Oathbreaker: A Tale of the Wilds

by R J Murray

  The jagged peaks of mountains rose up to the west of where the airship hung in the air. Their snow-capped peaks thrusting up through the clouds that wreathed them. They seemed to rise for miles and she gasped at their height, an amazing thing for one who had seen nothing taller than the hill behind Old Man Tagesson’s farm.

  They tapered off to the north, growing smaller as they descended into hills covered in wild growth with not a farm or village for miles around. Then beyond it, the landscape changed.

  It was subtle at first. The grass growing darker in areas, the trees a little thinner than those she remembered from home. Their trunks bending oddly and their leaves a darker colour than the green she was used to.

  A river was visible just beyond the forest, the turgid waters black and the trees lining its bank, grey, twisted things. Their branches bent and tangled, a sinister air about them.

  The colours, she realised, were the first thing that stood out as wrong. Closer to the border they were a little darker, but the further east her gaze went, the more bizarre they became. Bright colours on the trees where the greens and browns should be. Patches of black and crimson dotting the landscape.

  “The Wilds.” There was a catch in Syn’s voice as he said it and she turned to him as he licked dry lips and pointed. “That river will kill anything that touches its waters.”

  “Tis why we brought so many barrels of water,” Jochum added. “And why so few make it far into the wilds.”

  “Is all the water like that?”

  “Nay, lass. There’s plenty of drinking water out there but you have to fight for every mouthful. The creatures that infest the wilds, well, they don’t like sharing.”

  “And they’re all as mean as Wynn,” Syn added, breaking the growing tension.

  Laughter echoed around the cabin as Wynn glowered at the slim thief. He refrained from commenting other than to say, “bring out the brandy.”

  “Brandy?” Mia looked at the others wide-eyed as Jochum pulled a brown bottle with a thin neck and a rounded bottom, from a cupboard beneath his control console.

  He pulled the cork from the mouth of the bottle and lifted it to his nose. He closed his eyes and inhaled the aroma, a smile touching his weathered face.

  “I’ve carried this for ten years and not touched it once. I knew we would need it one day, though.” His face turned dark. “I’d figured we’d all be here.”

  The warrior lifted the bottle to his lips and took a long swallow.

  ”With death, comes victory!”

  He smacked his lips and handed the bottle over to Wynn, who took it without a word and took a swallow himself, repeating the salutation that Jochum had given. He passed the bottle to Elva, who in turn passed it to Syn. Finally, the bottle was handed to Mia who stared at the others nervously.

  “S-should I drink? I mean, I’m not…”

  “Ritual, girl,” Wynn snapped. “No one in this company enters the wilds without a drink. For good fortune.”

  She could see that it was important to them and so she raised the bottle and took a tentative swallow. The rich liquid burned her throat and set her to coughing, bringing laughter from the others.

  “Pass it here!” Til said, reaching up one hand for the bottle that Mia handed over gladly.

  The gnome looked around the group and grinned wickedly as she took a bigger swig than any of the others had. She smacked her lips and wiped them with the back of one grimy hand before handing the bottle back to Jochum.

  “With death, comes victory!” she said, and the others smiled, grimly.

  “Then we’re ready,” Elva said, apprehension in her voice. “I’d never thought I’d be back here.”

  “Gather your weapons,” Jochum ordered as he seated himself once more in the pilot’s chair. “Be ready for anything.”

  “What should we prepare for? Are we going to be attacked up here, in the air!”

  Syn patted Mia’s shoulder as he passed and shrugged. “Anything is possible.” He left her there with a final grin before he went to ready himself.

  Elva strung her bow and checked each of the arrows she had with her. Once sure they were all straight, their feathers secure and their heads sharp, she pulled out her short sword and set to sharpening it.

  The gnomish engineer disappeared into the engine room and came out moments later with a heavy sheepskin jacket and woollen hat. She carried with her the musket and had powder and plenty of lead balls in a pouch she carried on her belt.

  She crossed to the hull and pulled on a lever and Mia jumped back as a rope ladder fell from the roof. The gnome climbed it quickly and pushed open a hatch in the roof before climbing out. Mia watched her with mouth hanging open and then gasped as the cold air hit her.

  “Sit your arse down, girl,” Wynn snapped as he passed her. “Practice your spellcraft and be prepared to use it.”

  Mia stared at him, not knowing if he were joking with her but a sharp nod from Syn was enough to tell her he wasn’t. They all expected her to fight and with magic to boot! That was enough to have her heart beating as fast as a galloping horse and set her knees to trembling.

  She scrambled across to her usual spot and grabbed the bag of spellcasting regents Wynn had given to her, slinging the bag over one shoulder, the strap crossing her body to allow the bag to sit on her left hip in easy reach.

  Wynn had told her that in time she would be able to cast spells without touching the source stone, as long as it was around her neck or connected to her body in some manner. But for the moment, she needed to hold onto it.

  “Taking her down,” Jochum called. “Winds are gonna get nasty up here, we’ll be a bare hundred feet from the ground.”

  “Great!” Syn called back. “Close enough to make a fine target and we can be seen for miles.”

  There came a pounding on the roof of the ship and Til’s head appeared in the hatchway long enough for her to shout down to them. “There’s a storm to the east, head north!”

  Mia gawped up at her. There had been no storm just minutes before when they had been looking through the window. If one had appeared so suddenly then it must surely be a product of magic, perhaps of the corruption that infested the wilds.

  She shuddered at the thought and went back to concentrating on her spell work. After that first time, it had been hit and miss when she called for her magic. Mostly miss. With the added tension and fear she was feeling just then, it didn’t make it any easier. Still, she persevered.

  A thump hit the side of the hull, close to where she sat, and she jumped, eyes wide with the look of a startled deer as she turned reflexively to look at where the thump had come. Another came from further along the hull and she grabbed the hilt of her dagger, mouth suddenly dry.

  “Beetles,” Jochum called out. “Just passed through a swarm of arrow-head beetles.”

  “W-what are…”

  “About the size of your fist,” Wynn said. “With heads shaped like arrows and pincers the size of your thumb. They give a nasty bite but are one of the milder creatures you’ll encounter here. Now, back to that task I set you.”

  She settled back, a visible shaking to her limbs and she worked her mouth, trying to find some moisture. Elva dropped a leather water bottle into her lap without a word and then went back to sorting her weapons as Mia unstoppered it and took a drink.

  Another bang against the hull and the ship shifted in the air with enough force to send her sprawling to the deck, the water bottle falling from her hands and spilling water everywhere.

  “That wasn’t beetles,” Syn said, rising to his feet with a dagger in either hand.

  “By the gods! We’re caught!”

  “On what?” Elva shouted to Jochum as he struggled with the controls. Somewhere in the engine room, a high-pitched keening began as the engines were pushed to their limit.

  “Vine trap!” Jochum called back, shutting off the engines. “Caught us as we passed.”

  “Corruption take you! Has it been so long that you missed a vi
ne trap!” Wynn snapped. “Or have you just grown old and careless with our lives?”

  “Be silent!” Elva reached for her bow. “We must be quick else the gnolls will come.”

  Mia listened in silence, frozen in place by fear as she watched the more experienced members of the company of the raven, gather their gear.

  “What’s happening?” Til called down.

  “Nothing! Keep an eye out!” Jochum replied as he began winching open the ramp in the side of the hull.

  Mia pushed herself to her feet and backed away from the putrid, too warm air that entered the open hatch. She pressed one hand to her face, covering her nose and mouth as the hold filled with the odour of rotting meat.

  “W-what is that?”

  “Vine trap, lass,” Jochum grunted as he lifted a leather harness from where it hung on the wall. There was a rope attached to the harness that hooked to an iron ring set into the hull. He began buckling it on. “A kind of twisted, monstrosity of nature. Think of a tree with thick vines instead of branches. When prey flies overhead, it whips the vines up gripping hold of its prey and pulling it down so that the tree can feast.”

  “The tree eats birds?”

  “Birds, animals, people, anything that comes near it.” He pulled on the rope and gave a satisfied grunt when it held. Elva handed him a burning torch and he took it with a nod. “Gnolls like to camp nearby so they can scavenge the meat from its prey.”

  “Lazy creatures but mean,” Wynn said. He rubbed his left arm without seeming to notice, a half-remembered feeling of pain from an old wound he had taken there. “We’ve fought them enough times to stay clear when possible.”

  “Aye, true enough,” Jochum said before he leapt out of the open hatch.

  Mia screamed and ran across to the opening, gripping the wooden frame with one hand and leaning out, fear forgotten as she imagined the warrior lost to them.

  Jochum though was swinging on the end of the rope, like a worm on a hook, he wriggled this way and that as he tried to use the momentum to swing himself towards the thick vine that had hooked onto the side of the hull.

  There were spines, Mia realised, along the end of the vine. Not long, but long enough to dig into the wood and hold tight there. She followed the long vine down to the thick canopy below and recoiled at the twisting, writhing, mass of tentacles that were reaching up from a wide, blood-red, trunk in a circular clearing below.

  “Hai!” Jochum yelled as he came close enough to the vine to hit it sharply with the burning torch. Something akin to a scream came from below and Mia took a step back, eyes wide and heart beating thunderously.

  “Easy, lass,” Syn said, taking hold of her shoulders to steady her. “The big man knows what he’s doing.”

  “Is it always like this?” she asked. “We’ve barely entered the wilds and already…”

  “This is mild,” he said with a laugh. “If we were on foot we’d have already fought off several attacks by wild animals or roving packs of monsters.”

  “Everything in the wilds is at war with everything else,” Elva said sadly. “It’s a perversion of nature and an affront to the gods.”

  “If it were such an affront they would fix it.” Wynn scowled as he spoke and pulled his hood up, hiding his face in shadow so that only the malicious twinkling of his eyes could be seen. “The gods have no power here.”

  “Pull me up!” Jochum called as the ship lurched upwards, several feet, free of the vines grasp. “And hurry, I see gnolls.”

  Syn grabbed the rope and heaved, showing a surprising strength for such a slim man. Mia, unable to do aught but watch, steadied herself by the hatch and peered out, looking for the gnolls. She’d heard of them but never seen one before.

  An arrow thudded into the wooden frame beside her head and she jerked back, a cry escaping her.

  “Watch yourself, girl,” Wynn snapped as he pushed her back further into the ship.

  His left hand was clenched around the regents he had pulled from his satchel and he held his right out before him, palm open and pointed towards the ground. No, Mia realised, to the tree.

  The words he spoke echoed with power and she grasped the stone she wore, her touch bringing it to life and allowing her to see the constructs of magical light that were swirling around the fat mage's hand.

  He finished his spell and a surge of power swept out of him, through his body and down his arm into his hand. Then, fire burst forth. A roiling ball of red and yellow that rocketed down towards the vine trap. When it hit, the explosion almost filled the small clearing, the sound like a clap of thunder.

  “Subtle,” Jochum said as he heaved himself back into the ship. “Announce our presence to all around us.”

  “Anything with eyes can already see us.” Wynn sniffed and stepped back, away from the plume of black, foul-smelling smoke that was rising from the burning tree. “Those things need destroying wherever they are found. Vile things.”

  “You’ll have no argument there,” Jochum said wearily. “Now, let’s get moving before those gnolls recover and pepper my hull with their arrows.”

  Mia just stood back, watching them as they went about securing the ship without complaint. They were, one and all, nonchalant about the danger and that scared her almost as much as the monsters outside the ship.

  What kind of people had she fallen in with? Or more importantly, what were they headed towards in the wilds? She didn’t know what it was, but she knew that it scared them. Wynn had nightmares, Syn barely slept and Elva paced endlessly.

  A shiver ran through Mia as the thought. Whatever it was, now they were in the wilds, she resolved to get an answer.

  Chapter 15

  Amina, the high priestess of the goddess Ysnir leant against the white stone railing of the balcony outside of her room in the highest tower of the temple. There were three towers, one for each of the core tenets of the goddess and each providing a place of rest for the three earthly representatives of those tenets in Rial.

  As high priestess, she was also the human representative of duty. An honour that she had not been able to quite become used to in the past two years that she had held the title. It was the highest rank one could attain in the temple and yet, it wasn’t enough for her.

  There was something missing from her life and, with more than a little sorrow at the thought, she knew that she would never be able to find it again.

  “Heilaga.”

  She didn’t need to turn to see her personal attendant, she could hear it in his voice as he spoke the honorific in the olden language of the northern people. It was a sure sign of the worry he was feeling right then and an indication of a matter that could be dealt with by her alone.

  “What is it, Ingvi?”

  “Ah, the watch, Heilaga, there are requesting entrance to the temple.”

  The first beginnings of a frown marred her smooth, pale skin and she turned her head, a question in her movement that she knew he would read.

  “They wish to question the devotees, about the murders.”

  She did turn then, eyes smouldering with anger as stared at the young man standing still in the centre of the round room.

  Barely a man, he still had the soft skin and slight frame of a childhood spent hidden away in study and prayer. His summer blue robe hung from his sloped shoulders and there was an almost natural squint to his eyes, earned from long hours poring over old texts by lantern light.

  He scratched at the mop of sandy hair, brushing a too long fringe from his eyes and watched her with something close to love in his gaze. Whatever it was, it went unrequited as the high priestess loved only one man and he was beyond her reach for evermore.

  “Why would they question those of the faith?”

  “I do not know, Heilaga. They merely stated their intentions.”

  “This is intolerable!”

  “As you say, Heilaga.”

  “Gather the faithful in the main hall and then allow these watchmen in. I shall speak to them myself.”

>   “I must remind you of a meeting with the Lords Rosant and Olivert to discuss a sizeable donation to the upkeep of the temple, Heilaga.”

  “That may have to wait. If Ysnir wills it, then the donation will still be made despite me delaying a meeting.”

  “As you will.”

  “Go now, see to my commands.”

  The young man bowed low, before rising and straightening the crimson sash that denoted his place as her attendant and then turned and marched towards the door. He walked with the determination of a soldier off to do battle and no doubt in his mind he was, Amina thought fondly.

  She gazed around the austere chamber with the wide bed that had only ever held her and the ancient beechwood wardrobes that held her few clothes. The bare, cold stone of the floor that had once been covered with expensive rugs from Obrait, far to the south.

  On the walls had been woven tapestries worth more gold than any dozen people of the poorer sections of the city together could earn in two lifetimes.

  When she had achieved the rank and been anointed as a high priestess, she had everything removed. Those items of value were sold to willing noblemen and women, the gold earnt spent on providing services for the poor.

  While any could walk into a temple and beg healing from the priests there, the temples generally had their novices perform the task. Those older, higher ranked individuals would reserve their services for those with coin to pay.

  It was the chief way the temples kept monies flowing in as the donations of any real weight were few and far between. While she might hate the need, Amina had not been able to come up with a way to change that system.

  There were no less than seven temples in the city of Rial and Amina was proud to say that the one to Ysnir was the largest and most beautiful. Statues lined the halls that she walked along. Men and women in full battle regalia, wielding hammer and shield in their service to their god.

  One day her statue would stand amongst them and while it had been a long time since she had wielded a hammer, she could still remember how should the need arise and as a servant of Ysnir, that may well happen.