Oathbreaker: A Dark Fantasy Web Serial-Chapter 2Arc 7: : Spar and Parting

“Well, it is rather inconvenient.” Emma stepped back from her sparring partner long enough to adjust a lock of black-brown hair that’d escaped her bun. My squire swiped her sword up in a smart salute and her opponent mirrored the gesture. “And in winter of all times. Where did you say we’d be going again?”

We were in the Fulgurkeep’s training yard, a sort of quarry dug out from the rocky island’s face. Sheer basalt walls and the soaring spires of the enormous castle complex rose around us, dizzyingly high and giving me the impression of standing in a ravine. A light, slow snow drifted down from the gray sky.

I leaned against the side of the yard’s storehouse, watching the young woman fight. Emma Orley would be nineteen in only a couple of months, and a year of training and battle had taken all the soft edges off my nobly born apprentice. Though she wasn’t tall or burly, Emma had developed lean muscle and the vicious speed of a she-lion to complement her talent for fencing. Her older opponent had to take a minute to find their breath, giving us a moment to speak.

I said nothing. Emma glanced at me, a crease forming between her eyebrows.

“I will be departing for the south just as soon as I’ve settled some affairs here in the city,” I said. I’d considered waiting for this conversation, but decided it best to be done with it. “You won’t be going with me.”

Emma blinked at me, her amber eyes showing a momentary lack of comprehension. She opened her mouth to speak, closed it, then spat out a vicious curse as her fencing partner used her distraction to deliver a jab.

“I’m sorry,” Emma hissed as she beat back her opponent. The two started to circle. My squire continued to speak to me even as her distinctly avian eyes tracked her partner. “I’m not sure I heard you right. It sounded like you just said I won’t be going to the south with you, but I must have misheard.”

There was a dangerous edge to her voice. I sighed, releasing a plume of frozen breath into the coastal air. Myrice risked taking her eyes off Emma long enough to throw me a questioning glance.

“I’ve already spoken to the Emperor. My obligations to the Accord can’t just be abandoned, and this is why the lance was built in the first place. You, Hendry, Lisette, and Penric will still be going to Mirrebel not long after I leave. Duchess Faisa has already made travel arrangements, and you’ll be expected at her nephew’s palace before the end of the month.”

Emma didn’t say anything at first. Ser Myrice narrowed her eyes and ducked into a sudden low cut, the striking serpent to my squire’s bird of prey. And just like a canny bird Emma hovered out of the way on light feet, jumping to dodge the strike to her ankle and slashing out. Her blunted sword caught the Gorgon on her shoulder blade, eliciting a hiss of pain.

I’d asked one of the veterans why the two women weren’t wearing padding or any other protection. Both only wore simple trousers and tunics belted with rope, their arms and feet left to the rough mercies of the winter air. The tired man had just sighed and shaken his head, leading me to guess this wasn’t unusual for the pair.

Emma gave her opponent a moment to recover and spoke as though there’d been no break in the conversation. “Of course, that makes perfect sense… for the other three. What I don’t understand is why I’m going to bloody Mirrebel while you’re not. I’m your squire, Alken. I go where you go.”

“Not this time,” I said quietly.

Emma shook her head, her lips pressing into a tight line. “Why?”

Myrice glanced at me again, pausing their fight. I searched for words. In truth, I hadn’t come to a decision until I’d out and said it.

“Several reasons. Hendry has been acting withdrawn ever since he got back from his family’s lands. I don’t think he’s been in the most focused state, and even though he’s the only belted knight besides myself in our group I don’t feel comfortable leaving him in charge. Lisette is competent, but she’s also prone to self doubt and isn’t much of a leader. And Penric…”

Where did I even start with Penric? “Well, he could probably take charge in a pinch. But the real reason, Emma, is because you’re my squire. I trust the other three, but they haven’t been tested like you. I need you there to represent me, to be my eyes and ears and my voice if necessary.”

The two had stopped fighting. Emma turned to glower at me, her eyes hard and her jaw stubbornly set. I recognized that expression, but soldiered on anyway. I met the gaze levelly.

“The mission in Lady Faisa’s country is important. We need to show the Accord that I’m not just the Emperor’s fist, that my position serves all the member realms equally. This is about diplomacy as much as doing a job. People know you’re my shadow, Emma. If both you and I are absent, no one will take the rest of the lance seriously.”

Emma’s voice lashed out, angry as I’d known she’d be. “You’re trying to protect me. You don’t want me involved in your other work, what you do for them.”

I glanced at Myrice. This wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have in front of others. People knew rumors about me, but rumors and hearing details first hand were not the same thing.

I was the axeman for the gods, their executioner, their Doomsman. For most of a decade I’d been a shadow, an ill rumor, then all of that changed the day I killed the Grand Prior of the Arda and tossed his head down in front of the Ardent Round.

But rumor and misinformation could be to the advantage of a man in my position. I tried to avoid stripping back the veil of mystery too much outside my circle.

As though comprehending all of this, Myrice glanced at Emma and gave the younger woman a faint smile. “I’m freezing. Let’s take ten?”

Emma threw a sheepish look at her sparring partner, then nodded. I walked with her to one of the large iron braziers kept lit around the yard. Emma hugged herself as the heat of exercise faded from her limbs, though she stubbornly refused to so much as shiver.

“I know this is a raw business, Em.” I tried for a smile. “It’s just bad timing, and it doesn’t mean I don’t trust you. Just the opposite.”

Emma sighed, deflating. “I know that, but…”

“But what?” I asked.

Emma looked directly into my eyes, something most people flinched away from due to the sharp gleam of aura in them. “Every time the Choir gives you a mission, everything goes to shit. They don’t care if you live or die, you’re expendable to them. And don’t argue otherwise. I see it. You do their dirty work so they can stay clean and holy. What if they have you kill someone Markham doesn’t want you to? Cause a diplomatic incident?” Ṙ𝘢ŊȱΒÈṧ

I’d considered that very thing, and been light on details during my discussion with the Emperor. It was something we’d talked about before, but found no true solutions to.

Markham had said it himself at the time. He would protect his own, which I knew included the nation he wanted to maintain. Both of us hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but…

I hid my doubts and said, “I don’t believe they intend to just throw me away. There’s always something sinister behind every foe they send me against.”

Emma spoke through her teeth, wisps of misting breath escaping with every syllable. “I do not trust them. You need someone watching your back.”

Emma Orley, who had once been Emma Carreon, never did have much faith in the divine. I didn’t consider myself particularly devout either — no more than was reasonable considering I’d seen gods and angels with my own eyes and knew they were real — but Emma viewed them with a complicated mixture of apprehension and disdain.

I understood much of that distrust. I felt enough of my own. I knew I was expendable, and I’d been made aware that my antics in Garihelm over the past year hadn’t been appreciated by some members of the Choir. I already felt my own unease at whatever my next labor might be.

“I did this for years before we met,” I reminded her. “This is back to business as usual for me.”

Emma tilted her head to stare at me sidelong. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? I assure you it does not.”

I put a hand on her shoulder. “I need you here, keeping what we’ve started to build together. The lance is too new to be left to fend for itself.”

This was a lot of pressure to put on an eighteen year old girl. I felt like a bastard for doing it, but I’d come to rely on Emma.

And my other work, what I did for the Choir… that was for me. I’d told her when I’d taken her under my wing that I did not want her to become an apprentice Headsman.

Emma still had that stubborn set to her jaw. “Can’t you at least take one of the other three? Take the choir girl so she can stitch you up when you get yourself torn bloody, which you will. Or Hendry so you have a strong arm at your side.”

“I already heal fast, and you need Lisette in case there are any sacred rites that need doing. Hendry is the only belted knight amongst you, so you’ll need him to get through doors and keep cooperation from the nobles. And before you say it, Penric is going with you as well. He needs Lisette to keep him from falling apart, and he’s an old soldier. His experience will be invaluable.”

I lowered my voice, becoming barely audible over the echoing sounds of shouts and iron clanging across the quarry. “But you will be in charge, Emma. They’ll need you to keep them alive until I’m back. I need you to do this.”

The expression on Emma’s angular face changed. It was a subtle thing, but the anger and the stubbornness became filtered through a very different emotion. Fear.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she said in a small voice.

She always seemed so confident, even arrogant, yet when that mask cracked it could be heartbreaking. Emma had been left all alone in the world, surrounded either by people who hated her or who wanted to use her name for their own ends.

I knew what her greatest fear was. It wasn’t demons or soldiers or even failure. She feared being left alone. For more than a year it had been her and me against the world.

“You can,” I assured her. “You are Emma Orley, granddaughter of Anastasia Carreon and godchild of Nath. You are Alken Hewer’s squire. There’s no one on the face of this sphere tougher than you, kid.”

Emma squeezed her eyes shut, took a shuddering breath, and nodded. “Fine. But if you don’t come back—”

“You’ll reanimate my corpse and make it tumble in front of the whole aristocracy. I know.” I smiled. “You’ve got this, and you’ve got the lance. Rely on them.”

Emma nodded slowly, her usual cool indifference sliding back into place. “Very well, then. I suppose I must brief the others. If you will excuse me, Ser Headsman.”

She walked off. A moment later, Ser Myrice sidled up to me and held her hands toward the fire.

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“That’s a tough young lady,” the knight said conversationally. She had a smooth voice with a subtle lisp. “You’re lucky. My squire is a little prick from House Redmoor. He’s probably off despoiling a castle servant right now.”

She sighed. “I don’t suppose you’re interested in trading?”

I glanced at the woman. Perhaps twenty-six and striking, Myrice Gorgon possessed green eyes with a distinctly serpentine aspect. A mark of an ancient pact her clan had made with a dangerous creature. Those eyes were dangerous, a focus for her magic just like my eyes and voice were.

“Lady Gorgon,” I greeted the woman cautiously. “Thank you for sparring with my squire.”

Most in the castle were afraid of Emma, both because of her association with me and because she could be scary. Myrice had taken to us after the Vyke coup, and though she wasn’t part of the lance I’d come to appreciate having an ally.

But the Gorgons were also surrendered Recusants who’d fallen in line after the war, a clan with a reputation nearly as dubious as infamous families such as the Vykes and the Carreons. They were more obscure, but that didn’t necessarily make them less dangerous. Myrice seemed eager to prove herself as a Knight of the Accord, but part of me couldn’t overcome the knowledge that her family were once my enemies. Most of them probably still were at heart.

You could say the same about Emma. If the Carreons were still around, you’d feel the same towards them.

But the Gorgons were still around, and familial loyalty can run deep. I didn’t entirely trust Lady Myrice.

I didn’t really trust anyone.

“You know,” Myrice continued as she warmed her hands at the fire. “I also have a full lance. Two archers, a valet, and that awful squire of mine. I’ve felt a bit cooped up here in the city and could use some adventure.”

I lifted an eyebrow at her. “What exactly are you suggesting, Ser Myrice?”

She shrugged, her very slightly slitted eyes wandering the yard as though bored. “I could accompany your people to Mirrebel. Just some company on the road, mind. They’ll be traveling with a winter caravan anyway.”

“Do you have some business in Dance lands?” I asked, nonplussed at this offer.

“One of my little cousins is Duchess Lenore’s handmaiden. I’m quite fond of the sweet viper and could use an excuse to visit.”

I recognized the name of Natan Dance’s wife. He was Faisa’s nephew and Crown Duke of Mirrebel, a member of the Ardent Round. “And what would you ask in return for providing company to my people?”

I’d gotten better at this game. Intrigue. Verbal sparring. The ever shifting river of court politics. I’d never be as comfortable with it as Rosanna, but I could learn to keep up.

“Hm.” Myrice gave me an appraising glance, and something about that look made me feel like I’d suddenly found myself on a rack. Or huddled in an unprotected nest while the snake closed in. “I suspect you can find some way to make it up to me. When you return from your mysterious errand in the south or… even earlier, perhaps? When did you say you’d be leaving again?”

I hadn’t. Not at all sure I’d read this situation right or knew how firm the ground I stood on was, I shrugged. “Soon.”

Myrice walked behind me. She did not keep a professional space between us, letting one hand slide along my elbow in a smooth, unsettlingly sinuous motion as she did. “Well. You know where to find me, Ser Hewer. Perhaps we can discuss the details further… in private?”

She walked off in the same direction Emma had. Another of the sparring knights stopped next to me while I watched Myrice leave. Vander Braeve was covered in sweat despite the cold air and wearing the padded garments most of the training men-at-arms used.

“Careful of that one, Ser Alken.” He glared after the Gorgon. “Her whole brood hide venom in their smiles.”

I knew that House Gorgon had offered Myrice in marriage to Vander, partly as an insult following the murder of his uncle. “I don’t know what she expects of me,” I said. “None of my secrets can be of much value to her family.”

Vander stared at me as though I were simple. I frowned, shifting and folding my arms. “What?”

“You really don’t understand?” He asked. Me and Vander didn’t get along too well at the best of times, and this frank conversation threw me off guard. When I just stared at him, he sighed.

“You’ve made waves ever since last spring. In less than a year, you’ve cowed an entire faction of the Church, stopped a coup that would have destroyed our confederation, and become the Emperor’s councilor since the death of the old steward.”

He stepped forward and lowered his voice, forcing me to heed him. “You have power, man. Have you really not had any so far?”

“Had any what?” I asked slowly.

Vander’s face darkened with frustration. “Marriage offers, Hewer.”

Realization struck me all at once. “You’re saying Myrice Gorgon means to court me? I sensed the seduction, but that seems…”

I shook my head, at a loss for words. I’d dealt with this back in the Karledale, but I’d been a different man then. I doubted anyone wanted to be tied to my House of one.

Vander glanced in Myrice’s direction. “She’s not yet married and I hear her father is putting pressure on her about it.” His voice took on a note of distaste. “And I know something of that woman. She’s probably attracted to the idea of being matched with the Headsman. It’s a matter of aesthetics for her.”

He shook his head. “But that’s not my point. You have influence, Hewer, and people will want to claim a piece of that. Everyone’s scared of you, and you don’t have any titles or lands to go along with your knighthood, so I imagine that has stalled things. But you will be seeing more Myrice’s, and sooner rather than later.”

He clapped me on the shoulder, which I found more disturbing even than this sudden revelation from the normally bitter man. “Best get used to it. My advice? Pick someone safe and dumb from a rich family, and tell her nothing your enemies can use against you. People like that Gorgon witch might be more useful, but they’ll always have their own schemes. Don’t invite cobras into your bed.”

He walked off then, leaving me alone in the cold with the gently falling snow. Discontent and frustration wormed their way into my gut.

I did not want to think about love or marriage. For the first time, I found myself looking forward to leaving the city.

I didn’t waste much more time. After making sure the people who needed to know were aware I’d be leaving the city early, I gathered what I could carry and found myself at the stables.

Chimera can be hard to keep. There are a thousand varieties of all sizes, temperaments, and dietary needs. Some are bred for war and those can get enormous, and for a city the size of Garihelm that could require a lot of space, a lot of material, and a lot of wealth dedicated to the care of animals.

There’s a zoo in Mirrebel. I’d heard rumors of one in Bantes too. Apparently they keep rare and exotic beasts, either crafted by alchemists or captured from the wild for people to ogle at. I hadn’t seen it myself, but it must have resembled the grand stables of the capital city of the Accorded Realms.

The din of animals and people, along with the nearly overpowering stink of the place, faded into so much sensory noise as I patted my own mount’s snout and muttered encouraging words in elvish to her. Penric stood nearby, helping check over the saddlebags and securing them to Morgause’s flanks.

“Long trip to Osheim,” the archer noted. How his fingers worked so cleverly at the ropes and knots of the chimera’s tack I couldn’t say, considering the wrappings around his blind eyes. But it didn’t impede him here any more than it fouled his marksmanship.

“I know,” I said. Almost as soon as my unexpected meeting with the Herald of Heavensreach had ended, I’d done some investigating on my mysterious destination. Court records had Tol as a small city in the north of Osheim, a small kingdom tucked away in Urn’s heartlands.

It wasn’t far from Kingsmeet, the old capital before the war. I’d been trying not to dwell on that.

Morgause nudged me. She knew we were leaving and seemed eager to be gone from the packed noise of the stables. I gave her snout a gentle shove and admonished her. “We’ll be gone soon enough, you be patient.”

After the tournament, Rosanna gifted me the scadumare to keep as my personal steed. The survivor of a pair of twins and an exceedingly rare breed, Morgause was black as deep night and cut the line between horse and reptile. She looked like a huge destrier, until you noted the clawed hooves, ridge of horns, and sharp spines protruding from her mane. Sharp teeth filled her narrow snout and she possessed eyes the color of rubies.

Penric grunted, then leaned back and scratched at the wiry stubble on his hollow cheek. “That squire of yours is pissing mad. I’m guessing telling her you’re going it alone didn’t spin well?”

I sighed. “She understands.”

The archer shrugged. “Well, I’ll keep the young’uns safe as I can. Shame you aren’t going to Mirrebel with us. You ever been?”

“I’ve passed through.” I checked the reins one last time with a sharp tug. Morgause nipped at me, nearly taking fingers.

“Great bars,” Penric said happily. “The Dance’s know how to run a country, you have to give them that. Have you seen a Mirres brothel? They’re better than anywhere else. Got standards. Can you imagine? A rut house with standards? Clean women, good music, excellent food. And I’ll be going with a purse full of royal stipend this time.”

The man chortled.

“Just remember you’re there to work, not enjoy yourself.” I gave him a hard look. “You’re the most experienced soldier of the four of you, Penric. I need you sharp.”

“Aye captain.” Penric’s aged face remained amicable as always. “I’m dead, not daft. I think we’re all more worried about you, Ser.”

He tilted his head toward me, clearly seeing me fine in that uncanny way of his. Morgause’s stable was kept dark — she was a nocturnal creature who disliked strong light — and in that dimness I noted the former assassin’s distinct grayish pallor. The faintly glowing lines of auratic stitches, Lisette’s work, were just visible along one temple.

“We all see it, you know.” The dyghoul’s voice lowered. “You were doing well for a while, but you ain’t been sleepin’ right lately. And I know the dead been whisperin’ to you. You’re still wearing them charms when you sleep?”

“I’m wearing them,” I said quietly.

Penric nodded. “Good. You know the young lady isn’t just angry about being left out, right? We’re all worried about you. Your powers still acting strangely?”

“…Yes,” I admitted. “I don’t really understand what happened to me last summer, Penric. What I did. Whatever happened, it changed something.”

Penric stared at me, his gaze intent even with the bandages. “I won’t pretend to understand. I was just a common killer before I got my skull cracked by Beatriz’s war pick. You should find someone who can tell you more, get you looked at.”

He paused and added, “I wouldn’t recommend a priest.”

That suggestion was sobering. I didn’t know what to say.

Penric grinned, his mood shifting. “Also, you should take a bow. No man should hump it through the wilds without a bow. What’re you going to eat?”

In response, I unstrung a leather case we’d strapped to Morgause along with the saddlebags to reveal a compact crossbow. The body was dark wood, the mechanisms brass. It also bore decorative bronze plates with detailed inlays etched into them.

“Custom made,” I said. “See the bronze pieces? Similar alloy as my axe. The wood is from my axe’s handle too. It can channel aura.”

Penric grunted appreciatively, admiring the weapon with enthusiasm. It’d taken a long time to let my axe’s handle of living oak grow and cutting the excess away to get the material for the crossbow’s stock. I’d then had to find an alchemist who could make heads or tails of the formula for the metalwork, then wait weeks before he and the artisan who’d made the weapon itself were finished.

The end result turned out beautiful, but in a very functional and human way. It might not be a faerie-made treasure out of Seydis, but I could use it.

When we were done packing, Penric turned to me and we grasped hands. His skin was corpse cold, the grip firm. “We’ll be alright,” the old veteran said. “Make sure you stay alright, captain. I know the score, but keep your head on straight and chop the enemy before they can chop you. Better yet, drop them from the ridge line. Fuck all that honor shit, just stay alive and win.”

I smiled. “Keep them safe, Penric.”

The archer grinned, flashing long teeth. “Well, I need that cleric lass to keep me from rotting, so you can bet I’ll watch their backs. Good luck to you, captain.”

He left then, giving me the first moment of quiet in hours. I patted Morgause on her leathery neck. She’d be my only companion for many days.

It wasn’t the first time I’d left Garihelm that year, but even still… so much had happened. I’d been so busy, experienced so much. It felt strange how quickly this had happened.

I’d barely even argued, but what could I do? Ignore the gods? freeweɓnøvel.com

You could. You just know there’s probably a good reason for this.

“We’ll be back by spring,” I said to Morgause. “In time for Rosanna’s departure for the Karledale.”

The mare side-eyed me dubiously. I shook my head and mounted, fitting my steel sabatons through the stirrups. She barely made so much as a nicker of protest at my weight.

I wore my armor and red cloak. My coat of black chainmail, damaged during the fighting in the early summer, had been repaired best as mortal smiths were able. I’d also reinforced it with pieces of the tourney armor Faisa Dance had given me. My ensemble now consisted of pauldrons, each three layers of overlapping plates, and a thick gorget of dark steel. Metal covered my forearms and my legs from foot to thigh, all layered and all black.

It was as close to a full set as I’d worn since my war days, ignoring my brief tenor as a tourney fighter earlier that year. I’d also taken to wearing a long, featureless black surcoat with frayed edges over the armor, not unlike the uniform any executioner might don. I’d long since stopped bothering to be subtle about my purpose.

The heavy belt around my waist held my rondel dagger, and displayed a bronze medallion inscribed with the image of a hangman’s tree. It was the mark I’d chosen for myself after the tournament. I might have been made a proper knight again, but I wouldn’t use my old symbol.

I turned us to the stable doors. Morgause kicked, eager to be off. Even still I kept a firm hand on the reins.

The only one who knew I was leaving were Emma, Penric, Myrice, and the Emperor himself. Hendry and Lisette were busy and wouldn’t find out until I’d already put miles behind me. Even Rosanna didn’t know. She was too occupied running a nation and raising three children, and I wasn’t going to disturb her for this.

Why did I hesitate? This wasn’t goodbye forever.

The last time I’d left my queen and gone off on my own without talking to her first, I’d spent eight years wandering through a violent nightmare. Didn’t she at least deserve a goodbye? Shouldn’t I talk to her son first? I’d spent some time with young Darsus lately, helping him cope with his condition. That’d been a large part of the research I’d been doing. He might take my sudden absence hard.

You have a job, I reminded myself. And Donnelly told you to hurry. Stop pussyfooting and get on with it.

“Let’s go, Morgause.”

I didn’t even need to spur her. Together we forged out into the cold.