Sir Devon's Arc

Chapter 5 of 7

Devon pressed his back to the gate and listened to the dead pound the wood. Six knights held the yard with him. Their arms shook. The bar bent with each blow. He knew now that steel would not win this. The lich fed on the witch's blood, and no cut he made could sever that. But the lich had spoken once, and every word the creature spoke told Devon something. He decided to stop swinging and start listening. He called for one horse. The youngest knight held the reins. "You can't ride out alone, sir," the boy said. "They'll drag you down." "Not to fight," Devon said. He mounted, his purple cape falling over the black horse's flank. "To talk." He rode through the open gate at a walk, sword sheathed, both hands raised. The dead parted. They did not strike an unarmed man. They only watched with dim, burning eyes. The Lich of Blackrock stood on his patch of stone. Snow fell between them. Devon stopped his horse and looked into the black where a face should be. "You said I cannot cut what she feeds," Devon said. "So why do you fight her fight? You don't need her dead. You need something else." The lich was still a long moment. "I need a witness," he said. "One living soul, standing at a fixed place, while I do my work. That is all my framework needs. She promised me the witness. She lies." "What work?" "To finish what I could not save." The voice dropped low. "A long time ago, someone died slow in a bed. Two years. The healers did nothing." He stopped himself. "That is not your concern. The work is." Devon understood then. The witch used the lich. The lich wanted out. "Break from her," Devon said. "Stop raising my dead, and I will stand as your witness when the time comes." "She sustains me. Cut her, and I fall too." "Then I cut her," Devon said. "And you hold my dead still while I do it. One breath of freedom. That is your chance." The pale hand lowered slowly. Across the field, the burning eyes went out, one row at a time. The dead stood frozen, arms slack. The pounding at the gate stopped. Silence spread over the snow. "Go," the lich said. "She waits at the black temple. When she bleeds, I choose. Not before." Devon turned his horse. His six knights stared from the wall at the still army below. He rode back through the gate and did not sheathe his relief. He had bought no victory. He had bought a road to the witch, and a fragile promise from a thing that raised his friends against him. The dead would not move today. Tomorrow he rode for Drusilla Vex.