The Will of the Many (Hierarchy Book 1)

THE WILL-IMBUED ANGUIS SOLDIER SNARLS as he leaps at me.

There’s no subtlety, no cat-and-mouse here. He covers the twenty feet between us in a single, powerful lunge, fist drawn back. No mistaking his intent.

I’m prepared for the attack and still only barely dive away in time. Climbing up here, some part of me wondered if I had a chance in a straight fight, my victory over the Sextus in Letens in the back of my mind. Now it’s too late, I can see how ridiculous a thought that was. My opponent in the Theatre was barely a fighter, weak for his rank, and even then I only beat him because he decided to ignore me. There’s no crowd here. No distractions.

And this man… this man seems neither weak nor inexperienced.

The realisations come in a wave as the guard’s fist crashes down on the spot I was standing. The tower shakes as stone shatters, chunks the size of my fist spraying away off the side and vanishing into the steadily darkening void. I roll back to my feet, breath coming heavy. He’s a Sextus, then; no Septimus could do that. A cloud of dust drifts across the nearest torch as he turns. Brushes debris off his knuckles with a wide smile. “Melior will be watching this with great joy.”

“Melior’s dead. Remember?” I give him a self-satisfied smile of my own. Probably a bad idea, but I can’t think of anything else to do. I don’t have a chance if he’s in control of himself.

The Sextus’s smirk withers. His body stiffens.

He charges forward. No snarl this time, no leaping. Just midnight eyes and hatred and utter silence.

My experience against Septimii in the Theatre serves me well here; this was a common enough tactic of theirs, even if they weren’t actually trying to kill me. I dance to the side, unbalancing the Sextus as he adjusts, then at the last second dive in the opposite direction, barely under a swing that would have removed my head. I twist as he stumbles past, punching him with all my strength in the kidney. It’s like punching stone.

He feels it; I can tell from the way he gasps, falters. That lasts for less than a moment.

He growls. Still facing away from me. Aims a punch at the wall in front of him.

It explodes outward, showering debris downward.

Then he’s spinning. Moving like I didn’t touch him, like he didn’t just slam his fist through stone that’s three-foot thick. Coming at me again, this time more deliberately. Trying to pin me against one of the edges of the tower. I can hear the rushing of the river far below.

The Sextus isn’t imbuing anything, despite there being plenty of rubble lying around: he’s either not skilled enough, or it will take too long. That’s my one advantage at the moment. Given how easily Ulciscor killed Sacro after the attack on the Transvect, it’s beyond fortunate.

We circle, me focusing on quick movements, not allowing myself to get cornered. The Sextus’s lip curls in frustration—he thought this would be over by now—and then he stops. Bends down and picks up a block of stone maybe twice the size of my fist.

Stupidly, I think he’s going to imbue it. He doesn’t.

He just throws it at me.

I dodge but I’m too caught by surprise by the simplicity of it, too accustomed to fighting by a set of rules. The stone catches me on my injured arm, tearing through my tunic. There’s searing pain, a crunching sound. I’m spun by the sheer force of it.

My left foot slips backward, searching for a foothold. Nothing’s there. I sway precariously, lurch to the side. Fall with half my body dangling from the tower, scrabble madly to haul myself back up, barely able to see from the agony.

My vision clears to find the Sextus standing over me. He raises a foot to kick me off the edge.

A strange expression comes over his face. Puzzlement, more than anything else. He takes a stumbling step. Then another. His fist opens, the Heart of Jovan clattering to the ground next to me. The darkness fades from his eyes. The pulsing in my head from his presence dies.

He keels forward.

I snatch the Heart up before he lands on it and then wrench myself away, just enough that he slumps past me and over the side. I catch a glimpse of something dark detaching from the base of his skull and flitting back behind me. Blood spurts as his body tumbles through the air, a strangely slow shadow in the murk, until there’s an echoing splash when it hits the river far below. He’s face-down as the water carries him off.

I turn to see Emissa standing there, a short, dripping obsidian blade in her trembling hand.

Her eyes are black.

“He was trying to kill you,” she says softly. Disbelievingly. “Not just stop you from taking the Heart. Actually kill you.” She rushes over to me. Gentle. Concerned. Her eyes have faded back to their normal, beautiful green.

“Pretty much.” I groan as I lie there, letting her examine my injuries. My arm’s thundering with pain.

“Why?” She hisses a breath as she takes in the blackened limb. “Rotting gods, Vis. What’s going on?”

“That was an alupi.” Breathing is coming hard, the wind still knocked from me. “But the safety teams, everyone here who’s not a student—they’re Anguis. They’re trying to kill us all, Emissa. We need to go and find Callidus. The others are either already dead or running for the Academy.”

Her face is pale in the rising moonlight. “My team?”

I shake my head.

Emissa draws a shuddering breath. I can almost see her compartmentalising, separating the horror of what I’ve told her from what needs to be done. She believes me, though. It’s hard to explain how grateful I am for that. “We have to get out of here, then. But not before I look at that arm.”

“Aequa already bandaged it up.” I try to rise.

“That was before you got a wall thrown at it.” She forces me back down with very little effort. Smiles wanly, her eyes meeting mine as she cups my face in her hand. There’s so much in her gaze. Concern. Relief. Affection. Guilt.

“You used Will,” I observe weakly.

“We can talk about that later.” Emissa’s brisk as she takes her obsidian blade and deftly cuts away some of my tunic, hissing again as she sees the extent of the damage to my flesh. “We need to get you to…”

She freezes.

“What?” I crane my neck down at where she’s staring, but can’t see anything. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” Her voice is odd. She doesn’t look at me. She carefully replaces the folds of my tunic and then stands. Backs away a few steps.

“Emissa?” I drag myself to my feet. “What’s wrong?”

“You need to give me the Heart.”

I snort a weak laugh, though my humour wilts when I see she’s serious. “We have more important things—”

“I need it. I need to win the Iudicium.” She looks up, and to my disbelief, her eyes are black again. The obsidian dagger’s resting in her hand. “I can’t risk us getting separated. Please.”

I stare at her in utter confusion, the sense of betrayal shockingly painful. “You didn’t need to threaten me,” I say softly. I stagger to right myself. Toss the golden triangle at her feet. It clatters against the tower.

She gazes at it without speaking, hair hanging over her face. Her chest heaves, and I realise that she’s sobbing.

I take a step forward, concerned as well as confused now. “Emissa—”

The dagger flies toward me. I flinch, but not enough.

It buries itself in my stomach.

There’s a moment of disbelief, where I almost don’t register the terrible burning in my gut. I let out a little gasp. Too stunned and hurt to do anything else as the dagger keeps pushing in. I pull at its hilt but it’s too strong. Drives me backward.

Off the edge.

I flail. Topple. Emissa’s still looking at the ground, still shaking. I let go of the dagger and reach out to grasp at the air. Frantic. Searching for anything at all to hold on to. Knowing I’m going to die and not understanding why.

The Heart, still lying at Emissa’s feet, snaps back into my hand.

I have just enough time to see Emissa’s tear-stained face jerk up in confusion before she vanishes from sight.

I fall.

There’s no control, no thought of righting myself. Just pain and weariness and confusion and deep, deep hurt.

I sense the water rushing up more than see it. I was too high, this time. Too unprepared. Too injured. The impact isn’t going to be much better than hitting the ground.

I close my eyes, and finally give in.