49. Orders of the Morta #2
Four more of Lord Haron’s massive Morta had just rampaged into the Great Hall, all swiping limbs and snarling black maws.
Blue fire whooshed as weapons were swung, lighting up the grim faces of their wielders.
One of the Morta let out an ear-splitting screech; it thrashed and flailed as it was overtaken, its antlers tangling with a chandelier.
Plaster rained down from the ceiling, followed by the chandelier itself, which crashed into the marble tiles with a spray of hot wax and rubies.
Tablecloths caught fire, the flames spreading rapidly along pools of spilled alcohol.
Then the Morta was toppling, too. It collapsed with a wet crunch of bone and flesh, crushing a table with such violent force that the wood cracked and splintered, glassware shattering and showering everywhere.
Valiant knights clambered over the felled beast, using its body as a plateau as they waged their attack against the five remaining abominations and the Mighty and Lawful Knights stepping in to defend them.
Warner swore again, echoed by Lee, their voices mostly breath.
Faren swallowed thickly, horror clogging his throat. What a mess. What a fucking mess.
At the opposite end of the hall, standing atop his feast table, Lord Haron—flanked by a litany of loyal guards—shouted incomprehensible orders at the room.
Oderin was now shoving his way toward the fight, too, bellowing for his regiment to attack, but the Fenriran knights who weren’t helping with the crowd or already defending the Lord’s Morta were hesitating, clearly conflicted.
Meanwhile, the Great Hall was emptying, with nobles scrambling to escape through the side passages, and Mighty Knights beckoning them out.
Faren’s family—green-clad in a sea of Fenriran bronze and crimson—was among the press of bodies, jostled but still seemingly alright.
Yet as he watched them make their way toward the servants’ doors, the line began to slow, then eddy.
Screams filled the outside passageways, with blue light filling the thresholds from the dark halls beyond.
Valiant Knights. Barring the nobility’s exit.
Heris’s words rang in Faren’s mind: The realm could use fewer nobles.
Faren was powerless as black breastplates appeared in the doorways. Innocents were cut down. Mighty and Lawful Knights tried to fight back, to clear the path for the civilians to escape, but the Valiant had the advantage and held them at bay. Held them all trapped in here.
Faren didn’t know what direction to go. He spotted Kate and Beatrice in the mass of penned nobles, guiding their family members away from the doors and behind a dining table turned on its side.
Mighty Knights swarmed, helping nobles take cover.
For now, that would have to be enough for Faren, because Archer Loth was currently shouldering his way toward the action at the other end of the room, foolishly determined and unafraid to face the Morta.
Ahead of him, his knights cried out for battle and gurgled with the agony of death as the abominations struck them down.
The battle couldn’t leave the Great Hall. Not if they wanted the kingdom to remain intact.
“To Archer!” Faren reiterated to his friends.
“I’ll cover you,” Lee said, hopping up onto one of the nearby tabletops.
He drew two arrows from his quiver and—after a beat of hesitation, a short cough—he shot them in quick succession, sinking them deep into the fleshy shoulder of one of the Morta.
The creature threw its head back and shrieked, knocking another ruby-crusted chandelier down with an ear-splitting crash.
But before Faren and Warner could advance, Lee sank to his knees with a grunt. Faren spun around, thinking his friend might’ve been hit by an arrow, himself, but Lee was scratching at his throat.
His Oath.
Lee had shot at Lord Haron’s Morta, and it had broken his Oath. Which meant that harming the Morta went directly against Lord Haron’s orders.
Red liquid dribbled out of Lee’s mouth as he gagged on the magic.
“Lee, are you—” Faren began, then caught a whiff of sour fruit. It wasn’t blood that Lee had coughed up, but vomit, colored burgundy from the wine he’d drank with dinner. “Lee, say something,” Faren demanded.
Atop the table on his hands and knees, Lee met Faren’s gaze, his eyes glassy with pain and confusion. The tattoo on his neck was no longer a perfect black ring: a gap had formed at the hollow of his throat. “Fuck,” he groaned. “Fuck, it hurts.”
“Lee—”
“Do what you can,” Lee interrupted, spitting more bile onto the tablecloth. “I’ll recover. Go.”
Faren and Warner made eye contact and nodded. Then they were climbing over toppled chairs, avoiding spilled wine, and trampling spilled cakes, making their way toward the battle.
“What can we do?” Warner asked. “Should we break our Oaths? Should we—” He broke off and glanced back at Lord Haron, who was still spewing demands from his perch at the head of the room. “Should we?” Warner asked meaningfully.
Faren felt his Oath magic flare painfully inside his veins at the mere implication—the mere thought—of harming Lord Haron. “I…” He trailed off, searching the chaos.
Lothgaimian knights were fighting the Morta, while the Fenriran knights were split—some of them attacking the Valiant, some loitering, some choking like Lee.
Faren had no idea how long it would take to recover from a broken Oath, especially one as powerful and binding as the Mighty’s; if he were to break his, he would have to time it well.
But he was getting ahead of himself. You’re loyal to the realm, Faren thought firmly. Do what you can for the realm.
Faren looked to the double doors again. Oderin was fighting alongside Archer, now—or, rather, he was keeping Archer protected while Archer fought the Morta.
Beyond them, in the outer hallway, a glimmer of golden armor and red flame caught Faren’s attention: Kurt, the Mighty Knight that Faren had stationed at the Library of Ledgers.
He’d been explicitly ordered to remain in the underground tunnels unless Mariana showed up, which meant…
Faren’s heart leapt at the confirmation that Mariana was in the castle, and perhaps still alright—then sank as the Valiant’s plot came into focus. Heris had sent Mariana to steal the Ledger of the Sovereign, just as Faren had guessed, but now he knew why.
“Fuck.” Faren searched the commotion. Where was Heris? Where was Mariana?
“What is it?” Warner asked, his sword drawn and alight with Mighty flame.
Faren spotted Heris free of his chains and sneaking toward the head of the room. This wasn’t just about killing Lord Haron. If Heris truly was an heir to the Fenriran throne, all he needed to install himself as Lord was the Ledger and—
“Change of plans. Get to the ledgermasters,” Faren said, pointing to where the two poor ledgermasters were huddled among a pile of silk pillows behind Lord Haron’s toppled throne.
He and Warner broke into a run, sprinting down the center of the Great Hall.
“Why the ledgermasters?” Warner panted, pumping his arms.
Faren’s boots crunched on broken glass and squelched on spilled food. “Heris is going to force them to—”
“Go, go, go!” A voice echoed from one of the servants’ corridors up ahead.
The crowd of nobles began bottlenecking and clearing through one of the exits.
Faren’s family hurried out from behind their table, heads bowed as they raced for their escape.
His parents, Rown, Kate, Beatrice, and Persephone all cleared the doorway, disappearing to what Faren hoped was safety.
But Eva—Eva tripped on her dress. She went down, disappearing among the throng.
Faren’s chest seized, and he ran harder, calling her name. He could see her pale green form crumpled on the marble, scrambling to stand and failing as other guests clambered past her. Over her.
Warner made a beeline for the ledgermasters while Faren redirected toward the panicked nobles—toward his baby sister. But before he could get there, he spotted another figure in the crowd, fighting against the stampede to help Eva.
A black breastplate.
A mass of dark hair.
Mariana, at last.