The Prismatic Cuirass (1/3)

My neck hurts…have I not moved an inch this whole time? They could have replaced me with a snowman and no one would have been the wiser. So much easier to stare at my hands and avoid eye contact than spouting stupid questions and getting told how stupid they are.

Not what I signed up for, being a snowman…yet it is comfortable to be silent and still.

Haylis suddenly speaks up, her voice light and conversational.

'Oon'Shang says there's...' She cups a hand to her ear, '...people, a huge group of people, gathered on the highway. We have to slow down.'

Arkai dashes to the front of the carriage without another word.

Five seconds of silence. With a shaky sigh Kathanhiel rubs her face with both hands. 'What am I doing – why did I –' without acknowledging either of us she goes after him.

I look at Haylis and she at me. Suddenly my tongue is capable of moving again.

'Nice.'

She raises an eyebrow. 'What are you talking about?'

'So…what do you think we should do? Keep going in the coach and have the dragons chase us, or try and find a boat at the Ford?'

She scoffs. 'Stupid question. Didn't I say I'm sticking with Aunt Kath? I wasn't going on your stupid ferry ride in the first place.'

'Don't say anything if you've got nothing good to say.'

'Just tell her you don't want to leave. She won't make you.'

That's not true though. Unlike her, my name, initials, and blurry thumbprint are on a contract that says I have to do whatever I'm told.

The carriage grinds to a halt. The rooms begin to echo with the fleshy banging of panicky hands slapping against steel. Muffled shouting seep through the walls, louder than rain.

Arkai and Kathanhiel return, and lo and behold, they're arguing again.

'It's not safe, the crowd is too agitated,' Arkai says.

'I will not leave them. Haylis, fetch my ceremonial set. Kastor, get into gear and herald my presence to the people – no more objections Arkai, I shan't cover like some criminal.'

'The cultists are here for certain. They'll take advantage of the chaos –'

Kathanhiel silently points to the next room, her face set in stone. With an undisguised growl Arkai storms away, and for the first time ever I hear the clap of his boots on the floor.

'You too Kastor, don your armour.'

I grab my bags and scamper after Arkai as the carriage rocks from left to right as if riding a high tide.

One peak through the window shows that Arkai is being quite reasonable. Thousands of people have gathered around the coach, a sea of grey faces shrouded by the downpour and the feeble sun. Their mouths are all moving wildly, yelling words that are yet indistinct, but the moment we open that door –

'What's happening?'

'Refugees from the north,' Arkai replies as he wraps a black scarf around his head, 'or at least what appears to be.' A swish of his cloak reveals two dozen throwing knives slotted into various pockets. 'Keep your eyes on the crowd. If anyone suspicious get close don't hesitate to strike first. Don't get in her way if she decides to…' He adds in an undertone: 'No. No she won't.'

With that he vaults to the ceiling and flings open a hatch that I didn't even know was there, then slips out silent as a cat.

Get moving, stupid.

Leather cuirass. Studded gauntlets. The hilariously oversized pauldrons…no, should've put on the gauntlets last – tying knots in these is a nightmare. Fine, gauntlets off, shoulders on, then the greaves – nope, can't bend over in these shoulders. Should've put on the greaves before the shoulders. Why is this so difficult?

Didn't know we would run into so many people. Could have prepared a script if only someone had told me – no, no no no that's shameful, what kind of esquire needs a script for an announcement that totals two short sentences?

Behold, Lady Kathanhiel, hero of the Realms, slayer of Elisaad!

Doesn't sound good: too short and lacking context. If I was a listener I'd be disappointed. Got to add unnecessary flourishes, long words that don't mean much but contain an abundance of syllables.

Pay heed to the presence of – no that sounds moronic – At ease, ye faithful ones – absolutely not, that line is for preachers and cultists – Begone, foul carrion! – What?! Where did that one even come from –

'Hurry up Kastor!' Haylis calls out from the other room.

Gauntlet still half-tied, I fling open the door like a gladiator charging into the arena, ready for a fight to the death.

Light.

Kathanhiel's ceremonial cuirass is stars crystallised, emanating a serene white glow. Angular arcs flourish from the ends of her glowing gauntlets, almost claw-like, and the silver-woven chainmail on her thighs – atop winged greaves – is a constant shimmer of trapped rainbows. She wears no helmet, only a pale circlet adorn with a rose-tinted diamond the size of a thumb.

She turns in my direction, and it's immediately apparent that she���s naked underneath. Those paintings that attempt to capture the forms of heroes of legend, they are but doodles without imagination. This sight cannot possibly be put into drab paint; no palette is worthy of it.

Kaishen hangs unsheathed at her side, its blade ember-red.

'Haylis, the heraldry. Give it to him,' she says.

A metal stick with a piece of cloth hanging on one end materialises in my hand. I shove it to one side because it's blocking the view. A hand reaches in and not-so-gently pushes my jaws shut. Haylis is giggling.

'Quit it idiot.'

'I-I-I'm…you…how…wow…'

Kathanhiel is not smiling.

'Kastor, as my esquire it is your duty to herald my arrival to the people. If you're not ready for it Haylis can take your place.'

Of course I'm not ready. To speak in front of thousands of people is hard enough, let alone having them ready to tear my face off…but what am I to say? That I can't do it, that I can only sweep and wash dishes and not speak two short sentences in front of strangers? Who knows how many infinitely harder trials are going to come up later, and what will be my solution to them then? Say I can't do it?

Basking in the glow of that heavenly cuirass, I could only nod.

'I'm ready.'

'Haylis, please get the door.'