Chapter 25 The 64th Jam Convention of Warshire （and Public ution of Thirty Rebels） #3
The rebels were horrifying: smeared in blood red from head to toe, growling and wailing and gnashing their jaws, hoisting their sharp weapons up high towards the heavens. “The dead!” the crowd was shouting. “He’s brought back the dead!”
Many of the soldiers had reared back as traumatic memories flew to their minds.
They were shoving aside onlookers who were unsure whether to flee or cheer, for word of Bernard the Necromancer had spread to all corners of the kingdom by now, and they all knew he’d evaded Morfran’s slaughter and was enacting vengeance upon the evil forces of the land.
“Shoot him down!” the executioner was screeching as rebels caked in “blood” (really, it was Morfran’s favorite cherry jam) swarmed the soldiers or began rescuing the rebels in the gallows. Brim was at Hugh’s side, trying to use the tip of his sword to open the lid of Bronwen’s barrel.
In the chaos of most everyone fleeing, Morfran glanced up at his throne to see Ravana evacuating the stadium row, her expression pale and intense. She looked down at the field only once. Their eyes met.
“Shoot him, now!”
An arrow struck Morfran so hard it knocked him clean off the cart. He hit the ground flat on his back, pain lancing deep into his chest.
“Bernard!”
Bodies knelt beside him moments later; Brim and his two children, all wearing looks of deep concern. Bronwen was covered in raspberry preserves, her white gown stained red. She was holding his new sword. They’d gotten her out.
He tried to rise. Raw agony dragged its fingers across his chest, up his neck, and down his stomach. He set his head back down and groaned, “That’s not a shoulder wound, is it?”
Bronwen was white, fingering the arrow. “It’s near your heart.” She looked up at her father and brother. “We need Grandfather Tortoise. Now.”
“I’ll get him.” Hugh was already up and vanishing into the crowd.
“This isn’t an arrow,” Brim muttered. “It’s a crossbow bolt.” His eyes darkened. “Gueldefore.”
“He’s here?” Bronwen asked, before letting out a frustrated huff. “I’m sorry. I should have been standing in front of you. I was trying to open the barrel. I couldn’t. The hex, it jammed the lid—”
“Not your fault,” Morfran choked out, then just shut his eyes. Her hex was his fault. It was all his fault.
The pain was welling up inside him, bolting through every limb. It hurt to even take a breath. All around him he heard chaos. People screaming. Metal clanging against metal. Boots slapping the ground as many fled.
Finally, Hugh returned. But not with Grandfather Tortoise.
“You brought Drezella into the middle of battle?” Bronwen snapped, incredulous. “What were you thinking? She’s a little girl!”
“I couldn’t find Grandfather Tortoise,” Hugh countered. “No one can. That octogenarian probably bumbled off into a hole somewhere. But Drezella’s his apprentice, and—”
“How did you even get here?” Bronwen demanded of her.
“I hid in one of the carts,” Drezella started, and when Brim began to protest, she added, “I need to be here! I can help! That’s what a Fleet Foot does! We’re helpful in any possible way—”
“You’re going right back to camp,” Brim said.
The little girl huffed, shoving past them both to kneel beside Morfran. She scooped the Special Paste out of a satchel and hesitated. Then she said apologetically, “I can’t heal you, Bernard, if the bolt is still in you.”
Damn this. He couldn’t sit around any longer while The Plan went forward.
He needed to help. Brim needed to help his men open the gates to allow Reginald and his mercenary army in.
He and Bronwen needed to sow fear into the hearts of his ex-soldiers.
He couldn’t do that if he was lying about half-dead.
In one swift motion Morfran shoved himself up and jerked the bolt from his chest. Then he proceeded to black out. By the time he could see again, the others were huddled around him, breathing sighs of relief, and the pain was lessened thanks to Drezella’s paste.
“I wasn’t dying, you idiots,” he grumbled.
“Well, it wasn’t a shoulder or thigh shot. Anything could have happened,” Brim said, before adding, “I need to get going towards the gate. You good, Bernard?”
“Go.” Morfran tossed him a careless wave as he sat up. “You’re wasting time.” As he rose pain blossomed beneath his chest where he’d been hit. It felt as if his lung was badly bruised.
“I’m not as skilled as Grandfather Tortoise is yet.” Drezella frowned, seeing his pain. “It’ll still hurt, but you won’t die.”
“You,” Morfran said, “have nothing to apologize for. But it’s time you get to safety.”
Then she did the one thing Morfran thought she’d never do. She frowned. “No. My parents are here. I’m going to find them.”
Bronwen lurched to grab her as the girl sprinted away. She ended up hitting her head against the cart wheel. Hugh attempted to stop her as well, but all he achieved was bear-hugging air.
Like brother, like sister. Morfran huffed. “Hugh. Go grab her and get her out of the city. And, Bronwen?”
She looked at him, looking miserable as she rubbed her head.
“You still want to play defense to my offense?”
Her smile returned at once.