Oathbreaker: A Dark Fantasy Web Serial-Chapter 20Arc 8: : All Things, In Time

I stood from the table, planning to find the Keeper and see if he’d trade me any information, only for Hendry to follow and catch me at the top of the stairs.

“Ser?” He asked in a quiet voice. “Can we talk?”

“What is it?” I asked. “And you can drop the sers, Hendry.”

“Right, of course.” He flashed a chagrined smile before becoming serious again. “It’s Emma. You should talk to her.”

I glanced at my squire, who remained seated. She stared off into the distance, seeming lost in thought. Lisette said something into her ear, and she shrugged in response. Penric sat near the girls, his cap tilted down to shadow his eyes so he almost seemed asleep. Guarding them without being obvious about it.

“I plan to,” I said.

“No, I mean…” Hendry searched for words. “Listen, the past year has been… A lot. I think our group is pretty close, overall. In Mirrebel, we learned to rely on one another. It wasn’t always easy, but we made it through because we’re a team, you know?”

It was an effort to hide my impatience. “I know, Hendry.”

“But I’ve known Emma since we were kids,” he continued, and his expression seemed to steady, his blue eyes losing some of their anxiousness. “When she and her family came from Liutgarde and took refuge in my father’s lands, she and I were pretty close for a lot of years. Part of that was our parents’ design, I know now. They wanted us to be close, so that…”

He coughed. “Well, things weren’t always bad between us, you know? We drifted apart after her parents and grandmother died, but before that, we were something like friends. I learned to navigate her moods…”

I could imagine it. This nervous, shy lad, pressured by his ambitious father to be a proper heir to a great House, friendless save for one very scary young girl with the blood of warlords running through her veins.

He’d been there, I realized, from very early on. He’d known Emma much longer than me. Before there’d been infatuation and later resentment, there’d been something like friendship.

“She’s not well,” Hendry said in a hushed voice. “You’ve seen it tonight, right? How angry she is?”

“It’s been a hard night,” I noted.

He shook his head aggressively. “But she’s been like that for a while! Since we left Garihelm, really, though it started small. She and Lis snapped at each other a lot, and that seemed normal, but it got worse. She got more reclusive, stopped heeding our advice as much, was bitter whenever we didn’t fall in line. Something’s up. Me and Lis have both tried talking to her about it, and she pretends to listen, but then her snark turns cruel and I know she heard us wrong…”

His voice turned earnest. “But she respects you, Alken. She looks up to you. I think you hurt her bad when you made her run earlier instead of fighting with you. I’m not saying you shouldn’t have! But you should talk to her before she simmers too long. When we were young it was like that. She remembers things, and she can stay angry for a very long time. Patient angry, like when my father’s kennel master let his hounds tear apart a doll she brought from her family’s home, and then a few months later they ended up poisoned. Something in the well water, people said…”

He paused, and seemed to realize he’d said too much. “Well, she’s come a long way since then, but you should talk to her.”

He was right. I opened my mouth to respond, but just then my instincts prickled. Someone was watching me. Not a supernatural sensation, I just knew.

I glanced down to the floor below, still mostly empty. Emptier than I’d ever seen the inn. A group of women talked on the gallery across from us. Some of Eilidh’s fellow wenches. There were a lot of them idling about, another sign of the inn’s lapse in business. Had one of them been looking at me?

“Ser?” Hendry asked.

I shook my head and started to tell him it wasn’t anything, but just then I saw Casimir trying to get my attention. So I just clapped the other knight on the shoulder and said, “I’ll talk to her. Get some rest, alright?”

As I stomped down the stairs and Hendry returned to the group, Vicar spoke up from my shoulder. “You should watch that boy as much as the Carreon scion.”

I stopped on the last step and replied in a whisper, speaking through my teeth. “First of all, she’s not Carreon anymore in case you’ve forgotten that.”

“She does not get the luxury of not being Carreon just because she says so,” Vicar said in a tone of forced patience. “She is Astraea’s heir. That blood whispers in her at every moment. You are not so much a fool as to not understand that, are you? The young Hunting is still smitten by her, and even he sees it.”

I shook my head. “I trust her. She doesn’t want that fate.”

“The choice might not be hers,” the crowfriar shot back.

I felt a ripple of familiar anger. “You already lost your claim to her soul. If if I even suspect you’re trying that shit again—”

“Peace, Hewer.” Vicar sounded tired as he said my name. “It is my role to advise you, as per our arrangement. I am advising.”

I decided to change the subject. “Why should I be worried about Hendry?”

“He is carrying Devil Iron inside his body. The cancer has progressed far, from what I smelled. I imagine all of his bones have turned by now.”

That’s right, I realized. Vicar was there when Jon Orley wounded him. He’s the one who…

I swallowed the fresh surge of resentment. Vicar was responsible for many crimes, but I’d known that when I spared him from returning to his masters for punishment and took him into my service. “What will happen to him?”

Vicar remained quiet a moment. I had to move aside as a pair of guests came down the stairs. Casimir was talking to someone at the bar, though he kept glancing in my direction.

“It is strange,” Vicar said in an odd voice, as though reluctant to admit his confusion. “He should not be able to move. The ferrous malison is amongst Hell’s most effective weapons. It is a curse, one that turns the very thing that makes humanity strong against itself. That singular metal that gives it the means to craft tools with which it may challenge all its tormentors.”

The empty slash of space where the hellhound’s eye had once been did not light with the usual inner fire to indicate his awareness, and the voice was deathly quiet, but it slithered into my ear clearly despite the low din of the hall. “The weight of having all your bones turn to iron renders you unable to move. It should have already left that boy an invalid. Killed him, in truth, and yet he can move under his own power.”

“It makes him strong,” I said. “Remember earlier, when he put that vampire down? That thing was strong enough to rip a war chimera neck to navel with its bare hands, and he planted it like it were nothing.”

“Yes…” Vicar sounded thoughtful. “I do not understand it, but Orkaelin Iron is no blessing, Alken. It will eventually spread to his muscles and organs, and then to his heart. That will kill him, whatever this unexpected constitution of his.”

“Is there a cure?” I asked.

“No,” Vicar said, causing my heart to sink. But then he added, “We may be able to slow it, however, perhaps even freeze its progress. I need time to think about what might be done.”

I frowned and glanced sidelong at the devil. “And you would help him?”

“Do you not wish me to?” I could almost imagine his old face, his human one, lifting a gray eyebrow.

I shook my head. “Of course I do, I just…”

Don’t trust you. It seemed petty to say, after everything, so I let the subject go and walked to the bar just as Casimir ended his conversation with the other guest. He turned and gave me a weary smile.

“What’s the word?” I asked him as I leaned against the bar. One of the others idling at the horseshoe shaped island in the center of the hall turned to us, and I nodded to her. “Maryanne.”

“Handsome,” the vampire greeted me with a fanged smile. She was small, almost dollish, with curly black locks and a round face prone to sweet humor and pouting. She’d also been part of the group at Baille Os.

“What’d you say to Eilidh?” She asked me. “Never seen her that messed up before.”

“I said nothing,” I told her. “Talk to Sans. He decided to go into a history about the sordid origins of vampire-kind, and she didn’t take it well.”

“That punk,” Maryanne spat. “He acts gruff, but once you get him on some subject he’ll talk your ear off. Necromancers are the worst.”

Casimir only continued cleaning his cups sagely.

The vampiress sighed dramatically and added, “And the poor dear doesn’t need this right now, not with what the Keeper’s asking her to—”

“Hush,” the bartender said calmly.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Maryanne said brightly, glancing at the wight. “Just inn business, nothing to worry that pretty scarred face over.”

I let it go. After a moment, Maryanne glanced at me sidelong and realized I was still staring at her. Her smile turned coquettish. “See something you like?”

I was trying to see it. The demon in her, that long-ago force of abyssal corruption that created this being in front of me, this pale, attractive creature of the night. I could sense that darkness, when I looked for it, like she were surrounded by a permanent cold draft. Those eternally hungry eyes and too-red gums, revealed by a smile just a bit too wide to be perfectly natural, like her humanity was only skin deep and the thing lurking inside couldn’t mimic the expressions perfectly.

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When I said nothing, Maryanne’s smile faltered. Creatures tainted by the Adversary felt intense discomfort under my golden eyes.

“Al?” She asked.

I averted my gaze and picked up the cup Casimir offered me. Then, feeling oddly fey, I decided for honesty. “I was trying to see if there was a chorn or barghest lurking under that pretty face.”

Maryanne sidled up close to me. “Why not a succubus?”

I stilled a moment, my cup still at my lips, then placed it down. “No, I don’t think so. You’re too honest.”

When she realized I wasn’t biting, and that I wasn’t going to let her do it either, Maryanne propped her chin on a fist and moped while I spoke to Casimir. “You have something for me?”

“Possibly…” The wight wore an uncharacteristically doubtful expression. Strange, that he wore any expression, considering his face was just a veil of mist and will pulled over a silver-plated skull.

I tilted my head curiously. “You called me over. Don’t get shy on me now, Cas.”

“…Just rumors I’m curious about,” the wight said reluctantly. “There’s always gossip about what you’re up to, Alken. The Kin can’t decide if you are friend or foe.”

Kin. It was the changeling word for their communities, because they were kin to both mortal and the Sidhe. Most of the Backroad’s clientele were changelings, though they had plenty of nightborn — ghouls, vampires, and other demon-touched things — in the mix.

“Tell them that if I catch them eating anyone I care about, I’ll be their foe.” I shrugged. “Otherwise, live and let live.”

“That’s surprising,” Maryanne mumbled through her hand.

I glanced at her and frowned. “Why’s that?”

“I just remember a time not long ago when you looked ill every time you walked in here,” the vampire noted. “Like our inn’s floor was sullying your boots. Some of us were taking bets on how long it’d be before you started smiting.”

“I wasn’t—” I stopped myself before I said something that might give me a scorched throat. I could lie to others, but for some reason my magic still sometimes reacted harshly if I lied to myself.

I did hate this place for a long time, felt disgust with myself for making use of it and letting what evils it perpetrated pass unpunished. The simple truth was that the beings who saw this place as neutral ground, as community, killed and ate people.

And yet, there was plenty of blood on my hands. All excuses aside, I liked some of these people. I felt more comfortable with the vampire prostitute and the revenant bartender than with the vast majority of nobles and knights who’d been my lifelong peers.

Strange. What changed? When had I started thinking about this differently?

“Don’t worry, big guy.” Maryanne nudged me. “We’ll keep you company until Cat gets back, even if you are a stick in the mud sometimes.”

“Thanks,” I said graciously, though I didn’t tell her I suspected Catrin would never be coming back to this land, not in my lifetime. Her letter remained tucked in my belt, unopened. “So what rumors are you talking about, Casimir?”

“Amongst the roaming dead, there is talk that the Shepherds of the Underworld have been scouring the land more aggressively than usual.” Casimir’s voice fell into a hush, and a bit of his glamour seemed to fuzz over his mouth so I could see naked teeth beneath. “But they do not seek to reclaim lost or escaped souls. It is like they are hunting for one particular ghost, and they seem, how shall I say? Out of sorts. Desperate.”

I knew that undead beings like Maryanne and Casimir were considered apostate by the powers of the land. The dead were meant to reside in Draubard, slumbering in subterranean vaults until the God-Queen — who was absent from our world and busy fighting to reclaim Heaven from demonkind — ordered them released. The Shepherds of the Underworld scoured the surface, reapers who reclaimed wandering or escaped ghosts to take them below.

From what I’d learned from Casimir, they were hated by many “free” spirits, who viewed Draubard as a prison and did not wish to return there. From my recent glimpses of that sunless realm, I could not blame them.

Amongst those reapers, Rysanthe was chief. There could only be one whom the Shepherds of Draubard were seeking.

Instead of saying as much, I took another sip from my cup. Maryanne narrowed her red eyes and slapped a palm down on the counter.

“I knew it!” The vampire insisted. “He does know something! Spill it, Alken.”

“You know I’m not going to,” I said as I placed my cup down. “Why even ask?”

Oh. That’s why she was flirting with me so hard. Vampires could get thoughts and memories from the blood they drank, even influence their prey. I felt an irrational tug of indignation, a sensation brushing against hurt, and could have laughed at myself.

I glanced between them both. “Listen, and listen close. There is something happening, but you’d do best to keep yourselves out of it and keep your heads down. Evangeline Ark isn’t the worst thing stalking these nights, not by far.”

“True,” Casimir agreed. “I hear that after we fled Baille Os, the fighting died down, but there are rumors of irks and even demons everywhere from Alheid to Lindenroad. Villages are being attacked, battles fought in sight of city walls… Every realm in Urn is experiencing some kind of crisis. There’s even talk of a new plague in Osheim. Something released by the Gatebreaker, no doubt.”

Maryanne shivered. “Please don’t say that name, Cas. It makes my blood turn to ice.”

A new plague. That was dark news.

“Good thing we got out when we did,” Maryanne said cheerfully, unconcerned about the grim circumstances those tens of thousands might be suffering.

“Any news of the Emperor’s response?” I asked Casimir.

He nodded. “I imagine news of King Kale’s death will have reached him already, now that it’s spring. From the hearsay, he’s decided to put the Accord on the defensive rather than push his planned war on the demon lord in Seydis. Most of those knights who’d gathered for the crusade are apparently returning to their fiefs, which are under threat. It’s going to be a hard year. A war year.”

“Going to be more of Van Kell’s like soon,” Maryanne said sullenly. “Every time things get bad, those sorts come out the woodwork. And just when I thought we were rid of the Inquisition, too… Why you bring that bastard here? Don’t tell me you’re friends, Al.”

“Not friends,” I said with a sigh. “You and the other girls aren’t going to try anything stupid, like assassinating him in his room, are you?”

“No, but we’ll be watching him.” She flashed a vicious smile. “Isley and Felicia are in his room right now, disguised as rats in the rafters. He tries anything, the inn will know.”

I nodded thoughtfully, and an idea struck me. “Have your people watch his apprentice. I think he’s the one to worry about.”

Just then, Caleb sank into the seat next to me. We exchanged nods as he ordered a drink. The man looked tired, and I wondered how many nights in a row he’d been playing guard dog.

“No one’s going to try slitting the old croak’s neck,” the mercenary grumbled. “I’ve seen to it, but you’re responsible for what he does, Hewer. You’re damn lucky that business earlier didn’t escalate.”

Maryanne scrunched her face at the man. “Aren’t you supposed to be guarding the door?”

“It’s just for show,” he said and waved a hand dismissively. “The Keeper’s got all sorts of protections on this place, and there’s that woman of his anyway. I’m a contractor, not a soldier.”

While they argued, I slipped the letter Falstaff had given me from my belt.

“What’s that?” Maryanne asked, her eyes tracking the envelope.

“Letter from Cat,” I said quietly. The vampire fell silent, and a look of sympathy marred the curiosity on her face. Caleb leant forward, his attention caught.

“Well?” He demanded. “Open it, man. None of us have heard from her in a bastard long time, either!”

I toyed with it a moment, unhurried despite their insistence. I ran it through my fingers and wondered where it came from, what kind of journey it took before ending up in the Keeper’s hands. Part of me, a cowardly part who was still afraid of being hurt, didn’t want to open it. I had to fight the urge to cast it into the hearth and let the inn’s guardian fire spirit eat the message.

Instead, I broke the unmarked seal and opened it. I read for several minutes, squinting at the unfamiliar scrawl. It was written in the Urnic script, so I could read it, but the handwriting was so small and precise that it took some time.

Caleb, Casimir, and Maryanne did not respect my privacy. They leaned in to read over my shoulder.

Maryanne pursed her lips and said the obvious. “That’s not her handwriting, she doesn’t even—”

“Know how to write?” Caleb said dryly. “Nah, this is some booker’s scrawl, I’d bet gold on it. Also, since when can you read?”

“I’m over two centuries old, you git! Since when can you?”

“I can’t. Just waiting for someone to tell me what it says.”

Maryanne kept reading and ignored Caleb. When she reached the end her demeanor softened, losing its flippancy. “Oh. Oh, that’s… I’m sorry, Al.”

I am no poet. My clerk father and Lias left me able to read and write, but I don’t have the kind of fancy words that could adequately describe what I felt in that moment. I was a soldier, always had been and probably always would be. Certainly there must have been some more nuanced way to describe my feelings, some allegory to capture the coil in my gut.

It hurt. Hurt bad. There wasn’t anything more to say about it.

“It’s fine,” I said. Did my voice rasp more than usual? “I’m just glad to know she’s…”

Still alive? Still around somewhere.

“…Alright,” I finished lamely.

Should have burned it, that cringing, pain-shy wretch I carried inside whispered. Maryanne’s pitying look wasn’t helping. Casimir looked lost in thought, but then he usually did. Caleb only looked impatiently confused.

“Well?” He demanded. “How’s our Cat doing, then?”

“She’s fine,” I said before Maryanne could pipe in again. “She’s in the continent. Doesn’t say exactly where, but I’d guess in Bantes or one of its neighbors.”

There was plenty of civilization there. It wouldn’t have been hard to get this letter made and sent all the way to this war-weary corner of the world.

“She’s looking for information about her origins,” I continued. “She’s studying vampirism, the old kingdoms, all of it. Trying to know herself.”

“Our Catrin, a scholar!?” Caleb chortled. “I can’t see it… But she’s always been an enigma.”

The Elf Queen’s words came back to me then, emerging in my thoughts with the suddenness of a grass fire catching wind. We are immortal, little man. All things can be true for us, in their time.

“She’s alive,” I said aloud. “And far from us and our troubles.”

Caleb lifted his cup. “I can drink to that.”

We all toasted, even Dead Casimir, and that made me feel a bit better. I almost destroyed the letter, but decided instead to slip it back into my belt. I would read it again later, soak a bit in the pain.

Pain isn’t always a bad thing. We learn from it, grow from it. Some aches are worth savoring. I could endure this one, because there’d been an alternative to how things panned out in the Emperor’s city and it could have been much worse than a hard goodbye on a bridge and a bittersweet letter.

I saw Emma and Lisette standing at the top of the stairs. When they caught my attention, Emma lifted a hand in a wave. I bid the Backroaders farewell and stood, preparing to rejoin my group.

Just then, the inn’s front door burst open. Night air rushed in to disturb the hall’s warmth. Two figures strode into the hall. One was thin and short, a woman in a red dress, the other a tall man clad in iron armor decorated with hunting trophies, furs and teeth and more gruesome things. They did not close the door behind them.

“Caleb,” I said in a quiet voice without taking my eyes off the pair. “Trouble.”

He clearly didn’t recognize the two. “Friends of yours?”

“Enemies,” I said with absolute certainty.

That first figure, the woman in the red dress, lifted her voice and spoke with an unnatural volume that echoed across the common hall of the Backroad Inn like she were giving a pronouncement inside a ball room, her voice lilting, almost sing-song.

“Headsman! I know you are here!”

She took another step forward. Her gaze found the bar, bloodshot eyes focusing on me. Her lips spread into a wide smile. I felt the chill pressure of that grin like an arctic wind through my veins.

Memories flashed through my mind. The empty village by the lake. Orson Falconer’s castle full of the screams of dying chimera and tortured homonculi, the laughter of the Mistwalkers as they butchered everything they could get their hands on.

The church at Caelfall, full of the stinking corpses of the villagers, which still crawled with the residue of the monster that’d been born from their deaths.

I knew both of them. One I hadn’t seen in two years, not since that night I’d sat at table with my enemies in the mad baron’s keep. The second I’d had the displeasure of meeting just the past winter in Tol, where we’d fought and I’d lost.

Their presence here couldn’t be coincidence, and suddenly I understood. These were the ones Evangeline expected to meet at Fife. That entire trap, all those poor people she’d killed, it was to destroy this pair. Or to impress them?

“Who are they?” Maryanne asked, her voice nervous.

I spoke even as I stepped forward to face the two newcomers. “They are the Council of Cael.”