Oathbreaker: The Knight's Tale

by Colin McComb

  “So you’re looking for a commanding officer to push you in the right direction?”

  “Yes, sir. I have spent my life taking commands. I need to serve under someone I can trust.”

  Glasyin sighed, and said, “All right. Our first job is deception. We must become new people. With times being what they are and the nobles going at each other, it’s easy enough. We can be refugees looking for a new home. Since I don’t think you can lose the habit of calling me ‘sir,’ you will have been recently discharged from the army. I am your grandfather, Toren. You are my grandson, and your name is … what’s your mother’s name?”

  “Arulia, sir.”

  “Your name is Arul now.”

  “Yes … grandfather.”

  Glasyin—Toren—coughed. “I think ‘sir’ sounds better from your mouth.”

  “Yes, sir. But what about Her Highness?”

  “What about her?”

  “She needs a name. And who shall we entrust to raise her properly?”

  A sharp look. “Entrust? No one. We do it ourselves.”

  “We, sir? Have you ever raised a child?”

  The old man smiled thinly. “Your father. And you, when he died. We need to remember this. And now I’m helping you raise your daughter, because your wife died in the attack on our village. It needs to be a northern village. Let's choose Half-crest. It's far enough away that no one will send for our information. Have you ever been there?”

  “Sir, I meant in your real life.”

  “This is my real life now. Boy, I don’t like this any better than you, but we’re going to have to accept our current circumstances. Whether we do a good job with her depends entirely on what our goals are. I’ve seen enough of the spoiled nobility to know that our little princess will be better off being raised outside Terona. She might not have the courtly graces, but we can make her honest.”

  “When do we restore her to the throne? And how?”

  “Sir Kn … Arul, I have barely had time to think about that. By the time she’s ready, it might very well be the case that there’s no empire left for her to rule. Fortunately, we have time to think that over. What we don’t have is a place to live, and that’s our most pressing issue. You still have money, I saw.”

  “I do.”

  Glasyin said, “Then our first business is to find ourselves horses, and then find ourselves a home near a place with books. What sorts of skills do you have besides fighting?”

  “Frankly, sir, not many.”

  “Any farm work?”

  “No, sir. My father was a Knight Faithful.”

  “All right. So we’re a military family, and that explains why we’re so piss-poor at this work. I can do some shepherding, you can apprentice yourself out to a smith. We can’t draw attention to ourselves more than necessary. We need to fade in fast and stay out of trouble, get into the fabric of the town quickly enough that they forget about us. That means we need to find a place where it’s not so tight-knit that we’ll be all they talk about. And that means we need a town of about a thousand people or more.

  “Fortunately,” he said, “I made a study of the towns about a hundred miles around this area during my official duties, and I have an idea where we can go. It’s a small town called Kingsecret. Martyn’s heirs used it as a retreat from Terona, and then it was overrun with nobility, and then they all abandoned it. Most of the mansions have been torn down and replaced, and while there are a few noble bastards with the run of the place, the Imperial spies have mostly decided that it’s not worth keeping a serious eye on it.”

  Glasyin looked at the ground, thinking. “Of course, I have no true idea where the spies are these days. But then, we take a chance everywhere we go.”

  Pelagir thought for a moment and nodded. “Agreed. Another question: What shall we tell her of her past?”

  “Nothing. At least, not until she’s old enough to understand. We’ll talk about her lessons as the time comes, but she should be well educated.”

  Pelagir considered this and began to number them on his fingers. “Skill at arms. Command, strategy, and tactics. History of the Empire. History of the Houses. History of our foreign neighbors. Ecclesiastical studies. Economics. The great philo—”

  “Enough! Perhaps we should focus on reading and writing first. Keep in mind that by the time she is old enough to study these things, I will be even older. I may suffer dementia. I have seen it happen to younger men. You must study as well so that you can step in to take over when I die.”

  “I cannot teach—”

  Glasyin snapped, “If you cannot teach her, why did you take her? Who else will be responsible? As much as you may admire me for my refusal to betray my friend, your admiration will not stop the march of time. I am not a young man. Accept that.”

  That night, as they sat before the campfire, Glasyin was struck by a thought. “Tell me: Have you rid yourself of all the trackers they might use to find you?”

  “I left my sword and horse in Westport before I boarded the ship.”

  Glasyin studied him, stroking the beard he had grown over the long winter. “I wonder if the magi's gift might be something deeper than your blade and your steed.”

  Pelagir stared at Glasyin for a moment and said, “Yes. Perhaps. During the Battle of Malaqin, a sinkhole swallowed Commander Carderas, and none saw where he had vanished. His weapon and courser were near his headquarters, but the captain knew where to dig to retrieve him.”

  “Well. This complicates matters. We need to see an old friend of mine. I don’t think you’ll care for him. His name is Underhill.”

  And so they came to the town of Lower Pippen, where the old man made inquiries in a certain tavern. That night, they were met by a man outside town, and they slept in his strange, sun-seeking tower for a month. For a day, the basement of the tower echoed with groans of agony and occasionally a powerful roar. Pelagir remained in bed for a week thereafter, swathed in bandages. Glasyin watched the baby in this time, and she began to love him in the unconditional way that babies love anyone who treats them well. When at last Pelagir rose, he walked unsteadily, and the old man and the magus spoke quietly with each other.

  At last, the three travelers set out again. They traveled alone, except when it would look suspicious for them to avoid company. Slowly, over the weeks it took them to reach Kingsecret, Pelagir began to lose his stiff and formal manner, though he continued to speak from a well of deep reserve.

  Months later, in the small hill-town of Kingsecret, an old man, a young man, and his daughter bought a struggling sheep farm, the old man counting out the silver as if it were his last hope. The farmhouse was built into the hillside, and the new family improved it by building terraces and a garden, and if there wasn’t always evidence of digging outside to explain the dirt piles that sometimes appeared, no one made any mention of it. If any villagers had gone to investigate, they would have found that the young man was expanding the farmhouse by turning it into an underhill fortress past a hidden door.

  The young man took himself to the blacksmith and began to learn the trade, and although he was far too old for ordinary apprenticing, he took quickly to the work. His powerful, scarred arms invited comment; his face did not. He deflected questions about his past genially but firmly, and the people of the town assumed that he had seen horrors in the wars. The newcomers found a wet nurse for the baby, and the travelers faded into the background—just friendly enough and open enough to ease suspicion, but not so gregarious that any would have called them friends.

  Occasionally the young man would take journeys to the nearby city of Avollan and return with a donkey laden down with supplies: hardware, books, writing utensils. He had grown a beard and favored wide-brimmed hats when he left town.

  The baby began to crawl, walk, and talk. She was possessed of a natural grace and charm but could generate truly powerful rages when thwarted. She spent most of her time with her family, learning how to watch the sheep with her da and listening to his stories w
ith wide eyes.

  And time passed.

  Colonies and protectorates of the Empire felt their leashes slipping and began to revolt. Old enemies raised their heads. Conscriptions took farmers from their fields and merchants from their trades; the smith and his apprentice were careful to watch for press gangs in towns and on the road. There were food shortages and riots in the cities as the fields turned wild; with the farmers gone, the fields went unharvested.

  The unreliable stories from the roads had the Houses at one another’s throats, the Birdsnest Wars come again in blood and pain. Duke Athedon the regent instituted martial law in some of the lesser cities and colonies and brought the rebel leaders to Terona for public trials and painful executions. A wave of assassinations swept through lower ranks of the Houses, and some of the more tractable nobles fell in line behind Athedon.

  Slowly, very slowly, Athedon began to exert control. With his allies in the Council of Magi, the Council of Knights, and the High Exegetes of the Church, he consolidated his strength. And even in the far-flung provinces, the citizens of the Empire could feel his fingers around their throats, and they shivered in the chill of the growing shadow.

  END OF PART ONE

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to the three most important women in my life: my daughter, my wife, and my mother, and to the two most important men: my son and my stepfather. To the family I grew with, and the family I'm growing. Your support and your love are my world, the walls of which can face the fiercest storms.

  Acknowledgements

  This is the part where I get to thank everyone without whose help I could not have done even this much. Naturally, all errors are mine. Any advice or insight provided to me was done so on the basis of expertise and authority, and I converted it for use in developing the story. If I have destroyed details, forgotten something, or bastardized that knowledge, it is entirely my responsibility and no blame should accrue to others.

  Many thanks to those who worked on this book. It is good to know people, but in particular, it is very, very good to know these people.

  My editor, Ray Vallese, who needs no adjective because he is superlative.

  My fantastic cover artist, Stone Perales (www.stonewurks.com)

  Graphic designer extraordinaire, Don Strandell (www.donstrandell.com)

  Electronic formatting maestro, game designer, and writer Guido Henkel (www.guidohenkel.com)

  Andrew Hernandez, for suggestions, advice, and help of all stripes

  To my first readers: Bradford Clay Matheson, Gavin and Scott McComb, Kevin Pohle (and Toni and Andrew and Nickel), David Thomas, and David Wise. Your insights and enthusiasm kept me going.

  For invaluable advice, whether they knew they were giving it or not: Phil Athans, my brother Mike McComb of the US Navy, and Pierce Watters.

  For some particular friends, who helped spark my brain: Chris Avellone, who is dreamy; Chip Bumgardner, who is fearless; Monte Cook, who taught me to yes, have some; Bruce Cordell, leader of Team Ninja; Tony, Angela, and Sophia DiTerlizzi for a friendship almost two decades long; Paul and Jen Kemp and their three rapscallions (can I say rapscallions? Awesome); Sean Reynolds for being shavey first; and Steven Schend and Sarah Joseph and young Oscar, who is soon to be a big brother.

  Many thanks to my patrons, both the ridiculously generous and the very interested. You know who you are. Your aid, no matter the amount, was humbling and uplifting. It is my sincere hope that you feel you've received fair value for your faith, and that you'll stick around to see where the story goes. Without you, this book might well have remained unpublished and unpolished.

  To my senior patrons: Clinton J. Boomer, Will Cronenwett, Steven Dengler, and Nancy Wastcoat Garbett—enjoy your villainy!

  To the faithful: Johnny Earle, Isabella McColi (the cat who made it possible), and Michelle Vuckovich, the original cool girl (now the cool woman).

  To the players: Paul Buss (whose company I miss), my dearest sister Babbie Lester, my kindest brother Gavin McComb, Dick Olson who is venturing far from his comfort zone (brave soul!), and Michael Stoyanovich, with a perspective we should emulate.

  To the fruitful: Amy Canaday and her delightful children, and to la familia Ortiz (Pablo, Mariela, Victoria, y Santiago), muchas mas gracias, and to Carrie Read (I'm still sorry about the F-word!), and to Aunt Polly Weissman.

  To the readers: Paul Barrett, Jára Červinka, Bruce Cordell, Brian Darnell, Uncle John and Aunt Babbie Earle, Nathan Filizzi, Scott Gable, Mary “Dr. Dream Chaser” Gebhart, Apollo Haner, Tracy Davis Hurley, Nicole Lindroos, Erik Lundqvist, Ben McFarland, Ryan Merlo (who is not a dick, no matter what Dan says), the vulture Danielle Radford, Steven Schend, Christopher Simokat, Aunt Wendy Sopkovich, Rob Steiner, Bradford Stephens, Val & Trevor & Delaney Vallese, and Aunt Connie Wastcoat and Don Strandell.

  Thank you. Thank you all.

  About the Author

  Colin McComb was born in 1970 and began to read at the age of 4. At the age of 10 he began to game. At 12 he knew what he wanted to be. At 21, he began to write professionally, first for TSR, Inc., where he wrote adventures and created worlds for the Advanced Dungeons & Dragons roleplaying game, including the Birthright campaign setting and significant work on Planescape. It was this latter work that led him to California and Black Isle Studios, where he contributed to Planescape: Torment, consistently (and independently) voted as one of the best computer RPGs ever (if he does say so himself). He met his wife, the beautiful and talented Robin Moulder, and moved to Michigan in 2000. He has contributed to Paizo Publishing, Malhavoc Press, Open Design, and many more.

  Colin is a member of two author collectives: the Alliterati and the Monumental Works Group (www.monumentalworksgroup.com).

  Oathbreaker is his first published fiction.

  Promotion

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Childhood’s Tale

  The General’s Tale

  Interlude: Out of the City

  The Forester’s Tale

  The Tale of the Excruciations

  The Taverner’s Tale

  The Sailor’s Tale

  The Shepherd’s Tale

  Epilogue: Into the North

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Promotion