Chosen

It was unusual to find another traveller on the road to the dead lands. Plenty moved in the opposite direction, eyes down, trying everything to avoid acknowledging the existence of the blackened landscape. But not once in his long journey had Bolden found someone imitating his own path. It was suspicious. He had intentionally maintained a distance between himself and the stranger as they both strode along the old road. He walked warily, matching the speed of the man throughout the ever-stretching day of travel. That evening, after the miles were done, he gazed over the struggling fire of gathered twigs and avoided raising his hand to the amulet hidden under his shirt. The uninvited stranger who had brazenly joined the warmth of his meagre blaze, could never be allowed to discover the power Bolden wielded.

He reluctantly shared some of his dried meat with the man, in exchange for a swig of his water skin. As he tipped it up to drink, he caught sight of the star-glittered night sky and thought it beautiful. So vivid, without the lights of civilisation. Until he realised how vulnerable he was with his chin up. Dropping the skin quickly, he shifted the broadsword sheathed at his waist. The rising point of the blade allowing him to lean forward and pass the gift of water back, subtly letting his hand remain rested on his hilt.

“So, what's your name friend?” He asked.

“Frilad. Most just call me Fril.” The man said. Although, he had to admit, neither of them could truly be considered men. Fril looked to be about of an age as Bolden, both of them inching toward twenty cycles and barely needing to shave more than once a week. Evident from the thin and wispy stubble decorating both their chins. The only real difference between them was the obvious class rift. Bolden was from a noble family, this Fril, most certainly was not.

“Strange to see anyone else headed South. Not much out here...” Bolden ventured.

“You’re right there. I’m glad to have the company! Don’t know the last time I shared a fire!”

“Neither do I.” Bolden mumbled.

“Truth is, I set out with a full company. Companions from all over the known world. All of them far more skilled than me when it comes to survival out here in the wilds. Shame of it is, I held all the luck and ended up living where they didn’t. Dangerous out here on the old road.”

“Mhm,” Bolden agreed, “Worse still are the dead lands…”

“Aye, that’s right…” Fril nodded.

“Heading that way then?”

“Aye, for now. I have a journey to make, a task to complete. One that cannot wait. Not even for the dead!” Frilad explained.

For someone so forthright, he spoke a lot of words, without saying much at all. It was a trait Bolden was used to hearing from those with little intelligence, no matter their class. It was a common talent to make a lot of noise and never make point. Unless…perhaps it was a clever ploy to hide one's intentions. Hard to tell. Bolden himself preferred to say little at all, and to be direct when he did speak. Simpler that way. For instance, he had also lost all his companions to the roads perils but did not feel the need to share that fact. Nor did he wish the other man to be aware whether he had any goal at all.

“Might be, if we are to be walking the road at the same time, we might do better together, eh? Can’t be too careful out here…” Frilad continued.

Bolden had known the question was coming, but had not yet been able to find the words that would justify a rejection without explaining the truth. So, he sighed and said the only thing he could to maintain his cover.

“Alright then.”

His hand tightened around the grip of his sword, eyeing the one hanging from the other man's belt, and focusing desperately on ignoring the amulet around his neck. All the while trying to gauge the measure of the man.

That night was torture. Bolden could not fathom sleeping while Frilad held watch. He didn’t much fancy waking up with a slit throat. Instead, he laid still, listening to every shift of Frilad’s posture, always alert for one that sounded like it was coming too close. He rose exhausted for his turn at watch. The other man seeming to settle easily into rest, by the slowness of his breath and the stillness of his form. Bolden hesitated to turn his back on the apparently sleeping body of his unwanted companion, but had to, if he were to have any chance of using the amulet. Sitting in the dark, simultaneously keeping watch and listening for any movement from Fril, he pulled the golden chain from his shirt. There, set into the centre of the amulet and cupped by his trembling hands, was the dread emerald. The largest gemstone, that even a wealthy son such as him, would ever see in his entire life. More than that, it was the source of his strength. He pressed his fingertips to the gemstone with reverence, and felt the daily rush of awareness, purpose and strength fill his mind and muscles. Sighing in satisfaction, he quickly tucked the treasure away once more, and went back to his watch of both front and back.

So the next few days went, the unlikely duo stomping down the old road toward the very centre of all evil in the world. They spoke forever in pleasantries, neither of them willing to offer any more information than absolutely necessary, which suited Bolden just fine. He slept fitfully, the emerald alone keeping fatigue at bay, thanks to the occasions he could reach it without being seen. The days grew darker, the old road was abandoned by all travellers but them, and more often they heard terrible noises emanating from the blackness of the night. Eventually, on tired legs, they came to the true border of the dead lands and crossed into the place where the ground turned to a scorched black and the air became heavy.

“Still going onward?” Fril asked.

“Mhm.” Bolden agreed with a nod.

“As am I,” He said, looking over warily from the corner of his eye, “Not many that would enter the dead lands. Not many at all. Strange that we both should be doing so, ey?”

“That it is.” Bolden said.

“Well then, shall we?” Fril smiled, placing his hand against his chest and taking a long stride onto the burnt soil.

Bolden followed suit, and forward they went. Ever closer to the lair of the demon the dwelt within, and the target of his quest.

Bolden eyed his companion carefully when they came across the first of the dead. The rotten corpse at the side of the road stared up with its empty bone sockets, more skeleton than man. Its clothes were shredded rags and the glint of old, dirtied jewellery adorned its fingers and neckline. No one had touched the body since the traveller had died, not even to rob the thing. It was not worth the risk.

“Guess we’re in the dead lands now, ey Bolden!” Fril joked from where he crouched to examine the mess.

He did not find much worth joking about. The danger was suddenly very real, and he did not feel the same strength emanating from the dread emerald as usual.

“Come on,” he said, “the dead are not something to linger around out here.”

“Ain’t that the truth. Ya know Bolden? I think that’s the longest sentence I’ve heard from you yet!”

“Mhm. Lets move.”

They came that night. Frilad was on watch. Bolden was pretending to sleep. The screeching from the darkness dragged them both to their feet, swords ripping from scabbards before they were even upright. There was no time for words. The dead sprinted into the dull light, cast by the embers of their fire. Bolden vaguely acknowledged one barrelling hard into Frilad before another was upon him. He managed to avoid being tackled, swiping a gash into the dead mans arm before spinning away, his feet scattering the coals of the fire. It was on him again without pause. He had known what to expect, prepared for it, but the speed of the thing was striking a visceral fear deep into his gut. As it spun and darted, he noticed the red miasma curling from every rent in the corpse’s foul body, as well as from what remained of its mouth and eyes. The Lich demons control came in gaseous form, animating the dead with its control. The creature came in hard, clawing and scratching, reaching for anything it could grab and tear. Bolden’s body moved instinctively with his training, and he cleaved his sword hard, straight through the monster's neck, knocking its body twitching to the floor. Another came quickly in its wake and after another desperate dance, its head was rolling along the blackened ground to join the first. It was only then, that his thoughts had anything to spare for Frilad. He snapped his gaze to where he could hear him struggling and found the third and last monster pinning him to the ground. Its long reaching fingers writhed around his upheld sword, pushing down on it and trying to gouge into his skin. A weary whip of his heavy blade and Bolden had freed its head from his neck, and the other man from its grasp. Panting hard, he sheathed his sword and held out a hand for Fril. His trust had immediately grown, knowing that at least he was alive and not a freshly dead, hidden agent of the Lich demon. They would not have wanted him if his heart did not beat. As he pulled his companion to his feet, the torn flap of his shirt draped open. Bolden staggered backward in alarm, pulling his sword free once more at what he saw. That feeble trust withered as quickly as it had sprouted.

The weight of his dread emerald was heavy and reassuring in his rushing grasp. His free hand had immediately grabbed at it, secrets be damned. In front of him, Frilad stood, chest bare, with an identical amulet hanging from his neck. The immediate terror that the man had stolen it from Bolden abated, with the feel of his own gemstone between his fingers. It took a moment of collection, his heart battering at his chest, before Bolden was able to speak.

“Where did you get that…” He hissed.

“That’s not your concern, I reckon!” Fril panted, his hands open wide, eyeing his sword that was still lying on the ground.

“It is very much my concern! I have allowed you to follow me, I have asked no questions, and I have tolerated your nothing speak! Who are you!?’

“I am Frilad,” he said, sighing deeply. His roving eyes displayed a conflict, before he spoke confidently, with a decision made, “I am the chosen one. I’m on me way to exterminate The Lich demon and free the world from this scar he’s gone and brought on the land. I am sorry to put this on you…you see, I had hoped to spare you the burden, you know? But I’ve been travelling alone for so long, and your company lifted my spirits. I don’t even want to know why you yourself travel such a dangerous road. But for this,” He said gesturing to the forever lifeless body of the risen dead, “I’m right grateful. You might well have saved the whole world from disaster.”

Bolden stood motionless and silent for a moment, His head moving side to side as he tried to process what the fool was saying. Then, unbidden, and unstoppable, he burst into roars of laughter.

Bolden forced his mouth closed and clenched his jaw tight. He really did not want to attract any more of the dead land’s fiends, but he also was struggling desperately to contain his mirth, which was escaping in tight hums. Fril just stood there, aghast as his reaction.

“What’s so funny!?” He snapped, “You think I don't look the part!? Well, let me tell you, most of the heroes of old were right regular folk!”

“No…it's not that…” Bolden managed to say, “It's just that…here…look…”

He reached into his shirt and plucked out the dread emerald, letting it swing down from his neck.

“I am also the chosen one. Destined to end the Lich demon and restore the dead lands.”

Fril did not laugh. His mouth just hung open and worked itself around, trying to form a response through his bewilderment.

“Who told you that?” He finally asked.

“Chastamere. The arch mage.” Bolden said.

“Chastamere also sent me here…gave me this…” The other man muttered, gesturing to his own emerald, “It gives me strength…and fortitude…”

Bolden sighed and shook his head. He looked down at the headless bodies scattered around, catching a glint of metal from around each of their necks. The very same as the corpse they passed on the road. Identical to those that hung over their own shoulders. He reached out with his sword and hooked one of the chains, lifting the stinking thing from the flesh of the dead. There, at its end, caked in blood, flesh and dirt, was an emerald. Frilad’s eyes went wide and he gasped. Bolden simply dropped the dead man's amulet and pulled his own from around his neck. He ran his fingers over its surface, for the first time feeling nothing at all from it. Instead, he saw it for what it was. He threw it down, dashing it against a stone, where it shattered into pieces.

“Glass,” He said, “A lie.”

“What is this!?” Fril asked, “Some kind of bloody trick?”

“Don’t you see?” Bolden asked, his hands and voice steady for the first time since he left home, “There is no chosen one.”

“What? Of course there is! Why would that damn mage send us both out here, tellin’ us the same story? Which one of us is it?”

“I think he’s told that story more than twice, my friend. The way I see it, there’s two reasons he would do such a thing. Either he is hedging his bets and sending as many single folk as he can to kill the monster, hoping one of them will get lucky. I mean, lets face it, sending an army of our best and brightest would only end up feeding the numbers of the dead. They aren’t so best or bright. Or, he’s intentionally feeding us into the Lich demons own force, slowly, one by one building up the creatures strength. Either way…I think I’m about done here. How about you? Are you going to follow some crock o’ shit fable, or come find out the truth?” Bolden said, turning to look back the way he had come.

“Right. Well then,” Frilad said, nodding and visibly trying to gather himself, “Guess I might well be joining you. Yep, that'd be the way. Hey, figure we can both actually sleep at night on the way back?”

“That would be grand.” Bolden said, and smiled at the man for the first time, before they both began the long journey home, to have a frank conversation with a mage.