Oathbreaker: A Tale of the Wilds

by R J Murray

  “My thanks for that too,” Kristdor said. “And for your presence today. What you did for these people, for me, will be remembered for a long time.”

  “There are none more worthy of my presence than those who live their lives serving my goddess with their every action. It is I who is honoured to have been allowed the chance to guide them to the hallowed halls of Ysnir.”

  “May I ask,” Vala interrupted with a shrug of her shoulders for her brothers questioning look. “Why do you wear a novice’s robe?”

  The high priestess smiled once more and again, Kristdor couldn’t shake the feeling of sorrow he saw in it.

  “I lost a friend a short time ago. I wear white in mourning for him.”

  “He must have meant a great deal to you.”

  “Yes. I loved him deeply and would have shared my life with him if fate had not chosen another path for us.”

  “I am sorry for your loss,” Kristdor said, understanding then the reason for her sorrow. “And for my sister’s thoughtless questions.”

  “It is fine, really,” she said as Vala opened her mouth to retort. “Death is a part of life and we cannot hide from it, nor should we hide our pain from others. Else it will never heal.”

  “True enough.” Vala smiled smugly at her brother and crossed her arms across her chest. “It was an honour to meet you, holy one.”

  “Indeed. My thanks once again, holy one. The watch shall not forget this day.”

  “Please,” the high priestess said in her softly musical voice. “Call me, Amina. I see no need for titles on a day such as today.”

  “Then thank you, Amina.”

  She gave one last smile and turned to head back into the temple. Vala grinned and nudged her brother with an elbow.

  “You like her.”

  “What? No, she did an amazing thing for my people is all.”

  “No, you like her! Admit it or I’ll tell mother. You know she’ll make it her mission to have the two of you meet at every function you attend.”

  “She is a high priestess for the love of all the gods! You cannot speak of her like that.”

  “What! Like a woman? Because she is one and by the sounds of it, a woman who has suffered a loss and needs comforting.”

  “Bah! You’re incorrigible.”

  “Yes, but you still love me.”

  He shook his head as he led the way towards the iron-banded gate set into the wall where the other mourners had exited. He glanced back over his shoulder, but the high priestess was gone.

  “Where to?” Vala asked. “I have a carriage waiting.”

  “I’ll walk, thanks. I have a meeting with the city lords.”

  “Gods! Good luck with that. I’ll head back to my workspace and see if that specimen will give up any of its secrets.”

  “It hasn’t in the day you’ve had it, why would it now?”

  She gave another lazy shrug and stopped beside the gate, reaching out to grasp her brother by the shoulders and turn him around.

  “Don’t let them walk all over you! Hear me? We didn’t capture or kill that creature, but it hasn’t killed anyone since that night either so lead with that.”

  “Hasn’t killed anyone we know of,” Kristdor muttered but nodded anyway. “Fine, I shall do as you say.”

  “Don’t let mother walk all over you neither. We both know what she’s like when she is in the council chamber.”

  “Aye, true enough, sister.”

  “Come see me when you’re done,” she said with an impish smile. “And if you get the chance, remind mother about my ether-tower proposal.”

  “I thought you wanted me to stay on her good side,” he replied to her laughter as she climbed into the carriage.

  He shook his head and set off walking, his thoughts swinging between the impending confrontation and the face of the priestess that he couldn’t shake from his mind.

  Chapter 12

  Kamilla Sigursdotta sat in the high-backed chair and stared down her nose at the fat merchant standing in the centre of the council chamber. She pursed her lips as she wore her best scowl and tapped the arm of her chair.

  “You are aware, master merchant Ebergsson, that this is the council chamber for the city of Rial and the surrounding territories?”

  “Y-yes, milady.”

  “Then why, pray tell, have you brought such a matter before us?”

  The fat merchant clasped the edges of his sable cloak nervously, sweat beading on his brow as he looked around the chamber for some support. He didn’t find any.

  “Milady, I just thought…”

  “Thought what?” Kamilla snapped back before he could finish. “That you would waste the time of this council with such mundane nonsense? That you would insult the rulers of this city by bringing before them a matter that could have been settled by your district magistrate?”

  “Milady, please…”

  “Very well.” She glanced around the crowded chamber, gauging the mood of the crowd. They were, by and large, the upper echelon of their city and they enjoyed a good show as much as anyone. “By all means, repeat for us this nonsense you have brought.”

  She leant back in her chair, affecting a bored look while watching the faces of those around her. Unlike the other lords and ladies of the council, she had not inherited the role she held, and she was determined that all of her work to achieve it would not be in vain.

  Which was why she was always present on every sixth-day when the council heard complaints and questions from any citizen of their great city. She wanted to be there to ensure she was seen and heard so that when the people thought of the rulers, they thought of her.

  Several of her fellow lords did not share that view and were often absent, as they were that day, leaving just enough of the council to be able to form a quorum. Which, for the council of thirteen lords and ladies that ruled the city, required just seven of them be present and there was rarely more than that.

  “My lords, my ladies,” the fat merchant began. “I beseech you to consider…”

  “Get to the point,” Kamilla snapped irritably.

  Several snickers rose from the surrounding galleries. The people of the city had indeed recognised her as a valid member of the council, but more than that, they had soon learnt that while she was often irritated and short of temper, her councils were generally amusing.

  “My home was desecrated by the miscreant!” the fat merchant snapped. “A statue, carved by none other than Otkell Freymodursson himself, was destroyed!”

  “And what, master merchant, is it that you would have the council do?”

  “I want the miscreant punished!”

  “Did you speak with the local city watch?”

  “I did, my lady.”

  “And their findings?”

  “Ah, they were less than helpful, milady.”

  Kamilla held back her sigh. She understood perfectly well what that meant and so did everyone there. The city watch was, for the most part, diligent in their duties. Especially, for those of the wealthier city districts.

  If they had been of little help it could only mean that there was nothing for them to do.

  “Tell me then, what did the watchmen who visited you say?”

  “T-they said that…”

  “Watch your words here, master merchant. I shall have a clerk send to the watch-house for their report.”

  The fat merchant gulped and gripped his cloak until his knuckles turned white. He looked around at the mocking faces and realised that he had made a mistake bringing his outrage into the council chamber. He had few friends there and more than enough people willing to watch him humiliate himself.

  “Your pardon, milady.” He sketched a deep bow, pressing one hand to his head to hold in place the ridiculous cap he wore. “I believe I have taken up enough of your time with this matter and will withdraw my complaint.”

  As you should you fat fool, she thought but was wise enough not to say it out loud. She nodded graciously and waved her hand,
dismissing him. The crowd grumbled, seeing their chance for amusement fading.

  “What do we have next?”

  “A petition from a… why, from a Dwarf, my lady.”

  The clerk, a thin man with pasty skin and wispy strands of grey hair clinging to the sides of his head, raised his eyebrows in surprise. The crowd, hearing this, began to chatter amongst themselves as they sensed the excitement they had missed out on was about to happen after all.

  “Very well, call this… Dwarf, forward.”

  It was rare to find a dwarf so far from their home far to the south of Rial. They preferred to stay hidden away in their great city carved inside a mountain. While they didn’t often travel, they did trade with humans and elves alike and their metalwork was considered the very best in the known world.

  Kamilla then, was more than a little curious as to why a Dwarf had travelled all the way to her city and what on earth it could want. She leant forward in her seat, curiosity fully engaged.

  She was a little disappointed when the dwarf arrived. A male, she guessed from the ginger beard that reached almost to its belt and braided in intricate plaits. He stood at barely five feet and didn’t look anywhere near as ferocious as she had heard.

  His nose was large, covering much of his face that wasn’t hidden by the beard and his eyes were piercing and intelligent beneath bushy brows. He removed his leather cap and bowed low, swinging out one arm, his beard scraping the polished marble floor.

  “Tis a pleasure to greet you fine gentlefolk.”

  “Truly,” Kamilla said. “How is it that we may help you?”

  “Well, yer grace, I come seeking your permission, as it were.”

  “Permission for what?”

  She exchanged a look with the other council members who returned it blankly, reinforcing her opinion of them as vapid fools who only held power because better men and women had claimed it for them.

  “Why to mine, yer grace. These lands around you are yours, true enough, and we dwarven folk respect the rule of law. With your permission, we would set up a mine works in the hills north of the city.”

  “Mining for what, in particular?”

  “Well now, there’s some good iron and copper, that’s for sure and there’s always a need for such ore.”

  Kamilla settled back in her seat, a little disappointed. She had been hoping for something a little more interesting, but she could see how their request might be of benefit to her.

  “You may begin your mining. The council shall allow you a permit to do so for no more than five years and one-fifth of all ore you raise going to the city. After the five years are complete, you can petition once more to extend that period.”

  The dwarf nodded along, his gaze shrewd as he bowed once again. He believed it to be a fine bargain as the humans had no idea of the riches in the hills around them, but his people had a nose for ore and he could practically smell it.

  “Tis a fine sounding deal, yer grace. I thank thee.”

  She waved to the clerk and ignored the disappointed murmurs of the crowd as she saw her son stride into the chamber.

  “Bring the details to the clerk and he shall arrange the permit.”

  “As you will, yer grace.”

  She didn’t watch the dwarf as he bowed low once more before making a beeline for the clerk. She knew enough about that race to know that they wouldn’t come so far north for ore so common as iron and copper.

  No, there would be something else buried beneath the hills and she would ensure that she found out what that was. They would have five years to set up their mine and she would have the time to quietly purchase the surrounding land from the city. When his lease was up, she would simply evict any dwarves and seize the mines for herself.

  “Now, it is time for a short recess,” she called out. “We shall return shortly.”

  The other councillors looked her way, confusion clear in their faces and she gestured sharply for them to follow her to the private chambers. They did so without complaint as they had long since considered it easier to do as she wanted rather than argue.

  As the others filed into the private chambers, she hung back, waiting for her son to reach her. She watched him carefully, pleased with the way he held himself, back straight and head up. She had big plans for him and should he ever have the wherewithal to marry, for his children too.

  “Mother,” Kristdor said coolly. “Is the council inside?”

  “Some of them. The ones that could be bothered to turn up today.”

  “Ah.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at her and he nodded slowly, clucking his tongue. “You summoned me before the council. On a sixth-day, when the only other councillors would be those too old or unimportant to argue with you.”

  “Well done, my son.”

  “Still clawing for power, mother.” He exhaled a soft sigh as he shook his head. Her need to rise in power was something he couldn’t understand. “Very well, shall we begin out here or do you want the others around for appearance's sake?”

  “Watch your tongue, boy.”

  “Forgive me, mother.”

  She flashed him a quick smile that didn’t touch her eyes and placed her arm through his. He smelt of leather and the oils he used when sharpening his weapons. It was a manly odour but hardly one that would attract any of the fine ladies she had already arranged chance encounters for him.

  With her free hand, she smoothed down the jade coloured velvet of her high-necked dress and guided him through the doors into the private chambers. The room where the city lords tended to meet to discuss city business.

  It was a circular room with rich tapestries hanging from the walls depicting epic scenes from the cities past. The deposing of Queen Sigurdora and the subsequent war for the throne. The noble alliance that defeated all contenders and formed the council of the city lords instead, bringing peace and prosperity back to the territory after almost a decade of strife.

  There were many more, going back centuries and the earliest one depicted an epic battle between two powerful beings. The city in rubble and vast black scars marking the hills where the ascendant being’s terrifying powers were manifested.

  Those scars were there still, a vivid reminder of those dark times when much of the then kingdom was destroyed, almost as an afterthought by two powerful beings as they fought for the right to challenge the gods themselves.

  Beneath those tapestries were thirteen high backed chairs of ancient mahogany and one gilded throne. It had been left as a reminder of the reasons why the last queen had been deposed but for some, Kamilla included, it was a sign of the potential power they could one day wield.

  Six of those chairs were filled and each of those councillors looked to Kamilla to speak first. She left her son in the centre of the circle formed by the chairs and seated herself to the right of the throne.

  “Tell us of your hunt for the killer.”

  Kristdor sucked in a deep breath and did just that. He told of his reasoning and of seeing a suspicious figure wearing novice robes. He told of the unveiling and the powers the creature seemed to have, of the way it had torn through his watchmen and wounded him almost to death.

  Finally, he spoke of his suspicions about a weakness and how it had gone quiet, ceasing it’s killing while it licked its wounds. When he finished, he looked around and to his chagrin, saw boredom in most of the faces.

  The plight of the common folk was something they were not interested in. Except for his mother and he suspected that she had her own reasons for that.

  “Is this a magical being created in the war?”

  “No, my lady. I believe it to be an artefact being used by a human, a woman in fact.”

  “Why a woman?”

  “The slight build of the robed figure, the feminine hands that she revealed before the blackness covered them.”

  “You suspect someone is hiding in the temples then, amongst the priests?”

  “Perhaps, my lady, though I would not wish to…”

&nb
sp; “No.”

  Kamilla smiled as she saw an opportunity. One of those city lords too powerful to feel the need to bother himself with the sixth-day sessions was the high priest of Bikmir, god of storms. A man with whom she had battled long and hard.

  If she could lay the blame for the killings at the feet of the priests, then he would lose in favour and she would gain. If her son caught the killer.

  “Question the priests,” she commanded. “Do it respectfully but know that we want this killer caught before more of our citizens are murdered.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Kristdor silently cursed. It was the last thing he wanted, alienating those men and women who healed the watchmen when they were wounded in their duties or even just damaging the good favour he had built with them.

  “Good. Anything else?”

  “One thing, my lady. The death duties for the watchmen who died…”

  “They shall be paid. Three months wages to the families as stipulated when they signed their name for service.”

  It was a small price to pay and while some on the council may quibble, the good favour of the watchmen was something Kamilla had been cultivating for years. For good reason.

  “Find the killer,” she said.

  Kristdor bowed low, knowing a dismissal when he heard it. He stepped out of the chamber and let the doors close behind him as he clenched his fists in frustration. There was little else to do but as he had been ordered, though. His mother had issued an order and as a captain of the watch, he was duty bound to see it through.

  He just hoped he could figure out a way to do it without causing more unrest on the streets than there already was.

  Chapter 13

  With much of the cargo removed, the airships hold was surprisingly roomy. Hammocks had been strung up to give the companions somewhere to sleep in relative comfort and blankets hung from a line over in one corner with a wide basin behind that could be filled with water for washing in private.

  After the first days boiled cabbage and potatoes that had been served by the surly gnome, Mia had taken over the cooking duties. It seemed only fair since she was the least experienced of the group and besides, she had some spent many a time helping out the cook back at the inn.