Oathbreaker: A Dark Fantasy Web Serial

I collected Emma, then we went to see Laessa Greengood.

Lady Laessa had been given quarters in the bastion. As a guest of the Empress, she’d been treated well since her arrival. I doubted she had any desire to return to her manor in the city after what had happened there, and with the risk of retaliation from the Priory.

A whole set of chambers and corridors in the bastion had been converted into something very like an embassy for House Greengood, with servants and guards belonging to the noble family moved to supplement Rosanna’s own household. The guards, given warning of my arrival, admitted me into a comfortable room far less cold and bare than the one I’d spoken to Laessa in before.

I found the lady painting.

She stood before a tall canvas set on a wooden stand in the middle of the room. Natural light provided by a set of windows illuminated her work, which she concentrated on with a furrowed brow and stubbornly pursed lips. She’d tied her shiny black curls into an almost painful looking rope behind her neck, keeping them clear of her face.

The figure she was in the process of painting turned out to be Ser Jocelyn of Ekarleon, the Ironleaf Knight. He wore his armor, his horned helm tucked under one arm, its pale plume hanging nearly to the ground.

When the maid announced me, Lady Laessa jabbed her brush at Jocelyn as though threatening him with a sword. “Do not move.”

The knight remained impressively still. I don’t even think I saw him blink. I might have caught a small quirk of amusement at the corner of his lip, but nothing more.

The young lady turned to me. To my shock, her dark face brightened when she saw me.

“Master Alken!” She tucked her brush into an ear and stepped forward, an almost feverish energy in her movements. Her eyes, very near obsidian, glimmered with some barely contained emotion.

I motioned to Emma. “Lady Laessa, this is Emma Orley, my squire.”

Emma nodded to the other highborn, dipping into a bow rather than a curtsy in martial tradition. “I fear, last time we met, that I was quite unconscious. Terribly rude of me, to be certain.”

We’d decided Orley a safe enough name to use, since the family was a century dead and more obscure than the Carreons in our histories. Further, Emma still had her ambition of redeeming it one day through valorous deeds.

“Squire?” Laessa blinked. “Then I must correct myself, and apologize to you, Ser.” She dipped into a curtsy, tilting her head to Emma as well. Her dress, something rich but notably more well-worn than she might use in public, had been splattered with paint.

I felt very aware of Ser Jocelyn’s eyes on me. Emma watched me too.

The elves insist I’m still a knight. The Church would disagree, as would the Accord in any official circumstance, and both call me a blackguard for pretending.

What was I? Why did this have to be so painful, every time someone made the assumption?

I remembered Catrin’s words. You are. No one down here gives a troll’s ass wart what the Church or the nobles think.

“I was told you wanted to see me,” I said, changing the subject.

Laessa didn’t seem bothered by the deflection. She brightened again, almost skipping over to a side table near the hearth. “Would you like wine? I’d have a servant get it, but I can’t concentrate in a crowded room.” She began to pour wine without waiting for me to respond.

I traded a glance with Emma, who gave a one shoulder shrug and arched an eyebrow. I got the message. She seems different, doesn’t she?

Clearing my throat I said, “That’s kind, thank you.”

“Mhm.” Laessa handed us both goblets before returning to her canvas, her manner becoming more subdued as she cast a critical eye over her work. She bit a paint-stained thumbnail as she glared at the piece.

I studied it too, taking the brief opportunity while her back was turned. I couldn’t call the young noblewoman a skilled artist — I could tell she’d attempted to paint Jocelyn in all his accoutrements, but most of it blended into a smudgy mess. The face drew my attention. It had far more detail than the rest, yet looked unfinished. She’d only completed one eye, and the hair seemed too short to represent Jocelyn’s wavy gold-brown mane.

“I’m terrible at this,” Laessa sighed, shaking her head at the painting. “I don’t have an inch of his talent.”

“You mean Kieran?” I asked.

She nodded, looking glum. “I started doing this a few days ago. I thought… I don’t know. It’s a way to remember him, I suppose? Besides, what else have I to do trapped in this tower all day?”

I glanced at the knight. “It’s good to see you again, Ser Jocelyn. I never properly thanked you for that night with the ogre.”

Jocelyn lifted one thin eyebrow. Despite his build and height, he still struck me as somewhat effeminate, with his full lips, smooth skin, and bright brown eyes.

Laessa seemed to realize the man’s predicament. “Ah, yes, I’m done I think. This isn’t going anywhere.”

The knight bowed his head, letting out a sigh of relief before replying to me. “I am glad I could intervene,” he said in a quiet alto. “You were Ser Alken, correct?”

I couldn’t be sure, but I felt like he watched me very intently through his long eyelashes. He’s testing me, I realized.

“Just Alken,” I admitted. “I told you that night, remember? I’m no Ser.”

He brushed that off without so much as a blink. “Even still, you seem a most worthy bodyguard to face such a beast while giving your charge time to escape. I am glad to see your companion recovered from her injuries.”

Emma shifted, seeming caught between boredom and wary interest. “I hear you dealt the killing blow. I regret I did not witness it.”

“I simply took the opportunity presented,” Jocelyn replied smoothly.

Laessa scowled. “Oh, enough grandstanding. Jos, I must speak with Master Alken alone. Do you mind? I don’t think I’ll be finishing this today.”

The mercenary captain bowed, looking untroubled, then departed the room. I caught sight of his proud cape fluttering as it caught a draft from the corridor outside, then he vanished.

I caught something else as well when he passed me. A crackling power which swept over me like a flurry of cinders in a hot wind. The man had a volatile aura, completely at odds with his calm demeanor. I suppressed a shiver, feeling as though some enormous predator had just brushed me with its tail.

“Now!” Laessa clapped her hands together to face me. “Yes, I did want to speak to you. I was wondering, did you have any plans tonight?”

I blinked. Emma shuffled at my side, lifting her chin at the other girl as though appraising her.

I had intended to track down Lias and speak to him, or at least get some message to Lord Yuri, his alias. “Not in particular,” I said.

“No business on behalf of the Empress?” The young lady asked, tilting her head in question.

I folded my arms. “What’s this about, lady? You know I can’t discuss my work for Her Grace.”

“Hm. Ah, yes.” She coughed, looking nervous. “Well, the thing is, I wanted to know if you wished to join me for a function.”

I frowned. “A function?”

“A gala,” Laessa confirmed. “A number of nobles are gathering at an estate in the Fountain Ward, and members of the renaissance — mostly artists, some architects and inventors I think — have been invited as well. It’s a chance for the people driving our cultural movement to rub elbows with the aristocracy while gaining new patrons. It’s going to be quite the gathering, I think.”

I nodded, still nonplussed. “And you want me to be your escort to this gala?”

Laessa nodded. “Precisely! Will you do it?”

I studied her a moment before answering. “Why do you want me at this thing?”

The young woman opened her mouth to speak, then paused. Her dark eyes went to Emma.

“She’s trustworthy,” I said. “Go ahead.”

Laessa sighed in relief. “Kieran began to act strange right after he attended a very similar event.” Her black eyes hardened. “I still wish to get justice for him.”

“Do you now?” Emma asked dryly, her paler eyes narrowing. She fell quiet when I shot her a hard look.

Laessa paced to her artistry, staring at it for a long, intent moment. Then, in a more subdued voice she said, “I do not know how to justify it. I treated him terribly. I still feel responsible for all of this, but…”

She shook her head, causing her tight braid to swing. “I have not been able to sleep well since. I keep seeing his face.” She turned to face me. “If he met someone, or something, at one of these events, then perhaps they will reappear? It could be an opportunity for you. You are still hunting whatever is responsible, yes?”

I nodded slowly, catching her thread. “I’m not much for parties,” I admitted. “But it does seem like it could turn up something useful.”

“Kieran mentioned that artist,” Emma noted. “Anselm of Ruon?” She turned to Laessa. “Do you think he will be at this event?”

Laessa shook her head, though more in uncertainty than denial. “He is a very reclusive man from what I’ve heard, and most aren’t even certain he’s been in the city lately. He travels about a lot. I hear he is very wealthy, on top of being talented, but few know much about him.”

Her tone turned conspiratorial. “Some even think his name is an alias, that he is perhaps a noble of some obscure House.”

Anselm of Ruon was the most solid lead I had, besides the Vyke twins. I had no safe way to approach the Talsyn royals as of yet, which meant…

I saw no reason to turn the opportunity down. At the very least, I could troll for information.

“You say this is tonight?” I asked.

Laessa nodded. “Yes. It begins just after sundown. I have been invited as a representative of my House — some of my cousins will be there, I suspect.” She pursed her lips. “Do you have anything nicer to wear?”

I sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to scrounge something up.”

“That was odd,” Emma noted as we made our way down to our chambers in the lower halls of the keep. “She seemed… somewhat manic.”

I grunted. “She’s just lost someone important to her. Everyone deals with grief in their own way.”

Emma let out a quiet scoff. “Was Kieran important to her? Or does she just find the grief aesthetically pleasing?”

I was quiet a while as we descended a steep, spiraling stair narrow enough we couldn’t stand side by side. When we’d reached the bottom, I paused and glanced at my squire.

“That image she was painting,” I said. “Did you get a good look at it?”

Emma frowned. “Looked a mess. Didn’t resemble the Ironleaf at all.”

“No,” I agreed. “That’s because it wasn’t him. She was painting Kieran in Ser Jocelyn’s armor.”

Emma blinked, then folded her arms and turned her eyes down. “Oh.”

I nodded. “It was him after he died.” She’d even painted the maggots in his empty eye socket, the hole in his cheek. “Not only that, but it looked far too good for someone who only started painting a few days ago.” I shrugged. “Not that I’m any artist. What do you think?”

Emma rubbed at her short chin with a forefinger and thumb. “Hm. Perhaps it’s not the first time she’s dabbled?”

“The face looked uncannily realistic,” I noted. “Maybe it’s nothing — anyone with hyperactive aura can get intuitions, show more skill at something than they should.”

“I didn’t sense that her aura was awakened.” Emma frowned uncertainly.

“I don’t think it is,” I agreed. “But she’s experienced a lot of stress and grief lately. Could be her soul is on the verge of awakening.”

A lazy smile formed across my apprentice’s face. “You’re not going to take her on as disciple, are you? She’s fair to the eyes, true, but I’m afraid I have little interest in being part of some sort of harem.”

I glared at her, unamused. “If she awakens her aura, it could put her in danger from the same forces that victimized Kieran. I don’t know what Yith is planning, but he’s targeting adepts. It’s something to watch.”

Emma pouted, glancing away. “It was just a joke. Anyway, you think Yith might target Laessa?”

“I don’t know.” I started walking again. “If he does, I’ll be near enough this time to do something about it.”

Getting fitted for a formal event, especially among the nobility, isn’t something easily done on short notice. Laessa Greengood must have thought of this, and been planning to ask me for some time, because I found clothes waiting for me in my room along with a letter.

When I opened it, the message didn’t turn out to be from the Lady Greengood at all.

Master Fetch,

A pretty rose told me you might need formal wear for a gathering of peacocks. To express my gratitude for services rendered, I have prepared your plumage. I would only ask you be wary of snakes — the grass is absolutely riddled with them.

Dearest Regards,

F.

The letter had been left on my bed, along with a set of garments.

F. I let out a quiet laugh. Faisa Dance. So she still wanted me to track down her paramour’s murderer, too.

Lot of broken hearts wrapped up in this business, I thought darkly. I could guess who she meant by a “pretty rose.” How had she learned I was involved with the Empress? Or had Rosanna reached out to her?

Whatever the case, House Dance could prove a powerful ally, and a poor enemy if I messed things. They were among the land’s mightiest powers, easily a match for the Forgers or the Vykes. Had they thrown in with the Recusants during the war, I doubted we’d have won. I knew they also had close ties to House Greengood, who were allies to the Silverings.

You’ve really bound me up in a web, haven’t you Rose? I shook my head at the tangle of it all. As far as spiders went, my queen may as well be a great widow. She wove an artful web, and had very deadly fangs.

I had a few hours before I was to meet Laessa and head to the gala. I stripped out of my Reynish overcoat and humbler clothes and took some time dressing. The event garments consisted of another long coat, this one amber-brown, with decorative buttons of brass and triple-layered sleeves sewn with silver netting. It went over a tight-fitting doublet and trousers a bit thinner than I usually preferred, though the long tails of the upper garments and high boots made the difference.

Normally, I’d need servants to help with the doublet and adjust things, perhaps even do some resewing on the spot. The coat seemed a bit too long and the doublet too loose, which led me to believe Lady Faisa had skewed larger to accommodate for my size. The boots, surprisingly, fit me well.

I preferred more concealing garments in any case, and the coat was longer than the one I’d been wearing. Perhaps Faisa Dance just had good intuition about this sort of thing. I’d also been provided a long strip of red cloth, likely meant to be worn as a sash or belt in more formal events.

It was almost the exact color of my lost cloak. I wrapped it around my neck — not exactly fashionable, but I never had been.

Then I held up my axe, wondering what I should do with it. I didn’t want to leave it behind. I wouldn’t be defenseless without it, but I couldn’t deny the weapon made me far more potent. Not to mention, its binding Art made for an invaluable trump card.

I doubted I’d be able to sneak it into the gala. Even with the handle shaved down, someone would notice it.

Maybe it’s time to rely on others, I thought. My mind went to Emma, and what role she’d play in things going forward.

I hung the axe up on the wall, then paused as I heard something. There were voices out in the hall, raised in agitation. One of them belonged to Emma.

I made sure my rondel, secure beneath the tail of my coat, was in easy reach before moving to the door. I eased it open, getting a better idea of what went on outside.

Emma stood a ways down near the door of her own chamber, and she spoke with someone. Argued with them. The other sounded male, and spoke in a hushed, urgent voice. I heard the rattle of armor, a grunt, then the sound of a sword sliding out of its sheath.

I threw the door open and stepped out into the hall. Emma and a large man in armor stood a ways down. My squire had her long saber in hand, its keen edge held to the man’s throat, forcing him back against the wall.

It was the knight who’d gotten us through the bridge gate, the one Emma had said looked familiar. Now I saw him without his helmet, I did know him.

He stood tall, just under two meters, and had a burly build under his House Forger plate mail. A smooth, round-cheeked face juxtaposed that physique, making him look boyish despite his size. The image wasn’t helped by sandy brown hair and big, uncertain eyes.

I’ll be damned, I thought. Hendry Hunting. The son and heir of the lord who’d kept Emma as a ward back in Venturmoor. The young man who’d been expected to marry her and join their bloodlines, before I’d tossed a rock into those machinations.

What was he doing here, in the garb of a Reynish Storm Knight?

Hendry’s eyes went wide at the blade pressed to his neck. He tried to speak, but only got out a brief gasp before Emma pressed the blade in, letting out an angry hiss as her hawk’s eyes widened in fury.

“Do not speak!” She snarled. She noticed me out of the corner of her vision then, and a cruel little smile touched her full mouth. “Ah, good. Alken, I seem to have caught a little weasel creeping through the keep. What shall we do with him, hm?”

I approached cautiously, sensing a dangerous edge to my ward. “Hendry,” I said aloud. “What are you doing here?”

He cut a much more impressive figure than the burly, sad-eyed boy I remembered from Venturmoor. The gray-blue cape-and-surcoat of the Fulgurkeep’s garrison gave him more pinache, as did the steel beneath. Like many elite orders in the Urnic Realms, his armor had been heat-treated to take on a brassy hue very near gold.

“Here to capture me and take me back to his lord father, no doubt!” Emma bared her teeth again, almost livid with anger.

“I’m not here to—” Hendry started to speak, but grimaced as the blade nicked him.

“Let him speak, Emma.” I moved to stand behind her, wary. I checked the halls, making certain we were alone.

Emma tsk’d. “Very well, but if he shouts for help I’m taking some off the top.” She eased her sword’s pressure, letting the boy find his voice.

“I’m not here to take you back!” Hendry blurted. “I didn’t even know you were here in the castle. I didn’t know until I saw you both earlier today, when Ser Kaia sent me to make sure you could get in with the guard change.”

“A likely story,” Emma drawled, her eyelids narrowing near to slits.

I studied the young lordling a moment, considering, then shook my head. “Brenner sending his eldest son all this way and embedding him among the royal guard just to capture you is a stretch.” I addressed Hendry. “Speak, lad. Why are you here?”

Hendry risked a swallow. The armor on his neck, layered with a mantle of chain, hid the bobbing of his throat, but I could imagine it.

“After you vanished,” he told Emma, “my father was… very wroth. He put out bounties for the fetch you hired, suspecting him of being involved.” He gestured to me. “But when it became clear we wouldn’t find you, he had to find other means to elevate our House.”

Emma scoffed. “Yes, Brenner always was ambitious. If he couldn’t put Hunting brats into my belly, I suppose he had other schemes. You mean to tell me this is one?”

Hendry tried to nod, but winced and froze as the sharp blade of the Sword of High House Carreon brushed his flesh. “Many knights of the Accord, especially those who serve the Emperor, are pulled from lesser Houses across the realms. I won a tourney in the early spring and drew the eye of a Reynish captain. He nominated me to the Storm Guard.”

He hesitated, then in a more sullen tone added, “My lord father considered it a great opportunity. He insisted I take the post, and spread some coin around to make sure it happened.”

“Oh, how tragic for you.” Emma’s lips curled into a sneer. “Given a grand honor, what a burden it must be.” She glanced at me then. “We should silence him. He is a problem.”

Hendry’s eyes widened. “Em, how could you… I thought we were—”

“I never loved you,” Emma snapped, her eyes cold and sharp as the steel she held. “It was a political arrangement, you fool, and you always knew that. I was your father’s prisoner in all but name.”

The young man’s shoulders slumped. I placed him at nineteen. A hard age to hear those words from a girl you’d been sweet on. And I strongly suspected Hendry had possessed feelings for Emma Carreon. I remembered how he’d behaved around her, recalled his reckless charge against the Scorchknight, Jon Orley.

I’d gotten used to the venom Emma carried in her, and to her cynical nature, but I’d rarely seen this much rage in her. I sensed something else beneath it.

Fear. Her hand trembled, just a bit, on the sword, and the hard clench in her jaw had a brittle edge. She didn’t want to go back to Brenner Hunting and his schemes. Neither, I think, was she ready to face this boy who’d once had strong feelings for her, who she’d rejected and left behind without so much as a goodbye.

I watched Hendry a long moment, seeing the pain in him, the fear. I could imagine what had led to this confrontation. Seeing Emma again, the confusion, the questions, the happiness. He’d pretended not to know us on the bridge, spending all that time waiting for an opportunity to speak to Emma privately, to get answers.

I realized I sympathized with him. Thrown into this faraway and complicated place to be a means for others to climb up the social ladder, left isolated with all that pressure.

I’d been him.

I sighed. “Sheath the steel, Emma.”

“But—”

“Do it,” I said, not raising my voice.

“Tch. Fine.” She sheathed the sword, taking a step back from the young knight. Hendry let out a sigh of relief, wincing as he felt under his jaw. His fingers came away bloody.

“Go get ready,” I told her. “We’re supposed to meet Laessa soon. Get my axe, too. I can’t wear it in this.” I gestured to my formal garb. “Remember not to touch the handle with your bare hands.”

Her eyes went to the Hunting boy. “But what about—”

“I’ll take care of it,” I assured her. “Go. Cool your head.”

She sniffed, cast one last angry look at her once-betrothed, then stalked off. A moment later, the door to her chamber slammed closed. I waited until the last echo of the sound faded before turning to Hendry Hunting.

The boy let out a sigh of relief, then nodded to me. “Thank you, I’m not sure what would — ghaak!”

His words cut off as I grabbed one steel-plated arm, twisted it, and slammed him against the wall. It was good armor — it bent as well as the body beneath could, allowing me to place him in a lock. Hendry started to say something else, but froze as the tip of my dagger pressed into his jugular, only an inch from where Emma’s sword had.

I spoke very quietly, directly into his ear so I knew he took in every word. “I have nothing against you,” I said. “You fought bravely back at Orcswell, and I’m certain you intended nothing untoward with my apprentice.”

“Apprentice?” Hendry blinked. “You mean, you didn’t—”

“No, I didn’t kidnap her. And I think you knew that all along.”

He fell quiet. His blue eyes, stark against his tanned skin and brown hair, went distant.

“House Hunting no longer has any claim on that girl,” I told him, still calm despite the sharp point of steel I pressed into his skin. “She’s abandoned all of that. She doesn’t need your family hounding her steps.”

I leaned closer, lowering my voice to a bare whisper. “You tell anyone she’s here, or cause her any trouble, and you won’t have to worry about her wrath. I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Hendry rasped. “I won’t say anything.”

“Swear it,” I ordered.

He hesitated. I pressed the blade in closer, drawing a bead of bright blood.

“I swear it!” He hissed, squeezing his eyes shut. “Damn you, I swear it. I don’t mean her any harm, I never did!”

I studied him a moment, then nodded. “A knight’s oath is his life. I’ll remember that.”

I let him go then, wiping the dagger on my sleeve and sheathing it. For the second time, Hendry rubbed at his throat and coughed, staggering out of my reach.

“So what else did you want?” I asked him calmly.

Hendry blinked. When he stood to his full height, he almost matched my own, and I think he might have had an even broader build. He had his father’s bearish frame despite his youthful face, and more height on Lord Brenner too.

“I just wanted to see her,” Hendry muttered, glancing to Emma’s closed door. “To make sure she was alright.”

“She is,” I said. “And now you know. So leave her be from now on. If she wants to talk to you, that’s fine, but we don’t need any attention.”

“I doubt she’ll want to speak to me.” The young knight looked crestfallen.

“Perhaps not,” I agreed. I stepped past him and clapped a hand onto his shoulder, striking the steel pauldron. He flinched at my touch.

“She can be stubborn,” I said conversationally. "And likes to hide her heart behind her talons. Maybe she’ll surprise you?”

I doubted it, remembering her words about being more inclined to other women. Not my place to tell the kid, though. Instead I said, “Time to go. There’s a good lad. If you cross us, I’ll kill you.”

I patted the boy’s shoulder, then left him standing alone in the dimly lit hallway.