Chapter 417: Strike Back
Lightning had found them a hollow in the ridge beyond the wind’s reach and had the tent up before Nightingale could ask.
Nightingale sat by the fire. She rolled up her trouser leg and looked at her calf in the firelight—the skin stained dark with blood, the flesh around the wound swollen and beginning to discolor. During the escape she’d felt almost nothing; the body’s own chemistry had seen to that. Now, sitting still with the fire’s warmth reaching her, she couldn’t have lifted her leg without wincing.
If Maggie hadn’t come when she had, she wouldn’t have made it another hundred steps with the Marquess.
“Let me help, coo.” Maggie had already opened the supply pack. Cotton, rubbing alcohol, and the herbal preparation Leaf had compounded for the group—her medicinal signature.
Nightingale pressed her teeth together when the alcohol hit the wound. The smell was sharp enough to burn the eyes. Roland had explained the reasoning—bacteria, the mechanism of the demonic plague, a chain of logic she’d followed and trusted—but trust didn’t make it hurt less. The herbal medicine followed, and the burn receded like something being led gently back to sea. By the time the bandaging was done she felt almost functional.
“Your back,” Spear said quietly. “Is it alright?”
Lightning ducked into the tent with a bundle of firewood and caught the tail of this. “What happened to your back?”
“She used herself as a shield,” Spear said. Her voice had gone very flat, the way voices go when something hasn’t quite been absorbed yet. “The bolts—she blocked them for me.”
“Two punches worth of bruising.” Nightingale kept her voice dismissive. “I won’t sleep on it, that’s all.”
“Better to put Leaf’s medicine on it too,” Lightning said, crouching by the fire and arranging the wood with the small focused motions of someone who had learned this skill by doing it in worse weather. “It helps with bruising as well as cuts.”
“Lay here, coo.” Maggie patted her lap with the gravity of an apprentice surgeon. “I’ll apply it.”
The look on the white-haired girl’s face was entirely serious. Nightingale didn’t argue. She eased down, took her jacket off with her arms still covering herself, and stretched out. The Marquess drew a quiet breath at what the firelight showed on her back.
It looks worse than it is. Witches healed faster than ordinary people—the bruises would be gone in two or three days. The body knew what to do.
While Maggie worked, Nightingale talked. She gave the Marquess the full account of what she’d overheard in the tower room: the conspiracy assembled piece by piece around a false accusation, Redwyne as the instrument, the Saint as the architect, the church as the beneficiary. None of it had been about Spear’s being a witch. The witch-accusation had been a convenience discovered after the fact—a bonus.
“If they’re willing to murder a marquess,” Spear said, her voice still flat but harder now beneath it, “I’ll make Redwyne and that priest pay for every piece of it.”
“The church kills kings without pausing for breath,” Nightingale said. “Think of Everwinter. Wolfheart. Redwyne is just a tool they’ll discard when he’s no longer useful.”
Spear absorbed this in silence. “Do they really intend to swallow all four kingdoms? I’ve heard merchants say it. The nobles in King’s City called it absurd.”
“The nobles in King’s City also called Roland Wimbledon a rebel king and a fool.” Nightingale shrugged. “Conquering the four kingdoms is only the first step in what the church is actually building—but I can’t tell you the full scope unless you join the Witch Union. What I can tell you is this: however many of your people have already crossed to Redwyne’s side, most of them were bought with promises of position. Without the church behind it, that arrangement collapses. And without Fallen Dragon Ridge, your position as lord means nothing. If you want it back, His Highness can help you take it.”
“Will he really help me?”
“Dismantling the church is as much our obligation as it is our duty.” A small smile. “And you won’t be a prisoner in Border Town. His Highness never compels anyone to stay.”
Spear was quiet. She had the look of someone in the middle of a calculation they hadn’t chosen to begin.
“Believe me,” Nightingale said, recognizing the expression. “You can leave the Western Region whenever you wish. That offer doesn’t expire.”
“Is it true?” Spear asked—the same question she’d asked twice now. “He’s really built a place where witches and ordinary people live side by side?”
“Yes.” Nightingale said it without qualification. “It’s the witches’ Holy Mountain.”
In the firelight, something shifted in the Marquess’s face. The calculation resolved into something that wasn’t quite resolution and wasn’t quite surrender—more like a door being opened, slowly, by someone who hadn’t opened one in a long time.
“Do we set out tomorrow?” she asked.
“Not yet,” Nightingale and Lightning said in the same breath.
They looked at each other. Lightning started laughing first.
“The church will try to send word to the Holy City,” Nightingale explained. “We need to intercept every pigeon they dispatch over the next two days. After that, Maggie can take you to Border Town.” She paused. “I have something left to do here.”
She had been turning the Saint’s parting words over since the tower: I’ll head to Redwater City once this is done. Wherever that woman went, some fresh crisis arrived with her—something she’d been sent to arrange, some new piece of the church’s plan clicking into place. If Nightingale could stop her before she reached Redwater City, she might not only sabotage the plan but collect whatever intelligence the Saint carried.
She was already fairly certain Roland would want her back in Border Town immediately. If he said so, she would go.
She almost hoped he would say so.
Three days later, Maggie returned from Border Town with two passengers on her back.
“Why are you here?” Nightingale asked.
Andrea stepped off first, shaking her hood back and letting her blonde hair settle. “His Highness sent us. He said to tell you he’s waiting for you back at the castle.” She held up two fingers. “We get ice cream bread.”
Ashes followed, already scanning the terrain with the calm professional interest of someone evaluating a worksite. “You can’t wipe out a church platoon without me. Obviously.”
“His Highness says to do what you planned,” Maggie added, having shifted back to her girl-shape and perched on a low branch. “But safety first, coo. He said he’ll wait for you.”
Really. Nightingale felt something settle in her chest—warmth, and the specific variety of it that doesn’t announce itself. “I understand.”
“So how many?” Ashes raised an eyebrow. “I heard there’s a witch among them.”
“At most twenty Judgement Warriors, plus servants and believers. Maybe a hundred total.” She kept her voice even. “Handle the others. Leave the witch to me.”
Chapter 417: Strike back
Translator: TransN Editor: TransN
On the Fallen Dragon Ridge, Lightning expertly set up a tent big enough for four beyond the wind’s reach.
Nightingale sat by the fire to warm herself. She rolled up the cuffs of her pants and found her calves stained with blood. The places hit by the Saint were swollen. She had not felt it at the time with adrenaline coursing through her, but now, as she relaxed, she struggled to lift her legs. If Maggie had not come to her rescue, she probably would not have been able to run any further with carrying the Marquess.
It was extremely dangerous to move in the Mist in her current condition. The changing lines inside of it were staircases lined with sharp blades waiting to cut her to pieces if given the opportunity.
“Let me help you, coo.”
Maggie took first aid supplies from a big backpack. Besides cotton and a small bottle of rubbing alcohol, she found an herbal remedy prepared by Leaf, the medicinal mainstay of the Witch Cooperation Association.
Try as she might, Nightingale could not stifle her gasp with accompanying grimace when the pungent alcohol was poured over her wounds. If His Highness hadn’t mentioned that it could kill the bacteria that caused the demonic plague, she would think this was some type of torture.
To Nightingale’s great relief, the scorching burn was relieved quickly by the herbal preparation. As soon as her wounds were bandaged, she felt much more comfortable.
“Your back… ” the Marquess said in a low voice, “Is it alright?”
“What’s about her back?” Lightning crawled into the tent with a bundle of firewood.
“To save me… she was shot by their bolts,” Spear said forlornly.
“No big deal. It’s like taking a couple of punches.” Nightingale twitched her mouth. “It’s not a problem as long as I don’t sleep on my back tonight.”
“It’s better to apply some herbal medicine on it,” Lightning said while fiddling the branches in the fire pit with the sparks flying. “Leaf’s medicine, not only can stop the bleeding, but also is very effective for bruises.”
“Lay down on me, coo.” Maggie sat down and patted her lap. “Let me apply the medicine to your back, coo.”
Seeing the serious look in the white-haired girl’s eyes, Nightingale could not disobey and acquiesced without argument. “Alright.”
She took off her clothes with her hands covering her chest and reclined in Maggie’s lap. The Marquess let out a muffled gasp.
She knew without looking that her smooth back was now mottled with darkening red bruises. “But it just looks scary. Since witches have strong self-healing capacity, these wounds will heal after two or three days,” she thought, shrugging it off the best she could.
During this tender evaluation and treatment, Nightingale coughed twice and said, “Marquess, do you have any plans for the future? Your brother Redwyne, deluded by the church, has betrayed you. Actually, before that military coup, neither he nor the church knew you’re a witch.” Then she briefly repeated what she had heard in the tower to the Marquess. “They worked in collusion to deprive you of your title. Even if you aren’t a witch, you’ll be put to death as a devil’s minion. It’ll be easy work for the church.”
“If they dare to murder a marquess,” Spear said, gnashing her teeth, “I’ll make Redwyne and the church pay the price!”
“The church’s deeds are far beyond your imagination.” Nightingale shook her head. “They kill even kings without blinking. Think of the Kingdom of Everwinter and the Kingdom of Wolfheart.”
Spear was stunned for a moment and then opened her mouth to ask, “Does the church really dare to swallow all four kingdoms? I’ve only heard about it from merchants of neighboring countries, but most of the nobility in the King’s City thought it ridiculous.”
“The nobility in King’s City also said Roland Wimbledon was a rebel king.” Nightingale shrugged. “If His Highness guesses right, conquering the four kingdoms is only the first step in the church’s plan, but unless you join the Witch Union, I can’t tell you the conspiracy behind it. Besides, the church must spend some time plotting this military coup and most of your men should have already swung to Redwyne who has promised them more profits. If you want to take back Fallen Dragon Ridge, you can turn to His Highness for help.”
“Will he really help me?”
“Of course, it’s our solemn duty to wipe out the church,” Nightingale said with a trace of a smile touching her lips.
Marquess was silent, and she looked like she was hesitating to say something.
“Believe me,” Nightingale said, recognizing the Marquess’ hesitation. “You’re free to leave the Western Region anytime you want. His Highness never compels anyone to stay.”
“Is he really establishing a place where witches and ordinary human beings live together?”
This was the second time she had asked Nightingale this question, and again Nightingale answered proudly, “Yes, His Highness’ territory is a place like that. It’s the witches’ Holy Mountain.”
In the firelight, the expression seemed uncertain on Spear Passi’s face. After quite a long while, she nodded slightly and asked, “Are we going to set off tomorrow?”
“Not yet,” Nightingale and Lightning spoke with one voice. Then they gazed into each other’s eyes and burst into laughter.
“The local church will try to report to Holy City what happened here, so in the following two days, we must catch all the pigeons sent out by our enemy,” Nightingale explained to the Marquess. “After that, Maggie will carry you to Border Town. I have some other pressing demands here.”
She remembered what the Saint had said in that room atop the tower: she would leave for Redwater City soon after the military coup.
Apparently, wherever the Saint went, an undercurrent of tension soon followed. Troubles big or small were sure to find His Highness. If she could impede the Saint, she would not only sabotage church’s plan but also collect a bounty of information from the Saint.
Nightingale took a deep breath and made a plan to kill every member of that church platoon, but she was not sure whether Prince Roland would agree to her plan. If he insisted on her giving up the plan and going back, she would do as he wished.
…
Three days later Maggie, who had already sent the Marquess on to Border Town, returned to Fallen Dragon Ridge bearing two witches from the Sleeping Island on her back.
“Why are you here?” Nightingale asked, the surprise evident on her face.
“Prince Roland sent us to help you,” Andrea said, gracefully hopping off the big bird’s back, doffing her hood and giving her blonde hair a nice shake. “We’ll get two pieces of ice cream bread in return.”
“Wiping out a church platoon, you can never do that without me!” Ashes said with a smile.
“His Highness said you can do what you’ve planned, but take safety into account first, coo.” Maggie changed back to a girl and continued, “He said he was waiting for you to return to the castle.”
“Really… ” Nightingale mused, suddenly aware of warmth in her heart. “I get it.”
“So how many are there?” Ashes raised her eyebrows slightly. “I heard there’s a witch among them?”
“I don’t know the exact number yet, but there are at most 20 Judgement Warriors along with their servants and some believers,” she said in a measured voice. “You take care of the others and leave the witch to me.”