Oathbreaker: A Tale of the Wilds

by R J Murray

  “Urk!”

  “Be still,” Syn said cheerfully, his free hand slipping into the purse on the man’s belt and deftly pulling out the coins he found there.

  “Bah,” Wynn said as he brushed past him, laying one hand on the man’s head. He spoke a smattering of words beneath his breath and the man’s eyes rolled up back into his head and he collapsed, unconscious. “You’re too squeamish for an assassin.”

  “I see no profit in killing unless I am paid to do so,” the thief answered with a grin.

  Jonah stood amongst the broken limbs of the bush he had landed in and stared open-mouthed at the small group of adventurers. He shook his head and hefted his hammer, well aware that he was outmatched but far too prideful to run with his tail between his legs.

  “We’ll hunt the witch for this!”

  “Be silent,” Jochum snapped, stepping forward and landing a heavy blow on the man’s jaw with one mighty fist. The blacksmith’s journeyman collapsed back into the bush and the warrior turned to his friends. “Best you follow me then.”

  He led the way between the trees, following a well-worn track for some distance as behind them the sounds of anger could be heard. Mia, followed in silence, staring at each of her new companions with something akin to awe on her face.

  The whole fight had been over in seconds with none of the posturing she was used to seeing when the local village lads had a falling out. Just one moment, walking out of the inn and the next, four men were lying unconscious in the mud.

  It was more than the ease with which they had beaten those men, it was how they had moved almost as a single entity. There was no need to shout instructions to each other or for one to give orders. They just all did their part, knowing that they had to defeat them and not kill them. It was more than a little intimidating.

  Elva took up the rear, her head moving constantly, and an arrow nocked ready to fly as she kept a careful watch for danger. The woods were a second home to her and had been ever since she was a child, playing on the edge of the elven forests.

  Wynn, huffed and puffed, muttering beneath his breath at the indignity of being forced to walk the muddy trail. When younger, he’d had no choice in the matter but over the years as his power and wealth had grown, he had become accustomed to moving from place to place as little as possible, his clients coming to see him instead.

  Syn, whistled quietly to himself as he counted the coins he had taken from the villager. He dropped them into his own coin purse and smiled happily as he walked with the others. He’d missed them and the companionship they had given him.

  Not one of them, even the ever-surly Wynn, had cared much for his origins and had been interested only in his ability to do the task they required him for. He had done it, and done it well. It wasn’t long before they’d hired him a second time and then a third. Before he knew it, he was part of their group and sharing in their adventures.

  Which, he admitted to himself, had not ended as well as he’d hoped.

  “This way,” Jochum said quietly.

  He pulled aside the branches of a thick juniper bush and pushed through, away from the trail and into the wild wood. Mia soon found that the skirts she wore were ill-suited for such terrain. Brambles caught on them, their thick thorns piercing the thin material and pricking her skin.

  She stumbled often, on loose branches, thick roots and the stones that seemed to be everywhere on the uneven ground. All around her was the sounds of the woods. Birds singing their songs and branches rustling. It was a little unnerving.

  “How far?” Wynn grumped between wheezes.

  “Not so far.”

  Elva smiled at the back of the mage’s head, shaking her own for a moment before going back to watching for trouble. Her keen senses were well suited for in the woods and her familiarity with them allowed her to pinpoint the source of the crowd behind them and gauge just how far away they were.

  Not far enough, for her mind.

  A stream crossed their path and while the others waded through it, their leather boots more than high enough to keep them dry, Mia was forced to lift her skirts, wincing as the cold water washed over her worn shoes and soaked her feet.

  She couldn’t help but feel particularly useless when compared to the others. She wasn’t dressed for travel, she had no coin but the half-silver that Jochum had given her the night before and no fighting abilities to speak of.

  More than that, she had little idea of their intentions and while they had been nothing but friendly with her, long years of abuse at the hands of the villagers had given her little cause to take things at face value.

  It didn’t help that they all seemed so different. Jochum was clearly their leader and he moved with a quiet confidence that inspired you to follow him. She could easily imagine him as a hero of legend, the type the travelling tale-tellers spoke of.

  With dark hair that hung almost to his shoulders and curled around his handsome face, she felt a little flutter in her belly as she watched him walk. Every movement was placed with care, and he moved like a wolf she had seen once from afar.

  The mage was another story. He scared her! There was a feeling she got when around him that was more than just unease and of them all, he was the one she most felt unable to trust. Occasionally, as they walked, she would see him glance her way from the corner of her eye, an unreadable expression of what she could see of his face beneath the dark hood.

  She gave a little shudder and looked back at the ranger. Where Jochum moved like a wolf leading his pack, she was a cat. Her movements were fluid and graceful, perfectly at ease in the unfamiliar woods and ready to leap to action in an instant.

  Which left the youngest of the group. Syn. He wore dark leathers, his cloak a charcoal grey and even his skin darker than any she had seen before. At times, even knowing he was beside her, she had to look twice as he faded into the shadows.

  Mia wasn’t sure what his role was, but she eyed the knives he carried and felt a pang of worry. She’d heard the tales of slavers from the southern kingdoms and when she imagined one, it wasn’t a man barely a decade older than she, who was curiously handsome though his gaze didn’t linger on her so much as on the warrior leading them.

  She shook her head and rubbed at her arms, the morning's air chill in the shadows beneath the woodland canopy. A cry came from behind and she looked back, fear rising in her breast.

  “Be calm,” Elva said, her own voice smooth and empty of worry. “They’re a distance back yet.”

  It was easy for her to say, Mia thought to herself, she wasn’t the one facing burning at the stake. A fate she had witnessed once before two years prior and one she had no desire to witness again, let alone to experience.

  “Can you slow them?” Jochum asked the mage whose fat face widened as he smiled. “Deter not kill.”

  “Bah, you’ve grown soft.”

  “And you’ve grown mean.”

  Wynn merely laughed at the warrior’s retort and pulled a number of items from his leather satchel. Mia strained to see but he kept them hidden in his closed fist as he spoke secret words too low for her to hear.

  The stone hanging from his neck glowed softly, a malignant green that set her teeth on edge to see. He made a few gestures with his free hand and when he opened the other, dust fell from it.

  “Done.” He brushed his hands together and looked up, straight into the suspicious eyes of Jochum. “I’ll swear on whichever god you please. There will be fire and thunder, but it will be show only.”

  “Had better be, man. I have no desire to be hunted for their deaths.”

  “As if anyone would care about this insignificant place.” Wynn sniffed loudly and spat a gobbet of phlegm onto the muddy ground. “Even the lord of this land barely acknowledges it.”

  “What lord?” Mia asked, and the mage snorted.

  “See!”

  “They’re getting closer as we talk,” Elva said softly.

  Jochum clenched his hands into fists but gave an abrupt nod and sp
un on his heel, heading off once more through the dense undergrowth. The others followed him in silence, all but the mage who snickered softly to himself.

  They hadn’t gone more than two hundred yards when a roar sounded behind them so loud that it shook the branches of the trees around them. They all looked back as fire and smoke rose up into the air, visible even through the thick canopy.

  Screams followed the explosion and the voices of panicked men calling for help, not long after. Each of the companions turned to stare at the mage who shrugged.

  “None died but there’ll be a few singed faces.”

  Jochum just shook his head and clamped his mouth shut before continuing on. The sounds of pursuit dropped away as they moved deeper into the woods and after an hour’s walk, they came to a clearing where they all stopped and stared in silence.

  “Impressive,” Wynn said, pulling his hood further up over his face.

  Syn whistled softly while Elva just stared. Mia looked at each of them in turn and then back at the great wooden thing before them, confusion clear on her face.

  “What is it?”

  As tall as two men standing on each other’s shoulders and longer than the inn has been tall, it had a wide, flat bottom and sides that rose up at an angle, meeting a roof that was three feet wide, if that. The front of it was flattened with a rectangular window of thick glass set into it about halfway up.

  A long spire stood out from the centre of the roof and shorter ones at either side, thick canvas hanging loosely from all three. While, at the rear, two pylons stood out from either side with heavy, metal casing affixed to the top and what looked to be the arms of windmills sticking out from behind them.

  On the side, painted in larger crimson letters was a name written in the language of the northern cities. Just a single word, that said, ‘Raven.’

  “That, girl,” Wynn said. “Is an airship.”

  She stared at him, mouth hanging open and he grinned a wicked grin as he took a step forward, appraising the craft. She had heard of such things, of course. A creation of the melding of Gnomish engineering and strong magic, they had been around for more than a century, but none had ever flown near her village.

  “Well used,” Wynn grunted. “I’m surprised it flies. The runes are new at least.”

  He pointed at the glass symbols fixed along the side of the craft and she followed his direction. There were six of them and she was sure, somehow, that there would be another six on the other side. Each of them was made of clear glass that was formed into a twisted shape that seemed to almost mean something to her.

  They were not so much fixed to the side as slotted into a carved space that had been made in the wooden planks, just the right size and shape for them. She wondered what they were for but was afraid to ask.

  “Aye, they’re new and so’s the engines.”

  “Foolish of you to leave it unguarded out here.”

  “Who said it was unguarded?”

  Jochum strode right up to the large craft and banged on its side with one balled fist. He waited a moment and then banged again. To Mia’ surprise, a hatch opened in the side and a head the size of a child’s stuck out.

  “What?”

  “I’m back, open up.”

  The hatch slammed shut with a bang and the companions exchanged looks at the sounds of loud muttering that could be clearly heard through the hull. A section of the hull came away from the side, lowering down slowly as a winch was turned inside.

  Once it was fully opened, Jochum stepped onto it and then stopped, a heavy sigh coming from him.

  A small woman stepped out into the light at the top of the ramp, suspicion writ large upon her fine features. Her ears, Mia saw, were slightly pointed and stuck out from the wild mass of jade green hair that hung loose about her shoulders.

  She was barely three feet in height and wore rough-spun trousers and shirt beneath a thick leather apron and in her arm’s she held a round tube, too long for her short frame, that she pointed directly at Jochum.

  “What’s that?” Mia asked through clenched teeth.

  “Musket,” Syn said with a grin that told her nothing at all. “It’s a new thing the Gnomish engineers came up with. Supposed to rid us of our reliance on mages in battle.”

  “Never happen,” Wynn snapped.

  “Why’s it pointed at Jochum?”

  Syn shrugged but didn’t seem at all perturbed so she turned to watch the exchange.

  “Til, come on now, lass. Need we do this every time?”

  “Say the words or I’ll put a new hole in yer!”

  “Fine.” Jochum heaved a sigh. “Geddurz nar walh.”

  The suspicion slowly faded as she lowered the weapon and nodded brusquely. “Welcome back, Cap’n.”

  “Do we really have to keep doing this?”

  “Just doing my duty, boss. Got to be sure it’s you I’m letting aboard. Can’t be too careful.”

  “Aye, well, fire up the engines. It’s time to leave.”

  “Where to?”

  “The Wilds.”

  Til, the gnomish engineer stared for a moment, eyes wide and mouth hanging open which she closed with a click of teeth as she realised the others were watching her. With a shake of her head, she lifted the musket to her shoulder and headed inside.

  “We’re going to the wilds?” Mia asked nervously.

  “Aye, girl,” Wynn said, that malice filled smile firmly in place on his face. “Going to be an adventure.”

  Chapter 7

  Kristdor stood atop the flat-topped roof of a crumbling tenement building and stared down into the almost empty and quiet streets below. The sun was close to the horizon, though what dim light it might have provided was lost amongst the dark clouds the covered the sky and the woodsmoke that clung to the city, resisting even the rains attempts to dispel it.

  Almost eighty thousand people lived and worked in and around the city as per the last census the city lords had ordered. Each of those people relied on oil lamps for lighting and wood for cooking and keeping their homes warm, which tended to cloud the city on mild days and when cold, left a haze of smoke wherever you walked.

  He pulled his cloak a little higher, the thick oilcloth keeping out all but the most persistent of the heavy raindrops that seemed determined to drench him. A flash of light from the corner of his eyes caught his attention and he turned, glowering at the young constable.

  “Light that pipe, my lad, and you’ll be guarding the latrines for the next month.”

  The constable hurriedly shook the match, dousing the flame and dropped the pipe back into a pocket of his uniform coat. Like most of the constables, the coat he wore beneath his breastplate had pockets that were not easily accessible when the breastplate was worn, making them excellent places for keeping personal items you didn’t want to lose when on the job.

  “Do you really think that will matter?” Vala asked and he grunted a noncommittal reply, not looking her way as it would just annoy him.

  She, in turn, smiled and crossed her legs as she balanced on the low ledge that ran around the edge of the roof. The rain didn’t bother her, seeming to miss her entirely and leaving her dry and quite warm. A fact that she knew irritated her brother.

  “Why are we even here, on this crumbling block of stone and timber?”

  “That street.” Kristdor pointed down at the quiet street that the building overlooked. “All the killings have been in a general line and if I’m right, this street will be the next it hunts.”

  She gave a theatrical yawn and looked around at the men standing close by, their oilskins barely keeping them dry. They each wore a shiny breastplate and leather braces on their wrists, over the sleeves of their coats.

  On their hips were the short sword in a leather scabbard on one side and on the other, a thick wooden club, almost a foot and a half in length and as thick around as her wrist. They each looked capable of wielding their weapons to deal with the miscreants of the city and she felt a little comforted by t
heir presence.

  Despite her firm words when she spoke with her brother, she was no battle mage and she tended to spend most of her days in more esoteric pursuits, but it had sounded like her chance to raise her star with the other masters of the college and most importantly, with the city lords.

  Vala had long since set her mind on bringing the City of Rial and its surrounding towns and villages into the tenth century. It was a time of innovation where magic and the new technologies were working in tandem to make things better for everyone.

  Plus, if she were able to finally persuade the lords to allow the college to build an ether-tower, the college's income would quadruple overnight and no doubt grow steadily for years afterwards. It would increase their standing in the city and give the college a seat on the council with the city lords.

  She had big ambitions, as any daughter of a city lord should have, and helping her brother solve the killings was a fine way to get what she wanted. It wouldn’t hurt to have the superstitious northerners see magic being used to protect them either.

  “Where’s your pretty little constable?”

  “Who?” Kristdor barely looked towards his sister as he kept his eyes firmly on the street below and the few people moving along it.

  “The young woman you visited me with earlier.”

  “You saw her?”

  “I see much that happens around the college.”

  “She’s one of my constables, nothing more.”

  Vala smiled and tapped her knee with one long finger. Their mother had often lamented her lack of grandchildren but considering Vala was married and Kristdor was not, he received the brunt of her complaints.

  “Perhaps-“

  “Hush!” he snapped as he looked intently down into the street. “Is that a priest?”

  Vala followed his gaze, arched brows drawing down as she watched the white-robed person walking slowly down the street, head moving from side to side as though searching for something.

  “Priests are called to those dying,” one of the constables offered.

  “Aye, my lad, but they wouldn’t send a novice dressed in white.”