Oathbreaker: A Dark Fantasy Web Serial-Chapter 21Arc 7: : Wake

I stared at Delphine blankly for a long minute. My anger, my focus, my surety, it all curdled and was replaced by a sinking sense of horror.

As Delphine watched my face, a cruel smile quirked the edges of her lips. “That’s right. You weren’t her only affair back then. How does it feel? To know you weren’t so special, Ser Knight?”

“You knew?” I asked in a hoarse voice. “What she—”

“Did I know she was Abgrüdai? A demon of the Abyss?” Delphine lifted her chin, her nostrils flaring as she spoke with a breathy air of relief, as though the admission lifted some great weight off her chest. “Yes, I knew.”

“Are you mad!?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. To feel heartbroken for the loss of a love that wasn’t real and betrayed by a monster, that I could understand. But I saw no doubt or shame in Delphine’s face.

No, she seemed proud of the admission.

“Mad?” Delphine smiled wistfully. “Yes, I suppose it is a sort of madness. Yes, perhaps the Church is right! Perhaps I am a loathsome sinner, a heretic, a witch and a whore. I’ve heard it all.” She spoke through her teeth. “So go ahead! Judge me, but know that it will always be true that you lusted for a succubus, paladin, that you were swayed from your vows and your loyalties by a temptress of the Adversary.”

“And what about you?” I demanded. “You were a nun, sworn to the service of God.”

“I hated that place,” Delphine spat. “I was a prisoner there. The abbess saw me as a pet project, her little sinner she could redeem to stoke her own vanity. Shy was the only one who…” Her lip trembled as she cut herself off.

I spoke slowly, calmly. “That creature would have hollowed you out, devoured your soul, and then forgotten your name.”

I let her go, taking a step back and looking down my nose at this intellectual, this apparently learned woman who could match Lias in her breadth of esoteric wisdom.

Contempt. That was the feeling crawling through my chest. “You’re a pining fool,” I said.

Delphine glared at me with unmasked hate. “And what about you?”

“…I am that as well,” I admitted. Then I pointed with my axe to the chip in the wall where I’d destroyed the scadudemon. “But I learned my fucking lesson.”

Footsteps in the open doorway distracted me from the shaken scholar. Armored figures appeared there, Cyril Stour among them. He scanned the disarray in the room, then me with my fresh wounds and Delphine in her night clothes, who was still backed up to the wall.

I realized then that the back of my clothes were still drenched in blood. For some reason, that part of the apparition had been real enough, and persisted.

Cyril turned his calm eyes to me and spoke in a neutral voice. “Are you alright, Ser Hewer?” His eyes found the nail marks in my neck, and his lips thinned. He had four guards with him, all heavily armored House Stour bannermen. My scuffle with Delphine hadn’t been quiet, and they’d probably assumed we were under some kind of attack. I knew what it must look like.

I considered what to say. Delphine had tried to kill me. She was still dangerous, still a threat. She was quite clearly still heartsick over a being capable of influencing a person’s thoughts and emotions, and she’d been in contact with a sentient fragment of that entity. Even if she’d been planning revenge on me of her own volition, I suspected the scadudemon had influenced her. She might still be tainted by her past contact with a profane force.

Demons leave lasting wounds. The scars on my face burned dully, had for minutes.

I glanced at Delphine. I could ruin her entire life with a word to these men. If I told them what had happened here, they would drag her away and by the end of the week she would be burned as a witch.

Would that be best? She was part of the Inquisition’s work here. She’d admitted to it. She’d done bad things, and might still try to kill me. I didn’t need her to find Lias, not with Vicar and the mirror.

Delphine must have read some of this on my face, because hers drained of color. She understood her situation.

Before I could say anything, a horn blew somewhere beyond the walls. The sound was muted inside the room, but loud enough to make out clearly.

Cyril’s eyes went to the window and his brow furrowed. “That’s the southern gate,” he said. Another horn blew, this one louder, and he cursed.

“What’s happening?” I asked.

“I don’t know.” He ran his gaze between me and Delphine again, and spoke in a colder voice. “I would advise you don your armor, Lord Headsman.”

Lord, now, and not Ser. The young man must have believed something very different about this altercation. I’d have to clear that up later. “I’ll get ready,” I told him.

He looked at Delphine. “I will have my men escort the doctor back to her room.”

“No.”

Cyril’s face hardened, but I held up a hand. “She stays with me. Your men don’t need any distractions.” I turned cold eyes on the doctor, daring her to argue, but she just glared at me in silence.

Cyril looked like he wanted to argue, but whatever was happening outside tore at his attention. He glanced at Delphine, but she gave him nothing. Clearly frustrated, he left along with his guards.

I cleaned and wrapped the wound on my arm, then armored quickly, stripping out of the ruined shirt and putting on the clothes I’d brought before grabbing my steel. Armoring without help is difficult and frustrating, but I’d done it for many years and had no time for conveniences. I worked as quickly as I could, keeping Delphine in the corner of my eye all the while.

She broke the silence first. “What now?”

I ignored her, moving to the window and scanning the town. There was activity at the southern gate, and the east. More lights, signs of people moving on the walls. Another horn blew, this one more distant.

Then, in a flash, a bright light bloomed in the sky above the eastern gate. It took the shape of a sigil. A phantasmal banner. I cursed.

“What is it?” Delphine demanded.

I tightened a last strap on my armor and grabbed my crossbow. “Nothing good. You’re going to stay here. If you try to escape…”

“You’ll kill me?” She said it mockingly, though a slight tremble gave away her fear.

“And why shouldn’t I?” I demanded. “You just tried to murder me.”

Delphine opened her mouth, closed it, then averted her eyes and slumped back against the wall. She looked deflated, all burned out of ire. For now, at least.

A knock at the door drew my attention. I returned my crossbow to the shadows as I moved to answer it. Outside stood a familiar man, the one I’d taken to be a clerk during my first meeting with Cyril. In his mid thirties and mildly handsome, he had a shock of brown hair and dressed smartly. He did not have the build of a soldier.

“Ser,” the man said demurely. “Lord Cyril has asked me to inform you that he has gone to the castle gate to hear reports of the situation developing beyond the town’s walls. He gives assurances that you are safe here in the keep.”

Translation: Cyril wanted me to stay where he knew I was. It seemed that the young knight’s hero worship of me had run its course. That was probably for the best.

“I won’t interfere with the garrison,” I assured the man. I needed to check on Vicar anyway, then find out what had happened outside. Then decide what to do about Delphine. Then figure out if and how we could depart the town before I ended up in some kind of quarrel with a scion of House Stour.

Too many problems. My head pounded. The scars on the left side of my face were throbbing, making it hard to think.

“Ser?” The man asked. I realized I’d squeezed my eyes shut, massaging at my left temple.

I opened my eyes and regarded him. He did look familiar. I’d thought so before, though I felt just as certain I didn’t know him. Something about the shape of his face, the shade of his hair.

It clicked. “You… Are you a clerk?”

The man tilted his chin up, a haughty air coming about him. “I have the honor of being this keep’s steward and Lord Cyril’s quartermaster. Celan of House Hours, at your service.” He dipped into a gentlemanly bow.

I studied him thoughtfully. “You’re nobles?”

He cleared his throat, looking somewhat uncomfortable. “Not by birth, I’m afraid. We were elevated some years ago, but I assure you our service to the realm has been—”

A Low House, then. Many of them were made that way, elevated from common stock for some service done to the High Houses. That was how it happened for me. “Does your family own a banking business here in Osheim?” I interrupted him.

The man blinked. “I… why, yes, my older brother manages our account here in Tol. It is a very successful endeavor. We are helping fund the war effort, and operate by the grace of His Majesty, King Kale, who—”

“And you have a sister named Eilidh.” I started fishing around in my pouches while the man’s speech stuttered to a halt.

“You… You know Eilidh?” His face paled.

“Somewhat.” I found what I was looking for and pulled it out, revealing the medallion Falstaff had given me. I aimed it face up, so the broken hourglass symbol was visible. If the man’s face had become pale at the mention of his sister’s name, then it turned ghostly at the sight of the medallion.

I studied him. He didn’t look relieved or curious. He looked afraid. A few details started to slot together in my mind. A commonborn family who’d risen into wealth, even gaining the ear of a royal House, and a sister condemned to servitude in a brothel run by a well connected devil.

It wasn’t a pretty image that formed in my mind. “You know this?” I asked him quietly.

He nodded, shaking slightly. “Yes. I… Where did you get that?”

“You know where I got it.” I held it out to him, but he flinched from it.

“You should be speaking to my brother,” he stuttered. “He’s the one who… I don’t know what you want, but I’m sure I can’t—”

“Stop blubbering and listen.” I spoke in a harsh voice, and he went silent. I took a breath to calm myself before continuing. “Does your family have a way to contact the Keeper? And don’t pretend like you don’t know who that is. I can tell if you lie.”

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I kept eye contact with him. He hesitated, then nodded. “I believe Andreas does, yes. He has often… that is, I mean…”

“I’m certain he’s made use of the Backroad many times,” I said with assurance. “I want a message delivered to the Keeper. You can take this.”

I let the medallion fall into his hand. He almost dropped it, like it was burning hot. “I want your family to tell the Keeper of the Backroad Inn this — the Headsman knows what happened on the mountain.”

I paused, waiting for the lie to scald my throat. There was a prickling sensation and a sickly feeling in my gut, but I decided that was mostly the anticipation of pain rather than any backlash from my magic.

The scadudemon had spoken the truth. I could lie. Dangerous, but useful.

“Tell the Keeper that if he tries to wait this storm out, he’ll just end up treading water. If he wants to get ahead, then tell him to meet me.”

“…You, Ser?” The steward asked.

I sighed. “The Headsman.”

“Ah.” He swallowed, looking shaken and sick. “I will… pass on your message.”

He scurried off. I heard Delphine step closer to me. “What was that about?” She asked.

“Just setting up cards,” I muttered. I turned and pointed at the floor. “I’m going to check on Vicar. You’re staying here.”

She drew herself up, lifting her chin stubbornly. “You don’t command me.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t tell those men you cooperated with a profane spirit to try and murder me,” I snapped. “Your life is in my hands, Delphine Roch, whether you like it or not.”

I started to leave, not having the patience to argue, but before I went Delphine spoke at my back. “Why?” She demanded. “Why are you sparing me?”

I paused with a hand on the door and glanced back at the scholar. Her narrow features were pinched with tension.

Why was I sparing her? I was a killer, there were no illusions to that, and if she’d known what Fidei truly was even before the Fall had begun, then that made her a conspirator, not to mention a present threat to my life. She could have attacked me while I slept, and the scadudemon would have kept me entirely unaware with its tricks. Perhaps that had been the plan.

They’d communicated in some way. Again I noted how ruffled the doctor looked. They’d…

Why did I feel betrayed by this? Fool. She never actually cared about you, why would you think she was faithful to you?

It was a small but intense spike of pain in an old wound, a festering sore prodded just a bit too hard at the wrong angle. I’d already numbed that part of me, and I believed that with the Shadow dead it might finally wither and die, in time.

The scars on my face still burned. That might not fade, but I could endure it.

“I don’t know yet,” I said. “But I know one thing, Sister Vera.” Her face hardened when I used that name, and the petty act satisfied the anger still simmering in my gut. “You’ve proven you’re hiding secrets. What else haven’t you told us? Perhaps something that might help us find Lias? I’ll be keeping you close until I’m sure.”

At Vicar’s room, my hand reached for the latch. It seemed very quiet. Before I opened it, I narrowed my eyes and listened.

Through the barrier of wood, I heard something. Low, muffled voices. As I focused on them, I could make out words in a guttural language. Even muted, the sound of it made my skin crawl and my ears itch. Vicar spoke to something, and it replied in a myriad of chittering, insectile voices. I heard a rattling sound, a light banging as though something were knocking rapidly against wood.

Shuddering, I rapped on the door. After a short wait Vicar opened it. He looked terrible, his skin sallow and clinging to the bone like he’d aged ten years in a few hours.

“Something is wrong,” he said without preamble. “The mirror is agitated.”

“You didn’t hear the horns?” I asked.

Vicar frowned. “I warded the room to prevent disturbance, and I have been… very focused.” He seemed to notice that I wore armor, and perhaps smelled the fresh blood on me. “You were attacked.”

“It’s complicated. Something’s going on outside.”

“Come in.” He ushered me into the room and closed the door. The mirror rattled against the wardrobe we’d leaned it against, so violently I thought for a moment it would shatter. That had been the sound I’d heard before.

Quickly, I told Vicar what had happened with Delphine and what I’d seen outside. His expression hardened as I spoke, and when I’d finished he started pacing. His voice was no longer the kindly Venturmoorian inflections of Geoffrey the Pilgrim, but the hissing rasp of the crowfriar he truly was.

“You are certain? Delphine was one of Tormentsister’s paramours?”

I watched him without a reply. When he saw my expression, he paused and scowled. “You think I knew.”

“You knew about my affair with the demon,” I said quietly. “This seems like an odd thing to have overlooked.”

Vicar waved a hand. “I knew Delphine was a nun in the same monastery, yes, but I did not know about her connection to the succubus. We suspected the Cenocastia to have been compromised by Reynard’s servants, but… Iron and Tar! I am a fool. Of course. Delphine’s study of the occult, her straying from the clergy, it all makes sense.”

My words came out sharp. “And you didn’t think that was a good detail to give me? You intentionally obscured it.”

“Yes!” He wheeled on me, his eyes flashing with irritation. “You did not need more distractions in that easily distracted mind of yours, Hewer. You would have wanted to speak of it to her, you would have been lost in memory and reflection, taken away by this link to your past. At the very least, you would have wanted to reminisce with another survivor from Seydis.”

I opened my mouth for an angry retort, but hesitated. He was right, I realized.

He lowered his voice. “I know you, Alken. I am a poacher of souls. This is what I’m good at — I see your weakness. In this case, I made a choice to keep you focused.”

“So what do we do about her?” I asked.

“Killing her would be safest,” Vicar said in a dispassionate voice. “But… you did not.” He studied me critically. “Why? Please tell me it’s not some vapid knightly sentiment about not harming women.”

“I think she might be keeping things from us. Perhaps Lias said something to her that can help us find him.”

He nodded slowly, though his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “That is true enough. You made the right decision. We will keep her close, keep an eye on her. At the very least, she will not want to betray us to the Inquisition. Nor do I think she will make another attempt on your life. You are certain the scadudemon is dead?”

“As certain as I can be,” I said. “I don’t think it was very powerful, not outside my dreams anyway.”

“Hm.” Vicar considered. “If it did survive, it will be severely diminished. That was well done.”

I nodded, though I didn’t feel particularly satisfied over the spirit’s death. I couldn’t get that last dream out of my head.

You didn’t listen, I tried and you didn’t, damn you damn you damn you—

I pushed the thought away. It was gone now. No use aching over it.

Before either of us could speak again, the mirror started shaking again even more violently than before. I turned to stare at it. “Why is it doing that?”

Vicar pursed his lips. “It started not long ago. I think that—”

Another horn blew outside, loud enough to be heard even inside the castle’s thick walls. I heard a distant sound, almost a deep cough. An explosion.

Vicar’s eyes widened. “The town is under attack.”

I’d suspected as much when I saw the auratic banners in the air, but I’d hoped my fear was wrong. “I need to get out there. Have you gotten anything from the mirror?”

The devil replied bitterly. “Not enough to go on. Bits and pieces, fragments, misdirections. I believe these might be stray demons from Seydis that Lias captured and bound to his service. They are protecting something.”

“We don’t have—” I groaned and had to press a hand to the wall by the door as a wave of vertigo took me. The four long lines of scar marking my face from left temple to cheek were in agony, like sharp claws were slowly dragging through the old furrows. When I lifted my hand to feel them, my fingertips came away bloody.

Vicar saw the problem. “Those scars… she gave them to you, didn’t she?”

I could only manage a nod. Vicar turned to glare at the trembling mirror. I couldn’t be certain, not through the haze of pain, but it almost seemed like the things inside the glass were cackling.

“Those wounds on your flesh are a Profane Mark,” Vicar told me. “They are like a cattle brand, marking you as the property of a specific demon. They burn at the presence of Abyssal spirits, signaling others not to poach, but the detritus inside the mirror should not cause such a strong reaction...”

I grunted and managed to speak. “They’ve been hurting since I killed the scadudemon. It did something to me.”

Vicar narrowed his eyes at the mirror. “I don’t think that’s it.”

In the far distance, muted by the walls around us, we heard a crack like a lightning bolt had struck the town. A moment later came the rumbling of a tower falling.

Vicar spoke in a quiet, breathless voice. “It can’t be…”

I felt a creeping sense of realization, and horror. Without another word, I threw the door open and started pounding down the hallways. The door to my room was closed, but I didn’t have time to see if Delphine remained inside, no time to warn her. I didn’t think, barely saw where I went as more than a blur of halls and corridors. The scars on my face bled, forming red sweat down my neck that pooled into my armor.

In a haze, barely remembering how I’d gotten there, I found myself walking out onto the battlements of Castle Tol’s main gate. The castle bailey lay below at my back, crawling with soldiers, and the township formed a wide sprawl in the night lit by hundreds of torches, bonfires, and lanterns.

And by burning buildings. The eastern gate was aglow, like a very small volcano had erupted there and turned it molten.

There were knights and archers on the wall, a buzz of conversation, shouted orders. A horn blew somewhere distant from one of the towers of the outer wall. Bells were ringing from every church across the small city.

I navigated through the soldiers until I found Cyril. He was listening to reports from three different runners, all red faced and sweating despite the freezing night air. A light snow fell from the sky, dropping from gray clouds rolling in to swallow the stars.

No… it wasn’t just snow. There was ash mixed in.

The clouds were coming from the east.

“Cyril.” I approached the knight, who turned to acknowledge me. He wore a helmet now, one with a long, narrow beak on its visor that curved toward the tip. The Stork of Osheim indeed. The mask was lifted to reveal his face as he began to explain the situation.

“They came from the east,” he said in a voice shaking with anger. “From Kingsmeet. They struck the eastern gate with some kind of sorcery, a siege Art. They fell on the camps outside the walls first. We couldn’t bring everyone in.”

He was rambling, his eyes wide, nostrils flaring. “It’s the elves. The Seydii.”

I frowned. “You’re sure?”

In response, he turned and grabbed something from one of the runners. It was a sack. He reached into it and tugged out a severed head. It had long blue-silver hair, a bony gray face with an elongated mouth like a muzzle and a short nose. He let it fall at my feet, where it rolled to stare at me face up.

“A Sidhe war form,” Cyril spat. “They take on more frightening shapes when they go into battle. This one killed two knights before we brought it down.”

I knelt and inspected the head, trying to get a read on it with my senses. It was hard to concentrate through the pain. The feral visage beneath me had wide set eyes, shiny black like a deer’s, and pointed ears. Elves could take myriad forms, and it was rare for any two to look alike, but it could have been one of the more animalistic shapes they took in times of conflict.

It could also be a changeling, an irk or lycanthrope from the deep wilds. Hard to say with it dead.

“As commander of Tol’s garrison and a representative of Kale Stour, King of Osheim, I formally request the Headsman’s aid in the defense of this settlement.” Cyril spoke quickly, getting the speech out in a rapid fire cadence.

I stood and turned to the town. “Where is the enemy now?”

One of the lieutenants answered me, a stocky woman with a helm crested by a mohawk of chimera hair tucked under her arm. “They hit the camps outside the walls first, my lord. The town couldn’t hold all the caravans and volunteers for the crusade, so there were people out there.” She shrugged. “We didn’t know what was happening until there were already dozens dead, then they came over the walls.”

“They scaled the stone like spiders,” one of the other knights growled. “Damn monsters. It was like a nightmare.”

“Calm yourself,” Cyril said in a steady voice. The soldier fell silent, and the commander turned his attention back to me. “We managed to repel the main wave, but they don’t use human tactics. There are elves in the town, moving through the alleys and buildings like vermin. We hold the walls, but the eastern gate is damanged and there is heavy fighting there. Most likely, there is an Oradyn leading them. If we slay it, the rest will scatter. They have no discipline without their leaders.” ƒrēenovelkiss.com

The Houses had been waging scattered wars and bloody skirmishes against the Sidhe as long as they’d been in the subcontinent. Mostly it was against wyldefae or stray nobles from Seydis, seeking sport and testing mortal warriors in some kind of age old spirit of competitiveness. Elves are immortal and reincarnate when they’re slain, so they often view violence with less gravity than humans. For that reason, tactics on how to fight them were well documented and passed through the generations.

If these were wyldefae, they wouldn’t besiege a city, and the Briar didn’t field armies. If they were Seydii…

What did I do? I wouldn’t just let them slaughter people, but I needed to know who was actually attacking us. Was this Maerlys? Had she descended that far into madness? Something didn’t add up. The burning in my flesh warned me something was very wrong here.

“I’ll seek their leader,” I said. “You should start bringing people into the castle.”

Cyril’s face darkened. “I know how to defend my people, Ser. We. have already begun doing that. Our auratic banners should have alerted Baille Os, but we are two days ride away and cannot expect fast reinforcement.”

We all winced as a flash bright as a localized star suddenly bloomed to life in the center of town. It was a cold, eerie glow, and when it faded one of the churches split and began to fall apart like the ground had given way beneath it. The bell there went silent.

“They’re attacking our fanes,” Cyril muttered. “What is this?”

I looked up. The sky had darkened, low and fast clouds moving in over what had been a clear night. Sullen lightning flashed in their depths, completely out of place in the middle of winter. I could smell the storm, feel its energy. I’d felt that before.

The sensation spiked suddenly, and I called out a warning, but it was lost in a resounding blast of thunder. A spear of lightning struck the wall about fifty feet to my left, and it split.

Stone fractured. People died. Dust cascaded into the sky, rolling down the parapets and obscuring my vision. Soldiers were shouting, throwing their hands over their eyes. The wall shook beneath me, nearly making me tumble right over the edge. Cyril fell to one knee not far away.

That hadn’t been an ordinary lightning bolt. As the dust rose into the sky and ash flurried past, I watched a towering shadow rise over the wall. It stared down with bright, round white eyes, its simian form cresting tall as a hill.

In the corner of my vision, I could make out more enormous shapes moving through the town, hunched bodies briefly lit by flashes of febrile lightning.

A Storm Ogre. And it wasn’t the only one.

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