Oathbreaker

by Cara Witter

  “I have something for you,” Daniella said. Her small voice matched her child’s body, and she was wearing a pale pink frock that must have clashed terribly with her red hair.

  Diamis’ smile broadened. “Let’s see it then, sweet girl.”

  Daniella reached out to open one of the thick doors.

  On the other side lay the bodies. Diamis surveyed the room, filled with the bodies of Tirostaari guards—women who had died screaming and gurgling and drowning in their own blood. Daniella twisted a lock of her own hair between her fingers and found it sticky, blood seeping into her fingers.

  Diamis chuckled softly. “You’ve been busy, my sweet.”

  “Yes,” Daniella said. “I did it all by myself.”

  Movement in the room caught her eye, and she looked up. What could be moving among the dead?

  On the other side of the bodies stood Jaeme, his face creased in worry.

  “Dani,” he said.

  Daniella stumbled backward, child-self gone, replaced with her adult body, drenched in blood. Her father laughed, the sound of his booming voice echoing in her ears.

  “Dani!” Jaeme said again, his brows knitted together as he stepped across the bodies to get to her. “Dani, wake up! We need to go!”

  Daniella jerked awake, the darkened room of the inn tilting slightly in her disorientation. Jaeme’s voice rang in her head, and she realized as she saw his face in front of hers that his voice had been no dream.

  “Jaeme! What . . .?” Then she heard shouts from downstairs, and the sound of glass shattering.

  Jaeme closed and locked the door. Sayvil stood by the window, moonlight filtering over her, boots already on. “The soldiers are here, and they’re looking for us. We need to go, now.” The urgency in his voice was enough to push her dream-addled mind into full wakefulness. Her heart pounding, she scrambled for her traveling boots. Sayvil pulled open the window and looked down. “Perfect,” she murmured, without a trace of any sarcasm.

  “Where are the others?” Daniella asked. “How did they find us?”

  A loud pounding on a door down the hall followed by a stern, “Open up!” caused them all to jolt into action. Questions could come later. Daniella finished with her boots and jumped up to follow Sayvil to where Jaeme stood at the window. Her breath caught as Jaeme began to climb out. As he did, he stepped onto the thatched, sloped roof of the stables, which angled upward only three feet away.

  “Let me make sure it will hold,” Jaeme said, gradually transferring his weight to the roof. He reached out with his hands, feeling for beams farther from the edge. “All right, it’s safe. But be careful—feel for the crossbeams.”

  Sayvil climbed through the window and lowered herself onto the thatch. A loud crash sounded from the hallway, followed by a scream. Daniella began to climb through the window. Sayvil was slowly making her way down the roof, her satchel full of supplies hanging over her shoulder.

  Behind her, beyond the door to their room, Daniella could hear more shouts, along with the sounds of broken wood and ringing steel. She had just gotten one foot out the window when the door to their room crashed open. Light spilled into the room from the hallway, revealing the dark outline of the liveried soldier.

  Daniella pulled herself through the window, but not quickly enough. She shrieked in terror as the soldier grabbed her ankle. He yanked her back while she clung desperately to the window frame. The bright light of Sayvil’s moon power blinded her, then blinked out again, leaving spots. If it blinded the soldier holding her, it wasn’t enough to make him let go.

  Jaeme drew his sword and ran across the thatch toward her, a murderous expression on his face. After a few steps, though, one misplaced leg dropped through, sending him to his knee with an indistinct yell.

  Daniella twisted in the soldier’s hold, willing every ounce of strength into her arms, knowing that if she let go, he would drag her farther from Jaeme, farther from help. Sayvil’s moonlight flashed around her, and she could only hope at least some of it was reaching the soldier’s eyes. She lashed out with her free leg and felt her foot connect. The soldier swore, and his grip slipped as one hand went to his face. Suddenly free, she fell through the window with too much force. She was barely able to catch the thatch and pull herself up on it, but her knees slipped and she slid down the slanted roof, tearing at reeds in an attempt to catch herself.

  A firm hand closed around her wrist, and she looked up into Jaeme’s face.

  “You’re okay,” he said, his ankle still caught in the thatch. “Drop down. You’ll be fine.”

  She did so and landed ungracefully on the hard dirt. Sayvil jumped down beside her and helped her to her feet, then directed another blast of moonlight at the face of the soldier above. He swore and stumbled back from the window, then yelled out, “In here!”

  Jaeme dropped down from the roof as boots pounded into the room above. “Come on,” he said, grabbing Daniella’s hand. The three of them ran through the gap behind the stables and around the shuttered fish market next door. Daniella could hear the soldiers climbing out of the window now, but she and her friends ran through a hole in the guard perimeter at top speed. As they ran, Daniella could hear shouts of more soldiers not far behind them, pursuing them through the dark, empty streets.

  Through it all, Jaeme never let go of her hand.

  Six

  When Perchaya shook Kenton awake, her tone spurred him to action before he began to understand her words. He had his boots on over his breeches, his shirt pulled over his head before he comprehended her full meaning.

  “It’s Erich,” Perchaya was saying. “General Dektrian is here.”

  One question rang through his sleep-addled mind:

  How?

  They hadn’t been off the ship a full day yet. They’d stopped in several ports, but always stayed on the boat. He couldn’t have followed them here—not by that trail.

  But Nikaenor had written home. And Jaeme. And Sayvil. And Perchaya. Someone had intercepted their letters. Was there a leak in the resistance in Drepaine who learned Sayvil’s plans from Quinn?

  Was there an informant here in the Fish Hook?

  It didn’t matter at the moment—Erich was here. There wasn’t time for any more wondering. He’d fall back on his standard defensive plan—take action first, get information as he went.

  He gathered his weapons and drew his sword, then headed toward the window to see if it could be used as an escape route.

  “Where are the others?” he asked, sticking his head out and looking down. He held back a curse. There was nothing below them to drop down onto but the ground. Even the single story drop might injure them enough to prevent escape.

  “Jaeme went to get Daniella and Sayvil. He said to meet them in Haidshir if we get separated.”

  Kenton heard a door slam below and the sound of raised voices. Perchaya startled visibly in the yellow glow that filtered in from the hallway lanterns.

  Haidshir was a good plan. The coastal city was past the border into Jaeme’s duchy, the next port over if they’d stayed on the boat. It was a good place to meet—safely in Mortiche and out of Diamis’s grasp, but also accessible, so they could meet up as quickly as possible.

  Perchaya startled again as the loud thumping of boots on stairs just outside their room echoed on the wooden walls. Kenton took a step toward the door, but Perchaya, whether guessing his intention or acting on her own strong sense of self-preservation, wheeled around and slammed it shut, blanketing the room in sudden darkness. Kenton heard a metallic jiggling that sounded like her hands fumbling with the lock.

  Gods. He hoped Jaeme and the others were already on their way out. He had a hard time imagining how he was going to get himself and Perchaya free, trapped as they were.

  The window was looking like a better option all the time.

  “Nikaenor is still with his family,�
�� Perchaya said. “They had all our descriptions, and they knew his name. We can’t just leave him—”

  Pounding resonated on the door, and Perchaya stepped closer to Kenton, grabbing his arm. The guards must have seen which door shut. Kenton glanced out the window one more time, deciding to risk it, but the soldier outside didn’t waste any time. With a resounding crack, the door swung open, the broken lock dangling uselessly.

  Kenton stepped between Perchaya and the soldier, keeping his sword raised. The soldier paused, apparently taken aback by the fact that the tenants of this room weren’t in a state of frenzied surprise. Kenton eyed him evenly. “I certainly hope that broken door doesn’t go on my tab,” he said. Then in one swift motion, Kenton yanked the blanket from the bed and flung it at the soldier, tangling his sword arm. Before the soldier had any further chance to react, Kenton bashed him hard in the side of the head with the pommel of his sword. Even through the helmet, the blow was heavy. The man’s legs buckled, and he fell to his knees with a groan.

  Kenton delivered one last swift kick to the soldier’s head and the man collapsed to the floor. Kenton glanced at Perchaya; her mouth was partway open, her eyes reflecting an emotion he couldn’t discern. Not in this low light, and not with the imminent threat to their lives.

  From down the hall, there was a yelled “Open up!” followed by the splintering crack of wood.

  It was just far enough away to be Sayvil and Daniella’s room.

  There came a scream from downstairs, followed by shouts and a crash. Then another yell from the hall. “She’s here! She went out the window in back!”

  Kenton paused in the shadow of the half-open door, looking out into the hall. The door to the room Daniella and Sayvil had been staying in was broken open, along with every other door in the hall. From the stairwell, Kenton could hear noise from the tavern, but rather than the usual drunken shouts and peals of laughter came pleadings for mercy, the occasional sob, and the tremulous pulse of a one-sided battle.

  “Nikaenor’s family,” Perchaya said. “Some of them must still be down there.”

  Kenton closed his eyes for the space of a heartbeat. Think. It sounded as though Jaeme and the others had gotten out through a window. Kenton couldn’t use that route without first finding Nikaenor. He couldn’t send Perchaya out that way either; it was far too risky for her to be alone outside, especially when the guards were following.

  “Stay here,” he whispered to Perchaya, as he walked over to the collapsed guard. He pulled the helm off the man’s head, then awkwardly rolled him over to peel off the black and gold tunic.

  “Kenton, I’m coming with . . .” she started, a blazing look on her face that he was coming to know all too well.

  “No, you’re not,” he cut her off, pulling the tunic over his head. She glared at him and began to say something, but Kenton couldn’t wait for more arguing. “And that’s final.”

  By the time Kenton reached the bottom of the stairs, the sounds of any actual fighting were gone, replaced only by a woman sobbing and an authoritative voice barking orders.

  It wasn’t Erich.

  Kenton waited against the wall by the door frame, in view of only part of the room, keeping his head low, counting on his soldier’s uniform to make him unobtrusive. From here he could only see one far corner of the table area, but the little he could see infuriated him.

  Noreen was crying, face pushed hard against the wall by a soldier who had his back to Kenton. A man Kenton guessed by his resemblance to Ronan was Nikaenor’s father lay sprawled in an awkward position on the floor. From this angle Kenton couldn’t tell if he was breathing.

  Broken glass glittered around the remnants of a cracked wooden bench. From the shadow in which he stood, Kenton spotted three more soldiers in this area of the room, each giving him barely more than a glance. A particularly large one with blunt features stood towards the back of the room, closer to the tavern entrance. He was surveying the scene with a bored look on his face until spotting and turning his attention to some roasted chicken lying abandoned on a plate nearby. The two others stood side by side, one with his arms folded and a smug grin on his face. The third soldier was slightly older, with a trim brown beard and a sharply pointed nose. His sword was outstretched, pointed low at something that Kenton couldn’t see without moving further into view.

  The older soldier’s face was impassive as he stared down the length of his sword. “I know you were traveling with her. Our informants told us everything.” His voice was thin and reedy. “It wasn’t very smart of you, really, to bring her to your hometown, to endanger your family. Your life belongs to Lord Diamis, but you can save them. Where is she now? Where would she go?”

  Kenton took that as a good sign—if the guards were asking where Daniella was, then Jaeme must have succeeded in getting them out.

  “You want to know where she is?” Nikaenor’s voice was quiet, dripping with bitterness. “Go ask your informants.”

  Kenton gripped his sword handle. He couldn’t help but be proud of Nikaenor’s defiance. Kenton couldn’t leave him there—but he had no way of scanning the remainder of the room without stepping into the doorway, where his face would be easier to see.

  But, above all, he couldn’t let them take Nikaenor.

  “You think you’re brave,” the older soldier said with contempt. “But the town is completely surrounded. We’ll find them anyway, and your family will pay.” His eyes shifted up to face someone behind Nikaenor. “Bring the girl.”

  “No! No!” shrieked the shrill voice of a child, and Kenton’s blood turned to ice. It sounded like one of Nikaenor’s youngest sisters. Noreen burst into fresh panicked tears.

  “Leave her alone!” shouted Nikaenor. “I don’t know where they are! Don’t touch her!”

  Kenton silently beseeched Mirilina for a miracle, then stepped out into the tavern, keeping his head bowed to avoid revealing his face until the last possible second. In one hand he gripped his sword, in the other, the dagger, both hanging down at his side to draw the least amount of attention. His chest tightened as the rest of the scene in the tavern unfolded in front of him. Nikaenor was on his knees in his nightclothes before the two soldiers, the point of the sword pressed against his neck. His lip was cut, and a large dark bruise swelled up around his cheek and jaw. Sweat trickled down his face onto the unyielding steel. He wasn’t tied, as Kenton had expected, but was instead being held down by another guard, who was a fairly new recruit, judging by his boyish features and anxious expression.

  Coming forward from behind him was a soldier holding Nikaenor’s younger sister, who squirmed and squealed in panic as the large guard dragged her forward, not bothering to step over a pool of blood that oozed from the inert body of a tavern patron. Four other bodies lay dead in the tavern, all of them appearing to be Foroclaean locals, fishermen only trying to protect their neighbors, some with the bottles or daggers they’d brandished still in their hands. One was that of a kindly looking man Kenton remembered sitting at the table next to them. He was now draped across that same table, a short sword sticking straight from his gut.

  Kenton had brought this down on these people. He knew from Nikaenor that the locals hated the presence of Diamis’ soldiers, but it wouldn’t have come to blows like this tonight if he hadn’t led the others here.

  Now it was up to Kenton to end this.

  Yet another soldier stood in the room, sitting on a bench in the far back corner, making seven in all. Seven, all turning to him.

  It was too late to go back.

  He walked confidently up next to the soldier who was holding the sword to Nikaenor’s neck. The man’s eyes flicked to Kenton for only a second, seeing only the black and gold uniform of Sevairn, then back to Nikaenor. “You can spare her,” the soldier said. “You need only cooperate.”

  Nikaenor attempted desperately to twist his head to see his sister, and the sword bit in
to his neck with a trickle of red.

  Kenton tightened his grip on each of his weapons and raised his head slightly. The soldier standing with his arms folded on the other side of the one with the sword glanced over at him. A look of confusion flashed across his face; his smug smile slipped.

  In that instant, Kenton struck. With his left hand, he jammed his dagger into the exposed neck of the soldier interrogating Nikaenor. Blood spurted out and the soldier collapsed, as Kenton yanked out the dagger and, in the same fluid motion, thrust his sword into the neck of the boyish soldier holding Nikaenor down. He stepped forward and thrust again with his dagger, but the third soldier had time to react; he stumbled back out of reach and yanked furiously at the sword sheathed at his side, barely getting it out in time to block Kenton’s next advance.

  As Kenton moved toward the soldier, Nikaenor pushed away from the body of the one who had been holding him, grappled for the sword fallen to the ground, and lunged at the man still holding his sister. The soldier backed up, using her small, twisting body as a shield. Kenton heard the smack of Noreen’s head being slammed against the wall.

  He turned his back to the doorway, so as not to be flanked by the guards behind him. It only took two parries of the sword before Kenton hit his mark in the gut of the soldier in front of him. Kenton swiveled around to face his oncoming attackers and kicked a wooden chair at the closest, the one who had been holding Nikaenor’s mother. Behind the soldier, he could see her scrambling back into a corner, and Kenton thanked the gods that the blow to her head hadn’t killed her.

  The soldier jumped out of the way to avoid the chair, stumbling but not falling. The two other soldiers also advanced from opposite corners of the room. The large one who had been eating the chicken was now the closest, the one from the window only feet behind.

  Suddenly the soldier nearest the door by the stairs cried out, diverting all of their attention. Kenton poised to strike but stopped short as he saw Perchaya, standing in the doorway holding a large burning table candle, whose hot wax she had flung into the soldier’s face. Kenton’s breath caught—she was supposed to keep herself out of danger.