Rewrite That Witch
CH672 · Rewrite
☕ Support

Chapter 672: Hero

At length, Yorko followed Hill’s advice. In the golden bleed of sunset, their coach departed the city of Glow.

All the coachmen worked for Hill — former employees of the acrobatics troupe, he was told. They had made this retreat before, enough times that the route lived in their hands rather than their heads. The fleet held its pace until the sun disappeared behind the mountains, then pressed on by oil-lamp light for another two hours before halting to pitch tents in the open wilderness.

The coaches drew into a ring around a bonfire. A young man who called himself Clown fetched water and started porridge. A tall fellow named Rockhill went to feed the horses. The magician walked the perimeter, setting sentries. The Chom Brothers laid the booby traps. These men moved with the quiet efficiency of soldiers, not performers.

Yorko found he had nothing to do but wait for the porridge.

When it arrived he also received a plate of bacon and an apple, and he finally understood why Hill had loaded the first two wagons with wheat and fruit. The “goods for sale” would feed them all for a month or two if it came to that. Hill must have begun preparing the escape long before tonight — long enough that no one had found the timing suspicious.

Jesus. Is that man really just an acrobat?

He resolved to ask his old friend directly once they were back in Graycastle.

The coachmen withdrew with their porridge to the outer ring, leaving Yorko, No. 76, and the four witches in the firelight.

“I want to apologize for what I said and did before,” Annie began. Her voice was cordial, at least. “You didn’t hand us over to the King of Dawn — I can see that now. But I still can’t fully trust you.”

“Why?” Amy looked confused. “He doesn’t seem like a bad man.”

The flush that crossed Yorko’s face was brief and fortunately invisible against the firelight. He had never considered himself a good man — but being called one publicly was a different embarrassment entirely. “Ahem. I believe Miss Annie is still skeptical of the simplicity of the witch organization in Graycastle.”

“Simplicity?”

“For instance — powerful nobles sometimes keep witches as playthings.”

“That’s one of my concerns,” Annie said. “Whether it’s in Wolfheart or Graycastle, all such organizations are essentially the same if they use lies to lure and abuse witches. If Graycastle’s organization is truly as you described, then I’ll make a formal apology.” She paused. “To you.”

“It makes no difference to me.” Yorko shrugged. “My task is to bring you to King Roland. What happens after that is beyond my jurisdiction. Even if you want to apologize, you may not find me to do it.”

Silence pressed in. Only the crack and hiss of the bonfire filled it.

Yorko was normally fluent in conversation — it was practically his trade — but he had no appetite for it tonight. These witches had upended his comfortable posting, had dragged the entire delegation into jeopardy, and even the reasonable caution of their suspicion was irritating when he had to live inside it. He kept his attention on the bacon.

In the end, No. 76 broke the quiet.

“Are all of you from Wolfheart?” she asked. “Amy said you’d known each other a long time.”

Annie nodded. “Though we weren’t born in the same city.”

“Wolfheart is church territory now. The road here must have cost you greatly.” No. 76 leaned forward and touched the hanging fabric of Hero’s empty trouser leg, the gesture careful, unhurried. “Did she lose her feet fleeing the church?”

Hero’s jaw tightened. She looked down.

“They were cut off by the people she was trying to protect.” Annie’s answer fell into the group like a stone into still water. “Hero stood up during the worst crisis Wolfheart City had ever faced, and what she received for it was their hatred.”

“The people she protected did that to her?”

“I’ll explain, if you want to hear it.” Annie added two sticks to the fire; it crackled, throwing sparks upward. “It isn’t a happy story.”

No. 76’s eyes moved to Hero’s face and stayed there. “I want to know.”

Yorko kept eating his bacon. But he was listening.

“When the church army attacked Wolfheart City a year ago,” Annie began, “they flung plague-infected bodies over the walls to bleed the city from within — the same tactic they used at Broken Tooth Castle. Hero stopped the spread. Her ability allowed her to transfer disease from one creature to another, human beings included. That was what held the plague.”

“What kind of creatures?”

“Rats, cats, dogs, livestock — and humans too,” Annie said, slowly. “The citizens dug a great pit at the slum. Infected people would gather there, Hero would draw the plague out and transfer it into animals, and then the animals were burned. It worked. Gradually, the people came to see her as Wolfheart City’s savior. They named her Hero. Amy and I — we both received her treatment.”

She fed the fire again. “But the math was against her. A large animal could absorb the disease from five or six patients; a cat or a dog could handle only one or two. The church kept sending more bodies over the walls. Even if the citizens caught every living creature in the city, it wasn’t enough. They couldn’t save everyone.”

“As the war dragged on, people began to look at other men.”

The phrase laid a chill across Yorko’s shoulders that had nothing to do with the night air.

No. 76 drew Hero close, pressing the girl gently against her. “That wasn’t your fault.”

Annie’s face in the firelight was a mask of ice. “Of course it wasn’t. They never gave her a choice to begin with. First they burned prisoners, then criminals, then volunteers. Then the elders. Then wounded soldiers, captives from the Judgement Army.”

She paused. “But Hero refused. She couldn’t kill innocent people — not the soldiers who still yearned for life, not the young ones who had surrendered. So the mood turned. People decided she was colluding with the church, shielding the enemy. The savior became a traitor. She was imprisoned. The only thing that kept her from the gallows was that her ability was still useful to them.”

“Then the church attacked again. They took the city wall in a single day. On the day the city fell, the jailer — a man Hero had once treated and cured — took an axe and cut off her legs. Then he set fire to the cell. He said the fall of Wolfheart was her fault; he said a traitor couldn’t be allowed to flee but should burn with the city.”

A short silence.

“What the jailer didn’t anticipate was that prisoners from the Judgement Army — captives Hero had refused to sacrifice — were in that cell with her.”

Discussion

Suggest a change