26. To Whom Are You Loyal?
To Whom Are You Loyal?
Faren
It was the same ghastly fucker they’d encountered in Yar.
Faren could tell by the missing limbs and the oozing wounds on its torso and thigh.
Knowing this was the Morta he’d faced and failed to kill—that it was, indeed, his fault that Orna and Pete and the citizens of Brine had suffered—brought up a great tide of guilt inside him.
It swamped his confidence, making him falter.
“Don’t think of the past,” Mariana said. “Focus on what you can do now.” Then she was racing down the hill toward the abomination, her sword ablaze in blue.
Faren wondered how many times she’d told herself the same thing as he broke into a run, igniting his swords with a flash of red flames.
Then they were upon it, shouting and slashing.
Faren had forgotten how huge the monster was, how fearsome.
Ten feet tall, at least, with sloughing gray skin, black veins, long teeth, and sharp claws.
Moonlight and shadow carved out its elongated form, making odd shapes of its antlers and exposed bones.
Faren fought every instinct to flee, crowding the creature as Mariana had advised.
Sparring with her had helped him improve his close proximity fighting.
With his big frame, he wasn’t as deft or practiced as she was, but he felt more equipped this time.
With quick feet and precise cuts, he tangled the Morta in its own limbs—only to leap back, giving Mariana an opening to strike.
They made a formidable pair, each taking turns with the attack to form a constant barrage on their enemy.
Where Faren was ungainly with the unfamiliar fighting style, Mariana’s movements were fluid and exact.
Caustic blood splattered the grass, melting the frost with a hiss.
Faren felt the heat of her sword, heard the whoosh of the flames when they switched places again.
He fought with a backhand grip on Mercy, managing slices to the crook of the creature’s elbow and two of the spidery limbs protruding from its torso.
It howled, lashing out, made clumsy by rage.
Faren took the opportunity to slash its belly, opening a thin black line in its pallid skin. The monster managed a retaliatory strike on his breastplate, but its claws bounced off the metal, repelled by the Oath magic. Black blood splattered Faren’s hands as it whirled, about to try again.
“Disengage!” Mariana ordered. “I need a distraction!”
This time, Faren did as he was told, ducking out from another wild swipe of the monster’s claws.
He flourished his swords in great arcs of red, drawing the Morta’s attention.
He took a step back, then another, glancing between the Morta and Mariana lurking at its back.
She held Windthorn in one hand and a vial in the other. Dark liquid sloshed inside the glass.
She trusted him, after all. He didn’t have time to relish it.
The Morta was snarling at Faren, bending forward to stalk him on all fours. Years of training allowed him to compartmentalize his terror, to see clearly through the haze of adrenaline in spite of his body screaming run.
“When I move,” Mariana called, “go for its face.”
Faren barely had a chance to nod before Mariana uncorked the bottle with her teeth and lunged for the creature’s haunches. He charged the Morta, swords swinging, but before he could get there, something collided with his shoulder, knocking him to the ground. Not a claw-tipped arm, like in Yar, but—
—a body. Another man.
The two of them went down with a clatter of breastplates and weapons, the hard ground punching the air from Faren’s lungs.
The man clambered, hands grabbing, his weight keeping Faren down.
Mariana screamed—not in fear this time, but anger.
Moonlight winked off the glass as Mariana splashed the potion over a gaping wound in the Morta’s hind leg.
The monster wailed and fell sideways, limbs convulsing—
Fingers clawed at Faren’s face, blocking his view, threatening to gouge out his eyes. He bucked his hips, knocking his attacker off his body. The man jumped to his feet, brandishing an axe in blue flame. A Valiant Knight.
Faren kicked his feet, scrambling backward.
His swords had fallen out of reach, somewhere in the grass behind him.
The man lifted his axe over Faren, and for a moment he couldn’t quite believe the audacity.
He was a Mighty Knight. He outranked this man.
He’d been fighting the monster—why had that warranted an attack?
The man hefted his weapon, ready to bring it down—but then Mariana appeared, meeting the newcomer’s strike with her sword.
She leaned into the block, wrenching the axe clean out of the man’s hand, sending it skidding across the ground.
Faren possessed a deep respect for good fighting, but it was embarrassing how many times Mariana had saved his ass.
But he was not entirely helpless.
Faren sprang to his feet, balled his fists, and punched the man in the mouth. The Valiant Knight stumbled backward with a grunt. Mariana pointed her sword at his neck, keeping him back. Faren was about to chastise the man for daring to threaten a Mighty Knight—
—then he heard a clink. Behind Faren, another black-clad knight had arrived, wielding a vicious-looking flail.
“Mariana,” Faren said, putting his back to her so that each of them faced one of the newcomers. “What’s going on?”
“Attack him, and Brom dies,” Mariana stated—sounding not alarmed, but displeased.
The man with the flail frowned. “Close your eyes,” he ordered.
It took Faren a moment to realize that the knight meant him. He heard a crack of bone and glanced to the side, catching sight of the Morta, slumped in the trampled grass not far from where they stood. Its legs were jerking, breaking.
Transforming.
“Ey,” the man with the flail said. He lifted the handle, causing the chain to clink again, and the spiked ball on the end to swing menacingly. “No peeking.”
“Uh, Castor?” said the other man.
Faren dared a glimpse over his shoulder to see his original attacker—Brom, Mariana had called him—holding his arms up, with the tip of Mariana’s sword tucked under his jaw. Moonlight reflected on his bald head.
“You know I don’t like to repeat myself, Castor,” Mariana threatened.
Castor’s lip curled, revealing a chipped tooth. He lifted his flail a little higher. “Neither does the boss.”
More cracking from Faren’s left. He spotted a hand—human, no longer claw tipped—but then Castor rattled his weapon, demanding Faren’s attention.
“Ah, ah,” Castor warned. “What did I say about peeking?”
Faren was getting annoyed. He saw Mercy and Honor lying in the grass just past Castor, and wondered now if it was worth rushing the man, retrieving his swords, and engaging in a proper brawl.
He decided to try de-escalation, first. Surrounded by criminals, someone had to be reasonable.
“You really want to threaten a Mighty Knight?” Faren asked.
“What do you think got me sentenced in the first place?” Castor spat.
A squeal came from behind Faren. “Fuck!” Brom hissed through his teeth. “She fucking cut me!”
“I’ll do it again if Castor doesn’t stand down,” Mariana said.
Castor narrowed his eyes at Faren. “He knows too much. Seen too much.” He took a menacing step closer. Faren kept his hands raised, body braced. Hand fighting against flail wasn’t ideal, but he knew he could take this shithead. The man reeked of mediocrity. “’Sides, he’s outnumbered,” Castor added.
“He is not,” Mariana said.
“Ow, ow, ow!” Brom wailed.
“Remember your place, you disloyal bitch,” Castor snarled, and fuck de-escalation.
Faren barreled into Castor’s breastplate, knocking the man down before he had a chance to lift his cumbersome weapon. In seconds, Faren had the other man pinned with a dagger against his jugular. “Don’t you ever fucking speak to her like that again.”
Castor’s broad forehead crinkled. Then he laughed. “Ah, I see,” he said. “It’s not her loyalty I ought to be questioning.”
Faren angled his dagger, poking until blood beaded. “What are you doing here?”
“Just keeping your lady in line,” Castor taunted.
Faren heard a swift thunk, then a thud. He didn’t look away from Castor’s beady eyes. “Is fighting a Morta not a part of her duty—and yours?”
“‘…and the safe keeping of its secrets,’” Castor recited.
Faren leaned into the blade, causing more blood to well from Castor’s neck. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder, bidding him to stop.
Mariana. The moon loomed behind her, veiling her face in shadow. “We need to go.”
Brom was on the ground, rubbing his temple, looking dazed.
“Yes,” Castor growled. “Go.”
“What’s going on?” Faren asked.
Mariana dipped her chin, eyes sliding toward the monster.
It was slumped in the grass—but it was no longer an abomination. Its body had changed, shrunk. It now resembled a man, but not quite.
Shock cracked through Faren like a whip. “Fates,” he breathed, turning back to Mariana. “What the fuck?”
Her voice was soft, quavering. “We need. To go.”
Castor wrenched out of Faren’s grasp and shoved him off. When he stood, blood slid from his neck into his filthy shirt. He spat in the grass. “Remember your loyalty, Mariana. Remember your task.”
“Remember yours,” she retorted sharply. “Those citizens, that town could’ve—”
“We had it well in hand.”
“Did you?” Faren asked. “Because from what I saw—”
“Stay out of it, gold brute,” Castor snarled.
Faren took a menacing step toward the other man—only for Mariana to bar his progress. She grasped his wrist, right where his vambrace gave way to bare skin. Her touch made his magic skitter, like sparks zipping off two blades colliding.
That’s what they were, weren’t they? Two swords, clashing.
“Don’t,” she whispered, her tone hard, but in it, a plea. “Don’t.”
Faren mastered himself. The sight of the Morta—so different, now—made him feel like the earth was eroding beneath his feet. What even was his duty in the face of this?
“Good dog,” Castor said with a smirk.
“I wouldn’t push him,” Mariana warned.
In spite of their standoff, Faren smothered a grin at her comment. She pushed him more than anyone else.
“You have business in Waldron,” Castor said to Mariana. “Or have you forgotten your place?”
It was an echo of what Faren had overhead from her leader, a similar threat in a different voice.
Mariana shook her head once. “I have not. I’ll go. But you clean up this fucking mess. You don’t want me distracted? Then don’t give me a reason.”
Behind them, Brom groaned, then threw up.
Castor made a disgusted face at his crony, then stepped closer to Mariana, looming over her with little effect other than the slight wrinkle of her nose. Castor jutted his chin at Faren. “What of him? He seems like a reason.”
“Don’t worry about him,” Mariana said. “His loyalty doesn’t lie where you think.”
As Mariana and Faren left the scene, hurrying away from the Valiant Knights and the strange being still curled in the frosty grass, her words clanged through Faren like a sword strike to his breastplate.
Where did his loyalty lie?
As a Mighty Knight, he was faithful to the realm first—but it was becoming clear that there was quite a bit of nuance between the realm as a concept and what it meant to protect it.
He no longer knew what cause deserved his sword, his devotion.
Not when monsters were turning into men at the drop of some unknown potion.
The foundation upon which Faren had built his life and future was crumbling, and Mariana—for better or worse—was the harbinger of the wreckage.
Faren wanted to curse her for it. He wanted to drop to his knees before her and ask her what he should do next.
He wanted to forget this night ever happened.
They were almost back to town—a pale purple glow illuminating the east—when Mariana piped up. “I just said it to get him off our backs.”
“Of course,” Faren replied stiffly.
“I have business in Waldron,” she said. “You don’t have to—”
“I’m coming with you.”
He told himself that it was for the sake of his mission, to uncover what the Valiant were planning and learn more about what he’d seen tonight. Mariana was letting him in on her plot, and it was his duty to learn as much as he could.
But as dirt turned to cobblestones beneath their feet, he wondered: Where did his loyalty now lie?