Oathbreaker: A Dark Fantasy Web Serial

"It happened three weeks ago," Edgar explained. Frowning he added, "No, it started earlier than that."

We sat in a warm, simple room with chairs and benches set out before a hearth, tucked into one of the side buildings attached to the chapel for the priests and travelers to use for warmth and rest. Lisette tucked into a bowl of hot soup. I stood near the door with my back to the wall, toying at my own meal with a spoon idly.

Olliard paced before the fire. The unseasonable chill hadn't faded with the sunrise, and even inside the air had a bite.

"Micah was not so old," the doctor said, scowling. "Certainly younger than me! You say illness took him? He was an adept."

"Healing Art doesn't always work on oneself as well as it does others," Lisette said to her master in a soft voice. "Further, God's gifts are meant to be given, not used to extend one's own life. He would have been taught this just as I was."

Edgar said nothing. The holy symbol dangling from his neck seemed to weigh him down, I noted, giving him a hunched posture.

"Even still." Olliard rubbed at the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up. "The timing of this seems… uncanny."

"You said he sent you a letter?" Edgar turned curious eyes on the doctor. "What did it say?"

Olliard sat on a stool and propped his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor as he answered. "He didn't say much. Here." He fished in a fold of his robes and produced a folded scrap of parchment. "See for yourself. You're in charge here now, I see no reason to keep it from you."

Edgar studied the letter for several minutes. His brow had creased by the time he'd finished.

"As you can see," Olliard said dryly, "he didn't tell me much. Only that he needed my help, and to bring all my arts. Tell me, young man — did your mentor ever speak of my work?"

Edgar lifted his haunted eyes from the page. "He said you are a healer, and a worldly man. You've traveled to many places."

Olliard nodded. "That is one way of putting it."

Though I remained quiet by the door, my axe hidden in its wrappings and my dagger hidden beneath my dull red cloak, I recalled the fine crossbow the old man kept hidden in his cart. Olliard of Kell had some secrets of his own.

"And these two?" Edgar asked, glancing between me and Lisette.

"Ah, of course." Olliard gestured to the girl. "This is my apprentice, Lisette of The Bairns. She is a trained cleric with a very rare talent for healing."

Lisette bowed and murmured a respectful greeting to the priest, who would have been her senior had she still been with the clergy. Olliard indicated me then.

"And this is Alken, a mercenary I hired to keep us safe on the roads. He is a capable armsman."

I hid my surprise at the lie. Lisette turned a worried gaze on her master, while Edgar gave me a dubious look.

"They are trustworthy?" The priest asked.

Olliard nodded. "You may speak freely. Tell us, what is happening here? Why did your predecessor wish for me to make such a hasty journey?"

Edgar paced to the window, which was paned in foggy glass. He studied it a moment, his face an emotionless mask.

Not emotionless. I recognized the real feeling hidden behind that glassy stare.

Fear.

"Things in Caelfall have been… dark." Edgar swallowed and turned back to us, his fingers lacing together as though in prayer. "For many years now, but it has become much worse lately."

Olliard leaned forward, narrowing his eyes behind his spectacles. "Explain, please." He spoke patiently, but with a firm edge.

"Father Micah has always been well respected in the villages," Edgar said. "The baron has been a recluse since before I was born, and while the people have always paid homage to the Falconers, it was the preoster who truly led the community."

Olliard nodded. "Indeed. He cared deeply for these people."

"Things started to become strange about two winters ago," Edgar continued. "The baron started to have guests. They would stay in the old inn in Cael Village, or they would go into the castle. Sometimes they would stay for days, and sometimes for weeks."

"Not so odd for a country lord to have guests," I noted, drawing the young priest's attention.

"These were not ordinary guests," Edgar said darkly, his eyes drifting back to the window. "They would often come cloaked and disguised, and almost every time…"

He took a deep breath. "Something strange would happen. People would go missing, or the weather would turn foul, or strange things would be seen out on the lake, or in the marsh. It kept getting worse. Several months ago, he brought soldiers."

"Soldiers?" Olliard asked, perplexed.

"Mercenaries," Edgar explained. Once again his eyes flicked to me. "Foreigners, too. Some company of killers from the continent I think."

I met Olliard's eyes. I suspected he had the same thought I did, and saw images of the butchered troll displayed on spears behind his own eyes.

"How many?" I asked.

"Over a hundred strong," the young man said. "They are well armed, and have war chimera. Others have arrived too, most vanishing into the keep. Some of those guests who arrived some time ago never left, and joined the baron's household."

"Bleeding Gates," Olliard cursed. "What, is the man preparing to start a war?"

That was a dark thought. "The Bairn Cities are to the south of us," I said. "Vinhithe is a great stronghold, and it's not far northeast… then you have Reynwell to the west, with the capital of the whole goring Accorded Realms at its heart. I don't see this marsh baron starting a war from here."

Not with an ordinary army, anyway. Just what had I wandered into?

"We passed the old troll bridge just last night on our way here," Olliard told the young priest. "The troll had been butchered, apparently by soldiers. Was that these mercenaries?"

His face draining of color, Edgar nodded. "That happened just a week ago. They bragged about it in the village. They are… terrible. I've never seen men so hungry for violence."

Edgar folded his arms, as though cold. "Before he died, the preoster went to the castle to demand answers. When he came back, he seemed different. Agitated. He wouldn't tell me what had happened, and then…"

The priest's voice trailed off. We all knew what had happened.

"You say he died of illness?" Olliard asked quietly.

"He started to become sick some weeks before it happened," Edgar said. "It took him quickly. Some ill humor, I suspect, probably strengthened by all the stress he was under. I doubt a trip over that fetid lake did his lungs much good."

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Lisette stood suddenly. "I would like to pray."

Edgar nodded to the door. "You are welcome to use the chapel, sister."

Lisette thanked the man, then left the room. Edgar mumbled some excuse and departed as well. That left me and Olliard brooding in front of the fire, retreated into our own thoughts.

"You do not have to stay," Olliard told me after some time. "Once you are recovered, you may depart. I only spun that excuse about hiring you so he wouldn't question you."

"Lying to priests is a sin," I said, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Olliard shrugged. "It will not be my first."

I considered doing exactly as he suggested. This wasn't my problem. I had other roads to walk.

But none right now, I thought. Not until I have new orders.

"My wounds are pestering me," I told the doctor, though I actually felt quite good after Lisette's ministrations. "I'm going to go stretch. You?"

"It's been a very long road," Olliard said. "I think I will rest tonight and… consider everything young Edgar has told us."

"Micah was your friend." I didn't make it a question, and I kept my voice soft.

Olliard nodded. "Like my own brother. Do you have any brothers, Alken?"

I'd had a sister, but I had not seen her since childhood. She'd be a woman grown now, if she still lived, with a family. The thought, which I hadn't had for many years and hadn't expected to have just then, almost made me reel.

It had been so long. Another life. I couldn't even remember what she looked like, when I tried to picture her.

"I've had people who are like siblings to me," I admitted. "I have not seen them in some time. I've been wandering mostly, since the war."

"You were a soldier?" Olliard asked. "You fought in the war?" Then, laughing he said, "Of course you did! Lisette said it herself. You were a knight, right?"

"…Once," I admitted. "I'm not sure what I am anymore."

"Alive." Olliard's voice was firm. "And you saved my apprentice's life. She is like a niece to me, Alken. I saved her from starvation in the wilderness after those beasts destroyed her cloister."

The old doctor's eyes, usually foggy with a sort of grandfatherly whimsy, seemed very sharp behind his wire framed glasses in that moment. "You have power. I saw it. Will you not consider staying? These people clearly need help."

I narrowed my eyes without meeting his intense gaze. "I'm not the sort of man you want helping you, Olliard. Those spirits in the forest… you heard what they said. What they called me."

"Some of it," Olliard admitted. "But they were quite clearly mad. They wanted to hold my apprentice complicit for hiding from danger as a child. I think I will choose to trust, until you give me an excuse not to."

I wanted to laugh. Instead I said, "I'll think about it. Long walk out of here without your beast, anyway. For now, I'm going to stretch my legs."

I found Lisette in the chapel. She still wore her surgeon's garments, the brown robe and apron with all its pockets, but she looked very much the young priestess then as she knelt before the basin.

The chapel was of a very old design, circular, with pillars upholding a dome ceiling. An opening at the top of the dome allowed natural light in, and could be shuttered during bad weather, probably from the roof. Directly beneath the center of that ceiling, a raised stone bowl had been set. Here, water would be blessed and blood given in honor of the God-Queen.

On every stone support, images of the Faith's history had been etched. My eyes ran across them all, recognizing many. I'd heard these tales since childhood, and seen these same images in temples and castles across the long roads of my life.

There, I saw the Heir of Heaven descending down in a beam of light, surrounded by Her onsolain, her vassals and kindred. Edaean kings knelt at Her descent, or turned their faces if they were Recusant. I saw those same figures waging war during the Exodus, battling monsters and slave armies in fanged mountain passes. I saw them raising great strongholds in the sunlit east as the old west burned.

I passed by knights battling demons with darts of light and spears of lightning, wielding their Battle Art in defense of the realms. I saw images of trolls and dwarf giants and other relations to the Sidhe kneeling before kings, and kings kneeling before angels. I saw the same figures killing one another, ancient wars reenacted in stone. I saw riders on strange beasts, horned and many limbed, and elves riding in flying chariots lit by cold moons.

All the long history of Urn. There were so many wars.

I lingered by an image of a youthful figure with hair grown so long and thick it seemed a shrouding cloak, clad in long robes, arms uplifted before the severed trunk of a tree. An axe lay in those hands. More knights knelt around him, the points of their swords aimed at their hearts, the hilts offered to the elf lord.

I tore my eyes away from that last image, focusing on Lisette. She knelt at the base of the altar, murmuring prayers with her auremark clasped in tightly clenched hands.

I walked to the opposite side of the bowl, studying it. No water lay inside, though I could still make out old stains from offerings of blood.

I felt the urge to offer some of my own. I clenched my fist against the compulsion.

Lisette lifted her blue eyes to look at me. "Do you pray, Alken?"

I shrugged. "Sometimes. When I need to."

I could tell I'd confused her. She frowned, tilting her head to one side. "You seem to greatly enjoy wrapping yourself in mystery."

"Not sure it's about enjoying it," I muttered, rubbing at my chin. I hadn't shaved in some time, and my stubble had started to turn into the beginnings of a beard. I didn't grow a good beard. My hair, blond and red, came out wiry on my face.

"I should apologize for the forest," Lisette said, still kneeling with a troubled expression. "I fell asleep when it was my task to tend to the fire. It was careless."

"I was a bit harsh," I admitted, scratching at my cheek. "It was an unpleasant situation all around."

"You saved my life," Lisette said, her eyes stern and serious. "So I will not interrogate you on things you do not wish to speak of. However, while I never took my final vows before a matriarch of my order, I am a lay sister of the Abbey."

She hesitated, then continued in a kinder voice. "If you would like to give confession—"

"No."

I spoke more quickly, and more harshly, than I had intended. Lisette flinched.

Irritated at myself and her, I turned away from the altar. "No, I don't want to give confession."

I left her there in the chapel, feeling her blue eyes on my back.

I navigated the corridors, looking for the guest rooms. A country church like this would have places for travelers to stay. I stepped into a long, narrow hall lined in small cells.

This place was once tended to by more priests, I thought, wondering at the size of the structure. For a place of worship so isolated, it seemed rather impressive. There had also been a very large cemetery attached, one that had covered most of two sides of the hill, complete with sepulchers and mausoleums. I'd noted suspiciously empty segments on the outside of the building, which I suspected had once held gargoyles.

Gone away on their own, or…

Either way, it was just Brother Edgar now, alone in this eerie, isolated land of mist and marsh and darkened wood.

I wondered at what to do. Should I go? Or…

I wasn't that man anymore, if I'd ever been. This land's troubles weren't mine to hack at like some knight errant. I'd made a dramatic show in front of the healers, and that would bring trouble on me. Lisette knew, or suspected, what I was. Olliard seemed not to understand it, but if either of them said anything to the priest…

I was drawn from my thoughts by the creaking of bad hinges, of course cloth scratching across stone. I stopped, turned in a sudden motion, and reached through the ajar door at my side. There was a yelp, a flailing arm, then I had the one who'd been lurking there slammed against the far wall.

Edgar let out a whimper — I'd dashed his head against the stone, mostly be accident. He went still when he felt my dagger prodding his broad belly.

"Wait!" The priest let out a noise of protest. "Please, don't—"

"Why are you shadowing me?" I asked him, keeping my voice low. "You kept looking at me before like you recognized me. Explain."

I pressed the blade more firmly against his navel. The young priest swallowed, his eyes flitting in every direction without meeting my own.

"I do recognize you," he hissed, wincing at the touch of the steel. "I can explain."

"Do it quickly."

"I had a dream!"

I paused, tilting my head at the dark haired man. "A dream?"

Edgar nodded quickly, his pale skin beading with sweat. "Many. Ever since the bridge troll died, I've had the same dream every night. Of a man with golden eyes, scars over the left, carrying an elven axe."

He looked at my left eye. Though partly hidden by the bangs of my long hair, his gaze fixed on the four long scars which ran from my left temple to my cheek.

I kept my forearm pressed to his throat, trapping him against the wall, while my heart quickened in my chest. "What else did you see in these dreams?"

"Only you," Edgar insisted, his eyes wide with fear. "You walked through the darkness, but you shone like a torch flame."

Not just fear in his eyes, but also conviction. Hope.

Sneering, I released him with a sharp motion. He collapsed against the wall, pressing a hand to his stomach. My dagger had left a cut in his preoster robes, and probably a bruise beneath.

"I prayed," the young preost said. "I prayed every day, sometimes every hour, not stopping until my throat became too dry to form words. I have been so afraid these last months, and after the preoster died…"

Edgar looked up at me, his mouth falling agape. "Did they send you? Are you here to save us?"

I turned, putting my red cloak between us. My jaw had clenched in anger, and the knuckles of my hand were white from the fist I made.

They didn't send me anywhere to save anyone. That wasn't my duty. Had it not been chance those healers had found me in the wilderness?

Of course not. Nothing to do with chance in my life. Even that goring storm which had struck Vinhithe. It had come so suddenly, and I would never have escaped that city in clearer weather. The distance the river had carried me, Nath's appearance, my rescue at the hands of a blessed healer… I cursed myself for not seeing the signs.

The Choir wanted me here.