Oath of the Broken Sword Chapter 18

The sound of steel against steel echoed up the stairwell, a harsh counterpoint to the delicate incense curling in the air. My heart was still racing from the vision—Marcus fused into a monstrous machine, Rex lying still at my feet. The taste of ash from my agreement with Anastasia was thick on my tongue.

Anastasia didn’t flinch. Her stormy eyes narrowed, calculating the odds. "The Marshal's hounds are never alone," she said, her voice low and urgent. She slammed the lid shut on the chest containing the Throne shard and shoved it into my arms. The pulse of it through the wood felt like a sickly heartbeat against my chest. "Take it. Our bargain is sealed. The rear exit—through there." She pointed to a section of the silk-draped wall I’d assumed was solid.

Rex was already moving, his sword held ready. "A hidden passage? I thought you said there was no back way."

"A queen always has an escape route," she replied with a razor-thin smile. "It leads to the sewers. Unpleasant, but private. Now go!"

She pressed a hidden catch, and a panel slid open, revealing a dank, darkness that smelled of salt and decay. Rex went first, his body shielding mine. I clutched the heavy chest, the weight of it more than physical. *A favor for a kingdom,* I thought bitterly.

*The weight of crowns often is, Little Storm,* Silverlight’s voice flowed into my mind, a cool balm against the rising panic. *Focus on the now. Survival first.*

The panel slid shut behind us, plunging us into near-total blackness. The sounds of battle from the tavern above became muffled, replaced by the drip of water and the scuttling of unseen things. Rex lit a small glow-stone from his pack, casting flickering shadows on the slime-covered brick walls.

"We need to get rendezvous point," he muttered, his free hand guiding me forward. The tunnel was narrow, forcing us to move single-file. "Liana will be waiting with the others at the old lighthouse."

"I saw something, Rex," I whispered, the words tumbling out. "When I touched the shard. I saw Marcus... a monster of metal and magic. And I saw... I saw you..." I couldn't finish. The image of his lifeless eyes was seared into my mind.

He stopped and turned, his face grim in the dim light. His calloused hand came up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen. "Visions are not fate, Elia. They are warnings. We change the path." His certainty was an anchor in the swirling chaos. "We carry the warning with us. That is our advantage."

We moved on, the silence between us heavy with unspoken fears. The tunnel began to slope upwards. After what felt like an hour, a sliver of moonlight appeared ahead, outlining a rusted iron grate. Rex peered through it cautiously.

"Clear," he whispered. "We're at the edge of the shipyards."

He forced the grate open with a groan of protesting metal, and we emerged into a cool, misty night. The sounds of Surgingtide were distant here, replaced by the lapping of waves against pilings and the mournful cry of gulls. The lighthouse Liana had specified stood sentinel on a rocky outcrop a few hundred yards away, its beam cutting a steady path through the fog.

We were halfway across the open ground when the air grew cold. A familiar, corrosive scent filled my nostrils—ozone and spoiled magic.

*Elia!

* Silverlight’s warning was a shriek in my mind.

Figures detached themselves from the shadows of the warehouses around us. They moved with an unnatural, jerky gait. Their eyes glowed with the same sickly light as the Throne shard. Goreng’s polluted ones.

"Seal the chest!" Rex barked, shoving me behind him as he drew his sword. The family blade, passed down through generations of guardians, seemed to hum in the presence of the unnatural.

I fumbled with the chest, trying to shut out the Throne's malevolent energy, but it was too late. The polluted had sensed it. They converged on us, their movements blurring with sudden, horrific speed.

Rex met the first one with a roar, his sword cleaving through its corrupted flesh in a shower of black ichor. But for every one he felled, two more seemed to take its place. They weren’t skilled fighters, but they were relentless and unnaturally strong.

I dropped the chest and reached for my own magic. The Source Runes along my arms flared to life, a cascade of silver fire. I sent a whip of pure force lashing out, catching three of the creatures and throwing them back against a warehouse wall. The effort cost me—a sharp, draining sensation, like a part of my vitality being siphoned away.

"We can't hold them off forever!" I yelled, unleashing a blast of concussive air.

Rex grunted, parrying a clawed strike that would have torn out his throat. "The lighthouse! We make a run for it!"

He fought with a terrifying, beautiful efficiency, every move a testament to a life spent surviving the dangers of the borderlands and the wilds. But I saw the fatigue beginning to set in. A claw grazed his shoulder, and he hissed in pain, the skin around the wound immediately turning an ugly gray.

"Rex!"

"I'm fine!" he gritted out. "Go!"

Suddenly, a new sound joined the fray—the sharp *thwip* of crossbow bolts. Two of the polluted crumpled, shafts protruding from their skulls. From the roof of a nearby warehouse, a figure waved.

"Soren!" I breathed with relief.

The ex-pirate’s signature winged lizard swooped down, its rider laying down a covering fire with a repeating crossbow. "Looks like you two started the party without us!" Soren called down, his voice laced with its usual reckless cheer. "The boss lady sent us to sweep the perimeter. Good thing we did!"

With Soren providing cover from above, we fought our way to the base of the lighthouse. The door swung open as we approached, and Liana stood there, her face tight with anxiety. "Inside! Quickly!"

We stumbled into the circular stone room, slamming the heavy door shut and barring it. The sudden silence was deafening. I slumped against the wall, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Rex leaned heavily on his sword, his jaw clenched against the pain from his wound.

Liana’s eyes fell on the chest I still clutched. "You got it." It wasn't a question.

"At a price," I said, my voice hoarse.

Before she could inquire further, Rex swayed on his feet. I caught him as he slumped, lowering him gently to the floor. The gray corruption from the polluted’s claw was spreading up his neck.

"It’s the God-Stain," Liana whispered, her face pale. "Goreng’s work. Normal healing magic won’t touch it."

Panic, cold and absolute, gripped me. The vision flashed before my eyes again. *No. Not like this. Not now.* I could feel his life force fading, like sand through my fingers.

*The bond,* Silverlight’s voice was urgent, yet calm. *The life-link you forged during the purification. It is a two-way channel. You shared the cost of the ritual then. You can share your life force with him now.*

"But the cost..." I stammered mentally. The purification ritual had nearly killed us both.

*The cost of inaction is greater,* the dragon replied simply.

I didn't hesitate. I placed my hands over the wound on Rex’s shoulder, ignoring the burning cold that seared my own palms. I closed my eyes and reached for the unique connection between us, the silvery thread that bound our fates. I poured my own vitality into him, a river of silver light fighting against the creeping gray decay.

It was agony. A fire spread through my veins, and a phantom pain blossomed in my own shoulder, a perfect of his wound. I felt a part of my own strength ebb, a tangible shortening of my own span of years. A price paid in moments of life.

But beneath my hands, the gray receded. The color returned to Rex’s face. His breathing deepened, steadied. His eyes fluttered open, finding mine. He didn't need to speak. The understanding was there, deep and unwavering. The bond was now permanent, a shared burden and a shared strength.

Liana watched, her expression unreadable. Soren landed his mount outside and entered, his usual grin absent. "They’ve pulled back for now. But they'll be back. We need to move."

Rex sat up, his hand covering mine where it still rested on his now-healed shoulder. The connection hummed between us, a constant, low-level awareness of each other’s presence, each other’s pain.

"We have the shard," I said, my voice stronger now, filled with a grim resolve. "And we have a warning. Marcus’s endgame is closer than we thought." I looked at each of them—Liana, the spymaster;

Soren, the rogue;

Rex, my anchor. "Anastasia bet on our survival. It's time to prove her right. The next fragment is in the Titan Ruins. We go at first light."

The beam of the lighthouse swept across us, illuminating faces set with determination. The game had changed. The cost of our fight was now written in our shared blood, a permanent reminder that every step toward the Shattered Throne would demand a piece of our souls.