|Series||Fable: The Return by Scorponix|
|← Chapter 21||Chapter Chronology||Chapter 23 →|
The king begins his voyage upon the Drakemouth.
As Bloodstone fades from view, the king cannot help but stare out towards the Tattered Spire looming in the distance. Its towering peak reaches above the clouds that ever circle around it, never to be seen by those below the sky. He stares longingly at the point where the Spire meets the clouds, wondering if Theresa is there, watching his every move. He wonders if Theresa is even alive, the banshee in Wraithmarsh has affected him to where he does not know what reality truly is. The powers of Will continue to flow throughout the Spire, could this mean that Theresa is still there? Does the Spire not need a master in order to do its purpose? The sound of waves striking against the hull of the ship drown out his thoughts. Reaver approaches him.
"Is the hag still making herself at home in there?"
"As far as I know, she has not been known to leave since she took claim to it.."
"Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe she can't leave? That maybe our good blind acquaintance is trapped within the Spire, only able to send a sliver of her true self out into the world?"
"Is that the truth?"
"Well I don't know, it could be. Just a guess I suppose, but I haven't seen her in person since the day I shot the mad Lord Lucien."
"So you did shoot him?"
"You told me you didn't know what really happened. That your memory of that moment slipped your mind."
"Ah, yes, well I don't know for sure. I like to think I shot the bastard, he wouldn't stop running his mouth." Reaver spots the king looking at The Executioner steering the ship. "I suppose you'd like to know more about my young friend at the helm."
"I would, why does he call himself The Executioner?"
"He doesn't like his name, said that his father named him something posh and arrogant. That and the fact that the boy has a knack for beheading."
"Now I would like to know what his name is."
"That I can't tell you for I don't rather care. Not saying I don't care about your concern, just that I don't care about what his name was. You see, your majesty, it doesn't matter what he was, just what he is. And he is a fine specimen of a pirate is what he is. He is strong, ruthless, a fire in his belly and a big sword on his back. While my specialty is in ranged combat I do find appreciation in brute force when it is needed. I've seen that sword cut off the heads of five men standing in a line, a most impressive sight I assure you."
"I'm sure it was…"
"And I'm sure you'll get to see it happen before our voyage ends."
"Why is that? I thought we were going straight for the Northern Wastes. When will there be a chance to see him behead things in that time?"
"Your majesty, the ship must make a stop at a port a log the way to restock on supplies. We had to leave in such a hurry, by your request, so we had absolutely no time to stock the ship for such a journey. It had been stocked for a voyage to Aurora, but as you can see we are not going there."
"Where are we stopping?"
"I believe we will be making port at one of The Executioner's favorite places, he has some connections there. A friendly island called Witchwood."
"Witchwood? That island has been abandoned since the Knothole villagers left in a mass exodus to escape the balverine attacks."
"The weaker villagers left, yes. But the true Knothole people remained, and they have kept defending their walls since the weaklings left to find their tropical island. When we arrive, you will find the people of Knothole Glade have grown to thrive since the others left, reclaiming much of the forest that had been lost long ago to the balverine threat."
"When will we arrive in Witchwood?"
"About three days time, if the wind is with us. If the wind is not with us then we shall break out the steam engines, that will bring us to four days."
Three, maybe even four days. That is too long, and that is only half of the journey. There is no telling how much the ice pack could slow them down when they get closer to the Northern Wastes. He cannot afford to be delayed when they make port in Witchwood, they must leave as soon as possible. There is no telling what Albion has become under the power of The Court, it may already be burning. By the time their conversation ends, the Spire has almost faded from view behind them. The horizon has left only a third of what he could see before. Reaver leaves to go to his cabin, leaving the king to gaze once more upon where the Spire meets the clouds.