‘I have to say, it hasn’t been easy. Joining the Anvils, rubbing shoulders with dwarf-lovers, gaining their trust, drinking their disgusting beer. I wouldn’t have managed it without the Forsyths – it was their idea after all. We’ve been working together for years, ever since I told them what I’d overheard about the dwarven war council. Didn’t you ever wonder how they knew where and when it would take place?’
Fletcher concentrated on breathing, his tongue too numb to reply. He attempted a spell, but his mana would not respond. The poison did more than affect the muscles. Only his feet and sword-hand seemed to have any semblance of control – he was still able to feel the smoothness of the vial against his fingers. It gave him an idea … He just had to be patient.
‘I do like framing the dwarves,’ Jeffrey said, smiling at the memory. ‘It’s so easy, everyone hates them already. People just need an excuse, which I was happy to provide. You’d be shocked at how easy it is to make a bomb, and nobody suspects a barrel left on the side of the road. Kidnapping the Anvil leadership was easy too, with some help from the Inquisition, of course. They even planted the bomb at that dwarf boy’s trial – King Alfric and the Triumvirate see eye to eye when it comes to the lesser races.’
It had been Jeffrey who had suggested they go to the front lines, even the gambling tent itself. It had been Jeffrey who had pushed for Electra to bribe his way into the team. Jeffrey who had hung back during the ambush, waiting for an opportunity to strike. How had he not seen it?
Then Jeffrey’s face fell, and he turned on Fletcher with a curled lip.
‘You did almost ruin it though, running back into the tent after I set the fuse, even with me spilling my guts outside. You weren’t meant to die yet, my little sacrificial lamb. Not before the whole world saw your corpse with Cress’s crossbow bolt in its belly. Or Sylva’s arrow. Maybe even Atilla’s tomahawk in Seraph’s back, if you had turned down Electra’s offer.’
He laughed aloud as Fletcher choked and spluttered with anger.
‘I was so sure I got you that second time. If only Electra hadn’t given you those vials. Such a gullible woman. Still, I’ll settle for this: the three-race team, dying pitifully at the last hurdle. Shows the world that we should each keep to our own.’
Fletcher attempted to spit at Jeffrey, but he only managed a weak dribble down the side of his mouth. Jeffrey dabbed at it with his sleeve, cooing at Fletcher sarcastically, as if he was a baby.
‘You were so concerned for poor, sickly Jeffrey. It’s not hard to shoot a crossbow, Fletcher, or conceal one in a satchel,’ he continued. ‘I can’t believe you thought it was Isadora’s team. They would never take such a risk, with so many watching. No, I shouldered that responsibility.’
The alchemist glanced at Rufus’s dead body and shook his head sadly.
‘It’s a shame I had to kill the boy, but I needed something to distract you. There’s an older brother to carry on his line, so no harm done.’
As Jeffrey turned, Fletcher opened the vial with his thumb, wincing as the cork rolled along the ground. Jeffrey didn’t seem to notice.
‘I really should be going,’ Jeffrey said, looking over his shoulder as the pop pop of gunfire from the back passage intensified. ‘They won’t wait for much longer.’
His face dropped with mock fear, and he hunched his shoulders.
‘It was a terrible accident, Arcturus!’ he cried mockingly. ‘There was a cave-in! They’re all dead – we need to get out of here!’
He laughed again and slapped Fletcher across the face, just because he could.
‘I’ll let the orcs finish what I started.’
Jeffrey turned and began to jog to the exit. It was now or never. With a colossal effort, Fletcher raised the vial and spilled it across his lips. A thin trickle made it into his mouth, and he gulped it down as fast as he could.
It was not enough. The paralysis dulled somewhat, but he could barely twitch the fingers of his tattooed hand. He lapped desperately at the spillage on his face, spooning it with his tongue.
The paralysis faded with every second, until he could flex the fingers again. Gritting his teeth, Fletcher growled and lifted his hand, pointing it at the boy’s retreating back. He didn’t hesitate. Jeffrey deserved a traitor’s death.
A lightning bolt speared Jeffrey’s spine, hurling him down the corridor to slam into the wall. The boy lay broken on the ground, his eyes staring blankly, mouth gaping in a macabre parody of shock. Death did not become him.
Fletcher forced himself to sit upright, looking at the frozen bodies of those around him. They were so close. Arcturus and his team were just out of sight, around the bend of the corridor.
He staggered to his knees and began to crawl. The seconds ticked by as he dragged himself towards the room’s exit, his legs still incapable of carrying his weight. But it was slow. Too slow.