Oathbreaker: A Dark Fantasy Web Serial

I woke still kneeling in the chapel. My legs were sore, my eyes fuzzy, and the moonlight had vanished from the opening above to leave the room in deep darkness.

As I lifted myself out of the communion dream, the aura in my eyes brightened in reaction to the gloom, chasing it away. I saw all the still stone and images of legend in stark, pale clarity.

I knelt there for some time, mulling on my new orders.

Orson Falconer, the enigmatic lord of this dreary, isolated country, had been given the Choir's doom. My left hand drifted across the gnarled oak of the axe, its little imperfections and fire scarred wood as familiar to me as my own callouses.

I'd carried it for five years now. Five long years of horror and blood.

As I stood, I felt a strange energy. My limbs seemed lighter, less stiff, the pain of more recent wounds barely noticeable. I flexed the fingers of my empty hand. The dream had replenished me. My magic felt different. Less sullen.

Even still, I put my ring back on. Not always an angel who sought me out in my sleep.

I had a mission to prepare for. I needed to know more about this baron, scout out his sanctuary, learn what sort of defenses he might put in my way. The priest had mentioned a castle in the middle of a lake. That seemed an obvious place to start.

As I turned back toward the guest halls, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Instinct, ingrained into us feeble humans from a history of being prey to mightier things, warned me of danger before my magic did.

I dove into a roll just as almost silent wings cut the air, hitting me with the ensuing draft of wind as scything claws missed me by fingers. I came up, teeth bared and axe in hand, searching the darkness.

Something looked back. The light in my eyes did not illuminate the room fully — they cast soft beams of pale gold through the gloom, just shy of reaching the far wall.

Then I began to feel it. A dull drumbeat, like some distant heart quickened in panic. The aureflame roiled in discontent.

Something foul was here with me. Something with wings. My eyes drifted up to the opening in the ceiling — no more moonlight, but I suspected I knew how it had gotten in.

I heard claws scrape against stone, the echo confusing my ability to pinpoint the source.

Some dark predator from the wilds? Seemed a strange coincidence.

I had a different suspicion.

Feathered wings beat once, the flutter producing almost no sound save for the soft shift of air. I tensed, twisted, and swung on pure instinct. If I were even a fraction of a second off my timing…

With a bone jarring impact, the blade of my axe cleaved the thing. I struck it just above one back-bent leg, severing the limb and opening its guts. The steaming, reeking contents splattered me from chin to lowest rib.

Its remaining talons sliced through cloth and flesh, opening my shoulder. I grit my teeth and turned, on guard.

The attacker slammed into the altar, cracking the basin's stone. The water I'd poured into it, darkened by my own blood, began to spill out in a thin trickle. The creature thrashed, dying badly.

I paced around the thing, my shoulder flaring with pain I ignored. The beast looked like an owl the size of a dog, with a cancerous growth of horns around its neck and back. They resembled elfhorn, but lacked the glow of od. Its short, wickedly curved beak was serrated, and it had six beady black eyes.

A chimera. One made to kill, rather than to transport a rider or plough fields.

An assassin.

For me?

No. The lord couldn't know about my mission already.

The preoster died right after he went to confront the baron. Edgar has been terrified, and we just arrived today…

Was it here for the remaining priest, or for Olliard?

Blood soaked through my shirt. Wincing, I clutched at the wound. Bastard thing had gotten me deep.

More fluttering, feathered wings disturbed the chapel's air. The first hadn't been alone. I glared up at the rafters, seeing a scattered constellation of bright, nocturnal eyes watching me, six to each beast.

Shit.

I hefted the axe, ready. With chimera, it's hard to know how intelligent they are. Some are dumb beasts, good for tilling fields or pulling a cart, and some can carry out more complicated tasks. They can even act as spies and messengers, trained to communicate in code.

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Probably nothing more complex than danger, newcomer killed us, but that would be enough to ruin my element of surprise. I didn't need to be chased out of the demesne like I had at Vinhithe before completing my mission.

The monster owls shifted across the ceiling rafters, hunching on wooden beams or stone lips.

Would they all attack at once? Or test me more, as the first had? Its blood had begun to pool around my boots, its death throes gone quiet.

The click of a door latch and a dim haze of lantern light drew my attention from the creatures. The back door to the chapel had opened, and a figure stepped into the room.

"Alken? What are you—"

Edgar. The priest. The young man blinked at me, wounded and bloodstained, then at the corpse at my feet and the broken altar bowl. His face went sheet white.

"Get back!" I barked, making him startle.

All the chimera dove at once. They descended in a fluttering, brown-feathered storm. Their aggression had a terrible spider-like quality — they didn't hoot, or screech, or make any sound besides that of unsettled air.

Edgar dropped the lantern. I lurched toward him, cursing.

Too far. No chance to shape an Art — sorcery takes time, and I had no technique that could be used in an instant, which was all I had.

I am no wizard, but I've fought them. I've fought with them too, and learned some tricks.

I lunged forward, skidded on the smooth stone, and hurled the axe. It tumbled end over end, making more noise than the fiendish birds did. It struck one of the beasts just before it would have raked the young priest with its talons.

In the same instant, it erupted with light — a brief, molten nova within the chapel's darkness. The owls scattered, becoming a swirling whirlwind.

Barely in time. I let out a breath of relief.

No time to fashion an Art to kill all the things directly, but the faerie axe was a receptacle for aura. I'd stuck the seed of a sorcery in it before throwing, which bloomed into golden phantasm moments later. Which left me weaponless, and most of the things still alive.

Had I let them kill the man, I could have destroyed them all at once while they grouped up to maul him.

Still playing the knight, I scorned myself. Even still, my boots beat the stone as I plunged forward. One of the owls, blinded, flapped into me and began to slash with its talons. I caught the blow on my left forearm, taking another injury, then punched it with my right hand.

The creature went into the stone hard, its brittle bones broken, and did not get back up. Blood dripped from the torn flesh on my left arm.

I rolled, sending fiery agony flaring up my injured shoulder, and pulled my axe out of the burnt corpse it had remained stuck in. I rose into a cut, cleaving another of the things. More blood soiled my clothes.

Still more. How many? I counted six, all big, all deadly. They'd remain blind for a time, their sensitive nocturnal eyes scorched by my magic.

Panicked, unable to find their escape high up in the ceiling, they did the only thing frightened, aggressive beasts would do in that situation. They converged together where they sensed my heat in the room, and all tried to kill me.

Behind me, Edgar whimpered in terror. I ignored him, pushed the pain down, and started killing.

When the gruesome task was done, it left me out of breath and covered in stinking gore. My right shoulder and left arm burned with pain.

Not even recovered from the last one, I thought as I worked to swallow the pain. Not the best start, Al.

Edgar, sitting with his back to the wall near the door, muttered despondently to himself as he stared at the carnage. He'd experienced a lot of fear recently, and this must have pushed him over the edge.

I didn't have the patience to be gentle. Once I'd caught my breath I walked forward, making him cower against the wall. I must have looked fell — huge, with burning gold eyes, stained by blood and poorly lit by the fallen lantern.

If it got him to listen, I'd play the part. I grabbed him by the collar of his preost's robe, lifted him, and spoke in a voice that came out like a snarl. The shakes, always there after hard violence, had started to strike me hard.

"Do these belong to the baron?"

Edgar's mouth popped like a gasping fish. "I… what—"

I shook him. "Speak, man. Does the baron breed chimera?"

Shakily, the priest nodded. "He does. His family is known for it."

I could have kicked myself. It was in the name — Falconer.

"He either sent these because he got word you'd taken in strangers from beyond the demesne, or he sent them to silence you." I glanced at the corpses, thinking. "Tell me, did your predecessor say or know anything that might be dangerous to Orson Falconer? Anything that might make him want to shut you up?"

"He hates the Church." Edgar swallowed. "It was a point of contention between him and Micah for years."

I met his eyes. He didn't flinch. Telling the truth, then. I released him, letting him slump back against the wall.

The violence hadn't seemed to wake the doctor or the girl, or they'd have made an appearance already. Then again, much of it had been eerily quiet. Just my grunting, muted cursing, the dull cracks of breaking bone, the occasional growl of aureflame and whisper of stealthy wings. No doubt they were exhausted from the long journey.

Well enough. I had a choice to make.

Olliard wasn't just an ordinary doctor. Preoster Micah had called him here for help. I remembered that strange weapon he'd kept hidden in the cart. Lisette's skills were no layman's talent, either.

I could get their help. Only…

This wasn't work for some adventurer fellowship. I was the Headsman of Seydis, here to deliver the Choir's doom. Already, the spirits shadowing me had nearly killed the girl. There would be more danger soon.

No. I wouldn't repay them for saving my life, even if they had found me only by divine interference, by dragging them into my work.

I turned my attention back to the terrified priest. "I'm going. Tell the doctor and his apprentice that they should leave Caelfall immediately. You should go, too."

"Leave?" Edgar looked like he'd never even considered the notion before. I'd seen it plenty in backcountry folk. They spent their whole lives staring at the same hills, and even when war and famine came knocking, their roots would tie them down — usually by the neck.

I nodded. "The baron wants you dead, and I don't have the time to play protector. Get out of the fiefdom, far as you can."

"You will stop him?" Edgar asked, his eyes brightening with hope. "Rid us of him?"

I turned my back on him. "I'm not here to save any of you, preost. You got lucky tonight, that's all."

"But… I knew you would arrive before you did! And that light…"

"That's right," I said darkly, "I'm not here by coincidence either. You want to take this as a sign? Save those two healers. Convince them to leave."

I reached up to wipe at the blood on my face as I started toward the door. Pausing, I took a look at myself. I was a mess, my clothes soaked in blood — some of it my own.

"There were more priests here once." I glanced back at Edgar, who looked at a loss for words. "Were any of them close to my size?"