Oathbreaker: A Dark Fantasy Web Serial

I returned to the manor with the knight-exorcist in tow several hours before dawn. Lights burned in several of the manor’s windows. Vanya met us at the front door, and her eyes widened at the sight of Ser Kross. She dipped into a hasty curtsy.

“How’s Emma?” I asked her.

“Awake,” Vanya said, her eyes returning to me. “She… well, you see…”

“What happened?” I asked, impatient.

Vanya took a step back at the harshness in my tone. Ser Kross frowned at me as well. I ignored his look, though I knew the maid didn’t deserve my irritation. Only, I’d grown tired of constant problems, and long months wandering alone through back countries had degraded my social skills. Or perhaps I was just tired.

“Nothing,” Vanya assured me. “She’s just acting strange. I haven’t been able to get her to rest since the physik’s medicine wore off. You should speak with her, I think.” She glanced at the knight-exorcist again. “I will prepare some tea. And food.”

Ser Kross inclined his head graciously. “That would be lovely.”

Vanya blushed, curtsied, then scurried back into the manor. I let Ser Kross follow her, going in search of Emma. I found her in her room, where she paced like a caged lioness. The window hung open, letting in moonlight and chill night air, and candles burned on various surfaces, little flames flickering in agitation.

“Where were you?” She snapped, without greeting me.

I studied her a moment without responding, stopping at the open doorway. She wore a simple white shirt and trousers, men’s clothes, with the shirt’s sleeves rolled up past her elbow. Her hands were wrapped in dense layers of bandaging. My eyes lingered on the small cuts around her eyes. They made her hawkish gaze seem somehow feral.

“Hunting for your ghost,” I said. “You should be resting.”

“I’m fine,” Emma said, turning her back and stalking over to the window. “It’s just a few cuts.”

“It could have been much worse,” I said.

Emma stopped her pacing, her posture going stiff. I watched her collect herself, imagining the soup-pot of emotions that must be simmering inside her. Embarrassment, frustration, and wounded pride.

I’d done foolish things to prove something before, either to myself or others. I knew some of those feelings.

Finally, with a mumbled curse, Emma turned to face me. Her angular features looked drawn wire-tight. “How did you do it?”

I tilted my head a bit to one side. “Do what?”

Emma tsk’d. “Don’t play dumb. When you broke my magic. How did you do it?”

I studied her a moment, then leaned against the door frame and folded my arms. “Why? So you can try to win next time?” I let my voice become hard. “There won’t be a next time. I shouldn’t have sparred with you in the first place, and I especially won’t do it with sorcery. I’m here to slay a monster for you, milady, not be a practice dummy for your Art.”

Emma opened her mouth, then snapped it close. I didn’t understand the expression on her face. Shock? Confusion?

Why would this surprise her?

“But… Lady Nath said…” Emma clenched her jaw and turned her back on me again. She clasped her hands behind her back, like a commander hearing a report. “Fine. So what did you accomplish, hunting for my parents’ murderer?”

“First of all,” I said, “that your own ancestor murdered him first.”

Emma became still. “How did you learn this?”

“I spoke with the Dead,” I said. “There aren’t many secrets the denizens of the Underworld aren’t privy to. You’re being hunted by the risen spirit of a man your family betrayed during a sacred union.”

Emma shrugged. “And what does this change? I told you the revenant was an old enemy of my House.”

“It changes a lot,” I said. “I should have had these details from you, so I know what it is I’m dealing with.” Then, sighing, I softened my tone. “How are your arms?”

“They’re fine,” Emma lied.

In the corner of my vision, I caught a cloaked figure waiting at the end of the hall. I pushed off the door frame. “I brought someone here who might be able to help. Will you let him take a look?”

Emma turned to me, suspicion writ on her face. “Brought who?”

When Ser Kross stepped into view, Emma’s face twisted into a scowl. “Lord Brenner’s hired witch hunter?”

Kross let that comment roll off his steel clad shoulders. “I don’t specialize in hunting witches in particular, my lady. House Hunting has employed me to help protect the people of this province, which presently includes you.” His gray eyes went to her bandaged arms. “Will you allow me to see?” He held a hand out toward her, palm up.

“Did Lord Brenner send you?” Emma looked at me, her expression darkening. “Did you tell him?”

“I didn’t,” I said. “Ser Kross is here by his own choice.”

Uncertainty cracked the young Carreon’s disdainful mask. I saw her wrapped fingers twitch. She put on a good show, but her posture was too controlled, her face too pale with discomfort.

I knew Emma couldn’t completely bend her pride. So it didn’t surprise me when she just shrugged, as though it were no big matter. “Very well. If you want to say a few prayers for me, father, then by all means.”

Ser Kross’s lips twitched into a small smile. “I may at that, but let us see what we’re dealing with first.”

He had Emma sit on the bed, and knelt on the floor next to her. Carefully, he unwrapped the bandages while I watched from the door. Vanya lingered in the hall as well, her face drawn with worry.

I tried to hide my reaction, once the girl’s arms were bare. They were lacerated with cuts, some of which still bled. Moving them seemed difficult, and she winced even at Ser Kross’s light touch on her wrist.

“You are very lucky an artery didn’t get cut,” the knight murmured.

“That’s what the physik told me,” Emma said. Though she forced a disinterested tone, the slight purse to her lips and furrow between her brow were telling.

“Be very still,” Ser Kross ordered. He closed his eyes, held Emma’s wrist with both hands palm up, then bowed his head. I could see her discomfort, in the way she fidgeted, obviously fighting the effort to pull her hand away.

She didn’t, and after a minute I felt something change. Vanya stiffened, and Emma’s eyes widened. Then…

I watched a faint light form around the knight-exorcist. It congealed into the barely distinguishable shape of a figure with four feathery wings, an androgynous form, and a serene, subtly sad face. It reminded me of a saintly statue, or the mirage of one.

“What is happening?” Vanya whispered. “I feel…”

She didn’t see it, I realized. Only I, with my aura-laced eyes, could perceive the blessed spirit manifesting in the room. I watched its slender hand reach out, fingers curling around Emma’s elbow. Her eyes remained locked on Ser Kross — she didn’t see it either. However, as it touched her, she shivered violently, baring clenched teeth.

Ser Kross frowned. I felt my hackles rise. What had he sensed? Would the seraph feel Nath’s dark presence on the girl? The Blood Arts were ill regarded by some sects of the Faith, but weren’t officially considered blasphemy. Consorting with the Fallen, though — that was a different matter entirely.

But the Church paladin said nothing, continuing to concentrate. The spirit’s slender hands went over Emma’s skin, as though working at clay, and where they passed the cuts closed, scabbed, and faded. Within several minutes, only faint scar tissue remained. Emma let out a sigh of relief.

Last were the cuts around the young noble’s eyes. The spirit brushed its hands over Emma’s temples, as though adjusting her hair, and those cuts faded also. Then, leaning forward, the seraph kissed the girl on her brow. I’m not sure if Emma felt that touch, but she did close her eyes and relax, much of the tension going out of her, making her seem more her age, as she had asleep in the coach that first night we’d met.

The light faded, and Ser Kross sagged. He sweated, and I thought perhaps I saw a touch more gray in his dark brown hair. “It is done,” he said.

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Emma lifted her arms, inspecting the faint scars there. She flexed the fingers, opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. She seemed at a loss.

Ser Kross stood and turned to me. He had a slight stoop to his posture that hadn’t been there before. “She would have lost much of her ability to wield weapons, had nothing been done. Some of those cuts went deep, and the physik’s tinctures weren’t doing anything for the infection. They often don’t with magical wounds, and these were angry.” He drew in a deep breath and wiped at his brow. “It is good you brought me.”

Emma’s face went pale. I winced, and Vanya whispered a prayer to the Heir.

Fool, I cursed myself.

“Are you going to be alright?” I asked him.

Ser Kross nodded. “I just need some rest. As, I think, do the two of you. Sorry, three of you.” His gaze went to Vanya. Only then did I note the shadows under her eyes. She hadn’t been sleeping, either.

“Good idea,” I said. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Yes,” the knight agreed. “We will, but I’d like a word with you now, Alken.”

I steeled myself, nodded, and followed him down into the parlor. The knight seemed to gather himself before standing straighter and wheeling on me.

“The girl is touched by darkness. A shadow clings to her.”

I shrugged. “The revenant—”

“It is not.” The knight held up a hand to stall my words. “I know the presence of the Dead. Or, my companion does. I cannot be certain what it is — some shadow of her bloodline? If it is a curse, then it is grossly strong. If it’s something else…”

His jaw flexed as he considered. “I have seen such things before, especially since the wars. Dark things have a nasty habit of clinging to the angry, the dispossessed…” he returned his gray eyes to mine, his next words emerging more assured. “I may need to perform an exorcism.”

I tried to hide my wince. “Don’t you think this might be a poor time for that?” I asked. “We have another enemy to deal with already.”

“They may be related,” Ser Kross said. He held up his hands and laced his fingers together, forming a single large fist. “Perhaps it is some minion of the revenant, or has something to do with why it hasn’t attacked her directly? I cannot be certain, but it is worth dealing with. I will need time to prepare. Ritual material, meditation. The young lady’s cooperation would help.”

I didn’t like the way he said that last — as though Emma’s consent were a convenience he could make do without. For a moment, I wasn’t sure what to say. How did I lead him away from paying too close attention to my charge? I didn’t imagine it would go over well if he banished Nath’s influence from her…

Another disturbing thought struck me. I should have been fully in agreement with the knight about getting rid of Nath’s hold on Emma. It seemed a good thing, in the long run, to repel the Fallen and put the young Carreon back on the straight and narrow.

Only, it would put me on the spit. Should I risk it? If it were only me facing the consequences, I would have without hesitation. But Donnelly’s warning, that conflict between the Briar and Heavensreach could bring about new calamity, haunted my thoughts.

Why was the right path always so damn difficult to find?

“If whatever you sensed is the reason the Orley ghost hasn’t attacked Lady Emma so far,” I began carefully, not wanting to let on that I suspected that was exactly the case, “then banishing it might put her in immediate danger. We should observe longer. Besides, she used magic in anger today, and her power has a dark history behind it. You might have just been feeling her own aura.”

That hardly seemed to comfort the knight. “For someone so young to have an aura so blood-soaked… this does not comfort me, Master Alken. I am tempted to try expelling her Art from her. That, too, can be done with exorcism.”

I felt my blood run cold. “That’s impossible,” I spat.

“It is not,” Ser Kross said, holding my gaze. His gray eyes remained serene and firm as a statues. “Certain sects of the Church have made extensive progress in our understanding of the Auratic Arts in recent decades. It is difficult, and dangerous, but I think letting that power ferment in the girl might be more irresponsible. If I take her to one of the Priory’s sanctums, future tragedy could be averted.”

What he said sounded impossible, and — I had no other word for it — evil. It wasn’t like severing a rotten limb. Mutilating someone’s aura, their very soul, in the way he implied would be tantamount to taking core memories, or lobotomy of the kind it’s said some of the continent’s physiks practice.

I wanted to reject the idea that it could even be done. But Art can be attached to a soul, can’t it? I’d had a whole arsenal of magics alloyed to mine. Surely, that must make the reverse possible too.

I wouldn’t allow it. Emma might have a dark legacy, and I might have known her less than a handful of days, but I would never condone that sort of fell surgery. I would never forgive myself.

I held the man’s gaze for a long moment. I was taller, though not by much, and he had to slightly raise his eyes to meet mine. I made sure he heard every word I spoke next. “Whatever its past,” I said, “that magic is part of her soul. You rip it out, you’re going to maim her. Possibly forever. You try it, and I will stop you. Do you understand?”

Ser Kross’s expression never changed. He didn’t get angry, or defensive, or try to threaten me back. He studied me a while, and I had the distinct impression he appraised me in that moment, reaching some sort of judgement. He gave a slow nod. “For now, let us focus on the creature hunting her.”

I wanted to demand his oath not to try what he’d suggested, but something told me this man had a will to match mine, and wouldn’t back down. I decided to accept the compromise, though I still felt disgust and rage boiling in my gut. “I agree.”

Ser Kross turned, adjusting his cloak so it draped more over one shoulder than the other. “For now, I will return to Antlerhall and report to Lord Brenner. Will you and the young lady be meeting us tomorrow, for his council?”

I felt relieved he’d decided to leave on his own. Now he’d revealed his attitude toward Emma, I wouldn’t have been comfortable with him staying in the manor. “Maybe,” I said, keeping my tone neutral. “I’ll see what her ladyship thinks.”

Ser Kross nodded, still with that pondering look on his face, as though I were a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. “Get some rest then, Alken of the Fane. This is only the beginning.”

***

“You can sleep here,” Vanya said, showing me a small guest room. Stepping inside, I found it light on furnishing, clean, and comfortably cool. I liked it immediately.

“Thank you,” I said.

Vanya just nodded, face neutral, and turned to leave. I sighed and spoke to her back. “I am sorry, about what happened today.”

Vanya stopped, not immediately turning. I heard her take a deep breath, then she turned. Like with Ser Kross, this quieter moment gave me time to study the maid more closely. I’d noted before that she seemed tired, her eyes shadowed by lack of sleep, her long, thin face set in perpetual worry. However, as she looked at me with eyes that didn’t bother hiding their judgement, I felt like I had a stronger measure on the woman.

She wasn’t quite so old as I’d first assumed, I thought then. In her mid thirties, perhaps a bit younger, and taller than average — taller than Emma, even. Her brown hair was poorly kept, but naturally straight, the braid that’d been coiled around her neck before now left to fall down along the curve of one breast. She had bony shoulders, set wide to frame a long, thin neck, the effect subtly graceful, and I could imagine those tired eyes crinkled with laughter in happier times.

No laughter in them now. “I know Lady Emma can be… difficult.” Vanya swallowed, making a visible effort to control her emotions. “But she is also very young. Even had things only been kept to swords, with no sorcery, and you’d injured her, it would have been just as much your responsibility. You are much older, and much stronger.”

I nodded. “I know. It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t.” Vanya started to turn away again.

“You care about her,” I said.

Vanya paused. I watched a bit of the anger drain from her long face as it became reflective. “I took care of her grandmother, before she passed. No one else in the villages near this manor were willing to work for the Carreons. Lord Brenner would send his own servants, or order the villagers to tend to the grounds, but rumors about Emma’s family, not to mention the Burnt Rider, left very few willing. More than that, Anastasia Carreon was even more difficult than her granddaughter, if you can believe it. People thought her a witch, and she did little to dissuade them from that idea.”

A tiny smile touched her mouth as she fell into recollection. “I think it amused her.”

“But you stayed?” I asked.

Vanya shrugged. “It’s good work, and the Huntings pay well. Especially since I don’t have many other servants to share with. Just me and the tree trimmer. Oh, and Qoth. Honestly, I’m not even sure he gets paid, or needs it.” She frowned.

I doubted it. “It’s really just you?” I asked.

“Well, me and my daughter.” Vanya fell quiet, her green eyes going distant.

I tilted my head to one side. “You’re a mother?”

The maid nodded. “She’s a few years younger than Emma. Good girl, better than I deserve.” I saw the warmth bloom in her face, and liked how much younger and gentler it made her look. “I managed to get her work as a laundress at Antlerhall a few weeks ago, before things became… difficult.”

“That’s something I don’t understand,” I interjected. “Everyone keeps talking like this situation with the Burnt Rider just started up recently, but Emma told me it killed her parents and grandfather.”

Vanya met my eyes again, folding her arms as though chilled. “It’s complicated. The Burnt Rider…” she shuddered even at the mention of the name. “It can be a long time between when he appears. Years, or even decades. The last time happened when…”

Her eyes drifted, stopping in the general direction of Emma’s room. “When he drove Emma’s parents’ carriage off a cliff. She was only eight years old, the poor girl.”

“Hard age to lose your parents,” I agreed.

“It’s hard at any age,” Vanya corrected. “But yes, she didn’t take it well. Neither did Lady Anastasia. She might have seemed like a cruel old crone, but she loved her family dearly. She faded after that.”

I folded my arms, much as Vanya had, pondering this.

“What are you thinking?” Vanya asked.

“I’m thinking there’s too much I don’t understand about this spirit,” I said. “It’s not unheard of for the sort of being this thing is to go dormant for long periods of time, but usually there’s a pattern. It dueled Emma’s grandfather to the death, then dropped her parents’ off a cliff. There were years between both incidents. What has it done since it appeared this last time?”

“He burned Coppergrove about two weeks ago,” Vanya said. “It was a village at the edge of Hunting lands.”

I blinked. “Sorry? It burned an entire village?”

Vanya nodded, expression grave. I adjusted my estimation of just how dangerous the spirit I protected Emma from was.

The maid took a deep breath, and I watched some of that anger she’d held through the day leave her. “For what it’s worth, Master Alken, I am glad you are here. I saw your sorcery in the yard — it is good to have an adept of real power protecting us, and not just Lord Brenner’s knights. I do not wish to speak ill of his lordship, but I think he sees Lady Emma as an investment, and not a person.”

I frowned at that. “Exactly how is she an investment for him? She has nothing to her name, so far as I can tell, save that magic coach.”

Vanya opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. She blushed and dipped her head, averting her eyes from mine. “I have said too much,” she said in a hushed voice. “It has been a long day. We should both rest. Good night, Master Alken.”

She curtsied, then scurried away before I could protest. I let out a sigh and shut the door. More mysteries, I groused. But the maid had a point. Time to sleep. And, this time, I would be leaving my ring on.

Still, it took me time to find any rest, and I had little before morning came and the manor woke. When I returned to the waking world, feeling the usual sense of melancholy from my stolen dreams, the air in my second floor room had turned bitterly cold. Opening the window, I found the land outside had turned an eerie gray. The trees hasted to shed their leaves, and pale flecks drifted down from an overcast sky, settling over the land.

Winter had arrived early to Venturmoor, and that proved only the first of another rotten batch of ill omens.

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