Tales of the Vangen: The Black Ministry's Betrayal (Book 1)

Chapter 63: A Place Between Stones

 Libro fought back the urge to wretch as the stink of roasted flesh wafted up from the courtyard. He surveyed the carnage before him. Most of the fire had gone out just as quickly as it had appeared, the barrels and their contents swallowed up. Here and there, the ashen remains of rebels littered the ground. However, some were able to retreat in time, falling back to Gate Secondus.

Worse still, the battering ram had survived. The fire had not been enough. Deep scorch marks pocked the heavy wooden frame, the bull branding iron hot, its gaze leering towards the gate unsatisfied.

"They'll be back," Civis said. He stood beside Libro, eyes scanning over the carnage wrought before Gate Tertius.

"Think so?" Libro's voice quavered. He coughed, cleared his throat, and spat over the edge.

"I don't think they have much choice," Civis mimicked his own salute over the edge. "I think Tyrannus is forcing them too."

"Something to do with his heart?" Libro asked.

"Yeah," Civis nodded. "I think so. I was there with Dux when it first happened. Viz—One of the rebels we captured started acting strange. Like he was possessed. His eyes had this sickly glow to them, and he spoke with the bastard's voice instead of his own."

A shiver ran down Libro's spine. "That's fecked up."

"It's all fecked up." Civis leaned against the parapet, his nose turned against the smell drifting up from the courtyard. "I think I liked it better when we were fighting rebels in other kingdoms. Not here. Not like this. Not our own men and these fecking Sorcerers."

"Agreed," Libro closed his eyes as the calm morning wind began to pick up. The sun was in full bloom now, slicing away at the last vestiges of shadow. For a brief moment, Libro allowed himself to get wrapped up in memory. When he'd first signed on with the Vangen, and his hard ride to Orienta. It'd been warm then. Warmer then anywhere else in the world. It was hot and sticky, too, the type that clung to your skin with perspiration.

The rebels there were elusive, always on the move. Most of the time, Libro was either building camp, breaking camp, or marching. Plenty of time in between writing in the Archive. It had been easy work. Easier than what he was doing now, but life was never meant to be easy, was it? He'd deluded himself believing otherwise, and it'd nearly cost him his life, leaving a twisting wound in his heart.

But he'd learned his lesson now, and it would stick with him for the rest of his life. Cowards die. It was as simple as that, an axiomatic truth written into reality. If you falter, if you ever stop charging, you die, and no one will remember you.

"How are you two holding up?" Lady Kent's voice cut like glass. Smooth and sharp, with just a razor's edge of fatigue.

Libro opened his eyes. She stood nearby, the chainmail curtain pulled up to reveal her face.

"Leg's still throbbing, but I'm doing all right," Civis said. Libro turned away from her. Where once she'd had an eye of curiosity for him, now there was only fear. The kind reserved for rabid dogs, their chains appearing precariously weak.

"I'm fine," Libro said. Enough for Lady Kent, it seemed. She stepped to the parapet's edge and surveyed the smoking battleground.

"How long till the rebels begin their advance?"

"An hour," Civis said. "At the very least."

"I see their iron bull survived," Kent observed. "Damnable thing. If only I'd had something big enough. I'd crush it to pieces."

"What about the ballista?" Civis looked up, where the second layer of the Palace battlements stretched up towards the sky. "Is it still in any condition to work?"