Oathbreaker: The Knight's Tale

by Colin McComb

  I left him with the crew and headed back to the guildhouse around the afternoon—they don’t stock many male whores in that town, and I don’t much care for the other kind. I’m a terrible gambler, and I’d had enough of walking the streets through the stink of the foundries, commercial and naval, and besides, the sky was filling the morning’s promise: I saw another fall storm coming in over the horizon to the west, and I didn’t want to be caught in any part of it. I came back to rest my feet, read the sheets, and relax a bit in the quiet. I tossed a nod to old Kip the doorman and headed back to my alcove. I drew the curtains around me, and sleep was on me before I knew it.

  The rest of the crew started spilling in after night fell, some of ’em for a change of clothes and others to sleep off whatever drunk they’d started earlier in the day. I woke to their cursing, their laughter, their muttering about the storm that’d broken outside. I lay in bed with my solitude, close enough to their warmth.

  I heard the wind howl as the front door opened, the spatter of rain on the tiles inside, and my mates’ shouts to heave the door—and then I heard those shouts die in their throats. I heard feet beating war and death on the floor, and I planted an eye on the gap between my curtains.

  This is what I saw:

  Four knights—not the ordinary kind, these; they were at least a step up from infantry in the army. These were stronger, surer, even inside the steel armor that covered them. Two men, two women, smooth faces, and the eyes of killers. They wore the bars of the king on their shoulders, and their armor moved with every motion they made. Didn’t betray a sound. Their hands rested on the hilts of their sheathed swords. Two of them stood by the front door, and the other two stepped to the center of the room. The woman stood with her back to me and spoke, her voice icy as the northern waters.

  “I am Captain Alna Drake, a Knight of the Order Faithful, Class of the Shield, Rank Two. I am here on a mission from the Crown, and you are all hereby ordered to submit to my pleasure and my will. Do any of you object?” She paused for a second or two. “I take silence as assent.”

  We were all mute.

  “A man came to this building yesterday, shortly after you finished unloading your vessel. He was a young man, about twenty-one years of age. He was armed with a sword. He was young, dark of hair and lean of build. He was likely carrying a baby girl with him as well. We believe he was seeking passage. He stood here and left just before the storm broke. We believe he spoke to some of you. If any of this is untrue, speak now.”

  Again, silence.

  “I ask again, are there any variances in my suppositions? Are there any details I have missed?”

  I was watching Pol and Skag, so I saw Pol swallow before she stepped forward. “He didn’t have the baby.”

  “You spoke with him yourself?”

  “Aye—I mean, yes.”

  “Was anyone else present?”

  Pol said, “No,” but her eyes must’ve flicked to Skag. The knight near the captain stepped forth briskly and took Skag’s arm and dragged him out of line. I thanked the gods that I was still in my bed, because it might have been me that Pol shot that glance to.

  “No,” Pol protested. She looked like she wanted to sit down, and I could feel the blood draining from my face. I could smell violence coming.

  “I said I require cooperation, and I mean to get it. You, man, you were with her?”

  “… Yes,” said Skag. His face was white and he was shaking.

  “You did not respond to my earlier questions. You did hear me when I outlined the details, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you heard me declare my right to detain you all for questioning?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I accuse you of hindering an Imperial investigation. Do I have a witness to this crime?”

  The knight holding Skag’s arm spoke, his voice gravel. “I witnessed this crime.”

  “Then by the power invested in me by the king, and by the Count of Westport, and by the magistrates and the laws thereunto, I sentence this man—what’s your name, sailor?”

  “Skag Madison.” He’d have collapsed to the floor if the knight hadn’t been holding him.

  “Then, Skag Madison, for your crime, I hereby sentence you to execution, such sentence to be carried out immediately. Vastone, you are executioner tonight.”

  “Yes, m’lady,” said Skag’s captor—Vastone—and he snapped Skag’s arm with a twist of his hand. Skag dropped to his knees with a cry of pain, and even as he was falling, Vastone’s hand was on the hilt of his sword. Before Skag hit the ground, the sword was out. And while Skag was screaming, Vastone took his head clean off.

  The Ocarina’s sailors began to step forward and were met with the quick-drawn swords of the other knights—the two at the door had left their posts during Skag’s mock of a trial. Somehow, these four seemed as though they’d be more than capable of taking a crew of a hundred. Worse, they didn’t seem especially worried about the fight, and that’s what kept the crew from rushing ’em.

  Drake said, “Do not compound his error. You and you,” she pointed with her sword, “get this body out of here. The rest of you—”

  “Should do nothing. I have words for these four, and they should be shared.” Our stranger had entered quietly, and now he stood just inside the door, his arms crossed. I got up from my bed so I could better see what was happening.

  The Knights Faithful immediately moved into a crescent around him, and I realized that these four, who had shown no thought toward fighting an entire shipload of sailors, were wary of this one man, like they thought he might outmatch them.

  The captain broke the awful silence first. “Pelagir.” Her voice was just so slightly shaking.

  “Captain Drake,” he replied. “I admit surprise that you found me so soon. I thought I traveled quickly and quietly enough.” His eyes flicked to the two who had been guarding the door, to the one at the captain’s side, and he gave them a nod. “Givens. Teroux. Vastone.” His attention turned back to the captain.

  “It was not your stealth that betrayed you, Sir Pelagir. Blame your blade, and blame your courser. Blame your excruciation. When your devices were bound to you, the Archmagus worked his will on them. They speak to him from afar, and to those who carry his devices. Even now, reinforcements are coming here, seeking you. Therefore, Sir Pelagir Amons, son of Sir Pelgram Amons, you are under arrest for high crimes against the Empire, and you are commanded to place yourself under our power.”

  As she spoke, Pelagir stepped slowly toward the center of the room, his hands dropping to his sides, and the other knights closed the circle around him. Their blades were still in their hands, pointed directly at the man. He did not draw the sword at his side. Instead, he bowed to the captain, a curious bow that put one foot in front of the other and twisted his body so that his arms crossed his body front and back, right in front and left behind.

  His eyes, his cold eyes, were on her alone: “My lady, I invite you to test your power, and to see if it can hold me before your reinforcements arrive.”

  The five exploded into action. Never have I seen such a display of combat, and likely never will again. As the four lunged at him, he leapt from the ground, and his hands and feet struck the four blades—each on the flat—knocking them wildly astray. Givens and Teroux nearly impaled each other, and Drake and Vastone crossed swords before checking their attack. Pelagir landed on two hands and a knee, his right leg extending out behind him. His eyes raked Drake and Vastone, judged them pacified for the moment, and he swept his right leg under Teroux’s feet as he pivoted and took his own feet, and Teroux toppled to the floor. One quick stride, and he was stamping on the man’s throat with his left foot and deflecting a furious attack by Givens with his bare hands. As the downed one began to color and strangle, Pelagir feinted with his left hand, drew another short chopping attack from Givens, and grabbed the man’s sword hand. Drake and Vastone advanced on him, and Pelagir threw Givens at them—lifted him off the
ground and tossed him, armor and all.

  Drake sidestepped the flying body, but Vastone took him full force. The two went down in a clatter. And while they fought to regain their feet, Pelagir fought this captain of the Knights Faithful with his bare hands, spinning, ducking, deflecting. As the other two knights stood and rushed, Pelagir stepped in close to her and slapped her twice, lightly, scornfully. He leapt back behind the body of the fallen knight, who was choking out his last breaths, and for the first time, a smile came to his lips. Three Knights Faithful facing him, side by side, with naked blades, and he smiled.

  “Do you yield?” he asked. Drake licked her lips and looked at the other two. As she calculated the possibilities, Pelagir slowly drew his own blade, and we all knew it for a blade of power. “Of course not. You are Faithful. Your loyalty is well known.” It seemed like he was making a joke, but it was so hard to tell. He sketched a salute. “Farewell.”

  We all knew then that it is true what they say: the Archmagus makes knights who are not human. I could not follow all his movements, and though the three Knights Faithful were skilled warriors, among the best living in the Empire, they were only human. They couldn’t hope to best this cyclone.

  One by one, and quickly, they fell. Drake was last. She got beaten to her knees, and Pelagir beheaded her before she could beg for mercy. I suppose that’s what’s considered “guarding your honor” among the knights. Sailors call it killing.

  He stood there among all the bodies, and then he said to us, “Sailors, you are outlaws now. Had you left before you saw me, your lives would be safe. But now you are as complicit in my crimes as I. You heard the captain before she died—reinforcements are coming, and they will surely sweep you under their feet. I suggest you pack your gear, take whatever supplies you need from this guild, and move quickly down to the wharf. I have spoken to… to Early Jon. Your ship will sail in two hours, and you had best be on it if you wish to escape the wrath of the Empire. Tell no one of what you have seen here tonight, unless you wish them to be hunted, tortured, and executed, as befalls traitors to the Empire’s glory.”

  He drove his sword into the floor and left. Its handle was thorn-strewn and dripped with blood. It hummed for a moment and died as the door closed behind him.

  Silence followed him out the door, and the place exploded with talk and shouts.

  “Leave? But we just got here!”

  “No way I’m following him. No way.”

  “But what about the Empire?”

  “Are we supposed to be pirates now? I don’t hold with piratin’, but I ain’t no landlubber, and I can’t give up the sea.”

  “What are you going to do? Try to explain to the constables—hell, the damn army!—why we’re standing around the corpses of four knights?”

  “Why can’t we hide the bodies, deny they were ever here?”

  “You think you’d hold up under torture? I don’t know that I’d trust any of you not to break! I wouldn’t trust myself!”

  All the while, I was packing my gear quietly. When I finished, I shouted to make myself heard over the babble. When everyone quieted down, I said, “There’s one good reason we have to leave now.”

  “What’s that?” someone asked.

  “Remember how the captain said they found him?” I pointed to the sword Pelagir’d left on the floor. “They know he was here. They think he’s still here. And all the time you’re standing around talking about it and not packing your gear, they’re getting ready to mount a raid in here that’ll be able to take that man down. You think we’d be able to fight against that? No way. I’m a sailor on the Ocarina, and a sailor I’m gonna stay. We’ve got no other ships to run to, we don’t know our way around the land, and they’ll crush us if they catch us here. Best bet for you is to get on the Ocarina, get to another port, and sign on to another vessel. I’m going to stick with the vessel I love, if Early Jon’ll have me after we’re done with this. But one way or another, I’m leaving this place and these bodies, and I tell you that you’d best get out of here before they come.”

  I shouldered my bag and walked toward the door. Pol did the same, and we strode down the hill to the waiting ship together. It was all we could do to keep from running, but we didn’t want to draw attention.

  I’d like to say that it was a mad dash out the harbor, that the army chased us down the hill, that the rusty gates of the breakwater scraped the metal off the stern, and that we fought off two of the Imperial Navy’s fastest clippers. But it wasn’t like that, not at all. All our sailors made it down the Ocarina right smart, and Galves and Early Jon had always been sharp about immediate provisioning. Pol went up to tell him about Skag and what happened in the guildhouse. She’d barely finished when Pelagir loped up the gangway, carrying himself a new sword—a big, nasty piece of work, slung over his back—and a baby in his arms. She was looking around as alert as any seaman in a crow’s nest, and she was quiet, too. He spotted me before I headed below-decks, and summoned me to him.

  “Has the captain made the necessary preparations? Is the ship ready for traveling?”

  “Aye, she is, but you’ll need to speak to the captain to tell him what happened. He’s up in the steerhouse. Pol Austin’s just told him the score, but he’s going to want to hear it from you—I hope you’re worth all this trouble.”

  “I spoke with him already, and he knows my worth, sailor. I would have words with you when I have finished with him.”

  “Good enough.”

  He took off to the ’house, and I followed behind him—but slow, meandering. I didn’t get to hear much of what they said, but it sounded like Pelagir was warning the captain of what’d happen to those of us who’d been in the guildhouse, something about the Empire falling, and something about the child. Something about insurance.

  Even as he spoke, Captain Meyels got us moving right quick, and I suppose he got the harbormaster to open the gates for us under one lie or another. Whatever the truth, we hit the open sea far faster than we’d had any reason to believe we would. We all tasted relief as the land disappeared behind us.

  Once we were out of sight of land, Pelagir sought out Early Jon again. I was out on the deck, helping secure this and that, and putting off going into the tiller-chamber as long as possible. When he left the steerhouse, the ship headed sharp south, and Pelagir moved port to watch the dark clouds over the land. His sea-legs were impressive, though I suppose it could have been expected. I walked over to join him.

  We stood at the rail as the shoreline receded in the distance. He held the child in his left arm, cradled against his body, and she watched the waves glide past us with uncommon interest. Quiet, for a few minutes.

  “Where’ve you been keeping the kid?” I asked.

  “In a safe place, with trusted companions I met in the wars,” he replied, not meeting my eyes. “I will not endanger them by saying more.”

  “Who is she?”

  “I am sure you will find out soon enough. Let us call her protection against the darkness that rises from our Empire’s old heart.”

  “So you’re not going to tell me, then? Not after you’ve made us all outlaws and pirates?”

  He watched me out of the corner of his eye, saw me watching him, and raised an eyebrow. “Have you sworn any oaths, sailor?”

  “You mean promises or curses? I’ve had a couple either way.”

  “Is there anything so pure to you that you would die sooner than see it violated?”

  “Nothing comes immediately to mind, but I’m sure I could… well, freedom, I suppose. The freedom of the open seas, of fast currents and the deep. You took that away from me, I don’t know what I’d do.”

  “Then I ask that you hold this in confidence sacred to that freedom. I have devoted my life to the service of the Empire. I have given over my humanity that I might protect it better. I have killed and nearly been killed so that it could stand for another day, another year.”

  “I’ve heard tell of the knights and their oaths, sure.”<
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  “It is more than an oath for us. It is our life’s blood. It is our reason for breathing.” He paused to shift the child. “This is a prelude to answering your question.”

  “All right.”

  “What do you do when your existence proves to be false? When you discover that a cancer gnaws at the very heart of your belief? Do you cut it away although it sits at the heart, and hope that the wound is not fatal? Or do you seek other remedies that might have a chance of success?”

  “I’d say cutting out from the heart would be a last resort.”

  “As would I. Certain things were told to me, truths that opened my eyes. My unbreakable vow began to crack, and it shattered when I realized our king was a dotard, and that the foundation on which the Empire was built so long ago was beginning to shift and erode away. A man came to me then, and told me how it could be saved—for the good of all, he said, so that none would have to face the chaos that ruled before King Martyn. Because of my love for the Empire, I betrayed my oath and helped lay the plans that would overthrow the king. But I soon began to see that this new warlord thought not of the Empire, but only of enriching himself, and his friends as well. They gathered darkness to themselves, and with darkness they deceived many. I among them. I had seen what I wanted to see, and it was only through accident that I discovered their true nature. With one stroke my part in their plot became clear.”