Oathbreaker: A Dark Fantasy Web Serial

Arc 4: Chapter 13: Burden

In a moment, I was back in the tower of Myrr Arthor. The wide surface of frozen stone set above the world vanished, replaced by the mosaic depicting the Alder Round, the high windows set within the domed ceiling, the silent statues of warrior-saints.

Beyond the windows, I could make out stars set amid a sparsely clouded sky. I’d been here for hours — long enough for the rain to stop, the sun to set, and night to fall. A faint mist of shimmering frost hung around me, and I shivered violently. Ice crept across the branches and roots set into the floor, washing out the amber into colder shades.

Father Alaric no longer knelt just outside the circle where he had before. I cast my eyes around, feeling a sudden spike of apprehension. I found him quickly enough, standing near the door. He no longer wore his veil, and his eyes were wide with some emotion — fear? Awe?

“You…” The old man’s scratchy voice trembled. “Who are you?”

My mind still reeled with what I’d just witnessed. The cosmic stage, that dreadful warrior, his pitiless words. Most of all, I remembered the task he had given me, the head I had been ordered to claim. I felt a chill which had nothing to do with the frosted air lingering in the chamber.

It had felt like I’d been there only a brief time, yet hours seemed to have passed. My legs had fallen asleep, and the desolate cold of the Empyrean Lamp had followed me.

“What happened?” I asked. My voice croaked out of a dry throat.

“I…” The old preoster swallowed. “I can hardly guess. It was like you were here, and yet not. I have never seen anything like it. Certainly, the Choir has made its presence known in this place, but this… Who are you?”

I stood, wincing as the blood found its way back into my legs.

Alaric turned his head slowly from side to side. “I have been here with you. I imagine they are still below, if they did not depart.”

I nodded, bit off a curse as I tried to take a step and nearly collapsed from a sudden spike of cramp. “I need to get back to them, to… I need to go.”

The preost nodded. “Yes, of course.” He’d clasped his hands together, and I heard him mutter a prayer. “You have an important task, I am certain. If I can be of assistance to you—”

“Just get me back to my companions,” I cut him off, already moving to the door with a slight limp. I fought against the urge to let my teeth chatter. “After that, forget you ever saw me.”

“That,” the priest said in a dazed voice, “is something I am afraid I will never be able to do.”

I collected Emma and Lisette in the same chapel I’d left them in, then departed the Bell Ward. They both barraged me with questions, but I brushed them all off.

I started making my way back to the palace, but stopped with the high towers of the Fulgurkeep still looming across many blocks. The old habits — to return to a place of safety, to report what I’d learned, to gain new orders — had strongly reasserted themselves in the weeks of being Rosanna’s guest, taking me with a strange ease despite the passage of so many years.

No. The palace didn’t feel safe to me just then, and I couldn’t — wouldn’t — tell Rose any of this. If she knew what I’d been ordered to do, and who gave that command…

I would not bring those I still cared about into this.

We’d stopped on a tavern street, with stacked rows of multi-storied buildings pressing in on either side. A rare clear night had brought people out. Merchants, sailors, mercenaries, entertainers, prostitutes… A plethora of the city’s night life, bolstered by the approaching tournament, had emerged. They moved in groups to their destinations, or lingered by open doors bursting with welcoming light. Rolling waves of conversation echoed through the alleys.

“Alken?” Emma asked. Her questions had stopped two blocks back. I could hear her worry, tinged with frustration.

I turned toward the two young women, focusing on Lisette. “You should get back to the palace,” I told her. “Report to…” I suddenly felt very wary of how many listening ears were about. “Tell our benefactor that I have a lead to follow. I may not be back for some time.”

Rose would be frustrated, but I’d explain later. I’d come up with an explanation, anyway.

Lisette nodded, frowning. “What will you do?”

I opened my mouth to speak, then snapped it close. Suppressing my frustration I said, “Just tell her.” Then I turned and started walking again, ignoring the cleric’s confused blue eyes.

Emma said something to the spy, lost in the din of the street, then scurried to catch up to me. I expected her to barrage me with more questions, but she just matched my pace, keeping a few steps behind.

My eyes roamed the buildings. I got more than a few sour looks and bitter curses as I barreled through the sparse crowds without slowing or worrying about who I jockeyed aside. Being over two meters tall and most of three hundred pounds has its advantages.

My eyes landed on one of the city’s vast selection of inns. An unassuming building, pressed tightly by its neighbors like an old, small man on a too-small bench. A weathered sign out front read The Dagger and the Dame.

Many of the inns and taverns in nicer parts of the city catered to traveling merchants, lower ranking knights, lesser dignitaries, and other well-to-do folk. Many were packed, beds and even common room space in short supply thanks to the gathering crowds for the fair, the summit, and the upcoming tournament.

This was not a nicer part of town, and the Dagger didn’t cater to wine traders. When I skipped up the half-rotted wooden stairs and entered the taproom, ignoring the batting eyelashes of the painted woman leaning by the door, I found it a bit more than half full. Rough, flinty eyed figures occupied most of the tables. Muted conversation drifted within the faint mist of smoke, mixing with the smell of alcohol and sweat.

I recognized the atmosphere well. I’d found myself in plenty of similar scenes since losing my knighthood, finding many of them frequented by soldiers who’d lost their lords, or just their will to serve a lord, after the war’s end. I saw some of the same here, as well as sailors in off the harbor, a handful of mercenaries, one or two Glorysworn who’d discovered glory did little to fill their bellies.

The quietude of the place, the lack of energy in the furtive conversations, spoke to one thing — this was the sort of place one went to when they didn’t want trouble, or to be bothered.

When she saw the collection of riffraff, Emma sniffed and put a hand to her sword.

I ignored them all, beelining for the bar. A sour-faced woman who looked fifty and was probably a decade or more younger stood behind it, a permanent scowl affixed to her face by a jagged line of scar. She didn’t so much as spare me a glance or a muttered greeting as I placed a hand on the bar.

“Rooms?” I grunted.

She shrugged with one shoulder. “Ten piece for a night. Fifteen for the two of you, but if you make noise I’ll have you thrown out and keep the coin.”

Emma stiffened, her face flushing red. I shot her a hard glance before she could make a scene.

“How much for two?” I asked.

This time she did glance at me. Her eyes were a very dull blue, with very little life in them. She glanced at Emma and sniffed. “Not a good place for a little girl to be sleeping alone.”

“How much?” I asked again, keeping my voice level.

“Twelve apiece,” the innkeeper said, shrugging.

For a single night, and for beds I suspected would have roaches, it was thievery. I paid without quibbling. Far more expensive anywhere nicer with private rooms in short supply. I got us food and drinks too, then moved to an empty table with a view of the door. We sat, and for a long while did so in silence.

Emma finally lost her patience after about twenty minutes. “Perhaps you would like to explain to me what’s going on?” She suggested, speaking with a mock formality which played up her highborn accent.

I drummed my fingers against the table. “I’m going to stay the night here. If it displeases you, you’re welcome to go back to the castle.”

Emma tch’d. “What happened back at the cathedral? Did you contact…” Her eyes went to the other patrons. “Them?”

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I didn’t meet her eyes, and didn’t answer. Emma muttered something bitter and propped her cheek on one fist, looking away from me with a scowl.

We got our food and drinks. I mostly just drank, not having much of an appetite. Briefly, I wondered if I could get drunk enough to sleep through the night, or if the aureflame in me would burn the poison off.

I decided to try. I had nowhere to be, no leads to follow, no one I wanted to talk to. I’d failed Kieran, I’d failed to destroy Yith, I had no idea where the Council of Cael were or if they were even in this goring city…

And I had to kill the Grand Prior, leader of the Aureate Inquisition. If I didn’t…

I’d never failed a task given to me by the Choir before, much less refused. The terms of what would happen if I abandoned my duty had never been laid out, but I had my suspicions.

I was excommunicate. No preost would commend my soul to the afterlife when I died. If the Onsolain forsook me as well, I would be cast adrift. I would die ignobly, likely haunted to death by the ghosts who dogged my steps. They hadn’t been much trouble in the city — the noise of civilization made them more skittish — but I saw them always.

I could see one now, lurking in the darkest corner of the taproom. It watched me with large, blank eyes set within a half-visible face.

I drank cheap beer and tried to chase the noise out of my skull.

I would die, and after…

However you die, however it ends… that will not be the end. I’ve marked you as mine, my knight, and there is no escape from me now.

I had my suspicions where I would go.

Emma huffed and stood, her chair letting out a grating protest as she slid it back. “I need to piss.”

I grunted. “Keep your sword loose. This isn’t a safe area.”

Emma just stalked off without a word, her expression dark. I sighed and drank some more. I waved for another cup.

Time passed. People left and entered TheDagger and the Dame. Emma did not return. I wondered if she’d gone back to the palace after all. A spike of dull worry went through me — had she gotten into some trouble?

I pitied anyone who tried to mug Emma Orley. I’d made her angry, I knew. Even still, I felt I should go look for her. I played with the decision for near twenty minutes before my own need to piss made the choice for me. I navigated around the building to the back alley, relieved myself, then started making my way back. I stopped at the door, glancing at the girl leaning against the wall. Behind the makeup, she looked too young.

“Did you see where the one who came in here with me went?” I asked her.

She shrugged. I fished out a bronze and passed it to her. She nodded.

“Went that way,” she said, nodding down the street.

Following her gesture, I could see the Fulgurkeep rising high above the rows, its shadowed face outlined by the lesser moon. So, Emma had gone back to Rosanna’s bastion after all. I suppose I’d deserved that.

“If you lost your company,” the girl suggested, “maybe you and I could…”

“No, thank you.” I walked back into the taproom, ignoring the harsh invective she spat at my back.

I sat. I drank more. It got late, and the taproom steadily emptied out. Conversely, the festivities outside grew louder. I heard a series of loud pops and crackles, muffled through the roof — fireworks.

I was busying myself staring into a half drained cup when the chair across from me slid back. I thought at first Emma had returned. I lifted my eyes, opening my mouth to speak, then snapped it closed again.

“Hey, big man.” Crooked teeth with prominent canines flashed in a cheeky smile. A warm brown eye twinkled at me, peeking out from within a mop of chestnut hair.

I blew out a breath and slumped in my seat. “Cat. What are you doing here?”

Catrin of Ergoth adjusted her mussed bangs and propped an elbow on the table, studying me critically. She looked much as she always did — a peasant woman in her late twenties, with mildly pretty features enhanced by a scattering of freckles, an easy smile, and a subtle impression of barely contained energy. She had thick, frizzy hair grown down to her shoulders, which would have been longer had she combed it any time recently.

Catrin turned her gaze from me and ran it across the seedy taproom. “Didn’t think to find you in a place like this.” Her eyes fell to my cup. “How many of those have you had so far? Any good?”

I ignored the question, narrowing my eyes at the dhampir. It seemed an odd coincidence she’d found me here in a city so large. “Have you been following me?”

Catrin shrugged, then waved for the innkeeper to bring her a drink. “Not exactly. I saw that squire of yours, Emma, I think? She looked fit to kill a man, so I thought something must have happened. She told me you were here, but didn’t say much else.”

“And you just let her go off on her own?” I demanded, my temper flaring.

Catrin regarded me coolly with lidded eyes. “Yeah. She’s a big girl.”

“This city is full of priorguard,” I snapped.

“Then how come you’re not rushing after her?” Catrin shot back.

“I—”

I had nothing to say to that. I stared down at my nearly empty cup. How many had I had so far?

Not enough to drown the angel’s words out of my head.

“Besides,” the dhampir said idly, “she had some elf shadowing her. I think it was a redcap.”

Qoth. So Emma had ignored my warning about the briarfae. It would keep her safer in the meantime, but still…

Just one more problem to add to the pile. I finished off my cup.

“I thought you were avoiding the city,” I said, changing the subject. “Inquisition and all.”

She shrugged. “And I didn’t think you’d still be here. It’s been nearly a month since I took you through those tunnels.”

“Point,” I muttered. The innkeeper brought fresh beer. Catrin downed hers nearly in one go. I’d had enough. It wasn’t helping, anyway.

Cat wiped her mouth with her sleeve, studied me a moment longer, then jerked her head to the door. “Let’s get out of here. Get some fresh air.”

I shook my head slowly, frowning. “Catrin, I really don’t have the—”

She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “You know this is a priorguard bar, right?”

I stiffened. The changeling’s lips curled into a knowing smile.

“Most folk don’t realize — they always wear those veils, you know? But they’re mostly ordinary people when they’re not haunting the city. There are eyes and ears for the Priory all over, in nearly every part of town.”

She leaned closer. “Trust me, alright?”

I sighed, and nodded. “Fine. I already paid the innkeep, though.”

“It put you out?” Catrin asked, lifting a thick, slightly arched eyebrow.

I waved a hand. “Not really.” It had been from Rosanna’s lenience. She paid me the same she did for any of her agents, as part of an agreement we’d made to make sure I could operate in the city. I’d tried refusing it, not wanting to rely on her generosity, but she’d made me see sense.

“Then stop quibbling.”

She stood and gestured for the door. I hesitated a moment longer, not really wanting company, then gave in and followed her.

She led me out into the city, away from the back street and into a nicer part of town. The sky lit up above us as we passed over a stone bridge connecting one neighborhood to another — more fireworks. I’d seen them before, but they’d become more common and more impressive as new alchemicals had been introduced from the continent, and more skilled hands had traveled to our corner of the world to make use of them.

Catrin stopped at the bridge’s edge and placed a hand on the parapet. She wore an unusual outfit, different from the unassuming dresses and bodices I’d seen her in before. It consisted of a shirt of thin white cloth with detached sleeves and a detached skirt, the latter like a wrap about her waist, cinched up high in the front and trailing down to her ankles in the back, revealing a pair of long trousers fashioned from segments of leather, and high, tight fitting boots. The detached sleeves and shirt were secured with a series of narrow straps rather than a bodice or corset.

The outfit looked distinctly improvised rather than fashionable, and reminded me of what some new-age adventurer might wear. It also revealed a surprisingly athletic build, which I’d suspected she had but hadn’t known for sure with her usual modest outfits.

A score or more others also lingered on the bridge as we stood together, watching the erupting lights. I turned my eyes from Catrin and looked at the display.

They reminded me of battle Art. It amazed me, how people had learned how to use powders and chemicals to wield similar powers to an awakened human soul. According to Lias, nations in the west had been doing it a long time.

Were we really being left behind? Looking at how rapidly change had come, I could believe it. It made me sad. Not only to learn my homeland had become stagnant, but that there might be no going back to the way things were. It was a bittersweet realization.

“Pretty,” Catrin noted, her soft eyes reflecting the lights.

“I don’t understand why everyone’s so festive,” I said, noting all the people, the distant sounds of merriment. “Just a few days ago, a monster nearly rampaged through these streets. They should all be more cautious. Clearer streets, more guards, more vigilance.”

Catrin eyed me out of the corner of her eye, pursing her lips. “So you’d put this place under martial law?”

I shrugged. “Sometimes it’s necessary. It can save lives.”

“Hm.” Catrin’s eyes went back to the fireworks.

What were Markham and Rosanna thinking? With the summit approaching, this seemed too lax. I’d ask her about it, next time I saw her.

“I talked to Joy,” Catrin said. “She said you saved Parn.”

“I thought you hated Joy,” I replied, also watching the man-made lights.

Cat let out a soft laugh.

“Not sure I’d call it much of a rescue,” I said, after she trailed off. “More like a stroke of luck after some fool choices.”

“Still.” Her voice became warm. “Parn looked out for me when I was young. He’s a good soul. Thank you for helping him.”

I muttered a half reply. In the canal below, long, thin boats carried people over black water as they watched the festival too. I had a sudden memory then — of the woman at my side asking me for a canal ride, of her cool lips against my skin.

You simply wish to be warm, to be wanted.

You care nothing for honor.

You do not wish to repent for your crimes.

My hand tightened against the parapet. Another round of explosives went off. The people on the bridge cheered and clapped. Catrin did too, though the motion had a touch of irony in it.

“They use these for war in the west,” she noted to me conspiratorially. “You ever see a cannon? Nasty things.”

The Recusants had fielded them during the war. Lias had told me that — without Art to level the playing field — such devices would have supplanted knights and many other traditional forms of war. The idea sickened me in a difficult to define way, that all violence could be done by a man placing a burning stick to a tube of metal.

“You alright, Al?” Catrin asked me.

Exactly the sort of question I didn’t want to be asked. There was only one honest answer.

“Why do you ask?”

The dhampir rolled her eyes. “Maybe because I found you in a dump, trying to drown yourself in bad booze? Alken, I’ve known you more than a year and you’ve refused alcohol every time you’ve been in the Backroad. Don’t think I missed that.”

I shrugged. “Backroad’s dangerous, and I was usually working.”

“You’re always working,” Catrin said. “You wouldn’t be in this city if you weren’t working. When did you last sleep?”

I let out a sigh of frustration. “I’m fine, Catrin. I don’t need a minder.”

A vulgar courtship.

A mongrel whose hungers remind you of its own.

I couldn’t get the angel’s voice out of my head.

Catrin drummed the fingers of one hand against the stone barrier, sharp nails clicking against the chiseled rock. Her eyes drifted down to the water. She blew out a breath, turned suddenly, and grabbed my arm. I felt her nails even through the sleeve of my coat, but she didn’t squeeze hard enough to cut.

She touched me in the place she’d first tasted me, in the crook of my left elbow. I stiffened.

“Come with me,” Catrin ordered, seeming not to notice that I’d gone on guard. I started to shake my head, but she tugged more insistently.

“Where?” I asked tiredly.

“You don’t need a minder, maybe.” She flashed her sharp teeth in a grin. “I think what you need is to let off some stress. Do you trust me?”

“Not really,” I told her honestly. I recognized the hungry glint in her brown eyes, the nervous impatience in her gestures.

Catrin snorted. “I’ve got something I want to show you. Come on!”

She tugged again. Sighing, I let her lead me across the bridge. “Where are we going?” I asked again, exasperated.

She just smiled mysteriously as she pulled me deeper into the waiting maw of the capital.