Chapter Twenty-Four

Forgiveness and Permission

As planned, Michael woke up at roughly midday, caught between the sweetness of the memories he’d made and the dry-mouth which somehow clung to his bones. He rolled out of bed and pulled on some comfortable and warm clothes, realising almost all the other beds were empty. Only Ilo was asleep, though Michael wasn’t sure how because with his legs were up on his bed and his entire upper-body and head were slumped down onto the floor.

Michael grabbed his bow and arrows and went to leave but he stopped and quickly picked up Ilo’s head and stuffed a pillow beneath it.

He left the keep and found Nichole, Aroha, Oliver and Sarah all sat quietly, chuckling gently as they drank from steaming mugs in the cold autumn air. They spotted Michael as he walked out and waved him over.

Michael shuffled in next to Oliver who ruffled his hair in welcome.

Oliver then looked to everyone gathered and said, “So, I expect we’re not just here for some kind of hungover get-together.”

Michael shook his head. “The way I see it, one way or another we have to find out what Nikereus is using against us.”

Nichole nodded and sipped her drink. “And if we want to survive what’s sure to be one god-awful siege, we’ll need to find out what dark-magic the monarch’s using before they get here. Which means we have to go in there.” She tilted her mug in the general direction of the hillside cavern, stretched out like a great, butchered smile.

Michael drew an arrow from his quiver and twirled it in his fingers. “Alright.”

Nichole locked eyes with him and smiled. “Alright?”

“Yeah, I mean what are we waiting for?”

Oliver and Sarah both glanced at one-another, as did Aroha and Nichole when the tell-tale heavy footfalls of an armoured knight rang softly nearby.

The group turned to find Jack standing pointedly to the front of their table with his hand resting naturally on his sheathed mace and his helmet under his arm. The man’s black mess of an eye shifted and moved as he looked over them discerningly.

“So, what’s your plan? You five are going to walk into that cavern, sneak past ten thousand Obthraie and steal the Immortal Flame out of Nikereus’ pocket- if its real, of course.” His gravelly voice was light with amusement.

While Michael began to stumble over a revised version of his plan, but Nichole merely cleared her throat and said, “That’s the idea.”

The Riniglacian warrior squinted at her and adjusted his mace-sheath. “When are you leaving?”

Oliver went wide-eyed and accidentally elbowed over his hot-chocolate messily onto the table, causing Aroha to jump. “Damn-it- wait, we’re allowed to go?”

Jack’s dark gaze narrowed all the more. “What makes you think you can’t? Oh, let me guess, Hillborn said no?”

Their silence answered for them.

Jack’s sharp jawline twitched slightly in anger but he bit it back. “That man is a self-appointed leader. He can’t give you permission, because it’s not his to give, despite what some people here think.”

“So, we can go?” Michael asked, unsure where they stood.

The plated warrior shrugged and nodded. “Of course. You might die, but Amekot can’t stop you from doing that.”

The man frowned curiously as they all seemed to shrivel somewhat.

“You hadn’t thought about that?”

Sarah scowled at him and said, “Course we had, but hearing it out-right is quite... confronting. Anyway, we talked with him and he seemed to arrive at the same conclusion as us, but-”

Michael politely added, “-but I could tell he wouldn’t go for it. Forgive me for saying it, but Amekot doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to give the go-ahead on any idea that isn’t his own.”

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Everyone grumbled in agreement and Jack sighed with grim understanding. “Fair. Wait here.” The steel warrior turned and marched inside without so much as another word, leaving the group of Legacies with their hands aloft in confusion.

Michael blinked. “Why does no one here finish their thoughts?”

Nichole chuckled and finished her coffee, mumbling, “It’s more dramatic.”

Within the next minute, Jack came trudging out again.

“Why’s he so fast?” Oliver mumbled.

He came to the head of their table again and said, “Begin training as a unit immediately. You’ll have until the Tenth to prove that you won’t die beyond these walls. Do that and you can leave on the morning of the Eleventh.”

Sarah nervous brushed her hair behind her ear. “Leaving us… seven days to go into the cave, find the Immortal Flame, and get home?”

Jack nodded severely, his black eye unblinking. “The attack begins on the Eighteenth. Once the siege starts, no one’s getting back in. I wouldn’t be late. Besides, if you can’t find what you’re looking for over an entire spell, it probably can’t be found.”

The five young Legacies all paled to the same shade.

Michael took a measured breath and said, “How exactly will we prove that we’re good enough to survive as a team?”

Jack’s face slipped into a small smirk and he turned and left without another word, marching down the forum.

Aroha blinked and scrambled to her feet. “Damn-it.”

The five Paladins and Archangels followed the Javen warrior down the forum and through the entryway of the Forges. Clad in stone and steel, the chamber was filled with smithing stations each manned by their own leather-aproned Legacy.

The moment Michael stepped inside he felt the humidity weigh down on his breath, and his ears come under assault from a barrage of boiling metal and hissing steam. As he followed the herd of Legacies through the open-planned space he lightly glanced about the blacksmiths. Most of the room seemed to be working on weapons, forming blades and sharpening arrowheads to be handed off down the rest of their assembly line.

One spindly young man in particular, red of hair with a freckly face, the one they’d called Archie, chattered away to himself as he worked before catching Michael’s eye. Michael recognised him from the Recon team in the War Council. He noticed the path Michael was taking and smiled, signing, Good luck, friend.

Michael frowned as he replied, Why?

Archie’s face only crinkled more and he returned to his work, leaving Michael gently concerned as he darted after his group.

Jack brought them to a set of steel doors and pushed through, revealing a wooden staircase lit by torches, leading downward.

As the door closed behind them, all sound was sealed away and Jack seemed to let out a tight breath, now that the racket of clashing steel subsided.

Sarah and Oliver followed him eagerly down the steps through another pair of doors and into a small room filled with dusty bookshelves and a central command-table pushed against the far wall. A grand window was placed above the table showing a dark, long and wide room, spanning deep into the shadow of the underground. There was something ominous about its emptiness, like a pond of murky water, lifeless, but only on the surface.

Michael frowned as he walked gingerly behind them. “What is this place?” he said, looking across the bizarre scrolls all splayed out over the counter.

Nichole immediately began straightening out the piles of parchment as she answered automatically, “The Ghost-Environment Conjurement Hall-”

Aroha smugly interrupted, “Just the Conjurement. It’s too much of a mouthful, otherwise.” Her dark eyes twinkled as Nichole flashed a glare at her.

Jack began sifting through the scrolls and sharply glanced at the group when he realised they’d been milling around. “Are you waiting for my permission?”

They quickly shook their heads and left the command room, walking through a small door on their left, entering the enormous hall seen through the window. The stone was smooth beneath their feet like it had been quarried a thousand cycles before and used as a footpath ever since. Hanging above them were dull lamps, casting gentle light into the corners, but all in all, the room was barren.

Michael frowned at the scuffmarks and occasional long, pale scraps on the floor. “You guys know you haven’t actually explained this place to me yet, right? Lets not repeat the arena nonsense again.”

Oliver went to open his mouth when Jack’s voice came rolling across the room like a localised thunderstorm. “If you want to prove you’ll survive outside these walls, the first thing we’ll need to prep you against are the Obthraie. We’ll start with one each.”

Michael blinked. “What?”

Before he knew what was happening Jack’s voice churned into foreign, murky sounds, twisting and falling from one syllable to another in a strange, dark rhythm, until finally the last echo fell silent against the stone walls, hidden behind curtains of shadow.

Michael swore beneath his breath and fumbled for an arrow.

A pitter-patter took the chanting’s place and the hanging lanterns above began to grow dim.

Where Jack’s words ended, footsteps clattered in the dark and shadows began to encroach on the torchlight. The light was bent away and all things dimmed.

Michael fitted an arrow to his bowstring and looked quickly to the command-room, only to find the viewing-window as dark as obsidian from his side of the glass. The archer turned quietly to find his companions all training their sight on the shadows. The darkness was cold and hard against his eyes and Michael’s heart began to race in his chest. Its fine. Its fine. Its fine.

Michael gritted his teeth and tapped Oliver’s shoulder, quietly asking, “Will he announce it when-”

“Michael!”

Michael twisted on the spot to find to a creature barrelling toward him.

It was carved from grey stone, had six rigid arms bound to a broad torso, a head full of fangs like splinters of glass. Unlike the army of Obthraie which he’d already seen, there was nothing measured or calm about this one.

Michael didn’t so much as have the time to raise his arrow before the creature ran a stone spear through his stomach.