Oathbreaker: A Dark Fantasy Web Serial-Chapter 14Arc 6: : Audience

The lindwurm killed more than two hundred people that day. More than fifty knights died on the island, though I suspected more than a few of those would have survived were it not for Fen Harus’s wicked song. Most were bystanders, those lesser nobles, dignitaries, and their retinues who’d been caught on the stands when burning ichor rained over them.

It took less than ten minutes.

There were also reports from the city as well. Many of the sick and old had died in their beds, some even dropping from stopped hearts where they stood. Those numbers were still being counted in the hours after the event, and I suspected would continue to be tallied in the days to come. Whether the oradyn or the wyrm was responsible, none could say.

After the court gathered back in the Fulgurkeep, Fen Harus refused to speak much. He only told the gathered nobles and tourney knights who demanded answers that Ser Jocelyn was his people’s ward, and he must consult with his lady before offering any further council. Otherwise he remained still and silent, serene as a willow tree in winter.

We all knew what that must mean. Maerlys Tuvonsdotter wanted the Ironleaf alive, and her servant wasn’t permitted to say why. The wise hesitated to risk the displeasure of the mad princess of elvendom.

But not all were wise, and even some who might have been otherwise let their rage and grief speak for them. Many of the gathered nobles demanded Jocelyn be slain, his body dismembered and the pieces weighed down with iron and sunk to the bottom of the Riven. They demanded the Coloss be quarantined and sanctified by the clergy lest the blight spread. The Lady of House Ark was foremost among these voices, at least before her injuries left her unable to speak and the clericons took her.

She had many supporters, and the oradyn’s insistence that Jocelyn could not spread the Dragon’s Plague met many deaf ears. But the Emperor did not permit an execution, and the prisoner remained in a deep slumber within the bowels of the palace island, awaiting judgement. I’d been left injured and weakened, down two allies with Jocelyn in a dungeon and Karog badly wounded. The whole city was in uproar, with fear and confusion rampant.

And Yith’s deadline drew closer with every breath. The sun dipped low behind the anger of a building sea storm, turning the horizon black. When it rose again, Catrin would die.

What I’d set in motion couldn’t be stopped, but its chances of success became far slimmer.

The palace throne room had been set up for a feast. Long tables were set with dishware and sculpture between high columns hung with banners showing the sigils of every attendant House. Just like at Faisa Dance’s gala, Wil-O’ Wisps flitted about to provide their own strange music and ambient light. Living ivy with blooms shining with odlight spiraled each pillar, making the dour hall seem like some overgrown structure in the deep wilderness. Not a single alchemical light or mundane torch was in use. It had been decided that the tourney feast would celebrate the traditional aesthetics of Urn.

But no one sat at the tables, or enjoyed the fine wines and honeyed meads imported from every corner of the eastern world. More than a hundred lords and ladies, some clericons, and other high ranking officials of the Ardent Round stood and waited for their emperor’s lead.

Markham sat upon his throne, his cape still damp from the rain. He rested his head on one upraised fist. He’d not spoken in some time. His empress, steward, and the court clericon winged his throne.

The rustling of layered skirts drew my attention as Faisa Dance took up position next to me. I still wore my battered tourney armor, including the helmet. I’d decided to maintain the disguise long as I could, and hope the majority wouldn’t connect my display of power against the Lindwurm to my true identity. Few even knew that Alken Hewer, the Headsman of Seydis, had once been a Knight of the Alder Table.

The powerful lady next to me was one of those few. We stood near one of the side exits at the far end of the hall from the throne, where few would notice us.

“The Emperor intended for Ser Jocelyn to become one of his high captains,” she finally said in a conversational voice. “Perhaps even to take a prime position in the new military he is trying to build. This was a great loss, in more than one way.”

I took that in. It made sense. Jocelyn fought in the continent as a mercenary. He knew much about modern warfare and the threats developing beyond our land’s shores. He was well regarded, experienced, and young enough to be of value for many years to come.

I recalled how much time he’d spent with Laessa, and realized something else. “The Emperor wanted him to marry into the nobility, didn’t he? With Laessa Greengood.”

Faisa dipped her head in acknowledgment while I frowned.

“I heard another rumor she was being matched with a Grimheart.”

“Their families are close, yes, but Ser Gerard was intending to become glorysworn and his brother is already wed. The nobles are always gossiping.”

“The rumors also involved the Empress. She spread that story to take attention off Jocelyn, didn’t she? So no one would object to a landless sellsword gaining influence before he’d earned his place.”

The duchess said nothing, allowing me to reach my own conclusions. I recalled how the creature had gone straight for Gerard, and wondered if those idle rumors cost the man his life.

“Will the tournament be canceled?” I asked.

Faisa shrugged. “No one is certain. You know I was put on the tourney council?” She snorted. “I earn a bit of a reputation as a dabbling occultist, and they think me an expert. Anyway, some of the clericons I took as advisors tell me that much of the power we’d gathered seems almost depleted now. They believe that monster ate it.”

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I recalled how the wyrm seemed to swell in size through the fight, and how it shrugged off my strongest attack. “We might have made it strong enough to level this whole city.”

“Yes.”

“Can the ritual still be completed?”

She shrugged again. “Perhaps. More than half of those who fought the last two days — those who still live, anyway — ended up awakening their aura. We did not come out of this empty handed, regardless.”

When she noticed my helmed face turned toward her, she batted my silent ire aside. “Oh, don’t give me that look. I am not cold to the tragedy we just faced, Ser Hewer, but we must be practical. By the way, is that you over there?”

She nodded to a tall figure standing in the shadow of the throne dais. His pointed hood was up to shadow his features in near total darkness, and the bulk of broad shoulders and iron chain strained at the red material of his cloak.

“Yes.” Motion caught my eye from a nearby doorway. Bowing to the bemused Lady Dance, I moved over to the one standing at the exit. My left leg felt stiff, and every step sent a spike of hot iron through it. My chest felt like little bits of steel glass ground together inside every time I shifted so much as an inch, or took a breath. I hadn’t had my injuries looked at since returning from the Coloss.

“It’s time,” Emma told me. “The others are waiting for you.”

My heart picked up in tempo. “It’s done?”

She nodded. “Oh, we got it done. It was shockingly easy, although I don’t expect that will last long.”

She studied me a moment and frowned. “No one’s talking about what happened at the Coloss. What are—”

“I’ll explain later.” Emma hadn’t been present during the Lindwurm’s appearance, and the Emperor had ordered the court to silence. He did not want the entire city in more of a panic, and even so much as the rumor of wyrmblight would lead to riots. Probably worse.

We started to move. Emma didn’t miss my limping gait.

“You’re injured.”

“Where’s Lisette? I might need her threads.”

“She’s at the tower with the others, but I’m not sure there’s time for her to heal you. You know her Art doesn’t work instantly, right? Just speeds the process.”

I was too distracted to be annoyed at her lecturing me on what I already knew. She was right, anyway. This was probably the worst time to become half a cripple, but…

No going back now. While I didn’t feel there was any positive in what happened at the arena, I couldn’t deny that the distracted court gave me something of a head start.

The rattle of armor and shifting cloth at my back made me freeze. Emma went still at my side, already reaching for her saber as we turned. I had nothing but my rondel, but my hand drifted towards it on instinct.

A young man in white steel worn over a warrior’s robe stepped out of a side passage and positioned himself in the middle of the hall. Without his helmet, Siriks’s red braid hung over one shoulder like a bloodstained rope.

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The three of us stood there in silence a while before the cymrinorean broke it. “Where are you going, Hyacinth?”

I watched him without answering. Emma was a wire string at my side, ready to snap into violence at my lead.

Siriks tapped the side of his head. “When I fought you, I wasn’t certain who you were. I’ve got a hunch now.” He tilted his head back to the throne room. “So who’s in the red cape back there?”

I shrugged. Siriks scoffed. I’d destroyed his Art, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. He’d overpowered Nimryd with brute force and speed, and fought me evenly blade to blade. I had Emma with me, but he could still stall us long enough to make everything go wrong.

“What you told me before…” The young man’s eyes narrowed as he turned his head, eyeing me sidelong. “How do you know it’s true? What evidence do you have?”

Emma glanced at me curiously. I considered a moment, then reached up to lift my helm. Siriks’s eyes widened. He must not have been fully sure his hunch about my identity was right.

“You’ll have all the proof you need,” I told him. “By the end of this night, this will be decided one way or another. All I ask is that you do nothing.”

Siriks folded his arms. “Nothing? You’re not going to try to recruit me?”

I shook my head. “I know you’re waiting to see who’s earned you as an ally. The Accord, or the Vykes? I can promise you they won’t help you win back your homeland, Siriks. All they want to do is dismantle the peace. They don’t care what happens after. They’ll return to their mountains and let the rest of us burn.”

“Calerus told me we’ve never known peace,” Siriks admitted. “That these last eight years have been a farce, and nothing will change unless we turn it all over. I’m inclined to believe him.” His expression darkened. “I don’t want to know peace if it means leaving my homeland as it is, in his hands.”

His eyes returned to mine. They were black, contrasting sharply with his bronzed skin and dark red hair. “Tell me why I should stand aside,” he said. “And not stop you from whatever scheme you’re hatching?”

“Do you believe you can stall me, boy?” I let a smile cross my lips. “I beat you once already.”

“Maybe not,” he admitted. “But you’re injured, and I’m pretty sure I can take your little crow there.”

“Oh, is that so?” Emma let a feral grin form. “You think I won’t cut you to pieces?”

Siriks snorted. “I might like you, crow. But yes, I think I can take you both as you are.”

His hand went to the side sword at his belt. Emma stiffened.

I made no move for a weapon. Instead, I reached a decision. “Very soon, a certain nobleman is going to address the court. You’ll know who I mean when you see him. I want you to listen to what he has to say, and if you still want to fight us when he’s done, then I won’t complain.”

Siriks’s brow furrowed. “That’s it? You want me to let you go with just that?”

I put Ser Sain’s helmet back on, letting my next words emerge with an unnatural baritone. “Yes.”

He glared at me for a long minute. I waited, ready to defend myself. I wasn’t even certain I could conjure aureflame just then, and even the thought of fighting made my fractured ribs howl in objection. Even breathing wasn’t easy, but I wouldn’t let him kill Emma.

More likely that Emma would stop him from killing me.

Finally, Siriks relaxed. “Fine. I’ll hear your man. Consider me neutral for now, Hewer.”

He made a mock salute with two fingers, then turned and started making his way back to the court. I let out a sigh of relief.

“What a cock,” Emma said bluntly.

“He’s arrogant,” I agreed, “but he might end up being one of the greatest fighters of this century.”

Whether he would be remembered as one of the great names who helped saved the Accord, or destroyed it, remained to be seen.

Night had fallen by the time I returned to the dungeon tower at the Fulgurkeep’s sea-facing edge. Even with the sky blackened by sunset, light flickered across the clouds almost constantly as the storm blew over us. Wind howled, and violent waves cracked against the cliffs from which the old spire jutted.

If that thing Jocelyn changed into truly did steal whatever power we’d been gathering, then it certainly hadn’t quelled the weather’s anger. Garihelm was built to withstand flooding, but this storm showed no signs of letting up.

A narrow stone bridge separated my tower from the rest of the fortress, and crossing it with the wind tearing at us and the waves stretching up to drag us down if our feet proved unsure was a terrifying experience. We made it across, and Emma pounded on the door. After a moment, Beatriz opened it and we stepped into the tower’s entry hall. Both women had to work together to shut the siege door against the storm. I doffed my helm and adjusted my short hair, flicking some of the damp out of it.

Beatriz’s eyes looked shadowed and wary. She hadn’t slept in some time, I guessed. “Aureia’s Tits, you took your sweet time. What the fuck is happening out there?”

She caught herself and coughed. “Uh, ser.”

Emma threw me a meaningful look. I shook my head, sighing. “There was trouble. The tournament is probably off, or at least postponed.”

Beatriz’s eyes widened. “You can’t be serious. Have the Vykes made their play?”

I noted with approval that she still wore armor and a war pick hung at her belt along with no less than three daggers. Ready for trouble. While she’d only been a private guard for a minor noble family, Beatriz was still a soldier.

I didn’t have the time or patience to explain. “Where are the others?”

Beatriz snapped to attention. “Upstairs, ser. We set up in your office, as ordered.”

“Then let’s not waste any time.”

“Yes, I have other business to attend.”

Beatriz and Emma both whirled, hands going for weapons. The older woman spat a vulgar curse. I just sighed.

“Master Ostanes. Please try not to spook my people, we’re all on edge.”

The crowfriar stepped out from the shadows. He still looked like a handsome middle aged man in merchant’s garb, complete with a toadstool hat and finely trimmed beard. He gave me an apologetic smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“I am glad to see you survived that mess in the Coloss, ser knight.”

I stared at him hard for a moment. “You saw that?”

He shrugged, though his nonchalance faded when I took a step closer. His throat bobbed as I met his eyes, his own gray irises sliding away from my golden ones.

“You will not spread word of that to the citizens,” I said slowly.

“And why would I do that?” He played it casual, but he’d backed up a step towards the wall and his eyes remained downcast.

“Because I know your order. You spread fear and paranoia for your own gain.” I held a finger up. “I am only tolerating you breathing the same air as me because you are of use, devil. Don’t make me regret it more than I already do.”

“Word will certainly spread,” he told me bluntly. “But… not from me, and not tonight. I am here under contract, just as we arranged the day before the tourney. You have my services until dawn, Ser Headsman.”

He gestured down the hall. “Shall we?”

Leaning back, I nodded to Beatriz. She seemed wary of the man and the way he’d appeared seemingly from nowhere, but didn’t question as she started leading him down the hall. Emma remained back, her eyes narrowed.

“You didn’t tell me you brought a crowfriar into this,” she said quietly.

I suppressed a wince. I’d known she wouldn’t like it, considering her own history with Ostanes’s order, and hadn’t enjoyed the time or energy to spare arguing with her before now. “I did.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She snapped.

I set my jaw.

“Did you think I couldn’t handle it?”

“Are you handling it?” I asked her.

Her amber eyes were furious. “I deserved to know.”

“Perhaps,” I admitted. “And you’re right, I should have told you. But I didn’t, because we would have argued and it would have distracted you. Am I wrong?”

She pressed her lips into a tight line. “No, but—”

“I need you with me, Em.” I gave her a steady look. “I do trust you, probably more than anyone else in my whole damn life right now. Even Catrin is…”

I trailed off, and some of Emma’s anger ebbed. “Have you seen her?” She asked me in a quiet voice.

“Once, last night. She’s not doing well. I believe Yith is influencing her thoughts.”

Emma let out a breath. “Empty Throne. Fine. Fine! I’ll deal with it. But if that bastard so much as twitches wrong…”

“You can kill him dead as you like,” I agreed.

“I’ll just pretend like he’s Vicar,” she muttered stonily.

We walked together into the tower’s main chamber, where most of the extra rooms were located. Beatriz and Ostanes waited by the stair leading up to my quarters.

“Why not use the dungeons down below?” The crowfriar asked me.

“Too cramped,” I told him. “We’ll need the space, right?”

He considered a moment, then shrugged. “Fair enough.”

We went upstairs with me in the lead, Emma taking the rear just behind our “guest.” I’d been the one to set up the codes, so I knew to knock three times, then four, then twice on the door at the top.

“Cute,” Ostanes muttered.

“Speak out of turn again,” Emma said in a very calm voice, “and I’ll take your tongue.”

He did not speak again. I waited, taking a steadying breath and focusing through my injuries. I’d never been formally trained to put aside pain, and while I wasn’t a stranger to it I’d forgotten how reliant I’d become on my magic numbing it for me.

I could not show weakness once I’d stepped through this door.

The door opened, revealing the blunt features of Mallet. He took one look at me, nodded, and stepped aside to let me in.

My office was much changed from when I’d last seen it. The large desk had been pushed aside to provide more room, the window was boarded up so no rain or sea spray could get in, and an intricate design drawn in chalk dominated much of the floor. An outer circle ringed a complex array of interlocking designs, some I recognized as variations on the holy auremark while others were more esoteric. By the way the white chalk glittered, I knew gold dust was mixed into it. There were candles arrayed at various points, most set on a golden frame, though a few were silver.

Lisette was still hard at work on the project. She paced around it, arrayed in her white and yellow habit, murmuring and swinging a thurible. The chain holding the incense burner rattled gently as she worked it in a steady rhythm. I felt her aura humming in the air, and knew she’d been at work for hours.

The ritual she’d prepared would have cost a small fortune in materials alone. Having access to royal resources did have its perks, sometimes.

Ostanes whistled at the circle. “Now that is impressive work. Some of those are alchemical symbols, and… ah! Is that silver mercury in those bowls?”

Mallet sniffed at the man. “The fuck is he?”

“Hired help,” I said without looking at either of them, busy admiring Lisette’s preparations. Then, steadying myself, I focused on the figure in the middle of the circle. They’d been chained to a heavy chair fashioned from as much iron as wood, its legs bolted to the floor so it couldn’t be tipped over. Their face was obscured by a bag, though it didn’t hide their slender figure or the black and burgundy dress they wore.

“Take that off,” I said and nodded to the bag.

Penric, who’d been leaning against a wall out of the door’s immediate sightline, stepped forward and hoisted his crossbow onto one shoulder. Like Beatriz and Mallet, he wore more than one weapon and looked ready to wage a small war despite his advanced age and stooped posture. On cat-light feet, he navigated over the ritual circle without touching any of the lines or tipping any of the candles and ceremonial bowls. Carefully, as though handling a feral chimera caught fresh from the wild, he tugged the rope around the prisoner’s neck and slipped the bag off.

The young woman beneath it looked disheveled, the kohl on her eyelids left shapeless by sweat and her elaborate buns ruined so half-braided brown hair fell wild around her head. Despite that, her eyes were strangely calm as they met mine.

“Princess,” I greeted Hyperia Vyke with stoic formality. “I humbly request an audience.”