attempted wicked magical experiments. Ones that haven’t been performed since the Heavenly War. The War that scorched most of the elves, scattered the dwarves and bred creatures foul and beautiful. He failed his last experiment, paying with his life. But something came with the explosion that took the lives of her birth family. She survived the ruins of the palace after it collapsed, almost crushing her. Seeing a tall, slim, near-transparent pale elven woman standing over her, picking up stones with waves of her thin, pearl-white hand, she gasped, still in shock from the great explosion. “Tut, tut, dear child. You are safe and unharmed. I am seeing to it.” The smile on her looked as strange as her voice sounded, but fit that face perfectly with its long jawline, eyes of dark blue surrounding black holes and ears sharper, longer than the few elves that she met and knew of. This was no elf that she knew of. Not at all. If elves could be ghosts, this must be one. “I am not an unliving thing, dear one. No. No.” This gossamer thing floated, almost contradicting itself. “I am brought here by a King that I served. And still serve, I suppose. One that you know of as from the Heavenly War. Tut, tut. Such great misunderstandings of your generation. Such shame.” It shook its lean, elongated head. There was a circlet mixed in with its straight, long hair. Not of royalty, but close, Marlina guessed.
“What….what is your name?” She was climbing out of the rubble, and looked around for survivors. The aftermath of the explosion looked unlikely that her family or anyone else survived.
“No, child. No. No one of your family survived. I give you condolences.” It bowed deeply, curtseying. “I will leave you to grieve.” Looking around at the rubble, smoke, fires, she heard people running to and fro, shouting in moods of leadership, panic and utter grief. Marlina’s heart began to weigh heavily….hearing cries of anguish, shouts of “The King and Queen are dead!!!” among other news. The wisp of an elf that rescued Marlina disappeared. Ghosts tended to do that, from her stories that she was told by her aunt and nursemaid, Brendaline. “Brendaline…..Brenda…” her smoke-choked voice stopped, seeing the smoke, loose rubble and people shouting, looking for survivors. There was no Brendaline, no muma, no papa. No Visier that she feared when papa wasn’t there to chide him…No one. No longer. At last, some of the want-to-be rescuers found her, sobbing, rocking. After being picked up and cradled, taken to some shelter of some kind, she saw the ghost-lady out of the corner of her damp eye waving to her.
“What did you say to that man?” Eldren asked after their wagon and horses were taken to the stable at the Inn, guards dressed in different arrangements of yellow, green and red standing alongside them, flanking them. The gates themselves were impressive, a mix of greenstone, ancient carved red wood. From trees that were not grown anymore and the process to shape them in the intricate knots no longer known to any magician currently alive or dead. So much has been lost since the great heavenly uprising.
The guards were not in a defensive posture, but almost welcoming. Standing by, the warm sun blessing them all, the sound behind them of wagons over the brick-stones, the noise of horseshoes and badly aging wagon wheels grinding against them. Eldren kept his almond-upturned eyes on them and the closing gates behind them.
Mordred heard the question, but his eyes were focused straight ahead to the farther gates. These weren’t as large and ornate and ancient as the ones they just passed through, they were just doors. Nice doors, but still just doors to lead guests into the inner palace and, dare Eldren think it…..the throne room.
“Okay, ignore me then, you big ox.”
“I had planned to do that.” Mordred could barely grin at his own remark, knowing that Eldren would ignore that, too. They were both taken with the grandeur surrounding them, the bright sun welcoming them to this Holy Place, the coming welcome by the Empress Herself, the approaching Executive Officers and some women running in their direction in large skirts and quiet shoes, looking over the both of them and “the state of your clothes!”. They motioned for Eldren and Mordred to come with them “right away and get ourselves cleaned and prepared!” The two were talked at, given instructions regarding how to greet the Royal Second, the Lieutenant of Arms and how to be escorted to the Empress’s Presence, etc, etc. Mordred’s head moved up for whatever reason, though he was not guided to do so by his instructions.
“What’s up, bear-boy?” Eldren stole a few seconds from the lecturing skinny humans to speak, as they bent down to make sure the short, purple skinned goblin understood the bizarre ceremonies of humans. He also glanced up, ignoring the harried women taking measurements fussing over “whatever will do”, sounding like they might be referring to a change of clothes. Eldren stopped listening to humans’ tongue rattling long ago. Just for reasons like this.
Mordred looked up at one of the towers that based itself directly in front of them. He could swear that he felt someone standing near him, but far up overhead at the same time and place, looking down at the harassed, sun-blessed duo. From the glint of gold metal that was not of the warming sun in his sight overhead, he guessed that he was right. He waved at his suspicion and moved inside with Eldren and the rest of the stoic, brightly-dressed guards, lecturing nobles, talkative women berating the quality of their road-gear and what they can do to make them “properly presentable”.
“Do you have fans here at the Palace now, too?” Eldren asked, winking at the occupied young Deneon. Once again, Mordred was too occupied in his mind, the lines between his eyes a clue to his current state. He formed a polite grin at his mentor and friend just to let him know he heard the inquiries. Listening to very little of it all, but hearing it. During the time when they toured the arenas, Mordred fighting beast, human and others for money mainly, he had gained some…fans….they called themselves. They consisted of some young males persistently asking questions about how to get as big as him, where he learned to fight, how many opponents has he killed today, how many he will kill tomorrow, does his mother bug him about school too….and then there were the young women as well as a few young men that felt his growing arms, torso. Their questions were more about what he was doing later, if he needed oiling, what he ate to get so powerful. He had mixed feelings about the latter. He liked the attention, but he wasn’t sure what would happen if he hadn’t been dragged away by Eldren, waving them away. He admits that he liked when he stood atop a creature slain out of necessity, or a human fighter knocked out, and held up his still-flaming sword, the gathered crowd roaring out in shared victory.
As usual, Eldren punched him back to the present. In the arm, but still had the effect desired. They kept walking, like the automatons they had seen displayed in the marketplace from the merchants in the north. Mordred snapped his head to his short, purple-skinned mentor and friend. “What’s the matter? Did I do something?”
“Not yet, but the day hasn’t ended yet. What’s going on in that empty bucket you call a head, boy?”
“I just….I just know this place. I know who we’re going to see.”
“Uh, yeah. The Empress. The ruler of all we survey and stand on, the….” Eldren paused and looked around, remembering that he was surrounded by guards, nobles before uttering one of his usual obnoxious remarks that got him kicked out of potentially abundant deals for arena fights “.......most gracious of all women in the kingdom” he pronounced loudly, continuing the look around. This was not the time for smutty remarks. Not here in the center of all that is known to be Royal in the land. The large doors closed behind them and they were left with just two guards. They explained that they would escort them to their room where a bath would be drawn, clothes made and left for them and food delivered. One of the larger of the two opened the heavy red-wood door and swung it open while motioning to go inside. As soon as they did so, the weight of the ornate door was felt when it slammed behind them. The room’s decor was magnificent. A far, far cry from life on the road as merchants, making bargain deals in the rain, snow, sleet and intense heat with rivals ready to sabotage those deals and their merchandise. Thankfully, Eldren had Mordred with him to catch them and hurt them, making sure they don’t forget to leave them alone. The furnishings spoke of age, but carefully kept up age. Like an older noblewoman that knew beauty secrets from lands far away. They looked around, still holding onto their bags, the few meager belongings they took from the wagon and the burned out barn. The stained glass windows, the lanterns made of some green and white marbled glass, the cushions made mainly for looks, not just comfort. The materials that made up this room spoke of strength, craftsmanship that neither of them have seen in their merchant caravan adventures.
After prolonged silence, Mordred spoke up. “I know. I know. She’s just part of this feeling. I don’t know how to describe it. I know Her.”
“Oh no. Did you……” Eldren made a gesture that had also gotten him thrown out of lucrative arena deals as well.
“NO! Good gods, no! I’ve only been with that herb dealers’ daughter and you caught me, and worse yet, offered me advice while we were ....”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Good times.” Eldren grinned broadly, sharp teeth gritted as he continued to scan the room. His merchants’ brain analyzed everything. How much, where to sell, how fast to run before getting caught, and more. “So what do you mean you know her, then?” He finally stopped thinking of what to stuff in pockets to sell, knowing how many guards there were outside. He wanted to make sure to enjoy his profit instead of living out the rest of his days in the Royal Dungeon.
Mordred plopped down on one of the attractive cushions, and finding it not as comfortable as it looked, he got up and paced again. “You know when you see something in the caravan you know you’ve seen before, but don’t know how or where?”
“Of course! That’s how I know they’re crooks! Stealing stuff from me without making me a decent offer!!”
“No…” this was going nowhere fast “...I mean somebody looks like they’re somebody you’ve always known.”
“Are you saying the Empress is somebody from your tribe? No way, boy. No.”
“No. Something further back than that. I knew it when I touched the scroll, when the guard spoke to me. His words weren’t his own, Eldren.”
“You’re starting to worry me, boy. Granted, you’ve always worried me, but now I’m starting to wonder if there’s something wrong.”
As if “now” was a cue, two of the frustrated women from outside burst in with trays of meats, potatoes, bread all still steaming, smelling like they’ve just been cooked. Carafes of wine arrived as well as two goblets put into their hands. At least they weren’t gabbing about how impossible their clothing was. Like a magic spell, they produced some garments of various colors and shapes, laying them on the beds next to the bewildered travelers before they left for….wherever they hid in until it was time to interrupt someone else.
“Well, I’ll be a….” Before Eldren could finish that corrupt thought, one of the guards that showed them to this room came in and brought a suit of the most amazing armor that either Mordred or Eldren had seen in their days traveling, hanging it up on a hook over their heads. The red, yellow and even the black trim shown like it had its own sunlight inside. Like it was made for a god going into battle against the forces of darkness and evil, fighting to the last man and beast.
“By order of the Empress. Mordred, you are to give Her your impressions of this armor before you meet her tomorrow morn.”
“Not a god.” Mordred spoke out, touching the gauntlets, his eyes widening, looking far past the glorious armor. Memories washed over him like being caught in a tidal wave of moving sand. He felt the flaming sword that was at his side in the Palaces’ room now being held high, charging into a horde of half-beasts, equally armored and armed as he felt, perched on this broad-backed horse. Together, they razed the field they were on, the overhead sun blazing as hot as his throat was from his victory roar. At his side were horses and other beasts carrying humans, elves, dwarves and other races he didn’t know of, even in heavy or light armor, brandishing different types and weights of weapons. The great numbered army of minotaurs, were-beasts of different mixes either on foot/hooves or their own large horses and beasts that they charged at came at them with equal battle-lust, eager to soak this ground with blood of many colors.
“Boy! Stop! Now! MORDRED!!” Eldrens’ shout brought him off his high horse quickly and harshly. The bedspread was beginning to catch fire from the obsidian sword suddenly in his hand along with the gauntlet on his forearm and a glove matching its colors that was not noticed before. Mordred quickly shook the stone sword like one put out a fire on a torch quickly with no water around. It worked, but Eldren and the two guards worked on putting out the mattress cover fire before it spread any further. Some of the clothes made for the Deneoan were scorched or partially burnt to be of any use. That seemed to cause Mordred no grief, but Eldren was glaring at him while the guards gathered up the burnt items to be replaced quickly without any chastising.
“Boy….Mordred..what’s happening here?? All of a sudden, when you grabbed that thing, you whipped out that flaming sword and started screaming like the banshee we saw at the carnival in West Gate, swinging it around, saying all kinds of things, in some words I’ve never heard of. And I’ve been traveling and selling longer than you’ve been around to eat squirrels and play with rabbits in the forest!” Eldren paced the smoke-smelling Palace room. “Don’t get us kicked out of this sweet deal, Mordred!” The guards brought more humble clothes and boots and replaced the food trays that were covered in ash and soot quickly. They didn’t say anything, but Eldren imagined them making judgements. Mordred sat on the floor, cross-legged, head down like those monks that were impossible to bargain with for their woven tapestries and rare element pots. “I’m going to make myself a tourist, bear-boy. I don’t think I want to be around you tonight!” He started to storm out the door, but realized how good the food smelled and he grabbed handfuls of the sliced meats and a goblet full of the most filling wine either of them had tasted. Ever.. “To help me think'', he said as he left with his arms and hands full. “Meantime, don’t touch that armor or that damn sword!”
Mordred barely heard his friend and the slamming door. The voices in his head, the images playing out like moving paintings, but more real. Even the pressure of armored hands on his large arms, shaking him awake to make sure he was alive, horses neighing, trying to get back on their feet, the smell of blood, sweat, fear and ash from burning chariots and trebuchets. Shouts of men crying out for healers, for some sort of aid. Brothers, sisters at arms shouting directions….or simply not at all. “Ta’Majra! My Lord! Where are you wounded??!” A tall, pointed eared scorched elf grabbed at him, shaking him.
“I am well enough.” Mordred could not come up with the name of this….friend? Ally? Concerned acquaintance? He felt himself lean forward, feeling himself over, the armor damaged. The feel of a thick liquid around a hole.
“No, my Lord, you are not.” The elf’s face dropped. “No. After all of this, all of this….shall be for naught.”
Mordred tried to stand, but ended up being too dizzy and weak to finish the attempt, landing on his metal-covered butt. “It seems that you’re right.”
The elf seemed inconsolable, down on one knee, his helmeted head down, even the wings on the side of the helmet looked lifeless as the expression on his face.
“Is all hope truly lost?”
“Without you to lead what is left of our Holy Troop, it is, my Lord.”
Mordred saw the familiar black stone sword in his armored hand and felt himself move it toward this familiar stranger. “You are our last hope, Ta’Majra. Please. Lead with the Grace and Glory of our Empress.” Mordred’s vision began turning dark despite his wanting to know what was going on. He wanted to move his hands over his eyes, rubbing them to clear up his sight and see what else was going on, but he felt too weak to move. He heard the wailing of the tall confidant as the sword left his hand and his life leaving the rest of his body as well.
Mordred jumped to his feet, soaked in sweat, panting, shaking all over. He paced like Eldren did earlier, grunting, beating his fists against his arms, chest, making sure that he was still alive. Still alive. Not Ta’Majra. Not Ta’Majra. Who were they? Who was he?
“You’re a curious one for a Knight.”
The voice came out from the wall next to Mordred at first, making him jump again. “No more surprises, please!!” He shouted.
“Am I a surprise? Odd. I thought of myself as a frightful apparition.”
Mordred snapped his head around, moving his stance, arms out with the stone sword at the ready, expecting combat. Once again, memories coming into his already bamboozled mind showed him how to seek out opponents, find potential weapons, and be ready for anything to attack. On his last turn-around, he saw through the gentleman standing before him.
He stood straight, cane in one hand, head up, looking directly at Mordred. He wasn’t as tall as him, but still carried himself as such. Dark auburn hair showed little evidence of his age, and even his face didn’t show many lines betraying his existence. Nevertheless, Mordred knew that this invader was probably older than Eldren. The candles shown through his antique outfit.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?”
“Predictable questions for one of your fate, young Deneoran.”
Mordred sat down on the edge of the bed, putting the sword away to put his face in his big hands. “What is happening to me?!?”
“Oh, chum up, dear boy.” Mordred felt a hand on his shoulder. By now, he didn’t care if the hand was solid or not, so he didn’t look. “Eat something. No wonder you feel like you’re losing your mind. With your animal nature, you’re likely to be ravenous!” He heard the silver tray near him being pushed. Even with this event added onto the past day of arriving here, he had to admit this uninvited guest was right. He sighed and grabbed one of the now lukewarm turkey legs and began devouring it.
“Dear goddess, I’m so glad that I wasn’t witness to you growing up in that barbaric outland.” Mordred stole a glance up and saw this half-invisible intruder looking away with a wisp of what could be a handkerchief over his face. He felt a little better, seeing somebody offended by his aggressive eating habits that Eldren had gotten used to. Hated, but gotten used to.
Through bites, he tried to ask questions. Muffled with a mouthful of greasy meat and now bread, “Let’s start over. Who are you….”
“...and what am I doing here, yes, yes. Do you HAVE to inquire as to my presence with your snout chomping??”
“......yes…” he continued gnawing and wolfing down what he could grab.
“Oh, very well. I am the Count Delarosini. I was once a noble in the court of the last Sorcerer-Emperor Ro’Chela..”
“What?” Mordred stopped, chunks of cooked bird hanging out of his open mouth. He had heard of the past history of The Land and its rulers. The emperors and kings that practiced magic openly and ruled by potions, rituals and spells, battling with rival magicians for the sacred title of Sorcerer-King, or Emperor of all Magic in the Land, or whatever title they came up with on the spot. Before the Heavenly Rebellion by the now-scorched elves. After the resurrection, the survivors swore never again and picked a Queen among them. Later, Empresses came and went. It was rumored that they could do magic as well, but if so, no one could tell. “Are you saying you knew one of the Kings of the….Rebellion times?” Mordred didn’t know what to call them. He had heard bits and pieces from the storytellers and bards among the caravans and villages they stopped at. He met many scorched elves, morbid and down-cast looking, even a dwarf or two, still displaced from what was supposed to be their true homes, the mountains. Even some talking dogs.
“Are your big ears full of that cold meat as well, boy??”
“Uh. I don’t think so…”
Sighing seemed to be a habit that many who meet Mordred for the first time do often. He never understood that habit. “My boy, in your simplistic view, yes, my Lord and King Ro’Chela was the one who witnessed the great cataclysm of the Heavenly Rebellion. The attempted overthrow of the Gods and take over by those wretched, arrogant elves!” Count Delarosini paused for a moment, and even made eye contact with Mordred as he continued to chomp on the remainder of his food. “Do you understand that, to you, I’m a ghost? A deceased spirit?”
“Sure, but I’ve seen some odd things lately, so I just thought that this was one of them.”
“Oh. Oh, of course.” The Count blinked his transparent eyes and shook his head slightly, taken aback by the reply.
“What is it that you want from me? Sorry if you were trying to scare me. Lately, Eldren and I have been through some odd things. I fought some scary things, scary men in the arena, too. Not spooks like you, but still scary to me.”
“That’s no lie, boy.” Eldren said, walking cautiously into the room. He seemed to be admiring the quick repairs and replacements done to the room after the fire, but he was actually looking for more damage done by Mordred. Old habits die too hard. Even here in the Empress’ Palace, at Her invitation. He paused a moment, seeing their new guest. “I haven’t seen a spirit in a long time.” He smiled, baring those sharp teeth, genuinely pleased. “You look like you were somebody important. Were you?”
The Count backed up a step, gasping quietly. “I, sir, am the Count Dela…..”
“Okay, okay. I get it. Personal attache, valet, or secretary to king whosits, or emperor whatshisname and I better learn me some imperial manners or off with my head!” Eldren plopped down on the bed next to the tray that Mordred was eating from, getting what scraps he could.
The transparent Count turned toward Mordred, his mouth still agape. “I know, I know.” Mordred waved to him before he could form words of protest and an official “How DARE you!?”
“Well. Well. I see that my presence is not completely welcome here in my former home…”
“Wait, Count. Was this your room? When you were alive?”
“Yes, my boy, it was.” His misty head moved around, looking up and around. Mordred learned then that ghosts, spirits, what-have-you could be sentimental and not just egotistic windbags. “The desk that I wrote His speeches, and his orders of executions and justice..”
Eldren coughed. “Wait….what?? Orders of what??”
“Executions, my short purple friend. How else was the kingdom to maintain order and civility?”
Mordred stopped with his last mouthful of meat and bread, a bearded chipmunk but with eyes wide open, looking at Eldren who shared the same expression and thought. Their education of the previous kingdoms was scarce, but they knew of the kings of old practicing dark magics that required human sacrifices, victims to offer to the dark gods. Ones that promised great power in body, mind and….magic. Magical power great enough to….to…storm the gates of heaven.
“Whatever is wrong, my large young friend? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”, he said, winking at Eldred. The Count sat next to Mordred, with no weight added to the mattress, of course. “Of course, how silly of me.” The Count tried to slap his forehead, but of course hand and head went through each other.