Oathbreaker: A Dark Fantasy Web Serial

Arc 5: Chapter 4: The Game

Not long after Desmond Wake made his address to the court, many of those gathered began to depart as the day aged and more pressing business concluded.

So it was that a gutted assembly turned its attention when I was finally called to speak before the throne. I took a deep breath, traded a nod with the Seydii ambassador, and stepped out into the middle of the hall.

More than a hundred eyes fell on me. Most of them were scribes and other bureaucrats, many of the lords having drifted out. Emma gave me an encouraging gesture, though I sensed some of my nervousness reflected in her face.

Distantly, I heard the main doors crack open. I caught a glimpse of two people entering, but my brief look didn’t tell me who they were before they shifted into the nooks behind the towering columns.

Markham and the Lord Steward fixed their attention on me. Oswald remained, though Princess Snoë had gone out not long after the Wakes. I saw no sign of the contending rulers of the Bannerlands, the Lady Ark and the young Lord Brightling. Roland, the King of Venturmoor, had taken a force out to investigate sightings of a rogue storm ogre still rampaging across the countryside, a sibling to the one I’d killed more than a month before. Many of the greater lords weren’t in attendance.

And I still didn’t see Rosanna.

Emma shot a glare to Cairbre, who’d been lurking off behind the assembly and trying not to be noticed. He flinched when he caught my squire’s stare and cleared his throat, lifting his voice to echo across the chamber.

“Uh, yes, erm… presenting Alken Hewer, the Headsman of, uh… Seydis!”

I winced. Titters ran like rustling leaves in a soft wind across the gathered officials. I took a deep breath, fought down my unease, and knelt on one knee before the throne.

“Rise.” Markham’s voice once again filled the chamber with rumbling volume. I stood, tossed my cloak behind one shoulder so my weapons and armor were visible as was proper, and rested my hand on Faen Orgis’s head.

Best to remind them all who I am, I thought. Emma’s warning hadn’t failed to find some purchase.

Markham’s gray eyes took in my appearance, lingering on the signs of battle I hadn’t yet removed. His lips formed a thinner line, though I couldn’t tell if it was a pensive expression or a frustrated one.

“We have heard rumors of a disturbance in the Hammer Ward,” The Emperor said. “What do you have to report, Headsman?”

No additional title. A not so subtle reminder that my position here had yet to be formalized. I swallowed that pill and lifted my chin to speak clearly. I told the court of my investigation in the city, what I’d discovered and how I’d dealt with it. I told them of gaining support from the Drains, refusing to deny the changeling community credit. Without them, I never would have figured out that woed beasts were lurking in the sewers in such number. I spoke of how Karog and I had coordinated with the guard to entrap the chorn, and how my squire had finished it.

This drew some looks Emma’s way. She shifted off to the side, most of the other attendants having given her a wide berth. She seemed to form her own little island within the shadow of the columns.

“We have a report from the Empress’s champion,” the Lord Steward intoned. “Is it true that you triggered the chase for this beast before she had her men in position, engaging in pursuit which might have driven the creature deeper into the depths and beyond our reach?”

I met the Steward’s beady eyes, biting back my frustration. “The chorn was onto us, Lord Steward. If I hadn’t taken the opportunity to run it down, we might have lost our chance.”

“And you made this determination alone,” the Steward insisted. “Throwing yourself and those you drafted into danger to claim personal victory.”

Mutterings from the courtiers. My jaw clenched several times as I tried to find the right words to reply, juggling formality with succinct, factual information. It had always been a dance I had little skill in, even during my time as Rosanna’s champion in the Karledale.

I knew the Steward’s type. He was a bureaucrat, twisting events in order to plant the seed of doubt into people’s minds.

“I have experience hunting demons,” I said, addressing the whole court as much as arguing with the towering man beside the throne. “I acted on that experience.”

“Your experience is well known to this court,” a gravelly voice called out from the remaining nobles. I suppressed another sigh, recognizing the speaker.

Once again, the herald was late on the draw. “Ah! Yes, the court recognizes, um, Lord Vander Braeve, the lord of, um.” Cairbre coughed loudly, shuffling. “Of, uh… Burncastle?”

He couldn’t quite keep the note of question from the last part. Ignoring the nervous herald, a large man with dark brown hair and a short beard stepped forward. Dressed for war in the tradition of chivalry, the man was a knight as well as the speaker for his House.

He also didn’t like me much. Vander fixed me with his angry stare even as he addressed the throne. “This man, Your Grace, has spent the last eight years acting independently of our… customs.”

I could practically hear him almost say laws at the end.

“He is impetuous and rash. This incident only proves that Alken Hewer is resistant to cooperating with proper procedure, and by extension with our Accord. But what else might we have expected?”

Vander turned his flinty eyes back on me. “He believes himself divinely graced. Why would he share any of his glory?”

“I did not act for glory,” I shot back. I hadn’t meant to say anything, but my temper rose and got the better of me. I bit back a curse, knowing I’d been baited.

Vander lifted his chin, his nostrils flaring in contempt. “And yet you return to the court still covered in the detritus of your hunt. How should we take this, other than as a shallow attempt to impress?”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

More conspiratorial mutters. I caught a twitch at the corner of the Steward’s lips. Did he and the Braeves coordinate this? I wondered. Or does the Steward just like seeing me squirm?

Either way, Vander’s accusation held water with the court. Many of those faces surrounding me wore looks of doubt or amusement.

I’d forgotten how much I hated this. The twisting ballet of status and perception, how a single clever retort could tear one’s efforts apart, no matter how much blood and sweat they’d shed. I hated trying to figure out who was allied with who, who’d whispered together beforehand to establish some elaborate social trap. Rosanna and Lias had always done the intrigue. I'd just chopped who they told me to chop, or stood around looking menacing.

The whole thing made me paranoid. I looked at Markham. The Emperor said nothing. He just watched me, his eyes narrowed, his face and posture set in royal neutrality.

I got the message. If you want to be part of this, then learn how to play the game. I won’t bail you out.

Emma also watched me, her eyes intent and unblinking in that uncanny way she sometimes had. Like everyone else there, she would remember what I said and make her own judgements.

I took a breath, forced myself to calm, and responded to the leader of House Braeve. “Have you ever faced a chorn, my lord?”

Vander scoffed, but I continued before he could interrupt me. “Have you ever faced any demon? Do you know what it costs, the damage they can do?”

“The knights and guards of this city have all sworn to defend it,” Vander shot back. “It is not for you to decide what cost they are willing to pay.”

“Let him speak,” another of the nobles called out. I glanced to my right and saw Harlan Grimheart. The man nodded to me, the little bells sewn into his orange beard jingling mutely. I inclined my head to him, grateful. I had one ally, at least.

I glanced up to the throne. The Emperor nodded, waving for me to continue. I turned back to Vander.

“A chorn is able to steal your memories through conversation. It doesn’t take much. All you need do is answer a question, make an idle quip, threaten them or demand. Every time you do, they take pieces of you. The name of your brother, or what your first kiss felt like. Once they’ve got their hooks in, it gets worse. And a chorn is clever, my lords. They are very good at getting a rise out of you.”

I remembered how it had taunted me by offering sex, implying it knew about my history. I had almost lost my composure in that moment, demanded to know what it knew, and how. What would it have taken from me in payment for that slip?

I caught a glimpse of Faisa Dance, a wealthy patron of the arts and sister to her House’s leader. She had lost a woman she’d dearly loved to such monsters. I saw her painted lips press tight as she listened to my speech.

I put it out of my mind and kept talking. “A chorn is a lesser demon, comparatively weak and cowardly, but it can tear through a squad of fully armored men-at-arms if you anger it. It can warp space, make you lose time, spread disease and mutation. It is a sickness, and it is among the least of the Abgrüdai.”

Many in the court shuffled nervously. The court clericon, an aged woman in bright brown vestments sewn with golden patterns, clutched her auremark and whispered a prayer into it, clearly disturbed. No one liked hearing about the ways of the Adversary. I steeled myself against their discomfort, knowing it best to give them facts rather than stories.

“I avoided waiting for the guard because I know this enemy, my lords.” I addressed the whole assembly then, rather than just the man who’d decided to make himself my rival. “I know how much harm they can cause, and how little defense most people have against them. I was given the means to fight it without being corrupted.”

Vander remained defiant. “The Knights of the Alder Table are gone. We will not bend to your whims because of your history, Hewer, or be taken in by your fearmongering. Let us not forget that we had no paladins to fight the monsters the Recusants unleashed on us back during the war.”

“This man fought for us,” Harlan argued. “He fought with me and my brother here in this very city during the third year of the war.”

Vander’s anger drifted to the man across the circle, his lip curling back in a sneer.

Letting a chill calm seep into my next words, I redirected his attention back to me. “You seem very eager to dismiss this threat, Lord Vander. I would have expected you to feel differently, considering your father spent all his life fighting it so you wouldn’t have to.”

Vander’s face turned red with rage. “How dare you?”

“Enough,” Markham said, cutting our argument short. “While his methods are not above reproach, Alken Hewer was given leave to deal with the threat as he saw fit. The creature is slain?”

I forced my gaze away from Vander’s hateful face to address the Emperor. “Yes, Your Grace. As much as any demon can be.”

Oswald Pardoner frowned, lifting a hand palm up in a beckoning gesture. “What do you mean by this, Master Alken? Is it dead?”

Oswald was an educated man, a scholar. He knew what I spoke of, and I felt a quiet surge of gratitude that he’d decided to play dumb. I hadn’t expected him to be my ally here, especially since he’d argued against my pardon the day of my trial.

“Demons are immortal,” I said. “Like elves. When one of the Sidhe die in body, their spirit remains imprinted into the world. They become part of the trees, the land, the light. Eventually, they reform.”

Fen Harus nodded. “This is so.”

“It’s similar for demons,” I added. “Their spirits are drawn back to the Abyss., but they don’t go gently. Their presence can sometimes burn holes into the fabric of our world to leave lasting wounds.”

I glanced at the clericon. “It is my recommendation that the site of the chorn’s death be thoroughly cleansed.”

The priest coughed and glanced at the Emperor. “I concur with the Headsman’s recommendation, Your Grace.”

The Emperor nodded slowly. “Granted. See to it.”

The clericon bowed in a rustling of golden-brown cloth. Markham addressed me directly then. “What of the Carmine Killer? Are you any closer to finding the source of this infestation?”

I fought not to wince. “My investigations are still ongoing, Your Grace.”

“Do you believe this monster has any connection to the one responsible for the events of the past year?” Oswald asked, his expression thoughtful.

I nodded. “It is possible, Lord Judge.”

“Possible,” The Steward repeated, clearly dissatisfied. The assembly stirred with discontent. I was losing them, I knew. No matter how much of an impression the appearance of two Onsolain might have made during my debut, my lack of results and the constant tide of events in the imperial court had done damage to their faith in me.

It had done damage to my faith, as well. Three months, and all I’d managed to do was kill a bunch of priests and ruin two friendships. Why had I bothered coming back to all of this?

I caught a glimpse of Vander’s face out of the corner of my vision. It remained taut with anger, his hand clenched into a fist near his sword. He hadn’t taken his eyes off me.

I had made another enemy, after all. I shouldn’t have mentioned his father.

I caught movement from the other side of the chamber. Two figures had slotted themselves into a space among the dignitaries, causing a small disturbance.

They were both young, with dark brown hair and pale skin, a pair of twins. The brother was lanky, gaunt cheeked, with feverish eyes which never rested on any one thing for long. He wore his hair down to his shoulders, had an ashen complexion, and looked older than he was. He wore simple clothes, a tunic and breeches, with an unadorned sword at his hip.

The sister, in contrast, had a classically pretty face, with lighter hair fashioned into twin coils above her ears. She wore a dress of burgundy and bright red, with tightly fit sleeves and a frilled collar. Much more the aristo than her brother.

I knew them both, though I hadn’t seen them more than a handful of times since they’d arrived in the city. Hyperia Vyke, the Princess of Talsyn, caught my eye and tossed me a pleasant smile.

My blood went cold.