Oath Bound (Book 3)

by M. A. Ray

  He sagged in the hard chair and flipped open his leather calendar. Almost every space was filled with appointments. He flipped to next week, and the next, and the next. Jimmy had scheduled out day after day of meetings and suppers and events. He flipped to the week after that, where he himself had written: “WINDISH.” He closed the cover and picked up the planner to move it aside.

  His fingers gripped it, shaking, and he hurled it into the fire. How had he lived like this? Day after day, week after week, month after month—year after year after fucking year? The burning leather and vellum stank, and he got up to open one of the small windows behind his desk. Then he went to the door and out to the file room. The office was mostly empty now, except for a few stragglers.

  “Jimmy,” he said, “can I get some coffee?”

  “Well, I suppose you can,” Jimmy said, looking around from where he crammed papers into an already-overflowing cubby, “but hadn’t you better get some rest, Vandis? Far be it from me to say you look awful, but you look awful.”

  Vandis opened his mouth to snap something horrible, but instead ran a hand through his hair, thinking better of it. “Coffee, please.”

  Jimmy gazed out of rheumy eyes, sucking his gums. “Sure thing, Vandis.”

  “Also, I, ah—my calendar might have found its way into the fire.”

  “I’ve got a copy.”

  Vandis nodded and returned to his office. He sat at the desk again and pulled a stack toward him, but before dipping his quill he opened the bottom-left drawer, took out his openly-secret bottle of whiskey, and popped the cork. Alcohol seared his nostrils. He tipped it back and took a long, deep draught, then replaced cork in bottle, bottle in drawer.

  Warmth spread inside his chest, and he set to work. After a few minutes his secretary came in, already wearing a cloak, and put the duplicate calendar in front of him. Jimmy exchanged the wet clothes on the pothook for a kettle. “I’m heading home now, unless you think you’ll need anything more.”

  “No. Thank you. Good night, Jimmy.”

  “Good night, Vandis. Expect your supper tray in a little while,” Jimmy said, and left before Vandis could protest being babied. He got through half an inch of paper and two cups of coffee before Lukas Kalt arrived with the tray.

  “Hi, Vandis!” He beamed a wide, white smile. “Aunt Kirsten and I just got in. How are you?”

  “I’ll live.” Vandis looked at the sausage-and-bean stew and slab of brown bread. He didn’t want it. “How are you, Lukas?”

  “I’ll live.” Lukas scuffed a boot in the tiny, paper-free space, blushing faintly. “I haven’t seen Dingus yet. Guess I’ll go hunt him up.”

  “Dingus isn’t here.”

  Lukas’s smile fell off. Vandis felt about the same way. “Oh—okay.” The Junior rubbed the nape of his neck. “When—when you see him, please tell him hi from me. Will you?”

  “I will.”

  “Thanks, Vandis, ’bye,” the young man said, and hurried out the door.

  Vandis poured another cup of coffee and took a few bites of the bread before he laid it aside. It was late, he didn’t know how late, when he heard staggering footfalls outside the door. He stood, hand on the pommel of his sword, just before the door slammed wide.

  “You,” Reed said, and then stopped, blinking in the sudden light. The long finger he’d thrust at Vandis drooped.

  Vandis shook his head, relieved, and propped his hands on the desk. “This is my office. Who’d you think you’d find, Lech Valitchka?”

  “You might as well be.” Reed slumped against the jamb, his reddened eyes burning on Vandis. “You might as well be, you prick. It should have been you, not Hjaldi.”

  “Since when have you had any use for Hjaldi?”

  Reed snorted wetly, scrubbing at his nose with a balled-up handkerchief. “I wish it had been you.”

  “That makes two of us. Get out, Reed.”

  “What good have you done us? Ever? What have you ever done but precisely what pleased you? Do you think me a simpleton? As if I couldn’t see what’s right in front of my face!”

  “Reed.”

  “As if I couldn’t see,” Reed pressed, “exactly whom that boy resembles. Is he the old man’s get? He’s even—”

  “That’s between Dingus and me.”

  “He’s even using the name. What do you take me for?”

  “I don’t think you want me to answer that.”

  They stared at each other across the ocean of paper.

  “You go pass out now,” Vandis said, in a low, hard voice. “I’ll find you in the morning.”

  “You sit in this—this disaster of an office, or you range all over Rothganar with a Duke’s bastard. Doing His Grace a favor, I imagine. And you don’t do a damned thing to help us. People are dying! Some Head you are! People died in Muscoda, and what did you do? You snuggled down at Elwin’s Ford with the boy, warm and cozy, to wait it—”

  Vandis’s diaphragm practically trembled with the desire to shout, but he kept his voice as even as he could. “Unbelievable. You’re beyond lucky you’re drunk right now, because if you were sober, I’d lay you out.”

  “Drink has nothing to do with it. I’m not the only one thinking this way. Your position is far from unassailable, Vandis. You’d do well to—”

  “I don’t give a flying fuck!” he roared, leaning over the desk with the force of it. “Get out of my office before I kick your ass through the door!”

  Reed laughed, slurring a little, a sloppy smile pasted on. “Typical Vandis. Brute force your first resort. You can’t bring everyone into line with your fists, you nasty little thug.”

  Vandis’s face twisted, and he stormed around the desk.

  “Are you going to strike me? Go on and prove me right.”

  He seized the front of Reed’s jerkin in both hands and dragged him down so they were eye-to-eye. Reed didn’t struggle. His stupid grin widened.

  “About me, you say whatever you want. I couldn’t care less,” Vandis said, dangerous now. “But you’ve been warned before about Dingus. He has nothing to do with what’s between you and me, and I swear, if you keep bringing him into it, you’ll find out just how much of a thug I am.”

  “You’re so protective.” Reed’s eyes sparkled. “It’s almost untoward.”

  Vandis shoved him bodily out the door and slammed it an inch from his nose. The sound of his laughter came through the wood all his unsteady, shuffling way out of the main office. With a grunt, Vandis sat down at his desk. He opened the bottom-left drawer, took out the bottle, and had another long drink. Then he clasped his head in both hands, massaging his skull with his fingers.

  He drank again and went back to work. When the sky lightened with gray false dawn, he splashed water on his face and went out to give the daybreak service, a short affair, at least the way Vandis did it. People had jobs to get to. He opened with a prayer and incense offering, and then he’d tell a story. He always limited his homily to five minutes and gave a benediction to close: “Lady, bless all our endeavors this day.”

  Today he had the same prickly, unpleasant sensation of being watched as he’d had every time he’d stepped outside, but he was being watched. The pews were nearly full. Maybe it was that—or maybe it was Reed, sitting a few rows back and looking as hung-over as Vandis felt. While the congregation dispersed, whether to work in the city or into HQ, Vandis waited by the doors until Reed tried to pass, and tugged him out of line by his sleeve. “Let’s talk.”

  Reed sniffed, crossing his arms. “I can’t imagine what we have to discuss, but since you’re determined to keep me from my work, go on and have your little say.”

  “Here’s the thing, Reed. I know I haven’t been in the office very often lately. Been out on the road—know why?” He took a step into Reed’s space, crowding him away from the door. “That’s where we fucking belong. That’s where we can really do our jobs. When’s the last time you ranged, Reed? When’s the last time you had a Squire? You know, you’re not the
only physician we have.”

  Reed blanched.

  “The Lady teaches that we all have our own paths to walk,” Vandis went on, before Reed could reply. “Mine is Head. The Assembly decided that over twenty years ago. Where’s your path, Reed? I’m telling you right now to mind where it lies—and keep your fucking feet off mine.” He turned, flung the double doors wide, and strode inside.

  The early-morning clamor struck at him. He walked to the left of the globe; it was the first thing a visitor saw, enameled and gleaming in blues and greens traced out with gold wire, massive, on its tall stand cast into the shape of the white oak. The floorboards were clean and polished except where the rush of entering Knights had left a long swath of muddy footprints. The pale-blue walls and ceiling bore smoke stains from the hundreds of candles. The wall behind the two blond wood reception desks had been tiled with a spectacular representation of Akeere over Dreamport, stretching up to cover the whole height of the four-floor building. A double-wide portal, doorless, lay between the two curving desks, and the sounds of breakfast poured through it.

  Vandis passed through to the mess hall-cum-pub and fetched a pickled herring-and-egg and coffee to take up to his office, exchanging greetings with city people and Knights in residence. He wanted to get a little more paperwork done before his first appointment, so he didn’t spend much time among the rows of trestle tables, instead carrying his sandwich and mug up the stairs at the back of the hall, past two of the three long balconies to the very top of the building—above the two floors of hospital and the floor of dormitories. From the highest balcony, he could look out over the mess hall below. He didn’t stop there, but went through the main office, open already, still empty, and juggled his food as he tried to lift the latch on his own door.

  Jimmy came up behind and opened it. “There we are, Vandis!” he said, beaming with every inch of his gums. “Ready for another busy day, I hope!”

  “Mm. Not really, but let’s make the best of it. Who’s first today?”

  “Zoltan Miro at ten o’ the clock, and shall I change out the coffee pot for you?”

  “You’re a prince among secretaries if you do,” Vandis said, feeling grandiose now that he’d dealt with Reed, and Jimmy cackled.

  “Right away, Vandis, two shakes.” Jimmy hustled in to take the coffee pot Vandis had used last night away for washing, and Vandis settled in to work and nibble at his breakfast. He’d sort of thought to leave the door open today, but Jimmy shut him in like always, and he found he preferred it that way. “Now you be sure to keep me in filing work!” his secretary scolded when he returned to hang the kettle on the pothook and swing it over the hearth, and went off chuckling at his own joke. Vandis rolled his eyes, but he laughed a little, too. The apocalypse might’ve taken the shine off Jimmy’s cheer—might’ve.

  Zoltan wasn’t due for half an hour, or so he estimated from the slight change in the square of light from the window, when a voice drifted in from just outside his door. His ears opened.

  “…Vail,” was the only word he caught.

  “Do you have an appointment?” Jimmy asked brightly—it couldn’t be Zoltan. That was the hell-if-you-do tone.

  “We’ll see him now.”

  Vandis scowled and came out around the desk just as the latch lifted from the outside.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t do that, were I you!” Jimmy said, the brightness in his voice untarnished.

  “Old man, be silent, or share the judgment,” said a second man, and the door opened. They were hooded, dressed all in black, and the first into the room wore a sword on his hip. As one, they reached into their cloaks, and Vandis knew what they’d show him an instant before they each drew out the copper disk-and-rays of the Order of Aurelius.

  “Vandis Vail!” the one in the lead shouted, throwing out a hand. “I say unto you—”

  “I say unto you, make a damned appointment. I’ll tell you to get out,” he said, thumbing his own sword loose, “but I’m really hoping you’ll refuse.”

  “Repent, I say!” the monk howled. “Repent of serving the demoness Akeere, and you may yet—”

  Vandis drew. “What did you call my Lady?”

  “Repent and be redeemed! Repent or be judged!”

  “Come on and judge me then.” They might even make a mess on some of these papers. That’d be a prime excuse to toss them on the fire. Vandis was all in favor—but both monks turned and started back through the main office. The thought of Aurelians on the loose in Headquarters chilled him. “Get back here!” he yelled, taking a few steps after them. “I’m not finished throwing your asses out!”

  “We will come for you,” the Mendicant said over his shoulder. “It isn’t given to you to know the hour, but—”

  Vandis grabbed the first thing that came to hand: Jimmy’s heavy glass paperweight. “Right fucking now!” he screamed, and hurled the paperweight. It thudded into the side of the monk’s face, knocking him down. “Man to man! We’ll see who serves his Lady better!” The Militant caught his injured Brother around the middle before he hit the floor and hustled him out onto the balcony. Vandis bolted after, but he’d only made the balcony by the time they hit the next floor down. He’d never catch them, not on his legs. Knights poked their heads out of rooms along the balcony or ran past—taller Knights, with better chances of catching up.

  Vandis waited for a clear space. He dashed across to the balustrade, slapped a hand to the railing, and vaulted over into space, invoking a breath of his gift to arc wide, slow his fall, so he landed with a satisfying thud in front of the portal from entry to mess. “Boy, get the Watch!” he bellowed at Lukas Kalt, who leapt up from behind one of the desks and darted out the front doors. Vandis’s heart thundered with excitement. A target at last, two of them; they’d come and all but mooned him, unlike Lech Valitchka, sitting pretty in Muscoda where no Knight could reach.

  He pivoted on his heel toward the ends of the tables. His face stretched, for a moment, into a savage grin. Most of the benches were empty now, and Knights crowded the bottom of the stairs, waiting for the Aurelian Brothers, who’d stopped in the middle of the lowest flight. The Militant looked behind him to the Knights pursuing, released his Brother—who groaned and tumbled to the bottom—and drew his sword.

  The air snapped and sizzled. Nobody moved. “The Watch is coming!” Vandis called. “Do you want to make it murder, too?”

  “For my Queen!” the Militant Brother cried, sword high, legs poised to pounce. Vandis bounded two steps before he loosed himself into the air like an arrow from a bow. He caught the Aurelian at the apex of the leap, just when the sword began to fall, right in the stomach—right in the breastplate. Vandis yelped with sudden pain. His shoulder hadn’t even finished popping free of its socket when he drove the Brother into the staircase. Amidst the cracking of risers, the sword came down on Vandis’s back, a burning line from shoulder to opposite hip. Awkward angle for a blow, but it sliced through jerkin, tunic, and skin.

  Vandis grunted and stretched his neck up, searching for the Brother’s sword arm with his free hand. The monk thrashed, struggling with his thick weight. Another riser broke. The monk shifted down, and so did Vandis.

  “Hold still! Hold—”

  With a mighty, crashing crack, the staircase gave. The Brother fell, but came to a jerking halt with his cloak tight in Vandis’s fist and his legs flopping beneath. Vandis clung desperately with his good hand, pushing up with all his strength through the strain in his arm and the tearing pain along his back. For a heartbeat, they hung there. The broken boards crashed to the cellar floor. Vandis began to sink, borne down by the Aurelian fighting to get loose. He fought to slow their fall, groaning between his teeth.

  Footsteps thundered across the floor above. The Brother’s feet were about a yard and a half over the rammed-earth floor when Vandis had to drop him. He thumped into a gasping heap and snapped his eyes up to Vandis’s form. “What are you planning to do with me?” he snapped. “What rite will you—”

/>   “Shut—the fuck—up,” Vandis said, landing on his feet, still gasping in agony. He wouldn’t shit right for a week after that stunt.

  The sword flashed in the light that poured down from above, and he stamped hard on the monk’s blade hand. His reward was a crunch and a scream. “Nice gratitude. I like it,” he said, swaying. His tunic stuck to his skin. The wet chilled him, and he cupped his right elbow—the bad one—in his left hand. The Knights from the mess charged down into the cellar. Somebody brushed his right arm, and he cried out.

  “Now, watch out, watch out for our Vandis!” someone else bellowed. Alf, he was pretty sure. “Come on, Vandis, let’s get you up to hospital, you’re bleeding like a stuck hog.” Vandis staggered to the stairs with Alf hovering behind. One foot in front of the other. When he poked his head out of the cellar door to one side of the mess hall, he found several Watchmen and short, round Zoltan in his plain dress, staring at him.

  With Alf steadying him, he managed to climb out of the trapdoor and stand in front of them.

  “This is a bad time, isn’t it?” Zoltan asked.

  “I think,” Vandis said slowly, “I think—we’re going to need to reschedule.” And then he went flat on his face.

  Cleansing

  Fort Rule

  Krakus rolled up his sleeves. The morning sunlight warmed his skin and glinted off the dark brown surface of the lustral bath. Frothy green scum drifted peacefully across the fetid water. He made a face at it and decided to roll up his breeches legs a little farther—not that it would help much when he got in chest-deep.

  This needed doing, and it wasn’t a task he’d wish on the worst of malefactors. Maybe Lech. He thought about the unpleasant sermon Lech had preached at service. Well, he assumed it was unpleasant. One mention of Glorious Muscoda, Beloved of the Queen, and Krakus had closed his ears.

  He sighed and walked down the center of the stone steps into the bath. Couldn’t be too careful; pond slime grew along the edges of the steps where feet didn’t usually fall, brought in with the river water. There was a plate down here somewhere that covered the drain. Probably in the middle. He’d never actually seen the thing, but he figured it must be there. He searched with his toes, grimacing at the slimy stone floor under his soles. Usually, in the morning, he tried not to notice this stuff. He just got in, held his nose, dunked his head, and got out again, but it was too disgusting now, after half a summer of sitting.