Oathbreaker ch 9.33 - Plot, Prey (Patreon)

I lay in Tarik’s bed the next morning and watched him sleep, wondering at my own actions.

The previous day had been a flurry of rapid — if calculated — decisions, and I’d taken what opportunities presented themselves. I’d not exactly expected to play my role so literally, at least not on the very first day, but it had been some time since I’d indulged my lust, and it was… exciting, to be back in the game.

I’d felt good yesterday. Sharp, decisive. Almost young again.

Tarik stirred next to me and mumbled. I ran a hand along his bare back, eliciting a shiver. He had dried blood on his skin. I’d been a bit rough.

I guessed the time with a glance at the window. It was late morning, and my guardsman was probably late for duty. I leant down to press my lips to his neck, then whispered the same word into his ear that I’d used to summon the dead man the night before.

“Wake.”

And he did, his eyes blinking open as though he’d woken simply by the nature of his own body. He saw me and smiled. “I wasn’t sure you’d still be here,” he mumbled. “Last night… it felt like a dream.”

His expression changed as he began to remember more about our night together. Uncertainty inked through the joy.

I returned the smile and brushed his dark hair back, distracting him before he remembered too much. “It’s nearly noon.”

He blinked again and the darkness behind his eyes scattered like morning fog. “Shit. I’ll be lashed.”

He started to get out of the bed, but I caught him and pressed my mouth to his. The Kiss lasted long enough to leave him breathless and shivering. When we broke apart, his gaze was faraway and glassy. I murmured into his lips.

“There’s something I need you to do for me.”

That second day mostly consisted of wandering and listening. I sent my shadows out with orders to watch certain locations and report back. One went to the inn where Margret’s husband was supposed to be, and another kept watch on the Knight-Regent’s fort. I moved through various taverns and inns, and malingered at the markets. I ate an apple and stared at the High Cathedral on its high hill.

In the early afternoon, I met with Margret at the inn she’d picked out. It was a modest place, but comfortable, and the woman was near out of her skin with worry.

“Where did you go off to?!” She demanded. “I needed…”

She was too proud to say help or comfort.

I took her by the wrist and held it. “I went to the inn in your letter and got a message through. If your husband is still in the city and free, he should be there tonight.”

Her face flushed with hope. “Oh, then I must—”

“You are going to stay away and keep your head down,” I told her sternly. At her angry look, I made my voice softer. “Listen, Margret, this city is a very dangerous place. There’s every chance that either the Knight-Regent or the Curia — likely both — are looking for your husband. I’ll be at the inn tonight, and then we’ll know more.”

She shook her head stubbornly, but she’d seen Egon killed the previous day just as I did. Her shoulders slumped.

“Think of your children,” I reminded her. “Focus on protecting them.”

“What about money?” Her voice had a whine in it, and she winced. “I mean… I can’t be a beggar with a baby and two little boys. I just can’t.”

Many in the city were, but I nodded sympathetically. “I’d suggest looking for work. I’ll see what I can do in the meantime.”

Margret pursed her lips. “I helped my husband keep accounts. I’m good with numbers… maybe one of the inns needs help?”

“There’s one more thing,” I said before I went. “Do you have a mirror?”

My next step was investigating more about the people who’d been killed the previous day, and why. Their ghosts weren’t much help in that regard, capable of only limited communication as they were. Tarik and his friends had known little, but it seemed that the Knight-Regent was being harsh on dissenting voices. I wanted to investigate him and the clericon who’d led the execution, but both the fortress and the cathedral were too risky to poke at just yet.

But I did gather plenty of information, because Harkres was a large city and people talk, and because I was good at this.

The woman, the alcrra, had been no whore at all, but a wealthy citizen who’d been found to be paying minor servants of the Curia to spy for her and discover why people were going into the cathedral and not coming back out. At least one of the dead monks had been just such an informant. She’d been a friend of the old archcurate, and perhaps more than a friend.

The nobles of Harkres were a decayed breed, but powerful, kept appeased by the theocracy for their wealth. Most of their strength lay in the countryside, where they maintained estates and castles and did their part in the ebb and flow of war against the Murk. The noblewoman, the alcrra, had been the aunt of a feudal lord based in the valleys in the southern basin, with estates in the city. She was someone, and publicly executing her seemed an incredibly foolish thing for the theocracy to do. Indeed, the woman’s ghost had been terribly confused by it, like a child whose worldview was suddenly shattered.

I was less surprised. A demon lay behind the priests of Harkres, and demons do not make politically safe decisions. It would seek to break down the social order, to turn the country against itself and make it a reflection of its own cannibalistic spirit.

I knew its mind, because in many ways we shared the same mind.

There was only so much snooping I could do in a day. Evening drew its curtain across the north, and I went to the inn where Margret and her children were supposed to make their debut in the city. It was called the King’s Gambit, and it was indeed an upscale place. Practically a mansion worthy of most lords. The building had a prime spot on one of the shallow hills scattered about the city. White stone, four stories, it had its own outer wall and a large stable like the wealthiest country inns. A statue of a white lion with an upraised sword in a human fist guarded the entrance.

I stood a minute staring at it before entering, wondering at the past.

The King’s Gambit was not the kind of place that allowed Oroi vagrants in with little more than curious stares. There was a bouncer at the entrance, which had been where I’d stopped last time, having passed my letter and instructions to him. This time he gave me no trouble, for I wore the fine burgundy dress and the coiled braids of a Bant matron.

The interior was as lavish as the exterior, with large windows to allow air to flow freely and cool the space. Everything was white limestone and yellow brick, and most guests stood at plinths or sat on fine rugs. I stood more than half an hour in the common room before he appeared. I heard a sharp intake of breath, turned, and there stood a handsome man with the brown-gray hair common in the Marchlands. He was tall and well-built, which seemed at odds with his clerical robes. The thick beard on his face looked more like a warrior’s than a scholar’s, and his large hands were stained with ink as well as callouses. His blue eyes were intelligent.

“Margret,” he gasped like a man who’d just had water after a long march in the desert. Then he advanced on me, swept me in a strong embrace, and kissed me hard.

That was a passionate kiss, completely uncaring of all witnesses, full of relief and love. I leaned into it. I couldn’t help myself. To a succubus, to a spirit of lust and bottomless want, it was like the ambrosia of the gods and fresh air and vindicating violence all at once.

It satisfied something deep in me, because I’d stolen it from the woman it was meant for. It did more to sate my hunger than a thousand Tariks, for his kisses had been solely about thoughtless lust. And it made the black well of me wider and deeper, and for a moment I hated Margret more than I’d ever hated anything.

When Geoff pulled back, he was out of breath and blushing. “My.”

I’d interacted with Margret often enough by then to mimic her mannerisms, at least at a surface level. “Sorry, love. I’ve missed you. It was… a very hard journey.”

He winced. “I know. I had no idea it would be so bad when I left Ukkerholn.” His face changed and he gripped my shoulders. “The children, are they—”

“Safe,” I assured him. “I hired a maid at another place to look after them.”

He was shaking his head. “Why didn’t you just come here?”

I pretended at the same fear I’d observed in Margret since our arrival. “When we arrived… oh, love, it was terrible! I saw Egon. They burned him.”

Geoff’s face darkened. “Yes… I am very sorry you had to see that.”

Behind Margret’s earnest and worried mask, my true self narrowed her eyes. He did not seem particularly horrified, or sorry.

“Listen, my love…” His grip on my shoulders became firmer. “This is a very dangerous place.”

“I thought we came here to escape the danger.” I made Margret’s face scrunch up with worry.

“That’s just it. Listen, there’s much I need to tell you, but we can’t speak here. There are too many eyes on me, and what Egon did… he acted foolishly, Margret, and it’s caused me some trouble. I’m safe enough for now, but we have to be careful. Where are the children?”

Margret wouldn’t have hesitated. I gave him the name of the other inn, and committed to speaking with the woman before Geoff could.

He nodded. “That was well done. Very well done. Good thinking, my love.”

Something caught his attention. The inn was becoming more crowded as the night aged. He narrowed his eyes, suddenly distracted, and he leaned closer to speak in a lower register. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stay here long. Keep the children where they are for now. I’ll send for you soon.”

I needed more information. In Margret’s voice I said, with panic, “No, you can’t just leave me! Geoff, I lost almost everything on the journey. The wagon, the mules, the money…”

“Your ring?” He lifted my left hand.

I hesitated. Had Margret had a ring?

Aloud I said, “It was hard, Geoff. I did what I had to.”

He sighed and nodded. “It’s alright. It’s just a thing. The fact you all made it is in itself a miracle. I didn’t think things would get so bad when I left a year ago. Now go back to your inn. I’ll send for you soon.”

I protested again, but he left me there and vanished into the crowd. Obviously following someone.

A forked tongue flicked out of my lips, but I suppressed my frustration and retreated out the front door. At the same time, I ordered the shadow I’d set to guard the inn to give chase. Not to Geoff, but to the one he hunted.

The moment I was out of sight, I shucked off the modest dress. I wore my long tunic under it, which had an open back for just this purpose. I released my wings, letting them burst from my flesh like blooming flowers of sinew, keratin, and strong demonic muscle. The aching pain of it made me moan in relief — it had been a long while since I’d stretched them.

I took to the nighttime sky. It was a rare overcast night on the plains, but the keythongs kept by the Harkresian Guard were as nocturnal as the lions they’d been spliced from and I needed to be cautious of them. From a distance, my wings would look all too similar to those of a wyvern or drakonet.

I wrapped myself in darkness, so I blended with the sky in the same way some exotic frogs do with leaves. With a birds eye view of the streets, I listened to reports from my shadows. After a moment of deliberation, I pulled one of the others back to help, the one watching the Knight-Regent’s fort.

I caught sight of Geoff half a block away from the inn. He was distinct, with his dark gray hair and black Curia robes. He navigated through narrow side streets and alleys, clearly trying to avoid notice.

Who are you chasing, priest? I flapped once, then dove like the very falcon said to guard over this land, swooping low over the buildings and alighting on the rooftop of a temple two blocks ahead of Geoff. It was tall enough to give me a good view of my surroundings. The priest’s quarry appeared mere seconds after I found my vantage point, darting from an alley and crossing the street with furtive steps. He was another priest, with a shape to his robes that suggested at a rounder physique, a cowl obscuring his features.

I tracked his direction. The streets wound dramatically, but if my guess was right then he seemed to be heading for the great hill with the cathedral at its top. There were no other notable landmarks in the direction he headed.

My tongue tasted the air, then I dove. At the same time, one of my shadows accosted the hooded priest in a small square. It took the shape of a sketchy black figure, a living shadow peeled from the surface of the world to walk its air like dark mist. Vaguely humanoid, though its form stretched oddly and shifted like liquid. In that moment, it sported long claws and emitted indistinct sounds that combined the quality of human voices whispering and night insects singing.

They were not ghosts, though I’d used ghosts to craft them. They were impressions of pain, psychic emanations given tangible shape by my will. In truth, they were extensions of me, and given enough time would take on my likeness and mannerisms. But just then they weren’t that far astray from the burnt innocents they’d been made from, and their hatred boiled from them like heat.

The hooded priest gasped and recoiled from the scadudemon. He spun about to flee back the way he came, and then I landed right in front of him.

“Boo,” I said.

“Shit!” He tripped over his own robes and fell back. He was a young man, perhaps twenty-five, and had the more typical look of a sedentary profession, fleshy and red-faced from exertion. I could smell his terror in the sweat on his skin and hear it in his drumming blood.

Really, he was quite cute. His fear made me want to eat him right up.

“In a hurry to go somewhere, my sweet?” I asked him and took a step forward. I still wore the form of a thirty-something Bant woman, only my skin had taken on the gray-lavender coloring of my succubus form, with the great muscled wings and the eyes that were like embers of molten copper set in shadowed whites. In the dark square, my lambent pupils would glow like coals.

The priest stammered. “D-d-d—”

“If one more person calls me a devil, I’m going to become cross.” Just then, the sound of another entering the square made me glance back. Geoff came to a sudden halt as he saw the scene, breathing hard and sweating in the summer air. When he saw my face — his wife’s face — his eyes widened in shock.

“Margret?” But then he took in other details. The gray tint of my flesh, the massive clawed wings, and his expression darkened.

“I told you it was a hard journey,” I said in Margret’s weary, nervous voice. “I had to do some bad things.”

The priest’s face almost writhed with fury. “Abgrûdai. Where is my wife?!”

“Alive and missing you,” I said, and heard the resentment in my own voice.

“If you’ve done anything to hurt them…”

I was spared more tedious cliché when the younger priest tried to escape. He scrambled to his feet and made for the edge of the square, but my shadow caught him up. It took on the shape of a wolf and snapped at his legs, causing him to yelp and stumble back. I willed the second spirit to keep hidden, wanting an ace up my sleeve in case things spun out of my control.

“They are here in the city, unharmed, and unaware that you have told them some very dangerous lies.” I approached the struggling priest and called the scadu off with a flick of my wrist. The man had long scratches on his left arm, which he held with his other hand. He whimpered when he saw me.

Then he pulled out an amulet and cast something. I felt the draw of power, his aura reshaping itself as he muttered ritual words. The prayer was in High Oroionic — in this, the Argenites shared custom with the Aureates. The invocation sizzled against my skin and I suddenly felt as though I pressed against a surface of glassy heat. The man was terrified, had acted in haste, and his will wasn’t particularly strong. It still hurt.

Enraged, I beat my wings once and exerted my own will. The man let out a cry of pain as his amulet, a silver feather from his god’s own wing, suddenly grew hot in his hand. Had he been properly prepared to face demons, he would have held it and accepted the scars, but it fell from his scorched fingers.

I kept advancing as he backed up, avoiding stepping on the smoking feather — that had real power — and then my tail-serpent emerged and snapped at the priest. He cringed back and whimpered.

“Stop!” A voice behind me ordered.

I paused and glanced back at Geoff, annoyed. “Weren’t you trying to catch him? If you don’t want the help, all you had to do was say so.”

In answer, he produced his own sacred amulet. His was made of gold, and it bore the drawn bow shape of the God-Queen’s own rune — the Auremark.

I hissed and brought my wings in defensively. “You don’t want this fight, priest.”

“I know why you’re here.” His voice had deepened as he drew on his own power, taking on a brassy quality and echoing like he had metal cords in his throat. “Trying to silence your spy before I get answers from him? Well, you won’t have him, demon. I know the thing you serve, and I know how to banish it. You will barely be a warmup.”

I’ll admit, though it was trite bravado, the very real power I sensed in him and his stern confidence gave me pause. It also turned me on, just a little.

His words also gave me pause, and I reordered some theories in my mind. “You are fighting the thing in the cathedral?”

“I will destroy your master,” Geoff growled.

“Ah.” I pursed my lips, annoyed that my guess had been fully off. I’d been certain he was actually in league with Ammatán’s cult. Bother.

“My master is Harmodian Abrax of Ember,” I told him. “And I am also here to see the demon in Harkres brought down.”

“Master Harmodian?” He frowned deeply, causing his handsome beard to shift. “You serve the great wizard of the Ember Campanile?”

“I teach there, actually, but I fear if I don’t do little errands like this on occasion then I might lose my pension.” I gestured to the fallen priest. “Now, do you mind? I can let you ask your questions first, if you prefer.”

He considered, his amulet still extended and glowing with a white-gold sheen.

I sighed in exasperation. “Or we can stand here until the watch arrives and put us both up on pikes! Well, put you up. I’ll just shapeshift and escape, and it will be very embarrassing for you.”

Just in that moment, the scadu I’d left in reserve died. It happened with startling suddenness, like a candle flame blown out in a freak gust.

“We’re under attack,” I said in a flat voice.

Nearly on the tail of those words, something entered the alley. It moved fast, and eerily silent, its entrance betrayed only by a subtle shift of wind and a low keening noise.

I reacted, only doing so in time because of the death of my sentry, snarling a tangle of words in Anathema Kandaric. My left wing snapped out. Abyssal flames, bile green and blood red, whipped out in a long line between the oncoming attack and Geoff, who was its target.

The attacker — it was a plume of silver fire, shapeless, somehow as much metal as light, like combusting mercury — let out a terrific screech as it turned away from my wall of demon-fire, following along the edge of its arc. I focused, clenching my fingers into a clawing gesture and lifting the arm up. The same abyssal flames flickered along my fingers. The wall rose, flaring brightly, and the creature of burning silver fell back from it.

The thing took on a more distinct shape. I could make out long arms, bright eyes like glass hate, a darkness inside the veil of silver fire.

My wall abated, and Geoff lowered his arm and saw the thing as well. His eyes widened. “That’s…”

I let a smile curl the edge of my lip. “Family.”