Oathbreaker: A Dark Fantasy Web Serial

It took every ounce of my self control not to react. It was harder than when I’d walked in on Hyperia sitting barely more than an arm’s reach from my queen. This felt more sudden, more intimate.

But I remembered who I pretended to be, and said nothing while the surrounding tourney knights chatted about the Cymrinorean’s brash display. I folded my arms as though in contemplation, mostly to keep my clenched fist from being too obvious.

The narrowed vision of my helm made it so I didn’t see the prince out of the corner of my eye, but I knew he watched me. I could feel his eyes, hard and focused, like a pressure against the side of my skull.

“You’re the one who fought in that melee earlier,” he muttered. “I watched that fight. You didn’t belong with those riff-raff.”

I tilted my head to look at him again and shrugged one shoulder, playing the mute. This let me get a better look at him. The prince, who was twin to his sister and couldn’t have been older than twenty, did not have a young man’s voice. It rasped like a veteran who’d inhaled too much smoke from alchemical weapons, or a lifetime smoker. Neither was he particularly tall. His face, which bore an uncanny resemblance with Hyperia’s, also held an unhealthier complexion, like he was recovering from a long illness.

His armor wasn’t princely. As I’d noted before, it looked dingy and old, holding a rust-brown hue. There were intricate designs on the metal, but they’d been so marred by time and violence I couldn’t make them out. His visored helm hugged tight to his skull, with only a black plume of hair for decorative.

His eyes were like his sister’s in color, but they held none of her low cunning or cruel mirth. They would have been an ordinary brown, but something about them made my teeth itch. There was death in those eyes. When they narrowed as though trying to see through my mask, a bead of cold sweat formed on my temple.

Fear. I’d faced demons and tyrants, and this boy made me feel cold with just a look.

“Where do I know you from?” He asked.

My muscles tightened beneath layers of steel. Could he see through the glamour on my helm? We’d only encountered one another a handful of times, and never spoken.

Still playing casual, I gestured down to the field. Calerus wasn't amused.

"No. We've met before... Ser Sain, was it? I don't know your name, but..."

Abruptly, Calerus shrugged and the odd pressure of his eyes vanished. “It doesn’t matter. You fought well. Maybe we’ll meet again down there.”

He nodded to the island, his eyes becoming distant. The dismissal, at least, was very princely.

I returned to my private armory, taking some time to prepare for my next bout and shake off the nerves from my close encounter with Calerus Vyke. I tried to tell myself I’d just been startled by the unexpected nearness, but something definitely felt wrong about the young man. Where his sister had seemed ordinary and human, if malicious in temperament, he made my hackles stand on end.

My distraction almost made me miss the sound of voices as I drew near a junction in the halls. I would have kept going, but one of them sounded familiar. On instinct I paused, slinking behind the corner to listen.

The man speaking made a half-hearted effort to be quiet, but anger gave breath to his voice. He sounded older, gruff. I knew him, though I hadn’t heard the voice since the past fall.

Brenner Hunting.

“How many more favors do I need to do for you just to have them pissed away, boy?”

“Favors? Is that you want to call it, father?”

Hendry didn’t sound like he usually did. His voice held a tight edge to it, though he made an obvious effort to speak courteously.

“Yes!” The lad’s father hissed. “It is a father’s duty to desire greatness from his child. You are my first born son, and all I do is for your sake, your inheritance. You pissed away your betrothal to that Carreon witch, let her run off with a vagabond, and now I travel across endless miles for this tournament only to discover you’ve lost the post I got you with the Emperor’s guard!?”

Hendry hid his anger less well then. “The post you got me? I don’t recall you beating Ser Elgrimr in the spring tourney, father.”

Brenner audibly scoffed. “Please. The Storm Knights wouldn’t even know your name if I hadn’t greased palms. We cannot be idle, boy. Our family might have some influence back home, but the theater is bigger now. You need to start thinking bigger.”

Hendry’s voice became defensive. “The Headsman serves the Emperor directly.”

“Oh yes.” Brenner’s voice turned almost acidic. “I’ve heard about this man, and the kind of people who work for him. A blackguard who consorts with all manner of scum. I did not get you a position in this city so you could stand beside conscripted criminals.”

“We are doing good work,” Hendry insisted. “We’re doing far more for the Emperor than you have, father.”

“Don’t you dare take that tone with me.” Brenner’s voice turned dark, threatening. “Had you put more effort into wooing the Carreon, we wouldn’t be in this mess. You wouldn’t even have a spot on the lists if not for me.”

My breath caught. Hendry was fighting in the tourney? How had I missed that?

I’d more or less ignored the boy since he’d joined my command. More than likely, I’d missed a lot.

“I have much to thank you for, father.” Hendry spoke in an equally low voice, one I had to strain to hear. “Of that, I am under no illusion.”

A pause. One of them shifted, cloth rustling.

“What are you talking about?” Brenner made an effort to sound dismissive, but I caught the edge in his words. Nervousness?

“Must I say it aloud?” Hendry asked. He sounded oddly calm.

“I have no clue what you mean.” The boy’s father adopted a bored manner. “We can discuss this later, when there’s—”

“No.”

I heard steel plates click, and knew Hendry wore armor by the sound. “We can have the talk now. I think it’s well past time.”

“Boy…” Brenner’s voice held a warning note, but his son ignored it.

“I know, father. I know what you did.”

Hendry drew in a ragged breath. He was scared. More scared than angry, and I knew somehow that saying this to his father terrified him more in some ways even than charging Jon Orley, or following me into the Manse of Count Laertes.

“After Orley stabbed me, and I lay dying in our castle, I wasn’t fully unconscious through all of it. I remember the clericon telling you that an exorcism needed to be performed, before the Devil Iron took me. I remember you talking with Ser Kross after, when he told you I might survive it. But I probably wouldn’t survive it, and it would change me.”

More clicking plates. I could almost imagine Hendry clutching one of his arms, but there was little weakness in his voice.

“You sent the clerics and the healers away. You let the iron have me… because you thought I was too weak, and you wanted another advantage. A monster son is better than a useless one, right?”

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Another pause. “You’re being ridiculous. I would never do that to my own blood. You were delirious from the pain and the drugs.”

“You knew that even if I died,” Hendry continued as though his father hadn’t spoken, “one of my cousins could just marry Emma instead. Or you could. So long as you got your path to power, you didn’t mind taking risks with my life.”

Silence.

“Do you know what it was like?” Hendry asked quietly, his voice eerily calm. “To feel the iron eating through my bones? I lay in that bed for weeks. I had dreams. Dreams of fire, and darkness, and pain. I saw terrible faces, made all of metal and flame and ice. They whispered to me. I saw Hell, father.”

The lord drew in a slow breath. “You survived it. It made you stronger.”

Metal boots began to click against stone. Brenner’s voice lashed out, harsh and quick. “Where are you going? This discussion isn’t over.”

“I need to get to my match.”

“There’s still time, just… son!”

Hendry didn’t stop walking. “I am no son of yours.”

Brenner called out again, but Hendry ignored him. When he drew near the turn in the hall, I backed into the shadow behind a column. Hendry stepped into my line of sight. He wore the brass hued armor of a Fulgurkeep soldier, but his long coat bore the silver and burgundy of House Hunting, with its leaping kynedeer and lance-wielding rider.

“I am your father! You will obey me. You owe me, boy.”

Brenner’s voice almost sounded desperate. Hendry paused, shut his eyes, and drew in a deep breath. Then very calmly, he kept walking.

Good lad.

I waited until Brenner stormed away, then stepped into the middle of the hallway and slipped my helmet off. “Ser Hendry.”

Hendry stiffened, then turned. When he saw me with all my new finery, his eyes widened.

“Ser?” He asked.

I gestured for him to follow me with a tilt of my head. We walked a distance side by side. I noted the young Hunting stood nearly of a height with me. His boyish features had turned more lean since the past fall, and he even bore the hint of stubble on his cheeks. I hadn’t noticed before.

I would have given him some privacy, but knowing he would be out on the island changed some of my plans.

“You didn’t tell me you’d be fighting,” I said.

Hendry winced. “I didn’t plan to, but my father…”

“Insisted?”

He nodded, looking miserable. Then with a sudden shift he said, “You won’t tell Emma.”

It wasn’t quite a question.

“Tell her what?” I asked. “That you and I might have to fight, or that your father risked your life with infernal sorcery?”

Not just his life, but his soul too. I felt a slow boiling anger building up in me. And I knew then exactly why he didn’t want me telling Emma.

She might profess to not have feelings for Hendry, but she would kill Brenner for this if she knew.

He glanced at me, his shoulders slumping. “You heard that?”

I nodded. We walked further, our steel boots echoing off the walls. Drums began to beat up above.

“We’ll talk it over,” I told him. “You and I. Truth is, I don’t know much about the Iron Realm or its masters. Could be there’s something we can do for you.”

“And if not?” Hendry asked. “What if I’m…”

He didn’t seem able to say it, but I knew what he meant. What if I’m damned?

“I will look into it,” I assured him. “After this crisis is over, when the Vykes aren’t poisoning this city, I’ll help you.”

That offer seemed to do much more for him than I suspected any false assurances about his soul would have. Truth was, I didn’t know. The way afterlives worked, what is considered damned or sacred… those things I’d become less certain of, more so after what Fen Harus told me, and I would not trust the land’s powers to be fair with Hendry Hunting.

“Where are the others?” Hendry asked, changing the subject. “Emma, Lisette, Penric and the rest?”

“Emma is doing the things I would be doing, if I wasn’t stuck playing at tourney. As for Lisette, she’s on another errand for me. The lance is following Emma’s lead, but they’re about.”

Hendry frowned. “I’m sorry for deserting you.”

I shrugged. “Not quite desertion to attend to your lord father. Will you really disown him?”

That would be a grave decision, one that would affect the rest of the boy’s life. Emma might have given up a cursed legacy and a potential future among the noble class, but Hendry had lands to inherit and living relatives to disappoint.

“Not sure,” Hendry admitted. “I was angry. I am angry at him. Sometimes, he…”

“Can be a bastard?” I asked.

Hendry blushed. “Yes.”

“I haven’t seen my father since I was younger than you,” I told him. “But he and I had a strained relationship as well. I chafed at his opinion of me, and his expectations.”

My father considered me half an idiot. I saw much of him in Brenner.

“I never resented my duties,” Hendry said.

Just the man who demanded them. I could understand that.

“You’re fighting next?” I asked him.

He nodded. “I should get to my tunnel.”

“I’ll take you. I’m up next as well. Looks like we might be together out there.”

Hendry started. “Do you want me to—”

“If you ask me if I want you to throw the match on my behalf, I’ll box your ears.”

He clamped his mouth shut. I smiled to take the sting out of my words, then showed him my greathelm.

“Memorize my helmet. It’s magicked, and you might forget it’s me under this if you don’t.”

I slipped the helm back on, then did what his father should have and walked that brave young man to his next bout.

The next fight wasn’t much like the last. The tunnel wasn’t full of angry-eyed mercenaries, and in fact was hardly full at all.

There were five of us, and all were true contenders with good harness and steady eyes. Two were well born like Hendry, save for one warrior monk from one of the more martial castias. His glaive was carved from the dimly shining wood of an eardetree, producing its own soft yellow light in the dim room.

Strange. You didn’t often see fighting clerics in these sorts of competitions, where one fought for the love of fighting and for the honor of their House, not for God.

Cairbre was our proctor again. He noted me and Hendry walk in, and nodded.

“Right! You all know the drill by now, but the tourney council is being more lax now that we’ve whittled down the chaff. There will be one other team, and all those belonging to the winning side will move on. Win here, and you won’t have to fight again until the mounted bouts tomorrow. You’re one of our last blocks for the day.”

I studied my new comrades. Besides the monk, a broadly built man seemed the most capable. His angry red armor bore a trophy monster horn worked onto one pauldron and a helm sporting the angry eyes and lolling tongue of a gargoyle. He carried a polearm, a halberd with a sharp blade and a spear point. A versatile tool. The other knight, a woman in her late twenties, used a broadsword and a round shield.

“Ser Jorg,” the gargoyle knight introduced himself to us. No House name, which told me he was probably glorysworn, a knight errant like Jocelyn. The others also gave introductions. The manner here was far removed from my last bout, none of the hostile competitiveness evident. These men and women were here to celebrate knighthood, and saw us as kindred souls rather than obstacles.

I played the mute again, hand signing in reply to questions or jibs, but they all seemed to know me already. Apparently, rumors of the black knight who’d protected less able competitors on the field were making the rounds. Ser Jorg didn’t even bring up the fact the two I’d defended were faerie kin, which made me like him more.

Hendry carried his family sword and a heater shield, which meant our team opted away from the more eccentric weapons I’d seen some of the freeswords using. As for myself, I’d taken a fresh shield and switched the battleaxe out for a warhammer. The weapon I’d used in the last skirmish ended up with a brittle edge, near crumbling even after such a short fight. I’d used it too hard, having gotten used to the unnaturally durable alloy Faen Orgis enjoyed.

Hopefully, the new weapon would hold out better. It sported a handle long as my arm, with a flat-headed bludgeoning end and a slightly curved back spike. It couldn’t parry, which I wasn’t keen on, but I hoped to keep the shield this time.

Once again, the tempo of the drums outside warned us of the match’s start. The din of noise outside seemed louder, almost humming through the Coloss’s thick stone. The fervor of the crowd grew hotter with each match, and Siriks’s dramatic display must have brought it to a crest. Not every day the commons got to see both sorcery and steel wielded so fiercely.

Hendry laced his helmet on. A visored piece with the stag crest of his House, pale steel rather than the near gold of his Fulgurkeep plate. He drew in a deep breath.

I nudged him, and he shot me a nervous look and a nod. The one woman in the group, a quiet figure with serpent motifs on her armor, handed Hendry a dimly shining sea shell. He nodded his thanks and started rubbing it along the edge of his sword, but she stopped him.

“Your shield,” she said kindly. “Tie it on the inside, here… that’s it. It’s a ward. It’ll help block phantasm.”

A very generous gift. Hendry nodded, blushing, not least of all because the woman was pretty. She introduced herself as Narinae Tarner, a reynish knight from the countryside.

Ser Jorg took the lead as we stomped out over the bridge. Armor clinked and rattled, breath huffed through helm slits, and churning waves swirled and spat below.

Much the same as the last time. The growling sky, the high walls, the enthusiastic crowds. Nobles given lower seats under covered awnings, with the commons left to weather the fouler winds higher up. I knew Faisa Dance, Laessa, Jocelyn, Gerard, and all the other acquaintances I’d made since coming to the city were up there, watching.

I knew that even as I fought down here to help keep our enemies focused on the spectacle, my subordinates prepared the mechanisms of my counter scheme. I was no man for intrigue, and knew there were a hundred things that could go wrong, but I’d done my best. Every favor and resource I’d managed to earn in Garihelm was in play.

Time to let the dice land where they may.

Some of those on the lower stands tossed down dyed ribbons and bundles of flowers, which rained around us in a strange storm of its own. I managed to catch a tied bundle of small blue flowers with bell-shaped petals. A bit soggy from the rain, but still pretty. Hyacinths.

On a whim I sniffed them through the holes in my helm, expecting it might be the last pleasant thing I smelled for a while, then held them up in thanks to whoever had tossed them before tucking them into my left pauldron.

The other team moved out, spreading into line even as we did. When I saw them, my step nearly faltered. Hendry’s did too.

“Keep moving,” I muttered. “Don’t react.”

Taking my own advice, I kept pace with the others. Even still, my attention fixed on the one who stepped forth from the opposite tunnel among four other tourney fighters.

The herald’s words passed over me, barely heard. I only had mind to pay for my opponent.

Karog glared back at me, and bared his sharp teeth.

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