Chapter Seventy-Eight
Warm Welcomes, Cold Warnings
Jack, Sidney, and Amekot lead a small host of fort officials down the Paladin corridor toward the War Council chamber, filling the hall with a clamour of clicking heels.
Jack pushed open the door, already sullen and ready to leave, when his eyes fell on a handsome woman, lounging in the farthest chair, alone at the table.
Amekot froze and the crowd behind him mumbled in confusion when he turned and said, “Meeting’s cancelled. Goodnight.”
The council began to complain when Sidney stepped inside and shut the door, leaving only Jack, herself, and Amekot with the dark-skinned woman across the room.
Her jawline was sharp and her eyes were the colour of desert sand. Her hair was dark, thick, curled, and long on all sides but one, which was shaven closely to her scalp, and a long, cursive tattoo was scrawled faintly on the skin. Lying on the table before her was a long ornate Crekaen Longbow, made from scorched black wood, and a white leather-wrapped handle.
Jack felt a shiver run down his spine as he glanced to Amekot, standing pale-faced, and wondered if he would have time to reach for his shield.
The woman smiled wider as she saw Amekot’s state of paralysis and she said, “Evenin’, Amey.” She then looked over Jack’s face and a small gentle surprise melted over her. “Jack? Wow, you’ve gotten big, honey. Been a while, huh?”
Sidney watched Jack blush and bashfully comb back his hair as she asked, “I’m sorry, who are you? How’d you get in here?”
Amekot cleared his throat and waved Sidney’s question away. “You’re not here on business, are you, Johnny?”
The woman’s face darkened as she politely said, “Its Klaryah, Amey. Kla-rye-uh.” She took a small breath and realised the three of them were staring stiffly at her longbow. Klaryah smiled like a cat stretched in the sun and picked the bow up, leaning it against the wall, a touch out of reach. “And no, I remember the rules. No hunting on fortress grounds. No contracts on Legacies. Blah, blah, blah...”
Sidney, Jack, and Amekot sat down at their end of the table and Klaryah gave a chuckle, which felt warm as honey on their ears but had a venomous aftertaste.
Jack set his plumed helmet down on the table and Klaryah frowned at it before blooming into her grin again. “Nice armour. Javen, isn’t it?”
Jack ignored both Sidney and Amekot’s subtle glances and he muttered, “No, just a lookalike,” leaving no room for further discussion. “When did you get here, Klaryah?”
“Yesterday morning. I was in Ariaton on some business when I heard there was some distress here. I’m a little sad to say that I had to find out through some of our old friends, Amey. Why you didn’t ask me, personally?” she pouted deeply, fixing a crease in her linen, summer dress and straightening out her cascading golden necklace.
Amekot sat forward and hopelessly fumbled with his hands. “I wished to, but you’re not an easy person to contact, J- Klaryah.”
Klaryah smiled and tussled her hair. “People in my line of work have to be.”
Sidney felt herself rather out of depth and anxiously ran her hands through her inch-long head of hair. “And what line of work is that?”
Amekot opened his mouth and let out only an awkward wheeze of uncertainty, before muttering, “She’s a particular type of mercenary, one might say. She finds people for money.”
Klaryah snorted and looked to Jack.
Jack sighed and said, “She’s an assassin.”
Klaryah curtsied from her seated position and Sidney felt the hairs on her arm stand up, though admittedly she was unsure whether that was due to the fact that she was a murderess or whether her jawline so sharp it could cut someone.
An irate pounding came to the door of the War Council, resounding throughout the room.
“This is a sealed meeting!” Amekot shouted over his shoulder.
The knocking only came sharper and harder and Sidney, mumbled, “For fuck’s sake.” She stood and opened to the door and shock blew over her face.
Michael walked into the room, his bow in his hand, looking more ragged than a corpse.
Jack tore to his feet, grabbing him by his arms as he looked him over. “You’re back! Where are the others, are you all okay?”
Michael nodded softly to the great, scarred man and said, “Oliver’s getting sorted at the med-bay. The others are eating and sleeping. I won’t go so far as to say we’re fantastic, but no one’s dead.”
Jack nodded emphatically and quietly signed, Is Rose okay?
Michael touched his arm fondly and nodded. “She’s got a story or two you probably don’t want to hear, but you’d be proud.”
Michael went to sit down before he noticed the woman at the end of the table, and how far away everyone else was sitting. He usually would have acknowledged the bizarre nature of this, but his legs were sore and his mind was dulled as he walked over to her and said, “I haven’t had the pleasure.”
Klaryah smiled sincerely and introduced herself and Michael found himself a chair, but before he could sit, Amekot cleared his throat and said, “I’m afraid this is still a War Council, Mister Williams, and it’s reserved for invited officials.”
Michael was half-way between sitting and standing as Jack glared at Amekot and bit, “The man just went on a spell-long venture in the fort’s name and undoubtedly sacrificed a lot, and you’re not even going to debrief him?”
Amekot combed his hair back in irritation and whispered to Jack, “We can’t very well discuss Nikereus in front of Klaryah, nor can we discuss Klaryah in front of the boy.”
Michael listened to the two of them bicker back and forth for a long second when he decided to turn toward Klaryah, who sat contently at the end of the table. “So, are you a huntress? Or a noblewoman? How worried should I be?”
Klaryah shook her head, chuckling inwardly, “No titles to speak of. I am a Legacy, and huntress of sorts, but I track people, not animals.”
Michael raised his brow. “You’re a hitwoman?”
“It might be more appropriate to say I’m The Hitwoman,” she said, giving him the smoothest wink he’d ever seen.
Michael raised his brow and sorely took his bow off his shoulder, spotting hers in the corner. “I’ve never heard anyone gloat about killing people for money.”
Klaryah frowned and leaned forward. “Most people aren’t as good at it as I am.”
Michael decided he was safest when his mouth was shut so he gave a polite shrug as she then leaned back in her seat and stretched out like a lioness.
The Hitwoman then watched while the two gentlemen grew louder at the far end of the table and idly raised her voice, calling down, “Fellas, I doubt that this young man’s situation and mine don’t intertwine, so we might as well all be filled in!”
Jack leaned back, smugly. “Thank you.”
Amekot pinched the bridge of his nose and turned to Michael, who sat with his arms folded. “Mister Williams. What do we need to know about your little venture?”
Michael ignored the slight and shrugged. “Not much. Oh, but you may be curious to know that Nikereus has the magic which we set out to find. And...” A voice echoed in Michael’s memory and his haughtiness fell away. “...It’s not the only piece of magic he’s using.”
Amekot leaned across the table. “What do you mean? The Immortal Flame?”
Michael gritted his teeth, searching his memory until finally, he recalled the Holorhi’s voice. He blinked and muttered, “Our venture took us to a portal, deep in the caves. It led us to the coastal cliffs of the Dark Lands, and a Merhoii city named Kavoe Farnea. Things went sour pretty quickly but... damn- what did he say?”
Sidney frowned and her darks eyes narrowed. “Who?”
Suddenly Michael’s eyes came aglow with Starfire and his power surged deep in his mind as the memory played out before him, startling the others in their seats.
Michael opened his eyes and he was back beneath the waves, in the dark chamber of the Holorhi, days before. He hovered over the pained sea-chieftain as the Dweller looked venomously up toward him.
When Michael spoke, however, his voice echoed through the chamber, before the others. The tone was croaking and dark and not his own.
“The Flame is not their only Gargan Magic. They hold something else. Something darker and more feral than anything that has been used in all four ages of your world. I almost didn’t believe Nikereus when they told me...”
As the words ended, Michael’s veins turned dark and he collapsed into his seat, coughing and wheezing as the starlight vanished from his steel-blue eyes.
Sidney’s tanned skin was pale as bone as she looked at Jack, only to find him equally astonished. She turned sharply back to Michael and smacked the table out of pure impatience as she yelled, “Wait, who said that and what else did they say? What magic were they talking about?”
Michael tasted blood in his mouth and muttered, “The Holorhi of Kavoe Farnea. He struck a bargain with the Monarch of Stone. We were interrupted by his household guard before he could say anything more.”
Klaryah, though slightly unnerved, maintained her sly disposition and asked, “How did you get him to divulge such information? The Merhoii are conservative people.”
Michael began lightly tracing the lines of his hand. “By doing some things I’d rather not have done. But more importantly, the chieftain confirmed that, yes, Nikereus has the immortal flame,” Michael said, directly to Amekot.
Jack shook his head and wanted to say, it’s impossible, but the truth had just come from the mouth of an honest-to-god oracle.
Jack swallowed his preconceived doubts and did all could do not to laugh with shock as he considered what pure Creation Magic would mean in the hands of their enemy. “Well. Okay. Alright, then.”
Michael waited for Amekot to speak but he seemed far away.
Jack followed his gaze and saw the man’s withered face. A part of him actually felt a touch sorry for the man, but all the rest of himself maintained its disdain. Just looking at his face for too long made him hear things deep in the corners of his mind. Before Jack became bombarded with the internal racket of swords and screaming, he took a deep breath and turned to Sidney.
“First thing in the morning, could you round up the fortress researchers and see what else we know about the flame?”
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Sidney nodded, and she idly picked up her steel quarterstaff, leaning onto it as she sat. “What other magic could the Holorhi have been talking about? I mean the Immortal Flame forces souls to stay in the realm of the living, and as such, the bodies of the dead reform each time they’re struck down. That one’s clear. What else are we missing?”
Jack ran his hands tiredly across his face and shrugged, glancing at Michael. “Did anything else odd stick out to you while you were all in there?”
Michael sighed and muttered, “Odd? Are you shitting me, Jack? Twelve hours in, a one-eyed-worm with tusks tried to eat me. Can you tell me where that lies on the Oddness Scale?”
Jack rolled his eyes and grumbled, “You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t think I do!” Michael said desperately. He felt his eyes growing hot with tears. “I can’t differentiate this weird from that weird!”
Jack sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“What was I supposed to do, inspect every monster marching shoulder to shoulder?”
Jack’s eyes shot open wide.
Michael kept ranting, oblivious, “I don’t recall you asking any of Nikereus’ soldiers if they were regular six-armed ogres made of stone when they first came from the cavern!”
Jack looked to Sidney but couldn’t form his words and she merely frowned. “Are you alright?”
Meanwhile, Michael was only picking up speed. “-but no, Michael is expected to know everything, even though he only showed up like two spells ago, and he wasn’t honour-bound to do anything! And, you forgot to tell Kresta we even left, so we were out there yelling for half an hour! Oli nearly threw himself in the goddamn moat!”
Amekot glanced up for the first time in minutes and saw the cogs turning in Jack’s head but seemed unable to articulate his thoughts.
“What are you thinking, McKennedy?” the Fortmaster asked, over the sound of Michael’s overtired monologue.
Jack stood from the table so suddenly that the backs of his legs knocked his chair over with a clatter. “We’re a bunch of god-damned fools.”
Michael stopped ranting and blinked as he said quite teary-eyed, “That’s mean and unhelpful.”
Without a word, Jack tore out of the room and Sidney sighed before pushing herself up and chasing him, followed swiftly by Amekot, Michael, and Klaryah, each with a tired groan.
The four of them dashed across the campgrounds after the scarred warrior and made directly for the Forges. They slipped inside to find Archie, Lain, and a second light-skinned young man with a crew-cut, all arguing passionately in Sign.
The red-headed blacksmith, Archie, saw Michael and yelled, “You guys lived! Is ev-everything okay?”
They didn’t stop to answer him as Jack was moving at an unapologetic speed, towing them all down into the Conjurement command room below.
Amekot finally slowed to a stop as he found Jack rummaging through piles of scrolls and panted, “McKennedy, what are we doing here?”
The others were busy catching their breath when Jack found what he was looking for and shouted with excitement, “Aha! Everyone, pay attention!” pointing to the battle-floor through the glass before them.
Jack spread out the scroll, displaying two separate incantations and slowly read the first one aloud, locking his eyes to a summoning-spot in the cavern.
Michael, Sidney, Klaryah, and Amekot all watched as a platoon of Obthraie warriors were summoned, materialising like hot breath on a mirror.
With no Legacies or combatants present in the cavern with them, the Obthraie seemed confused, immediately breaking ranks and investigating the space curiously. Each had their own small mannerisms, from twiddling their thirty fingers or speaking softly with one another, to growing upset at their uncertain surroundings and seeking a way out of the chamber.
Jack gestured at the illusionary-Creations through the tinted glass and said, “These are not real Obthraie, but they are based on real Obthraie. Hence their personalities.”
Amekot shrugged, immediately losing faith in Jack’s excitement. “And?”
Jack smiled wider than any of them knew he could and he stepped toward the Fortmaster. “These Obthraie are ‘feral’,” he said, making quote-marks with his fingers.
Sidney looked at him with concern. “Most feral Creations stay quite content when not hunting Legacies. We already knew that. Most don’t even care until they can sense us.”
Jack nodded all too much and turned to face the others. “Nikereus’ Obthraie didn’t. They stayed completely relaxed. And look, feral or not, they’d still bear some semblance of personality… So why didn’t they?”
Michael cast his memory back to the caverns. He remembered more clearly than anything how the Obthraie marched in complete lockstep. Even when they were captured, their movements were stiff and cold.
Michael glanced up to Jack, full of realisation. “When we trained with conjured Soiltorn, they were ravenous... But when they approached the fortress, they were almost...”
“Empty,” Sidney answered, her breath taken from her lungs.
Michael nodded darkly. “Every single one in the caverns was the same. Except...”
Jack was so sure he was right that his excitement slipped. “Except when?”
Michael turned to Jack and took the armoured man’s arms. “Except when Nikereus knew we’d gotten loose! They sent a battalion after us when we got away and it was like a frenzy. Whenever we fought, the creatures were either completely rabid or strangely sober. Like Nikereus could only command them to be one or the other...”
Sidney looked out to the room of summoned soldiers and couldn’t believe what she was about to say. “Because they’re bewitched... An entire army... bewitched, but somehow he’s not powerful enough, or knowledgeable enough, to fully control it.”
Jack shook his head and muttered, “Ten thousand Soiltorn is not an army... it’s an entire race. Nikereus bewitched an entire Creation-group.”
Amekot had fallen once more into a pit of the truest despair. He looked out over the group of idly bored Obthraie as though if he looked long enough, they might actually replace his real foe.
The assassin stood quietly as they spoke, and realised there was only one important question left as she glanced over an unimportant scroll. “How?”
Jack’s excitement dwindled and he sighed. “I don’t know. There’s no form of magic that I know of which can enchant so many people to such a degree. Even Arcancy wouldn’t be able to manage it.”
Amekot glanced at him and shrugged, speaking mostly to himself. “Depends on the Legacy.”
Sidney seemed to be playing the conversation over in their head and blinked at Michael. “Wait, did you say Nikereus took you all captive, earlier?”
“I suppose technically they captured us twice, but the second time it was only on Nikereus’ behalf...” Michael recalled, rubbing his eyes, finally feel the weight of his aching bones.
Klayrah looked at him sideways and muttered, “Long spell, huh?”
Amekot finally pulled himself out of his stupor and picked up the illusion scroll. After reading it under his breath, the Obthraie vanished from the Conjurement floor and Amekot sat himself down on the central table with a small grunt of effort. His eyes were deeply lined and only in the dim light of the room’s lanterns did it become apparent how distraughtly tired he was. He glanced up at Michael and forced his face into a neutral expression. “From the top, Mister Williams. Will you tell us what happened on your venture?”
Michael nodded and said, “Sure,” and slid down the wall onto the floor of the dusty room, wondering if his legs would ever recover. He looked up at Amekot’s sullen posh face, and a part of him chuckled. Poorer folk wore fatigue like an old cloak. It was still ugly but it was comfortable in an odd way. But the rich... well, it was like a wine stain on linen, and hardship couldn’t look more obvious.
*****
His story took some time, but by the end of it, Klaryah, Jack, and Sidney all gave a myriad of reactions and came to the same general conclusion, which was that Michael should get some sleep and that anything else could wait.
Well, everyone except Amekot.
The Fortmaster, despite Sidney begging him to let Michael sleep, implored Jack and Sidney to leave them alone, so he could discuss more dire events with Michael in private.
With a great deal of tired persuasion, Sidney dragged Jack out of the room and reassured him that Michael had just survived far worse than Amekot, and that they too needed sleep to be of any use to anyone.
With only Klaryah, perched lazily on the command desk reading old scrolls, and Amekot, sat in his creased suit, Michael knew there was only one thing they could be there to ask him about.
Amekot looked at him for a long moment and gave a long, thoughtful, “Hmmm,” before finally asking what he clearly wanted to. “Did you witness anything suspicious on your travels, Michael?”
Michael knew precisely what he meant, and if it hadn’t been clear before, the use of his first name made it so, and so he frowned with feigned ignorance. “I already went over this with Jack. I’m not sure what the difference is between odd and monstrously-odd.”
Amekot studied his face, and his own gave nothing away, but deep in his eyes, something glittered with amusement.
That look alone made Michael fight against his instinct to wring his fingers. Aristocrats were unfortunately good at a few things. Among those things was lying to others, and understanding when they’re being lied to. Still, Michael resisted the urged and shrugged innocently. “Why do you ask?”
Amekot gave his toothy, performative grin and said, “Sorry.” The word, clear and cold, implying, I know you know what I mean. “Did you see anything suspicious among your company?”
Michael let himself smile a touch and gestured lazily to the door up the staircase. “That’s why you asked Jack to leave, huh?”
Amekot’s practised smile flickered and he muttered, “That tired old rebel gets up in arms about anything.”
Michael fought back a protective reply and a long moment passed, by which point he realised he was still waiting on an answer. “No. I didn’t see anything suspicious.”
Amekot glanced at Klaryah and the bored woman merely smiled and nodded.
Michael frowned at the assassin and suddenly felt his heart tick. “What’s going on here?”
Amekot brushed his question off and proceeded. “Not even Mister Andevār?”
Michael knew he was out of the loop somewhere, but he was unsure how. He blinked and felt his performer’s charm fall away as he anxiously said, “No, as much as I hate to admit it, even Magnus was okay. I mean he can be an asshole, but that’s hardly a crime. Why?”
Amekot glanced to the assassin again and the woman nodded, letting out a great yawn, like an artist being forced to draw stick figures.
Michael knew their line of questioning was connected to the spy, but he wasn’t supposed to know, and letting that fact loose would not only endanger his credibility but potentially get Jack in a great deal of trouble. He sat there under Amekot’s amused gaze for a moment, realising that he could just say something about the red-eyed Paladin, and all doubt would be removed from them.
“Did something happen?” Michale ventured.
Amekot had waited for a long minute and smiled as he said, “Well, call it a security breach, I suppose. Nothing too dreadful, but it would make sense if someone in your party had been involved, given the timing of everything. So, you’re sure? No one kept disappearing for odd moments? No one seemed to vanish while you all had your backs turned?”
Michael rolled his eyes and pushed himself up off the floor, but even as he put on his actor’s mask and muttered, “I think we would’ve noticed,” he remembered at least twice when one person in their company just casually happened not to be around. A few, when that person decided not to join them. And countless times when he actively and sincerely wanted to leave the rest of them for dead.
His mind then gently said, The same one who pulled you out of the water?
Amekot’s eyes watched and waited hungrily for him to continue, only for Michael to dust off his hands and look him sharply in the face.
Deep in the dark of his mind, a part of him said, Magnus would never know you told.
But you would, another muttered.
Michael tasted the thought in between his teeth and swallowed it, before simply saying, “Sir, I wasn’t watching everyone every second of that mission. Probably because you chose not to inform us, in the full knowledge someone dangerous might’ve been among us.”
Amekot and Michael locked eyes for a long cold moment, and the fire in Michael burned resolute. Finally the Fortmaster nodded, slightly off-balance and Michael fought the urge to break into a bitter smile.
“Get some rest, Michael. Thank you for your time.”
Michael walked up the steps and out the door, and the moment it swung closed with a soft boom, echoing about the room, Amekot’s face melted into irritation as he raised his brow sharply at Klaryah.
The assassin sat, shaking her head with a wide smile on her face. “I’m impressed.”
Amekot scowled and stood, buttoning his jacket. “So, what? Was he lying?”
Klaryah stared at the doors Michael had left through and muttered, “He didn’t have to,” allowing her idle Arcancy to rest now that the interrogation was over.
Amekot bit down on his anger and stared out into the dark cavern of the Conjurement.
Klaryah watched him for a moment before asking, “I know that’s not the only reason I’m here, is it Amey? I mean come on, that boy is a reader, not a traitor.”
When the Fortmaster finally looked back toward her, his face was full of hard desperation, ignoring her last statement completely. “How much will it cost for you to stay?” He laid his hands flat on the table and looked her seriously in the face.
Klaryah still perused the endless mound of scrolls, scrawled with spell-words. “This is a war and I’m not a soldier.”
Amekot closed his eyes gravely and felt how cold the room had become. When he opened them again, the assassin had silently gotten down from the command bench and found a small bottle of Ahuran sweetwine, hidden behind a stack of books.
She uncorked the bottle and gently smelled the bouquet, before glancing back to him. “On the other hand. This is my home, so to speak.”
Amekot stepped toward her and asked desperately, “Meaning?”
The woman sighed, looking into the depths of the bottle, and with her off-hand felt some morning stubble beginning to shade her jawline. “Meaning, I didn’t come all this way just to see what kind of a shit-show you’re in.”
Amekot breathed out in sharp relief as he took her hands and he couldn’t bring himself to look up again. “You do know what that means.”
Klaryah looked down as the tired, bent commander, and said gravely, “I understand, old friend. If everything goes terribly, then that’s it. There’ll be no one coming to save us. You’re asking me to roll the dice for no other reason than because I can.”
“That’s right,” Amekot said, standing upright once more as the cycles returned to his eyes as quickly as they’d left.
Klaryah looked over the sorry commander and softly touched a patch of his greying beard. “Okay, Amey. Why not,” she breathed and took a deep glug from the neck of the bottle as the lantern light flickered weakly in the dark. “Let’s dance with Harmonia, shall we?”