Chapter Ninety-Five

Bleeding Hearts

Jack watched as the tide turned around him. He raised his weapons to the first few creatures on either side of himself but soon realised they had no intention of fighting him.

The flying creatures screeched and launched into the sky, chased by arrows, crossbow bolts, and flashes of Arcancy. Those below fled for the walls or returned to the Murk.

A handful of Legacies ran down the stragglers while everyone else checked on the state of the wounded, to find, miraculously, there was no one dead and the few with serious injuries were already being rushed to the med-bay.

The doors of the keep flew open and Amekot strode out into the forum with Kresta and Francis, looking to the riotous forum before him. He scanned the mess until his eye fell on Oliver and Jack.

Oliver quickly turned to Jack and he was startled to see him making eye contact before Oliver loudly said, “My memory’s still hazy but I need you to know I did it-”

Jack said, “Quietly, damn-it!”

Oliver hushed his voice and continued, “I did do it. I just don’t know how. You have to believe me. It was me but… it wasn’t. I didn’t mean to.”

Jack could feel Amekot’s eyes on him and did all he could not to show it as he spoke, “I know.”

Oliver’s face warped with confusion. “Jack, I had to deafen myself to stop the voices. I can’t hear you.”

Jack wanted to wrap the young man in a hug but the Fortmaster was now storming down into the forum toward him as the gathering of Legacies all came to realise Oliver was present. He leant in a close as he dared and spoke as clearly as he could.

“We think someone altered your mind with Dark Arcancy. Do you know if that's true?”

“Yes. I think it was Amekot. His voice was in my head, drowning damn thoughts. I don’t know how… and no one’s going to believe it wasn’t me,” Oliver mumbled, a deep look of fear in his eye as the Legacies began to collect around them. He then looked back at Jack softly and said, “Wait... ‘we’? Whose ‘we’?”

Jack let the barest hint of a shrug pass his shoulders. He mumbled something too quiet to hear but Oliver read it on his lips. Guess.

A tear fell slowly from Oliver’s eye and he thanked all the gods he didn’t believe in.

Francis and Kresta moved toward them with a small squadron of guards and their weapons drawn, only just an inch out of earshot in the storm.

Jack grabbed Archie and said, “Buy me ten seconds from Francis and Kresta.”

Archie nodded, turned and walked straight into the Captain and Kresta like he wasn’t paying attention. When they tried to shove him aside, Archie shoved back and shouted, “You have some bloody nerve showing up after the damn battle! Who on Draendica do you think you are, huh?”

Jack took the moment of distraction and said into Oliver’s ear, “Stay silent around Amekot until the last moment. We’ll find the proof, but if you speak now, they’ll assume it was an act, and hang you for certain.”

Oliver looked sunken in his heart as he sealed his lips again and cast one last soft look to Archie as Amekot pushed past Archie.

“Oliver Jacobs! Just the convicted man I was dying to see. Have you seen our monument to you just yet?” Amekot asked, nodding to the tall, dark hanging station standing up before the tables.

Oliver had to resist his burning curiosity and feigned his drunken state once more as he lulled his eyes toward the device. The rope swung in the dark breeze and his stomach turned cold.

Jack saw the young man’s face about to break and turned to the Fortmaster. “Nice of you to join us, Hillborn. But I’ve got to say, ‘fashionably late’ doesn’t work for a goddamn battle.”

An irate chatter flowed through the crowd in agreement as Amekot’s satisfied smirk fell away. He turned to Jack and bit back, “Tell me, Warden, how is it that your entire facility failed so greatly all at once?”

Jack doubled down on his lie and stepped angrily toward Amekot. “I warned you. Warned you never to fill the Murk past our capacity to deal with it. And especially not to have One-Lever all-access system. I’ll bet my arm and armour that the emergency lever is responsible for this. And that’s on you.” Jack got a certain smug amount of joy from telling the truth and lying at the same time.

The two commanders stared at each other for a long moment before Amekot huffed and looked over the great array of Legacies still stood in the space between the keep and the Arena. He then turned and smiled at Oliver, muttering, “Seeing as we’re all here, why don’t we deliver our promised judgement?”

Oliver glanced at Jack and the warrior turned pale behind his visor.

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“Francis, bring this treasonous coward to the platform. Don’t rush. I want him to feel the weight of each step,” Amekot said, looking Oliver square in the face.

The shackled swordsman gritted his teeth with his head bowed.

Francis towed him through the muck and grime as the entire courtyard went silent, watching them trudge toward the hanging station in the distance.

Oliver glanced around to see Jack struggling to keep his feet, as well as Sidney, Flinn, the rangers, and blacksmiths, all strangled in uncertainty.

None of them understood what was happening, but a lingering doubt was fresh in their minds. They’d all just seen Oliver throw himself into that battle bare-fisted, unarmoured, with some of the most dangerous creatures on Draendica only to spare a friend. And they were supposed to believe he’d sold them all out to Nikereus on little more than a whim.

Oliver glanced at each of them when he could spare the moment to do so, and every step felt so unreal, as though he were living out a dream.

Francis tugged him once more and Oliver wrenched her back in response. She blinked in shock and he looked up to her sharply, certain only she could hear him. “I can damn-well walk on my own, Fran.”

*****

Rose and Sarah dropped into the archive hall beneath the library and stalked their way along to the dark, steel door at the end of the passage.

Sarah planted her hands on the entryway only to find it jammed stuck. She reared her foot and kicked it hard in the centre, but the portal didn’t so much as shift, leaving her with a slightly dead leg.

Rose saw the veins tickling in Sarah’s muscled arms before she stepped up and said, “How ‘bout I do this one? Share the load a little?”

Sarah let the flames sputter out and stepped back, nodding. Dim and far away, the noise of the warfare still raged and the noblewoman prayed they’d gotten away with the racket they’d been making.

Rose let a river of green light surge into her palms as she knelt and pushed them against the stone of the floor, sending a hard thrum of energy into the foundations of the corridor.

Sarah glanced about the door as deep cracks snapped beneath the metal, splintering out chucks of rock while the veins in Rose’s neck began to glow.

The entryway creaked and warped as thick, green roots sprouted beneath the bottom of the door, forcing their way out and coiling around into the hinges. Before long, the entire panel of steel groaned and concaved inward, letting light spill from the room.

Rose let the light die in her veins and she stood upright as the door, now wrapped in tendrils, toppled inward with a church-bell’s gong as it crashed to the floor.

The two warriors stepped carefully into the room and both went white with shock.

“Michael!” Rose yelled and dove to the young man’s side. He was crumpled on the floor, opposite Klaryah, looking groggily up to them both with a dark bruise colouring much of her eye.

Michael looked paler than bone with a broken arrow stuck out from the meat of his collar. His torso was wet with blood and much of the ground he sat on was pooled crimson too. Michael looked up and weakly took Rose’s hand. “You found me.”

Rose looked at him, trembling, before she glanced at the arrow then to the hitwoman with her bow sprawled on the floor. As she grabbed for her wand in anger, Michael snatched her hand and winced in pain. “Stop! She was mind coaxed.”

Sarah stood over the lot of them with her hand tightly clenching the handle of her sword. She glared at the assassin and gritted her teeth before kneeling beside her friend. “She’s not a great shot, is she?” she muttered, nodding to the arrow-fragment high in his shoulder.

Rose tried to help him into a better sitting position as he groaned and winced, “No- please! Let me sit. Let me sit.” He breathed out the anguish and a tear rolled down his cheek as he glanced to the assassin, sitting silently with the welt on her face. “Sorry I hit you so hard.”

Rose and Sarah both went wide-eyed with incredulousness as the assassin looked over the group and chuckled before picking up one of the splintered, wooden legs. “Should’a hit me harder, lad, I was trying to kill you. If Amekot hadn’t bewitched me so sloppily I might’ve done it too.”

Michael pushed himself up and immediately felt faint. “Sloppily?”

Klaryah gingerly touched the bruise on her face, seemingly fighting back a bout of sickness from the concussion. “Arcancies all have their degrees. Dark Tongue can influence people with pure words, but he has to be specific or it can be disastrous. If the victim’s mind can misinterpret the command, any number of things can happen. He clearly took his time with your friend, if what you say is true, ensuring he couldn’t so much as raise a word to defend himself.”

At the mention of Oliver, Michael looked sharply the others. “What time is it?”

A dark realisation washed over Sarah as she listened out, unable to hear any disturbances above. “It’s got to be close to sunrise. Michael, do you know anything at all that could sway the Legacies up there?”

Michael nodded to Klaryah, forcing himself to his knees only to crumble into Rose’s arms, on the verge of blacking out in pain.

The hitwoman unsteadily got to her feet and planted her hands on the wall, instantly bending at the waist to keep from vomiting. She breathed heavily and then mutedly shook her head. “I take it back, you definitely hit me hard enough.” She then dug a small scrap of parchment from her worn, traveller’s cloak and handed it shakily to Rose.

“Help him up, honey,” Rose said to Sarah, transferring Michael’s weight to her and unravelling the note.

“Klaryah Quick,

You are tasked with eliminating Michael Williams by any means possible.

You will be paid upon completion of this task, a total sum of fifteen Gold Opems.”

Rose turned the note over in confusion. “It’s not signed. Even the handwriting is bland and messy. This could be anyone’s.”

Sarah hooked her muscled arms under Michael and apologised softly as she helped him to his feet. He groaned and took the letter from Rose, grunting as they made their way toward the door. “No. Not just anyone’s. Trust me one last time.”

The tanned Archangel looked at him tensely as they stepped into the hall. “And if you’re wrong? Michael, Oliver’s life is at stake here.”

Michael wanted to go back for his bow but knew he was in no condition to wield it. The pain in his left arm was still flaring and only his right was free to move. Rose began aiding him through the hallway, and even with their help, every step made him want to crumple.

“If it doesn’t go the way I hope then you might need that sword, Sarah, because one way or another, whether this fort believes me or not, that man is going to get what’s coming.”

The look in his eye was hollow and faraway as he pictured Amekot’s broad grin. His blood-covered hands clenched the metal bars of the ladder and slowly he pulled himself up, fueled by the feral rage in his bones. And with every rung he climbed, he felt Carter’s dagger pressing against the small of his back and had to fight to leave it there.