Blade of Glass: Chapter 59

When Nicolette fell, so did Meriwether’s hands. The compulsion to not speak was gone. He scrambled to his feet. You saw the divine. Geneve brought the Storm. She beat a Champion, blade on blade, and saved, like, everyone.

She knelt in a crumpled huddle beside Israel. The pool of red beneath the Knight didn’t grow. He was well dead, so Meriwether didn’t go there. 

He found himself by Vertiline’s side. Blood still flowed from her arm. How she was still alive was a mystery. Maybe the Chevalier was too ornery to give up. He yanked off his belt, then worried the buckles on her greaves. The metal was twisted, the cut edge melted as if a great heat passed through it, but nothing burnt the flesh beneath. Tresward mystic Smithsteel shit. Ignore it.

He lashed his belt around Vertiline’s arm. She stirred, eyes widening, nothing but delirium behind them. “Iz?”

“No. Just a sinner.” He tugged the tourniquet tight, and she moaned, slipping back into unconsciousness. Meriwether wondered if it’d be better if she died here. He didn’t know what lay between her and Israel, but he felt it would hurt enough to break the world.

Meriwether felt a gauntleted hand on his shoulder. Geneve sank beside him. She leaned forward, smoothing Vertiline’s hair from her face. “Don’t ever say that. You’re no sinner, Meri.”

“She’s dying.”

Geneve nodded. “The Tresward holds Knights as servants to the Clerics. We answer their orders and do the great works they demand.” Her smile was twisted and bitter. “This is what it leads to. Dead Knights, and corrupt Clerics.”

Meriwether got to one knee. “I’ll get help.”

“She’s past help.”

“There’s a Tresward here, Red. I’ll … find a Cleric. Someone with the Sway.” Meriwether ran a dust-caked hand through his hair. “Someone useful.”

“Someone useful? You were the only one who stayed. If you go to the Tresward, they’ll kill you. And where are they now, as the city burns?” Geneve closed her eyes, head bowed. “Tresward scripture says when the Three left this world, they left us to hold the door against the darkness. Knights as the good right arm of Light. Clerics to Sway the night. There’s crossover. The best Champions use Sway, like Nicolette. My father…” Her voice cracked, but her eyes were clear when she opened them. “Iz could do it, a little.”

“I know.”

Geneve put her hand on Vertiline’s stump. She leaned close to the Chevalier’s ear, whispering. For three heartbeats nothing happened, then Vertiline spasmed, breath rattling in her lungs. Her eyes snapped open, wild like a terrified stallion, good hand clawing the air.

Geneve grasped it, held it to her chest. “Easy, Tilly.”

Vertiline looked at Geneve, then Meriwether, and finally roamed the room. “Iz?”

“His Light is gone.” Geneve’s voice was so tight it could snap at any moment.

“Wait.” Meriwether scratched his beard. “Israel is … was your father?”

“Peace, Meri.” Geneve held Vertiline’s hand, like they both might drown. “Save your questions for tomorrow. Today we honor our valiant dead.”

* * *

The dead were not just valiant, they were a carpet. Meriwether picked his way through the market square. A mound larger than most demanded his attention. He heaved bodies aside, uncovering scaled hide, shark teeth, and snake eyes. “Armitage? Get up.”

The Vhemin groaned. “I’m dead.”

“If you say so.” Meriwether walked on, looking for Sight of Day. He spied the cat, bent over a fallen mage, tending as best he could. “Are you okay?”

{You burn your frail lives for so little.} The Feybrind wept. {So many of you. Gone, like morning mist.}

“Aye. That’s about right, cat.” Meri put his hand on Sight of Day’s shoulder. The Feybrind clutched the hand like a lifeline, stroking his skin with a lightly-furred hand. “Shh. It’s okay.”

The cat nodded, then stood as the mage he’d been tending rattled a last breath. The dying … no, dead man had a hole in his chest, the wound a bloody ruin. The Feybrind couldn’t fix this. He’d just stayed so the mage wouldn’t die alone.

Meriwether watched the Feybrind walk to the pile of bodies, unearthing more from around Armitage. The Vhemin sat upright, looked around, and said something to Sight of Day. The Feybrind nodded, head bowed. After an awkward moment, Armitage put his hand on the cat’s head. Meriwether left them like that.

He had someone to talk to.

* * *

Morgan walked at his side back to the Queensfane. Dead littered the streets, but fewer the farther they walked. Good guardsmen stood against the dead, sheltering Ravenswall citizens as best they could.

Meriwether saw tear-streaked faces. Astonishment that the dead had fallen like broken tools. Joy mixed with sorrow. Men and women helping children not their own. People stacking the bodies.

The queen hadn’t asked stupid questions. Her red robe swept beside Meriwether’s rags, both their disguises gone. She’d been quiet as she saw the aftermath. Her honor guard was down to one man, the same Geneve had disarmed. He kept looking at his side, as if his companions might come back to life, but it wasn’t that kind of day.

“What happened?” The queen didn’t sound angry or sad. Just curious, and a little tired.

“Fallen Champion. Maybe a demon invasion. One Tresward, dead. Another crippled. A third … I don’t know.” Meriwether raked his hair back from his face with a savage hand. “Broken worse, maybe. Or fixed. Too soon to know.”

“They came to my capital, Lord du Reeves. I want to know who they are. I want them stopped.”

“It’s nice to want things.”

She hissed, then subsided. “Perhaps that’s fair. It’s been a trying day.”

“I’m sorry.” Meriwether rubbed his chest. His heart ached for no good reason. “It wasn’t fair. Can you … give me a day or two?”

“You need to talk to your friends.” She nodded, as if understanding.

“I need to help them grieve, Your Grace. Today was a bitter victory.”

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