The Princes Of Amora

Chapter Forty Two

I reach the border and can tell by the broken twigs and footprints sunk into the dirt that I was here. I take my Excalibur to my hair and saw it off, leaving myself with a waved bob. If I was going to infiltrate Ambrose and his followers, I had to be unrecognisable. I then saw off some black material from my top and tie it around my mouth, keeping half of my face concealed. I catch my reflection in my sword, the once majestic and legendary Excalibur now a tool for my transformation.

I catch my eyes locking onto the Excalibur, taking in all the intricate details as it glows brightly. The blade of the dragon's breath as the writing stares at me down the blade. The sword seems to pulse with a life of its own. "Can't have anyone recognising your greatness either, can we?" I mumble gently, a smile tugging at my lips. The sword has been my companion ever since Lavaiah, its brilliance a beacon of power and hope.

"Ika Ba Nala," I chant, a spell learnt from my spell book to disguise new to old. The words resonate in the air, air thick with magic of the old religion. The sword starts to dim, the brightness fading as the spell takes effect. The once radiant Excalibur transforms into a simple, unassuming blade, its true nature and beauty hidden beneath the enchantment.

I take a deep breath, feeling the heavy weight on my shoulders, the priority was to find Arthur, Louis, and Theus. With my new appearance and the now disguised Excalibur, I was ready to face Ambrose and his followers. I was prepared to do whatever it took to succeed. I catch a glance one last time staring into the sword, "I'm coming Arthur," I mumble quietly.

I enter the layer, or should I say the camp, and it is lively, flamed torches burning brightly, casting flickering shadows. There were loads of tents set up in a haphazard manner, creating a maze-like structure forcing you to keep an eye on your footing. I stroll in slowly keeping my hand placed firmly on the hilt of my sword, prepared from an ambush. The air consumed by the smell of burning firewood whispers of conversations.

I move deeper into the camp; I see groups of his followers dressed in all black attire. Some are wearing marks that obscure their faces, whilst other have bandanas pulled up to their eyes, keeping their identities concealed. Their beady eyes follow my every move, their stare felt cold and calculated as if they were assessing if I was with them or against them.

The camp was covered in wood, remnants of trees used for other shelters and makeshift barricades. Just next to it are some followers stood around what seems like a map, discussing strategies and not doubt their next attack. I look up to the top of the makeshift spiked fence, a large plank of wood states the following in bright red letters 'Enter at your own risk'. I feel shivers run down my spine as the words resonate. The warning echoing in my mind. Ignoring the sense of dread, I continue to walk, my footsteps seeping into the dirt.

I walk into the arena; the atmosphere feels tense. I see the large open bonfire with people surrounding it. I find myself jumping at the crackles of the fire popping or the rustle and snapping of twigs below me. I was on high alert, and it was vital I stay this way. I notice followers sat down sharpening their weapons, the metallic sound adding to the ambience. 

I stand watching Ambrose from a far hiding in the shadows behind crowds of his followers. He paces back and forth, the fire behind him casting flickering shadows that enhance the flow of his fluorescent orange hair. The flames dance wildly, reflecting off his mane like a crown of burning embers. My hair short and wavy due to my recent hair cut and my material on my face remains concealing the majority of my face, leaving only my eyes exposed, which follow his every move.

Ambrose halts to a stop, his arms shooting out in a grand gesture. "IT IS I, THE MIGHTY AND POWERFUL AMBROSE!" he bellows, his voice echoing through the forest as he scares the bats out of the trees. "YOUR SAVIOUR!" The crowd erupts into cheers, their applause feeding his hunger for appreciation and feeding into his delusions of grandeur. I force myself to join in, clapping with measured enthusiasm to blend in, ensuring I do not stick out like a sore thumb.