Oathbreaker: A Dark Fantasy Web Serial

Arc 2: Chapter 8: The Warlock

Arc 2: Chapter 8: The Warlock

I followed the Briar knight into the woods. His macabre chimera moved at a slow, steady pace, allowing me to keep up on foot. He didn’t speak, or so much as acknowledge me.

I wasn’t certain I could keep my measure traveling with that creature for days or weeks to wherever he intended to lead me. He reeked of battlefields and rotting plant matter.

“Where are we going?” I asked after a time, breaking the night’s silence.

“To a meeting,” the Briar Brother said.

“And how far must we travel for that?” I asked.

“Not far,” the fallen knight said vaguely.

I decided it wasn’t worth pressing the nightmarish cavalier for information and followed in silence, still wary of treachery. I hadn’t faced the Briar so long as many of my fellow Alder Knights, and hadn’t learned to hate them to the same degree, but it still felt strange to deal with one without immediate violence.

They’d been the Enemy, for many long and bitter generations. Indeed, they’d taken advantage of the Fall, but they hadn’t perpetrated it. Still, the idea that the Choir might be willing to make peace with the Briar sat uneasy on me. Surely they knew that Nath would claw for every advantage she could get?

Another thought struck me then — had Nath sent this fallen chevalier as some sort of message, or grim jest? A warped mirror of what the Alder Knights had been, and a potential future for me if I kept tiptoeing along the lefthand path? It seemed to fit her sense of irony.

We walked for nearly an hour. The night aged, and a few scattered clouds began to crawl across the starry sky. The woods held an eerie silence. I could see ghost-lights in the distance, but unlike normal they didn’t approach, as though repelled by the foul company I traveled with. Eventually we stopped at an old crossroads, one I recognized as being near the edge of the haunted woods surrounding the Fane. There were villages not far, little more than small hamlets dotting the nearer countryside. Most of our food and supplies came from them, usually collected by Oraeka in the guise of a common traveler.

“Prepare,” the Briar Brother rasped. “They approach.”

I frowned, peering into the night’s gloom. “Who approaches?” I asked.

“My ladies client,” he said, his voice changing again.

Client. The warlock. I narrowed my eyes, inwardly steeling myself.

Before long, I heard an odd sound. Wheels, I realized. The sound grew louder, along with the noise of clopping hooves. The light of several lanterns appeared in the distant woods. Those lights, as they drew near, revealed themselves to be attached to a black coach. The vehicle, pulled by two chimera, stopped in front of us.

It had aristocrat written all over it — smooth ebony wood caged in a frame of silver worked into the shape of spear-wielding riders and horned hawks chasing kynedeer and direwolves. The rider wore all black, their features obscured by an almost comically large tricorn.

The two beasts were a breed of chimera I didn’t recognize. Many noble houses kept their own unique stocks, guarding them jealously. Usually only the richest ones. They looked close to the classic horse, but were near as big as Nath’s monstrous destrier. Their limbs ended in iron-shod hooves, their tails clipped to short nubs, their hides covered in a mix of coarse gray fur and brown feathers, wings folded at their side. They reminded me of griffons, the classic epitome of all chimeric beasts. I’d seen real griffons though, and these seemed like pale imitations. Their heads were more like crows than eagles, with straight black beaks. The beaks, like the hooves, were clad in iron.

The rider watched us through the shadow of their hat and a cloth mask pulled up to their nose, though I caught the glint of pale eyes. Those eyes studied me a moment before the rider dismounted and moved to the carriage door, opening it and extending a hand to help the one inside step down.

My eyes followed that second figure as they alighted easily on the woodland road on black leather boots. I had to stop my eyes from widening in shock.

The girl couldn’t have been older than seventeen. She was tall, long-limbed and slim, with dark hair pulled into a tight bun. She wore an ensemble which evoked both aristocratic arrogance and militant practicality — trousers rather than a dress, with knee-high boots and a doublet, all of it in shades of black and red. She wore a sword at her right hip, a half-cape, and studied me with light brown eyes.

Her height, outfit, and conservative hairstyle made her seem more mature, yet she was young. Barely more than a child.Could this really be Nath’s acolyte?

“This is him?” The girl’s voice had a controlled quality, clipped and confidant, sharp with aristocratic inflection. “Lady Nath’s proxy?”

I wore my blood-red cloak wrapped about my lower face, the pointed cowl up. Like the black-clad driver, my features would be cast in shadow, especially in the pale light of the moons. I doubted she’d be able to see more distinguishing features than my broad frame and height.

The Briar Brother nodded. “It is.”

Again the girl studied me. I looked for some insignia on her dress or carriage that might indicate what house she belonged to. I noted a pin on her short cape, fashioned into the image of a horned hawk in flight. I’m no herald — I know many of the greater houses, but didn’t recognize hers, leastways not by the mark she wore.

She lifted her chin, set her mouth in a determined line, and addressed me. “I bid you greetings. I am the Lady Emma of House Carreon.” She lifted her hand, palm down, displaying a ring set with a bloody red ruby.

House Carreon. The name rang a familiar tune, but the details remained distant. I glanced at her hand. A test? She hadn’t addressed me by any title, which made me think she didn’t know who I was, or whether I was a knight or lord. Had Nath given her my identity at all, or did she think me some nameless servant of the Dark Lady?

I needed to make a decision as to what masque to project. The grim mercenary, the eldritch minion, or the chivalrous man-at-arms?

Only one role seemed honest. I’d been passed off by the Choir to Nath, who’d instructed me to assist her client, not kowtow to her. The Lady Emma needed to know that I was no drone, no hollow minion to serve at her will. I was a contractor, and no gallantknight — not anymore.

I turned to the Briar Brother, ignoring the girl’s proffered hand. “Nath didn’t tell me I’d be babysitting.”

The carriage driver’s bright eyes narrowed. Lady Emma, on the other hand, went pale with rage.

“I am of the blood of a High House,” she hissed. “How dare you disregard me!?”

So, not just House Carreon, but High House Carreon. She has a loose grip on her temper, I noted. Proud, too.

I turned back to her and spoke in a bored drawl. “I’m not familiar with any realm ruled by a House Carreon. I am familiar with Bloody Nath.” I brushed my cloak back to jab a finger at her. “You would be ostracized as a witch anywhere in the Accorded Realms. I don’t need to explain to you who your patron is, do I?”

Lady Emma swiped her proffered hand down to let it rest on the basket-hilt of her fine sword. Her reply dripped acid. “Perhaps I need explain it to you? Who do you think you are, to represent her so poorly?”

I kept my face carefully blank, though inwardly I winced. Perhaps I’d gone too strong on the blackguard guise. “Nath employs men like me for one reason,” I said. Then, deciding to indulge in a bit of drama, I unclasped Faen Orgis from its iron hook on my back to reveal it. It still glowed softly from Caim’s touchup. Lady Emma’s eyes widened at the sight of it.

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“You have bloody work that needs doing,” I said. It wasn’t a question. “All I need to know is who you want me to kill. Or,” I added lightly, “who’s trying to kill you.”

A moment of silence fell, heavy and tense. The Brother of the Briar broke it.

“My task is done,” he said in his death’s rasp. “I shall depart.” He mounted his skull-faced steed and turned it from the coach. Before he left, he spoke to me one last time.

“See to it my ladies charge does not come to harm, Headsman. Should she die, you will be held fully responsible. Remember it.”

We all watched him depart. When he’d gone, Lady Emma turned her eyes back to me, pursing her lips in frustration.

“Perhaps we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot,” she said, making an obvious effort to speak more politely. She even gave me a tight smile, clasping her gloved hands together. “I was not told who to expect, only that they would be capable, and trustworthy.” She put special emphasis on the last word. “I have introduced myself. Will you not do the same?”

She studied me, and I realized she was trying to see through the shadow beneath my hood.

“Names are dangerous,” I said. “Especially in the wild, with strangers. Don’t know who might be listening.”

After the Briar knight had departed, the forest ghosts had started to drift closer. The noble’s eyes tracked them, and she swallowed.

“Very well.” She made a visible effort to maintain an uncaring calm. “I see you have no mount, so you will have to ride in my carriage. Though I can tell you are no gentleman, I trust you will not be so much the fool as to try anything?”

“Don’t worry,” I said, tapping my axe against one shoulder. “I’m not into kids. You’re perfectly safe, milady.”

Lady Emma’s jaw went so tight I thought she might crack a tooth. “Then let us depart,” she hissed, turning with a dramatic flourish of her dark cloak to stomp to the carriage, where the silent driver waited with the door open. The driver watched me with bright, malevolent eyes.

Just what had I gotten myself into this time?

***

The Carreon girl’s black coach rolled through the woods. For an hour, the noble said nothing to me. She didn’t so much as meet my eye, instead opting to glare at the shuttered window on one wall, bobbing one heeled boot with impatient energy. It got annoying after the first ten minutes, and my opinion didn’t improve from there.

The interior of the vehicle turned out to be surprisingly spacious and comfortable, ignoring the constant clattering, bumping, and grinding. I had no idea how aristos could handle riding in these things for days or weeks at a time while traveling from region to region. Then again, I’d never been much for riding chimera the traditional way either.

Mock me if you will — the knight who hated riding. To be fair, I hadn’t been born a lord and had a late start on handling beasts.

I’d grown used to long silence during my wanderings across the subcontinent the past decade. I said nothing, leaving my hood up to keep my face concealed, my axe propped against the cushioned seat at my side. There wasn’t any space to use it, but its presence near at hand gave me some comfort. And it unnerved the girl, as did my shadowed face, which I enjoyed.

Perhaps I was being cruel. Then again, Lady Emma was an acolyte for a malevolent demigoddess. Best she not come to expect amicability in those she associated with, lest she think her decision a good one. Further, I’d had little rest, and this little errand had pulled me away from a problem and a person I cared about.

I admit to feeling inclined to rudeness.

The girl, unsurprisingly, broke first. She huffed out in frustration, gritted her teeth as the carriage jolted, and fixed her eyes on me. I’d taken them for brown before, but on closer inspection they seemed closer to amber, same as mine, only lacking in the gleam of aura. With her dark hair — a brown close to black — they made her gaze uncommonly intense, almost avian. She crossed one leg over the other, for the tenth time in the last half hour, propping one elbow on a velvet pillow at her side.

“So…” she studied me a moment, seeming to choose her words with care. “You are, what, indebted to Lady Nath? Her bondsman?”

Rather than answer I asked my own question. “Just what do you know about Nath?”

The young lady looked taken aback. “She is a mighty sorceress, knowledgeable and powerful. Lords across Urn fear her.”

Well, that held enough truth in it, though it barely scraped the surface. “That’s it?” I asked.

Again, the noble youth’s lips tightened in poorly disguised frustration. “My business with Lady Nath is none of yours.”

“It’s exactly my business,” I rejoined. “I’ve known your lady for many years.”

That drew Emma’s interest, her anger forgotten. She leaned forward. “Then you are, what? Her apprentice? A magus?”

“I’m a soldier,” I answered honestly. “You noticed the axe?” I drummed my fingers against the weapon’s bronze head.

Emma rolled her eyes. “Please. I know wizards aren’t all bearded old men with staves. I know some sorcery, and yet I still use this.” She drummed her fingers against the silver-inlayed hilt of her slender sword, miming my own gesture. “But I think I understand. You are a mercenary, yes? Or indebted to Lady Nath in such a way that makes you the next best thing.” She nodded sharply. “You ask me if I know who the Lady is as though you have the answer. So tell me, Ser Red, who is she?”

Ser Red. Well, it fit well enough. “Nath,” I began quietly, ignoring the flippant epithet for the time, “Nath the Fallen, that is, has been trying to claim a great kingdom of her own for many centuries. I know stories, but I don’t think anyone understands the whole reason. She believes it’s her destiny — or maybe she just decided she wants a thing, and never let it go. She collects people for her court, and she’s very selective. She’s tried recruiting me a few times.”

She’d made a good part of her fame trying to corrupt Oathsworn, and the members of the Alder Table in particular. I’d only become her focus after I’d become the last active member of that order. I didn’t say as much to the girl — she didn’t need to know my story, not in full.

“Tried,” Emma repeated, frowning. “You… don’t serve her? Then why are you here?”

I shrugged. “I’m on loan. I serve…” here I hedged. “Well, a request made by Nath is hard to refuse. She’s Onsolain.”

To my shock, Emma snorted with laughter. “Are you serious?” She said, almost giggling. “You’re telling me she’s an angel? I know she’s a powerful witch, but I’m not that naive.”

I frowned then. “The Onsolain are real,” I said. “The Church—”

“The Church is an institution built to keep the commonfolk appeased while they wait for some fabled promised day,” Emma said, looking bored. “It’s all just ceremony. Tradition. The Houses have the real power, especially now the faeries are all gone.”

“Surely you’ve seen clerics wielding power?” I asked, disturbed by this blithe heresy. I didn’t consider myself particularly devout, but the divine were real. I’d served them all my life, in one form or another.

Emma waved a dismissive hand. “I know how aura works. Even a village blacksmith can make a magic sword, if he awakens his soul. Just because a preoster adds prayer to the process doesn’t make him special. I’m willing to believe Lady Nath might be Sidhe, or versed in magic that grants her their longevity. But a demigod? Please.”

I was so taken aback by this I didn’t speak for several minutes. “Where are we going?” I asked, changing the subject.

A line formed between Emma’s long eyebrows. She leaned back and shrugged, adopting a bored expression. “I am presently living in a manor along the southern border of Venturmoor. We are going there.”

It was my turn to frown. “Venturmoor? That’s a week’s travel away.”

Emma flashed her teeth in a grin. “This is a very special coach.” With that she leaned back and rapped on the wall. Immediately I felt a change. A sound came from outside — a series of snaps — and I heard the two chimera let out croaking shouts. The coach suddenly tilted beneath me, and I had to grab my weapon and press a hand to one wall to keep both me and it from getting thrown across the cabin.

What in all the hells…

Emma had barely reacted to the sudden shifting, save that she’d grabbed an iron bar set on the roof. She smiled slyly, pleased by my reaction, then reached over to slide the small window open.

The rolling countrysides and forested hills of Urn’s heartlands, cast in shades of black and pale blue by the starry sky, rolled beneath us, growing further and wider by the moment. I could hear the snap of great wings, feel the rush of wind in my face. The shadow of distant mountains clarified itself in the far horizon, and lakes and rivers gleamed like silver veins across the tapestry.

A flying coach. I turned my eyes to the young aristocrat, who watched me with almost predatory anticipation. She wants me to be impressed, I realized.

I was. I’d seen sky-born transports before, but not often and not lately. The Sidhe once blessed the skies many nights, descending from clouds on chariots or coaches just like this one, clad in starlight as they hunted or picked the stray lucky mortal to join them. Mortal nobility sometimes owned beautiful carriages, using flying chimera and sorcerous craftsmanship to propel them across the lands at speed.

The world had grown more dangerous since the wars. The few surviving elves had retreated into hiding, traumatized by the death of their civilization and wary of further attack, and the lords of the Accord kept to their private manors and castles, fearful of a tenuous peace. The skies had grown darker, more foreboding. I’d seen very few such transports in recent years.

Just who was this young woman, to own such a precious thing? To have the personal favor of the Angel of the Briar?

Perhaps my flippancy before had been hasty. Even still, I settled back in my seat and folded my arms, bowing my hooded head.

Emma frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Getting some sleep,” I said. “I barely rested before I got dragged to that crossroads. Wake me when we get there.”

She spluttered, outraged. “But, we have more to discuss! You—”

“Can’t do anything for you if I’m too exhausted to stand,” I growled. “I’ve been on the road for weeks. We’ll talk tomorrow. You should find rest while you have it, milady. No need to waste the pleasant ride on dire talk.”

Through one cracked eye, I watched Emma settled back, grinding her teeth. I had to suppress a smile. Just because I’d been strong-armed into serving Nath and assisting this arrogant noble didn’t mean I had to be polite about it.