Ash and Alibis II

A blacksmith’s son once followed him because Edric spoke movingly of restoring honour to his family’s name.

A healer’s daughter joined because he said no soul understood suffering as he did.

A former soldier marched at his side because Edric swore he had been wronged by lesser men and only needed one fair chance to prove himself.

A scribe carried his accounts because Edric claimed the world had robbed him often, and he deserved at last to be recorded properly.

To each new companion he offered the same splendid bargain: “Walk beside me now, help me through this rough season, and when I rise—as surely I must—I shall remember your loyalty forever.”

But Edric remembered nothing that did not serve him.

When the road grew steep, he discovered an old injury.

When the weather turned poor, he became the greatest sufferer in the realm.

When provisions ran low, he ate first on account of his “delicate constitution.”

When danger appeared, he had urgent reasons why someone else was better suited to step forward.

If a bridge had to be repaired, Edric was too exhausted from planning.

If a watch had to be kept, he had slept poorly because no one appreciated the weight he carried.

If a beast stalked the trees at dusk, he gave stirring speeches about courage while quietly arranging himself three rows behind the others.

And yet, should the threat pass, should another’s sword strike true, should another’s wit save the camp, Edric would emerge from behind the cart or out from under the blanket and say, with modest sorrow, “I wish it had not fallen to them. This was my burden to bear.”

He was a collector of burdens he never lifted.