Oathbreaker: A Dark Fantasy Web Serial

Arc 2: Chapter 21: Thorned Wisdom

Arc 2: Chapter 21: Thorned Wisdom

I paid the castle smith to fix my armor. She had to use ordinary steel, which looked odd with the shadowy elf-iron links. The smith, a gnarled old woman with ashy gray hair and arms near thick as mine, kept grumbling about how sacrilegious it was to do such patchwork repairs to Sidhe work. Finally, after some cajoling, she ended up using an engraved iron plate as the centerpiece of the repair, mostly covering the mismatched metal, making it look like a deliberate touch.

I liked it. It made the hauberk look less uniformly black, adding a small flare. I hadn’t gone for aesthetic in my gear since I’d been in the peerage, and part of me had missed those indulgences.

I paid her well, thanked her, and quietly hoped whatever penance she assigned herself wouldn’t be too harsh. That done, I made my way to the stables to meet Emma, passing through an inner courtyard of the keep. True to their aesthetic, House Hunting had turned it into a small wood, shadowing the interior with trees. I imagined an invading force would find the effect uncanny, and find many sharp spears waiting for them in the shadows.

A figure lurking beneath one of those trees stopped me. “Master Alken. Out late, are we?”

I paused, instinctively reaching for the dagger beneath my cloak. I didn’t draw it, only assured myself I could. “Ser Lydia,” I greeted the Hunting bannerwoman who stepped out of the shade. I hadn’t noticed her, which unnerved me.

She still wore her brassy armor, with a breastplate reinforced with scale and a leather coat more reminiscent of a woodsman’s than a soldier’s. She no longer wore a helm, however, giving me my first good look at her face. She approached middle age, with a narrow face and thin lips, pale brown eyes bright in the dim light. A blistering mark covered the lower portion of one cheek, pulling at the corner of her mouth. It would probably remain as a nasty scar, a reminder of Jon Orley’s wrath.

“If you intend to depart without being noticed,” the knight said, her tone politely neutral, “you should know that most of this fiefdom’s soldiery have very good night vision. Old blessings from the fae-folk who lived in this land in past times.”

She tapped a gloved finger under one wolfish eye.

I let out a small laugh, more a sound of tension breaking than humor. “Right. Should have guessed. That Gors fellow looked like he had some erkish blood in him. You even have a town called Orcswell.”

Lyda sneered at the name. “I’m half certain Gors himself is a changeling — some parents keep them, rather than leaving them in the wilds as they should. But I digress. You are leaving us?”

The way she said it made me guess she’d assumed I planned to abandon them. “I’m not fleeing,” I said, too hastily. Lydia only lifted a dark brown eyebrow.

Taking a breath and choosing my words more carefully I added, “I can’t do any of you any good here. I’m chasing down a lead, and hopefully it will give me a way to rid you all of Orley, so you can get back to your lives.”

Lydia nodded slowly, though she still had some doubt on her face. “Back at Orcswell… you saved us. Many of the others still think Lady Emma is responsible for this, perhaps even in control of the Burnt Rider somehow, but I have eyes.” She dipped into a martial bow of respect. “You fought well, Ser. Whatever you are going to do, good luck to you.”

I admit, it took me off guard. I’d gotten so used to distrust and disdain, or to manipulation masked as admiration. For a moment, I didn’t know what to say.

Ser Lydia, for her part, didn’t give the moment time to become awkward. After a precisely timed pause she turned on her heel, off to attend some duty.

I stopped her when she’d gone three steps away. “Wait.”

The knight turned, again lifting a quizzical eyebrow.

“There’s a young girl in the keep, a laundry maid. Would be about fifteen, I think. She’s one of Lady Emma’s servants, her housekeeper’s daughter. I think she’s been cast adrift in this crisis — could you check in on her, see if she’s alright?”

I knew that checking in on maids wasn’t the purview of knights, but Lydia seemed a good sort, opinions on changeling children notwithstanding.

To my relief she nodded amicably. “Of course. I’ll see to it. Any message you’d like to give the child?”

I thought about it a moment. “Tell her this will all be done with soon, and then she’ll be back with her ma’. It’s a promise, straight from the Lady Carreon herself.”

The knight snorted. “Right. Well, I can’t make it a priority. One more thing — you should exit by the southeast wall. There’s a hedge beneath it we haven’t tended to, and I’m in charge of it tonight.” She inclined her head again, then left.

I stood there a moment, taking time to process. When had I last been given any honor by one of the peerage? Why did I still care? Even still, it made me feel a bit less tense. I scoffed at myself, then went to find my young charge.

***

We went without chimera, secreting ourselves out of the castle in the night. Antlerhall had been placed on high alert with the ongoing crisis, but a touch of Cant and a few aura-laced words saw us through, along with Ser Lydia’s advice. The guards were on the lookout for devils and monsters out of the night, not us.

No, I happened to be the idiot going out hunting for what lurked in the dark beyond those torchlit walls.

Two hours after our departure, deep into the night, I brought us into a woodland glade south of the keep. More snow had fallen, casting everything into silver shades beneath the rising moons. Ghost-lights guided our path, and spirits murmured drunkenly in the shadows, but none approached us. They must have sensed my intent, my destination, and wanted no part of it.

Warlock and child of occultists she might be, but Emma had been raised in a sheltered lifestyle. Beneath the pointed cowl of her black cloak, a night-veil like mine fashioned to ward off od from the waxing moons, she watched the woods with nervous eyes.

“Where are we going?” She whispered, working to keep pace with my longer strides. “This isn’t the way to Orcswell.”

“Small detour,” I said.

She huffed in frustration, but cold and nervousness stalled her questions. Our breath formed nearly glowing plumes in the gloom, misting breath catching what light came down through the canopy.

I found what I sought soon enough. Following subtle sensations pulling at my aura, a gut feeling, and the winking Wil-O’ Wisps, I led us into a deep, old part of the woods beyond Antlerhall. The trees grew taller here, the shadows deeper. Strange sounds danced through the night, and eerie eyes seemed to occasionally blink through the trees, green and set in strange configurations.

Emma noticed the change, though her own magic didn’t give her the same acute senses as mine — hers was all human, or perhaps animal, instinct, the knowledge that she’d passed into a dangerous place. “Where are we?” She asked, casting anxious eyes into the night.

“The Wend,” I said.

She blinked. “You can’t be serious. How… Why—”

“It’s just a Burrow,” I said. “Don’t panic. And don’t look at them. They can ensorcel you.”

She’d been staring at the alien eyes in the darkness. Swallowing, she blinked and tore her gaze away. Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves she said, in a way that had the edge of a noble’s command in it, “and why, pray tell, are we in a Burrow of the Wend?”

A sound pierced the night. Something halfway between an avian screech and a human shout. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and Emma let out a yelp. My fingers flexed, but I had no enchanted axe to grap — it still formed the core of the Malison Tree that bound Jon Orley.

“Because I need to talk to your godmother,” I said. “And I’m pretty sure she’s been keeping an eye on things, which means she’d want a nice, gloomy refuge somewhere nearby.”

Emma’s eyes widened at this, and she fixed her gaze forward. “We’re going to see Lady Nath? But, she’s always found me in the past. I…”

“We’ll be alright,” I said, trying to be reassuring. “Just stick close.”

Something scuttled out of the underbrush, flitting from one edge of the trees to another before I could get a proper look at it. I had the distinct impression of a very human face, and spidery legs. I clenched my jaw, took a deep breath, then forged forward. In truth, I felt just as nervous as Emma — the Wend is no place for a casual stroll.

The Wend — The Wending Roads — are many things. They are a system of pathways riddling the lands, like arteries, or roots. They are a border between the world of mortals and sunlight and stranger realms. They are a memory, and a curse.

They are a graveyard.

Many beings use the Wend to cross the world at speed, or reach places normally inaccessible even by chimera. Powerful mages are usually the only mortals who do so regularly, because you need to be versed in the ways of aura to protect yourself from the wild, often hostile magic suffusing those paths. The Alder Knights used them regularly, once. One of our duties had been to patrol the Wending Roads, to keep the well-traveled paths clear of danger, and make sure no qliphoths formed.

Since the Table had been broken and disbanded, the Wend had been neglected. In more recent years, I’d stopped using them unless in great need. They’d grown malignant, an untended garden full of weeds and parasites.

What we traveled into then is called a Burrow — a sort of pocket realm within the Wend, closed to most paths. I’d used my experience to find it, along with the guidance of my restructured aura, though such places have a way of finding you — they’re alive, in a way, and have a tendency to drag you into them, like an undertow at sea.

After some time, Emma and I passed through the eerie woods into a wide prairie. The snow fell thin here, and violet night flowers bloomed through, heedless of the cold. The stars seemed nearer, somehow, the moons looming larger than they had earlier in the night. I knew I’d found the Burrow’s core.

Half-sunken ruins lay at the center of the field, where the night flowers clustered most densely. I couldn’t tell what the original purpose of the structure had been, only getting an impression of cracked marble tinted bright silver-white by the light shining down from above. Sitting upon the remnants of a shattered pillar sat a god, or part of one.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Nath still wore her martial accoutrements, though they’d changed somewhat. She never looked quite the same between any two appearances, as though she incessantly tweaked details of her own design. This time she wore a long, glimmering dress of silver mail, reinforced with elegant plates of a darker metal at the shoulders, hips, and ribs. Her black hair formed a braid so long it trailed along the grass below, coiling like a serpent around the base of the pillar. She held a black bow tall as she was, which she propped on her makeshift throne as I approached.

I inclined my head, respectful without being subservient. Subservience could be taken as an invitation to make me a servant. “Nath.”

“Headsman.” Nath inspected me, amused, tilting her head to one side. Sitting, she met me at eye level. Had she stood, she’d have been near eight feet in height. Her empty black eyes crinkled at the corners after a moment. “Ah. You’ve figured it out.”

I nodded slowly. “I think so.”

Emma had been strangely quiet. I glanced back, and found she wasn’t behind me any longer. I wheeled on the Fallen. “Where is she?” I didn’t bother hiding my anger.

“Peace, O’ Headsman.” Nath held up a hand that seemed to catch the moonlight, so it shone. “She is quite safe. I diverted her. She will wander through the forest a while longer, and then you will find her. I wished to speak in private.”

When had I lost Emma? I thought back through my walk through the alien woods, trying to find the moment my attention had lapsed — or been taken. There hadn’t been a sense of time — the Wend can often operate on dream logic, which is to say no logic at all.

Damn it. I’d been trained to not let myself be led astray in these sorts of places.

Frustrated, I huffed out a sigh. “She deserves some answers, Nath.”

“She deserves nothing,” the Onsolain intoned. “She has been given all the tools necessary to claim what she desires. That was the role I played as her patron. I taught her how to navigate these paths — let us consider this a test. Perhaps she will surprise us both?”

I had to suppress a sneer. “It’s always a goring test with you immortals. It’s like half of you are senile and the rest are children, playing with ants.”

Nath wagged a finger through the air, flashing pale teeth. “Hope your gods are like children, mortal, for children can be pleased. An absent power is only void, and that is a truly terrible thing.”

I let that small dig pass. “I’m not a priest,” I said. “You can’t goad me by making allusions to God. And I’m not here to discuss theology.”

“Are you not?” Nath turned her attention back to her war bow. She ran a hand down the long line of palely shining string, which I knew — with the same intrusive insights I knew many things, thanks to my Oaths — had been fashioned from starlight.

A piece of Light cleaved from a faraway star, taken from it like a finger is cut from a hand. It feels the pain of it still, and is dimmer now forever—

I shut that part of me out, focusing on the here and now. “Jon Orley,” I said. “Did you know about him? Did you know where he came here from, and that I’d be set against him?”

“That is three questions,” Nath mused, plucking a testing finger at the bowstring. It produced a musical sound, and not a pleasant one. “Which shall I answer? Shall I make you choose, or shall I?”

I noted, with mild horror, that her braid of black hair writhed around the base of the stone she sat on, like a living serpent. I could even hear it hissing.

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath to calm myself and ignore all the supernatural noise distracting me. I knew this would be frustrating — talking to any immortal is, and Nath was malignant on top of it all. “You could have warned me,” I growled.

“And caused turmoil among my kinfolk,” Nath said bluntly. She turned her empty eyes back to me, serious now. “I will admit, knightling, I often play games for my own amusement. In this case, that is not so. Greater interests are at play, and it limits my…” she held up her forefinger and thumb, pinching them together. “Capacity. The fate of House Carreon is spoken for, and I can only do so much as little Emma’s benefactor. I cannot, for example, directly interfere in the case of the Burning One, for I am but the girl’s mentor, and he is… well. He is you.” She lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

I furrowed my brow, confused. “He’s me? The hell does that mean?”

“Exactly!” Nath smiled broadly, then frowned when she saw my face. “Ah. That is just one of your mortal turns of phrase, isn’t it? You were so close.” She pouted, turning her attention back to her bow.

I closed my eyes, trying to think, to see, through all her little turns of phrase, her playful hints and deflections. I thought I drew close to the truth, but doubt gnawed at me. If I ended up being wrong, or didn’t have the whole picture…

Things could go to shit. Again.

“He’s me…” I opened my eyes, catching Nath’s gaze again. “He’s another Doomsman, isn’t he? He’s here to deliver judgment on the last of the Carreons on behalf of Orkael.”

Nath’s eyes narrowed. “You draw very close to the answers you seek, O’ Headsman. I wish I could tell you the whole of it. Perhaps that is difficult to believe, from my lips, but it is true. I am… invested in Emma Carreon’s future. I have bound myself to it. I am, however, also bound to my kin.” She closed her eyes, inhaling deep. “I have decided.”

With that, she stood from the shattered section of masonry with a musical clinking of metal rings, standing to her full and inhuman height. She rested her bow on the grass, staring down at me. “I will rejoin the Choir. I will be Onsolain again. Perhaps the Briar will disavow me for it… in fact, I suspect they will. Even so, greater engines are beginning to shift, and I…”

She closed her eyes, tilting her chin up toward the stars. “I wish to see it again. That light. When the time comes, and the Gates open, I will fight to reclaim what was stolen.”

I shivered, and not from the early winter. I felt like I’d just witnessed something… not historic. That wasn’t the right word. Something mythic. A decision that would move unseen currents and affect elements I couldn’t fathom, and change the course of fates beyond my own.

For Nath, it was a choice made quietly, without drama or fanfare, in this quiet glade where she’d secluded herself to meditate, listen to the stars, and hear the frustrations of one mortal. It made my problems feel smaller, somehow. I didn’t mind too much. Who wants big problems?

I heard a sound at the edge of the woods. Thinking it might be Emma wandering our way, I turned, but didn’t see the noble youth. Instead, I watched a man past his middle years stumble out of the undergrowth. He wore a preoster’s habit, had thinning hair which had been poorly cut, and a haggard, exhausted appearance. Even so, as his eyes alighted on Nath, his mouth fell agape and he stumbled forward, like a puppet pulled on inescapable strings.

I recognized him. He’d been with the villagers who’d stopped the Night Coach on our way to Emma’s manor. What had his name been?

“It’s you,” the priest said. He’d lost his shoes in the woods, and his feet were raw and blistered. His hands and face had been lacerated, as though the forest had tried to maul him on his way here. Perhaps it had — we were in the Wend, after all.

Nath glanced at the priest, looking bemused. “Interesting. I expected him to die in the forest.”

I remembered another detail about the man then, even if I still couldn’t place his name. “He saw you and Emma together,” I said. I turned on the Onsolain, clenching my jaw in sudden anger. “Did you lure him out here to silence him?”

“No,” Nath said, her expression mildly bemused as she watched the man stumble drunkenly toward us through the field of violet flowers. “He has been trying to find me for many weeks. He is in love with me, I think.” She tittered, pressing the back of one hand to her lips. “It’s not the first time. Oh, but a priest? That is a fresh amusement.”

I sighed and began to step toward the poor fool. I’d have to guide him back through the wilderness. I didn’t have time, damn it all, but I couldn’t just leave him out here to get eaten by wyldefae, or worse.

“Wait,” Nath said. She held out a hand, and I stopped — though she spoke softly, something in her voice told me it would be a very bad idea to ignore her.

“What are you going to do?” I asked, knowing I probably wouldn't like the answer. I knew Nath’s reputation.

“I do not know,” Nath mused. She seemed surprised at the admission. “A man of faith, guided to darkness? It is hardly a first, but still I wonder… will he balk when he sees just how twisted the briar behind this rose is, how sharp its thorns, or will it allure him all the more? I am curious.”

The man jabbered, half-incoherent. I grimaced at the sight. “This isn’t love. He’s just ensorcelled. You know you can have that effect on mortals.”

Nath shrugged one silvered shoulder. “And what does that matter? Do you think it matters to him?”

“It might,” I insisted. “If he had half a brain to think it over just now.”

“I have not enchanted him,” Nath said, turning her empty eyes back to me. “Not with any deliberate exertion of my power, in any case. I am surprised by you, Hewer. Were you not so enchanted yourself, once? Do you begrudge others such joy, now it has been lost to you?”

I took a deep breath, fighting to keep my temper in check. “That is not… Damn it, you don’t feel anything for him! He’s just some poor bastard you see as a toy, or a tool.” I could well imagine what kind of purposes the Angel of the Briar would put a corrupted preacher to.

“Yes.” Nath didn’t have so much as a trace of shame on her immortally beautiful face. “And you see yourself in him, and it angers you.”

The blood went out of me then. I knew she could see my face drain of color, the cold rage on my face. It didn’t impress her. Nath only lifted her chin, unmoved by how deep those words had cut.

“The world is hard and cruel, O’ Fallen Knight. You may resent those of us who choose to indulge in dreams, but it is not your place to take them. Keep your waking nightmare until it breaks you, I care not.” She flicked two fingers to one side, causing a ripple of shadow to pass where her touch scarred the air. “That man has had a long, difficult life, and he will spend his final days lonely and frustrated. I can show him wonders, and horrors… which do you think he will prefer?”

“You expect me to believe you’re doing this for his sake?” I sneered.

“I care not a wit what you believe.” Nath shook her head. “Will you challenge me for this soul, Headsman? Now, when you need my good will and my aid?”

I glanced at the man. He’d stopped halfway across the field, his knees giving way to exhaustion. He knelt there in the flowers, dazing in dreamy wonder at the shadow-maned angel who’d probably haunted his every dream and waking moment since he first laid eyes on her. It made me sick, to think there were beings in the cosmos who could take our will away so easily. Had I really been like that, once?

If I had, I’d woken up. Perhaps it was best to let the priest find his own way out of the murk. Besides, Nath had a point. I had other problems, and I’m no hero besides.

“Orley… how do I send him back to Hell? How do I stop him?” I dismissed the besotted fool from my attention.

“It depends on which Hell you speak of,” Nath said, returning her attention to the previous matter as well. “There are many. If you wish to confine him once again to the Iron Pits, then that will be difficult — he is here lawfully, under the sanction of rites old as this world. The easiest method is to allow him to complete his work.”

I hardened my voice. “I will not let him take the girl.”

“Then there is only one way,” Nath said. “You and he are both acting for different Realms Immortal. Your authority is as paramount as his.”

She spread her hands out, falling silent. Imploring me to understand.

I did. “I can challenge him. One Doomsman to another.”

Nath’s smile held something of the fey humor of the Sidhe in it. “That, O’ Headsman, is true. Understand that to do so will tie Emma Carreon’s fate to yours, which may not be a kindness. I need not mention it may also cause discontent between the Choir Concilium and the Iron Tribunal, two mighty realms of the Divinity.”

“If I don’t,” I said cautiously, “will Emma end up being consigned to Hell?”

“Without a doubt,” Nath said, very serious.

I didn’t trust her. Whatever else, she could lie, or at least use misleading truths. There had also been Orley’s words when we’d fought him. I am not here for you.

What had that meant? And did it matter? Whatever else, he was a curse that would hound Emma for the rest of her days unless I did something. And…

And I cared, I realized. Somewhere along the way, this had stopped being a job. As I’d learned more about Emma’s past, about her situation and struggles, I’d grown invested in freeing her of it all. Perhaps I just didn’t want to see one more monster born into the world, one I might one day have to face again in my official capacity as Headsman.

I wanted no future where I’d have to execute that troubled young woman. She hadn’t earned any of her woes.

“I’ll do it then,” I said.

Nath leaned forward, so her empty eyes seemed to become enormous. “This is a decision which may affect the rest of your life, Alken Hewer. Are you certain?”

I set my jaw and stood to my fullest height, though it didn’t come close to matching the Fallen’s. “I’ve made worse choices. I might regret this one, but that doesn’t make it wrong.”

Nath tilted her chin, inspecting me with a critical sidelong gaze. “Then so mote it be. If you are to do this thing, you will need a voice within the Choir itself to represent you — the Iron Lords respect law and tradition, but they will ignore anything not backed by a force to match theirs.”

Knowing she most certainly did, I asked the obvious question. “You have any suggestions? I’m not exactly on close speaking terms with any of the Onsolain.”

“Oh, I can think of one who’d absolutely leap at the chance to aid in such a noble endeavor.” Nath’s words and twisted lips had a truly poisonous humor in them. “Oh, what a sweet irony! But the night ages. Make your preparations, Headsman. Soon enough, you will have to make your case on behalf of Emma Carreon’s soul, and all the powers of Heaven and Hell shall hear it.”

I turned to leave without a word, though my eyes strayed to the priest. Nath strode toward him, and I saw the effect it had on the man. The sight made my gut twist. I wondered how many of the Brothers of the Briar had started out just like him.