Oathbreaker: A Tale of the Wilds

by R J Murray

  “To what end, milady?”

  “Search the streets with the orbs, the creature will have left a trail,” Kristdor ordered.

  “And assign an apprentice to each squad. That creature gives off an aura of power that they will be able to see, even when it looks human, and they can all cast the spell of seeing magical auras.”

  Kristdor looked at his sister in surprise and asked, “are you sure?”

  “Yes! I saw it that first time when it wore the white robe and then tonight, the body your men carried radiated with power. Even as dead as it seemed, with no heartbeat and its brains leaking from its skull, it had an aura.”

  “Good then.” He turned to the serjeant and nodded. “Get to it!”

  The serjeant saluted and ran off to carry out his orders. Meanwhile, the priest lifted his hands from the mages stomach and smiled wearily.

  “It is done.”

  “Feels like you did half a job,” Vala snapped, pushing herself upright.

  “The wounds were deep and will require time to fully heal and your body will need food to replenish the energies spent in healing.”

  Vala snorted and allowed her brother to help her to her feet. “Not much chance of that. We have a monster to stop.”

  “We just need to find someone covered in wounds then,” Kristdor muttered. “In the short time before they heal themselves.”

  “Sir,” Constable Asa said as she came running up.

  She wore her leather helmet and a polished breastplate over the dark woollen coat of the watch. Her sword was strapped to her side and she moved stiffly, reminding Kristdor that he had ordered the release of everyone in the cells, including the man who had given her the bruise on her cheek.

  “I came as soon as I heard. I was questioning the people on the list.”

  “No need for that now, constable,” Kristdor said then paused. “Out of interest, did any of them see her?”

  He wasn’t sure why he even asked. Perhaps some small part of him wanted her to be innocent, a part of himself that had been strongly attracted to her. That same part which was finding it hard reconciling the woman who had performed the ceremony for his dead watchmen with the killer of so many people.

  “None, sir. They were all quite clear that she hadn’t been at those functions.”

  That small flicker of hope in him died with her reply and his shoulders slumped a little as he nodded.

  “Very good, constable. Gather a squad and follow after us.”

  He looked at his sister and raised an eyebrow questioningly. She grimaced but nodded sharply before raising her hand and speaking her magic. Light flared from her hand and sweat beaded her brow, but she lifted her chin and directed the light towards the ground.

  There, bathed in the bright white light, was a trail of blood. Kristdor pulled out his sword and as constable Asa returned with a small squad of watchmen raised a hand before turning and pointing at one of the constables.

  “Go and get the kennel master. I want every tracking hound he can find brought here. If we lose the trail, they can keep us on it.”

  “Sir.”

  The constable saluted and hurried off. Kristdor turned away, and set off, following the trail. It didn’t go far before it veered off of the main street and down an alleyway. Much to his frustration, the blood trail seemed to be lessening with each step taken as though the creature had been healing itself as it ran.

  “It must have had clothes nearby, yes?”

  Vala looked at him gaze thoughtful for a moment before she shook her head. “I don’t know, why?”

  “Think of it. This creature took the form of one of the priests it killed. Before that, it would have been wearing someone else’s face.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t be walking through the city naked. The black armour or whatever it wears over its skin doesn’t cover clothing. It wasn’t wearing anything when we encountered it, so it must have taken its clothing off.”

  “Why though?”

  He thought about that as he searched amongst the discarded rubbish that the people of the city felt could be dumped in the alleyway. He nudged aside a pile of soiled rags that stank like a latrine and knelt down, focused on what looked to be a small drop of blood.

  “Everything it's done,” he said, rising back to his feet and turning to his sister. “Has been to hide whatever face it wears. That means it’s most likely keeping one identity.”

  “To what end?”

  “Because it has a purpose here in the city other than murder and chaos.” As he spoke, it made more and more sense to him. “Why else show us the face of a priest it killed this very night?”

  His sister looked thoughtful and he knew she would be turning over the words in her mind as she worked the problem. It was the same way she had done such things since they were children.

  “So, it has an assumed identity that it wants to keep secret. To do so, it disrobes nearby and hides its clothing before going ahead and attacking the temple,” she said slowly. “While doing that, it stole the face of a priest, why? Why show any face to us?”

  “To throw us off,” Kristdor said with a shrug. “To make us think we had killed it. Then, when it fled it would come back and take its hidden clothing.”

  “But what is its purpose?” Vala asked. “There must a meaning for that as we have already caught its master.”

  Kristdor’s eyes widened and he stared at his sister with mounting horror. Once it reclaimed its clothing and changed its face back to its assumed identity then it could easily walk through the searching watchmen and straight back towards the watch-house where the high priestess was being held.

  “How many men are guarding her?” Vala asked, realisation coming at almost the same moment.

  “Two squads.”

  He spun on his heel, searching the gathered constables behind him.

  “Where is Asa?”

  “She went to check in that building, sir,” another constable said. “Told us she’d be out in a moment.”

  “Blast her! That girl is harder to pin down every passing day. Corruption take it! You.” He pointed at one of the constables, a tall fellow with grey mutton chops and a nose reddened by too many years of heavy drinking. “Wait here for the hounds and then follow the trail. The rest of you, with me. Send Asa after us.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  He pushed through the constables, mind already worrying at what he would find there. He looked back at his sister.

  “Cast your spell then. If you see anyone with that aura, you be sure to tell me.”

  “I know my role,” she snapped. “You lead on and leave the magic to me.”

  He nodded, turning back to the task at hand and picking up the pace as he hurried back to the watch-house.

  ****

  Amina sat in darkness. The leather mask had no eye holes and the only opening contained the tube that intruded uncomfortably into her mouth. Her jaw ached from holding it open so long and she had a very real fear that if she moved a little fast the leather tube would press further into her mouth and she would likely choke on her own vomit.

  The watchmen had been rough, but not too much so. Likely more from fear than from the respect she had earnt as the leader of her temple and chosen of the goddess Ysnir. Still, it meant they had kept their hands to themselves and stopped her from falling when she stumbled.

  She had been thrust into a cell though and had knelt on the cold, stone floor as they cleared everyone else out of the nearby cells. Then they had retreated, leaving her in silence broken only by the occasional rasp of cloth as her guards shifted uncomfortably.

  Her mind was a whirl with thoughts, shifting from one thing to another as she tried to reason out why the creature had behaved in that manner. Clearly, it wanted her to be arrested by the watchmen, but she couldn’t figure out why.

  That irritated her beyond measure.

  With everything that had happened, she had been unable to find that connection with her godd
ess that she so very badly needed right then. The strength and support was there, but it was distant and without that clear connection brought on by calm meditation, she felt more than a little lost.

  “Devils will take her,” a watchman whispered to another. “The gods won’t brook no monster like her slaughtering their faithful.”

  “The gods did little to stop it,” replied another with a nasty laugh. “Corruption take them all. My young un could have been there if I’d let her take the cloth like she’d wanted.”

  “Why’d you stop her?”

  “Halldor the ironmonger offered a pretty price for her to marry his boy. A good-looking lad so he is, my Netti didn’t need much persuading.”

  Their muffled snorts of laughter filled her ears and she grimaced as best she could with a tube in her mouth. The buying and selling of sons and daughters was an old tradition in the northern city and one that had been made illegal some years past.

  Unfortunately, that didn’t stop such informal agreements being made which infuriated her. She had experience of such things herself and considered it a hateful practice. She’d been glad when it was outlawed and once she had cleared her name, she would ensure that the watchman faced the penalty for his actions.

  If she cleared her name.

  As much as she hated to listen to their ignorant babble, it was the only thing she could hear. With no way to see or to speak, she was shut off in a world of darkness and she clung to their words like a drowning sailor would a thrown rope.

  “Snorri had met that priest.”

  “What priest?”

  “The one wearing the black armour. He’d been as close to him as you are to me and asked him questions for the captain.”

  “Bah, that man always was thrice blessed lucky. He took six copper pieces off of me in a hand of cups.”

  “Aye, well he said the man was only a kid and all shy, like. A right bag of nerves at being questioned by old Snorri.”

  “Makes sense though if he was her attendant.”

  They both fell silent and she could practically sense them staring at her. She kept her back straight and her chin up, refusing to let them see weakness.

  One of them spat noisily and she couldn’t help the flinch as his phlegm hit her leg, hard and heavy enough to be felt through the white robe she wore. He snorted another laugh.

  “Shouldn’t do that…”

  “Ah, I ain’t afraid of… urk!”

  She tilted her head as the sound of his speaking was cut off, followed by the heavy thump of a body hitting the floor. Her heart beat faster as the iron bars of her cell creaked alarmingly, then came a mighty crack as the lock was broken.

  The door swung open, hinges screeching, and soft footsteps came towards her. She held herself still as hands worked the buckles on the back of the mask and then blinked rapidly as it was removed.

  She stared up into the smiling face of constable Asa and her brows drew down into a frown. The two men that she had been listening to talking were lying in a spreading pool of blood on the floor. The constable’s sword was sheathed, and the coppery tang of blood was on her hands.

  “Mistress,” the constable said with a mocking grin.

  Amina’s eyes widened as darkness covered the constable’s skin, looking as though a series of go stones had been flipped, from white to black, or from human face to the impenetrable dark armour of the killer that had stalked the city.

  “What do you want?” she asked, proud of her firm voice.

  “My master wants you,” Constable Asa said simply. “I am to bring you to him.”

  “Why?”

  She leant close, lips by Amina’s ear as she said in a low voice, “he wants you to build him a bridge.”

  Chapter 26

  The rain, Mia realised with a start, wasn’t the same oily rain that had been falling since she left the airship. It didn’t stick to her cloak and skin or leave a slimy trail. She shook her head in wonder at the power of the spell that had been cast on the village.

  While still new to magic, she could appreciate how much energy it took to create the small things she had been practising. To stave off the effects of time for a millennium was power beyond anything that she could really imagine.

  “This way,” Syn whispered, pushing ahead between two houses with a flash of teeth as he grinned back at her.

  She followed along, curiosity gnawing at her. Past the two houses and then across a weed-choked muddy path to a solitary house on the very edge of the village. Mia glanced around nervously but Syn didn’t seem to worry as he headed straight for the house.

  He waited beside the door for her, holding his cloak close as the growing winds tore at it. The storm was coming on fast and would soon be fully upon them, even the magic that protected the village wouldn’t be able to keep it fully out.

  Mia hesitated at the door, a question in the look she gave to the thief. He just grinned in reply and ushered her in before him. She stepped into the darkened interior and flinched as he pulled the door shut behind them.

  Her hand grasped the hilt of the dagger, an unreasonable fear crawling up her spine as she stood in the darkness.

  “Wha-?”

  “Wait,” Syn replied.

  She could hear the humour in his voice and half pulled the dagger from its sheath before her eyes opened wide and she gasped aloud.

  Stars glittered above her head and shooting stars danced amongst the roof beams. The moon rose into view, crawling across the sky, the light illuminating the room below and she stared at it with such unabashed wonder that she didn’t even notice as she laughed out loud.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Wha-what is it? How?”

  “Come, sit.”

  He took her arm gently in his and directed her to a weathered chair placed beside the hearth. She sat down carefully, barely taking her eyes from the scene that floated above her head. It was mesmerizing, and she realised suddenly that it had been some time since she had seen the stars at night. She’d not realised just how much she missed them, and tears glimmered in her eyes.

  Syn pulled over another chair and seated himself across from her. In his hands, he held a leather-bound book that had a shiny patina of age on its covers. She glanced at it curiously and then up at his face.

  “You recall the statue?” he asked, and she blinked, surprised by the question but nodded. “Did you not wonder how we knew who she was?”

  “I-I guess, I don’t know. It didn’t occur to me.”

  “A statue of a thousand-year dead woman could have been anyone,” he said with a grin. “That’s what we thought the first time. Then we came here.”

  He flipped the book around so that it was the right way up for her as he opened it. Yellowed pages of thick parchment filled the covers and neat writing covered each page.

  “What is it?”

  “The man who lived here, he was a healer. Orin, by name and well respected, at least according to himself. This is his journal.”

  She reached out a hesitant hand, awed at the simple fact that the book before her was over a thousand years old. She was scared to touch it but wanted to. She wanted to feel the weight of it, to read the words.

  “Can you understand the writing?” she asked, eyes flicking up to meet his.

  “No, but Amina could.” He grinned at the memory of her. “She was a studious child and many of the temple writings were written in the old languages. Took her some time but she figured out enough of this to get the story.”

  “What story?” There was an eagerness in her voice, that curiosity that had been gnawing at her growing almost unbearable. She hated mysteries.

  “The story of the death of the Ascendant Noaris.”

  ****

  Jochum leant back and watched the minotaur as it rested its great head down on its chest, breathing slowing as weariness overcame it. The healing potions were pricey and exacted a toll from the body, but they did their job.

  While he wasn’t angry with Elva a
s the mage was over her using the potion on the minotaur, he still wondered at it. Braphus was a creature of the wilds and inherently corrupt. While it fought with honour, it was still a beast.

  The minotaur snorted, lifting its great head with a start and blinking in the dim light of the house. It eyed the three humans and snorted once more before shaking its head to clear the sleep from it.

  Outside the storm was growing in strength, the wind pulling at the leather patches over the windows and the rain beating thunderously on the roof. Despite the thatch work the minotaur had done, plenty of water leaked through, dripping onto the already damp earth of the floor.

  “Afraid to sleep, cow?” Wynn sneered at the minotaur, hand stroking the bristly hair of his beard as he thought.

  Jochum scratched at the growth on his own face. Hard to find the time for a decent shave while in the wilds, he thought with amusement.

  “Enough now,” Elva snapped. “Silence your foul words.”

  “Watch your mouth, woman! You are neither wife nor mother to me, so do not speak to me as such.”

  The ranger gave him a thin-lipped smile and narrowed her eyes as she ran her hand lightly across her bow. Wynn just glowered back at her, fingers moving slowly in a circular motion.

  “Gods curse you both!” Jochum snapped. “Cease your bickering and save your energies. Tomorrow we meet our fate and I’ll not have my last night spent listening to you argue!”

  “Are all humans so talkative?” Braphus asked with a grunt. “If I had known, I would have left you to the storm.”

  Elva flashed Wynn a look as her hand tightened on her bow, but the mage just settled back against the wall where he sat, head bowing, and the hood of his cloak pulled down low. His eyes glittered with malice, but he refrained from speaking.

  “Tis just a tense time,” Jochum said. “Tomorrow will be… well, it will be difficult.”

  “Every day is... difficult, in the wilds,” Braphus agreed with a shrug of wide shoulders, muscles moving beneath his skin with every movement.

  Silence fell in the room as the four of them listened to the wind and rain as it buffeted the village. As rough as it was, the worst of it was kept out by the magic of the place and beyond the bounds of the spell, it would tear armour from a man’s body and flay his skin, so violent could it be.