Oathbreaker ch. 10.8 - Idle Days (Patreon)

As it turned out, we did not dine with the Empress that night. That day passed, and another, and the Harvestrest festival and the Empress’s grand feast drew closer. On the seventhday  after my lance’s return from Osheim I gathered the group together at the same secluded grove where I’d listened to Tzanith tell me stories of the past.

Summer was fast fading and even beneath the afternoon sun the air felt crisp, but we gathered beneath the high cliffs in light clothing. I formed a triangle in the most open section of grass, with Emma to my left and Hendry to my right. Emma was lean and slender in a white man’s shirt and gray chausses over braies like a soldier, while Hendry stood tall and burly in a short tunic and hose. I wore a sleeveless black shirt and braccae, and Vicar lay on my shoulders. None of us wore shoes.

“You’re both excellent fighters,” I told them. “Emma, you have skill and finesse, not to mention that your Blood Art is a versatile weapon that gives you a plethora of options any common fighter would struggle to adapt to. Hendry, you’re strong as a bull and durable, and faster than most people will expect.”

“Did you just bring us out here for praise, or are we fighting?” Emma spoke in a lazy drawl. “You’re making me blush.”

She twirled her heirloom sword. It was a long, slender blade with a single cutting edge, the ornate hilt worked with gold and a horned hawk clutching a ruby at the guard. Hendry used a shield and a hammer, a simple bludgeon with a square head and a sharp spike on one end, not unlike the kind a blacksmith might wield.

I rested my axe on my right shoulder and raised my eyebrows. “Well then, if you’re so impatient.”

I beckoned with my free hand. Lisette stood on a shallow hill near the stream, wringing her hands as she prepared to deal with any injuries. Penric reclined in the sun on the slope beneath her, legs crossed and hat tipped down to shadow his false eyes. Tzanith sat next to the old archer with her legs lain sidelong in the grass, like any court handmaiden taking a day in the sun. She leaned over and whispered something into his ear and he laughed.

Emma took a low guard. Hendry twirled his hammer and lifted his shield. My axe came up above my head, my right hand near the heavy black wedge of the blade and my left towards the bottom. They moved to surround me, Emma shifting to my left and Hendry stalking to my right. Again, his hammer cut the air with a heavy thrumming sound.

“This hardly seems fair,” Emma mocked. “Two young souls like us against two tired old men?”

“Old?!” I scoffed. “I’m still in my prime!”

“We’ll see.” Her amber eyes flicked past me. I heard heavy, swift steps beating the grass.

Hendry let out a bellow as he charged. He took a leap at the end of his run, putting the whole force of his speed and not inconsiderable weight behind a powerful downward swing with the hammer. It was faster than I expected, and I barely shifted back in time to avoid an imploded skull. The hammer hit the ground with a force that sent a tremor through it.

I made a small sound of surprise even as Hendry leapt up and forward, a clump of dirt and grass still stuck to the head of his weapon as he propelled himself off the ground to ram me with the shield. My axe was already up, but he moved into my reach so I had no room to swing and forced me back.

I sensed more than saw Emma move in to take advantage of the distraction Hendry provided. She was fast as a hare over the grass and nearly as silent, her thin sword hissing through the air as it swung. Her blade slid off the edge of my axe as I spun it behind my back, carrying the motion right to left and slapping Hendry’s second blow aside with the haft and striking him in the jaw. It felt and sounded like striking an anvil. I ducked into the move as he was put off balance, sidestepping and sliding from between both of my opponents as I caught Hendry’s ankle with the back of my axe-head, ripping his leg out from under him.

Emma and I traded several blows. She lacked my strength or weight, but her sword seemed to be everywhere. Her inability to finesse her way through my guard clearly frustrated her, and as she began to sweat and grit her teeth I felt a shiver in the air, a charge like the moments before lightning struck. We came near the edge of the stream, the gentle gurgle of the water forming an oddly peaceful counter to the clash of steel.

I knew the moment when her Art manifested. That sense of energy suddenly spiked, the hairs on my arms and neck standing on end. Emma leapt back, and a piercing scream like the shriek of a banshee and screeching metal together slapped the air. Spikes erupted from the ground, scarlet-red and barbed, shimmering with auratic energy. None hit me, but they emerged from almost directly underneath my feet and formed a cage. Any movement, and I’d be flayed by a score or more crackling, razor-sharp teeth.

Again I heard the heavy pounding of Hendry’s iron stride. I saw him coming out of the corner of my vision at a dead sprint, his hammer winding back for a swing as I stood trapped by the Shrike spears. Emma was doing something else, muttering under her breath and flexing and unflexing her fingers as she wove more magic. Blood dripped from a cut on her right hand, and wherever those droplets struck the grass they crackled with lines of red lightning, new seeds ready to sprout.

Vicar twisted on my shoulders and spat fire at him. It wasn’t a large plume, but the flash of light and wave of heat made Hendry flinch and falter. At the same time, I swiped my axe across Emma’s phantasms and broke them with a surge of both physical and auratic will, then stomped flat on the ground. Pale golden flames licked around my right foot, cascading up my body and condensing around my left arm, covering it up to the shoulder. The flames formed spiked armor of white-gold light, nearly solid and brighter than the scattered beams of daylight that broke through the canopy.

I used the auratic armor to block Hendry’s hammer blow. The impact still carried through, enough to hurt but not enough to break my arm, and the armor of light scattered like shards of glass. Flames licked across Hendry’s weapon and he recoiled from the backblast. I slammed my axe into his shield, splitting it down the center and then kicking him. He all but flew back, and I left the axe embedded in his broken shield. I replaced the weapon with an aurespear, summoning two so I held the phantasmal lances in both hands. Then, turning just as the phantom wind of my Art took me, I shot forward with the speed and force of a cannonball directly at Emma.

It happened fast, the world blurring past me as the mage-wind propelled me forward in something halfway between a slide and flying. Emma’s eyes widened, and she jumped back even as she brought up an entire cluster of Shrike-spears to stall my advance.

I stopped just before slamming into her, having spaced the tunnel carefully. Emma’s neck lay directly between the crossed blades of the spears.

“I surrender?” She said.

Hendry groaned behind me. Up on the slope, Penric boo’d and Tzanith clapped.

I dismissed the spears and waited for Hendry to find his feet and join us. He’d discarded his broken shield and offered me my axe, which I took with a nod.

Emma had decided to be angry by that point. “What in all the pits of hell? Did you bring us out here to train or was this some kind of hazing?”

Hendry was favoring his left arm. “Emma, you did use Art first—”

“I know, I know!” She waved him off and glared at me. Her anger came and went like spring wind, and she’d already transitioned into calculation. “You’ve grown a lot stronger. That was four Arts all done in sequence. I can barely concentrate enough to do two at once, three if I’m alright with bleeding out of my ears afterwards…”

It had actually been five, but I tended to be cautious about the girl’s ego, which could be thorny. “I wasn’t trying to shame either of you. That was some excellent teamwork, but there’s room for improvement. Hendry, you’re too cautious.”

Hendry frowned. “I meant to be aggressive.”

Vicar explained. “You are all but immune to fire thanks to the Orkaelin iron in you, possibly even more so than Alken is. There was no reason to flinch from my breath.”

The young knight folded his arms and shifted uncomfortably.

“As for you…” Vicar’s coal-fire eyes drifted to Emma. “You rely too heavily on your traps and tricks. Your Art is not meant for deception, but to dominate a battlefield and terrify your enemies. Carreon lords in past centuries could devastate entire regiments of soldiers. You resist the power in your blood, and it has grown stagnant and weak in you.”

Emma only sniffed and lifted her chin, but I could tell the devil had stung her.

“You’re going to continue facing enemies who are as strong as me or even stronger,” I told both of them. “That was me holding back. What are either one of you going to do if you come up against a demon again, like Yith, or against a Scorchknight? There are foes that will overwhelm you with sheer power. You either need to bring yourself to their measure or stay out of their way. You’re both skilled and you fight well together, but you won’t always be able to rely on me to handle the heavyweights. Do you understand?”

“I do,” Hendry said soberly.

“So morbid,” Emma added, though she was studying her blade thoughtfully and I knew she heard me.

The others had joined us by that point. Tzanith gave me a small smile, and I sensed she understood my intent.

“Perhaps next time they can face me?” She offered. “I am not so mighty as an Alder Knight, but there are magics my people possess that they should learn to contend with.”

I nodded, liking the idea. Tzanith had fought with me against Evangeline’s vampires, and she was no wilting flower. “That’s a good idea. You all should learn how to handle glamour.”

“You used some techniques I haven’t seen before,” Lisette said, changing the subject. “You’re starting to master them again?”

I flexed the fingers of my left hand, which still felt uncomfortably warm from their brief time encased in nearly solid aura. “It comes and goes. I have to meditate every day to commune with the ghosts in me, and they’re not all cooperative… but I’ve managed to pull some new shapes out and add them to the arsenal.”

“Have you named any of your new Arts yet?” Tzanith asked. “My father always told me that naming something makes it more real. That’s important when it comes to phantasm.”

“I know how Art works,” I said, feeling defensive.

Emma leaned over Lisette’s shoulder and stage whispered. “You notice how he’s always put out when someone else is the pedantic one? That’s men for you.”

Lisette stifled a giggle behind her hand. Hendry folded his arms and tilted his head curiously at me. I hesitated.

A sly smile wormed its way across Emma’s lips. “Come now, don’t be shy! Tell us what you’ve named your fancy new tricks.”

“The armor is still a work in progress,” I admitted. “I can really only form it in bits and pieces and it’s still too fragile to—”

Penric mimed yawning. “We don’t care how it works! What’s its name.”

“I’ve only really called it anything in my head!” I snapped. “And… I’ve been calling it Knight’s Panoply.”

Emma looked disappointed. “That’s so… generic.”

“It is a bit bland,” Hendry agreed. “And I feel like someone’s already taken that, surely.”

“What about Shining Aegis?” Lisette suggested.

“Nah,” Hendry said. “There are half a hundred Arts with aegis in the name, that doesn’t make it better.”

“If we’re all done critiquing my magics,” I said dryly, “perhaps we can get back to training?”

They went off to spar, Lisette and Penric joining them this time. Tzanith lingered at my side and watched the group as they chatted and joked.

“They’re good for you,” she told me quietly. “They soften something in your heart.”

“Yeah, I guess. Pain in the ass, though.” I felt her looking at me. “What is it?”

“You’re worried about something,” the elf said.

“I’m always worried about something.” After a pause I admitted, “It’s those wizards. Rosanna has been roomed up with them since they arrived, talking.”

“And you don’t trust them,” Tzanith observed.

“…No.” I blew out a breath. “It’s too convenient. I’ve spent endless hours trying to find a way to help the prince, and they just come in with their seals and hypnosis and provide the answer?”

“I agree.”

I turned to her in surprise. “You do? I was hoping you’d tell me I was being paranoid, or jealous.”

I could admit to either fault.

“My people have never fully trusted the Magi,” Tzanith told me soberly. “They hold more power and knowledge than any other mortal by the very nature of their powers. That breeds conceit. The only reason they do not rule you is because Tuvon and Aureia put weights on their wrists. Never forget that.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better, Tzan.” I glanced at the position of the sun and cursed. “I have to go now, or I’ll be late.”

“Ah.” Tzanith’s expression closed. “Go. I’ll keep watch on the lance.”

I turned to go, but she spoke before I’d gone far. “Alken?” When I turned to face her, the elf’s expression was serious. “Have you been dreaming of late?”

I hesitated. Vicar, who knew the answer, kept his silence.

Lying didn’t burn my tongue anymore, but I still shied from it. Instead, I faced the castle and left Tzanith in the grove without an answer.

“This pandemain is excellent,” Myrice said in the odd lisping accent her clan all seemed to have. “What’s in it?”

I wasn’t sure if she was asking me the question or the servants standing at attention by our table, but to my relief the chief server answered. “My lady. The cook used Cymrinorean ginger, kavac honey, and a cream made from the milk of cattlewurms bred right here in the Karledale. If I may, it goes exquisitely with the hypocras.”

“Hm.” Myrice’s green eyes gleamed with something like lust. “You Karlesians do know how to treat your guests. I’m also enamored with this pike. What about you, my lord? Enjoying the fish?”

I set my fork down and hid a cough. “It’s good. The Pinnacle’s cooks are artists.”

“Artists!” Myrice lifted her wine in a toast. “Now that’s a tasteful compliment, my lord. I agree. They are artists.”

In truth, I’d always considered Karlesian cuisine overcomplicated and overflavored. I preferred the simpler and more abundant dishes of my youth in the Herding. Back home, we’d enjoyed plentiful and filling foods, the sort of thing you could stuff yourself with.

We ate a time with light conversation, which mostly meant Myrice chatting and me answering when a direct question was asked. It was obvious she was trying to engage me, but I felt awkward and uncomfortable in my too-tight doublet and bright stockings, like an ogre who’d been dressed up for a party, trapped in the wrong clothes and put on display.

For her part, Myrice seemed as comfortable in a dress of green silk as she did in her war panoply. The outfit left one tan shoulder bare, showing off her own lean muscle, as well as exposing one breast. That wasn’t considered especially salacious among the nobility in this kind of setting, but part of me was still a country boy from the Herding and it was hard not to notice. An elaborate headdress bound her dark hair in twisted coils, with chain links of fine gold that fell about her cheeks and brow. The whole effect was exotic, something I’d expect to see in outlandish art from the far west.

I ate quietly, not really tasting the food, while Myrice watched me over the long table. She took a sip of hypocras. I realized I’d finished the course and didn’t have anything to occupy my mouth anymore. Karlesians were frugal folk, and they rarely made more food than a diner was expected to eat.

“So,” I said, knowing that I should say something. “What does your family think about you being on the Empress’s council? It must be a great honor.”

I knew I’d made a mistake, because she scowled into her wine. “What do they think? Well, my older brother called me a blood traitor and an Accord lapdog. My sisters told me I’d been defanged, and my mother…” She trailed off and sighed. “Family, you know? They can be difficult.”

“House Gorgon isn’t happy about how things have gone,” I guessed.

“No. They wanted Rhan Harrower and Hasur Vyke to win so they could go back to sacrificing peasants to the Sthenai and having orgies. No matter that my relatives seem to think living in some barbarous hell wouldn’t be incredibly dull. I like fighting, but I also like good food and pretty dresses.” She jabbed the air with her eating knife. “Our ancestors lived in caves, did you know that? We had to hide from the world because we were serpent-marked, and we were inbred like you wouldn’t believe in the bargain. No, thank you, I quite like being a knight, wearing good armor and good clothes, having people call me lady or ser and getting to fuck men who aren’t my brothers or cousins.”

She saw my expression and wilted a bit. “Too much? This is probably why that Braeve didn’t want to take me to wife. Always running my mouth, my sisters like to say.”

“Vander Braeve didn’t want to marry you because your family did him a great wrong,” I reminded her. “I don’t think it was personal. Or, it was very personal, but not to you.”

The Gorgon sketched a strained smile. “I suppose that was meant to be comforting. You have a way with words, my lord.”

I shrugged, unsure what to say. Myrice watched me with what might have been either annoyance or interest.

“So, who is it?” She asked.

The servants had all departed by then, leaving us in privacy. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“You’re squirming like a prisoner,” she said blandly. “I can tell you’re not burning with desire for me. Don’t worry, I don’t take offense. So who is it you’d rather be dining with? You and that elf seem close.”

She spoke lightly, but she was staring into her wine and there was tension in her jaw. I settled my hands on the table.

“It’s not like that,” I said. “Tzanith and I went through some things together earlier this year, that’s all.”

“Hm.” Myrice sipped more hypocras.

She is attractive, I thought. And much younger than me. Not that anyone could tell, since I didn’t look my own age thanks to my powers. Myrice was in her mid twenties, athletic and confident, and she was clearly trying to make this work while I was being a bore. I could feel her frustration through our stilted conversation.

“That’s surprising,” she said. “Every male in the court has been staring after that pixie’s fluttering wings. Do you prefer men, then?”

Was that a genuine question, or is she trying to make me angry? I kept my tone bland as hers. “No.”

“I heard rumors the Empress’s old magister did,” Myrice said. “Even some rumors that you and he might have... well. It’s not a problem to me, you know. Get me with child two or three times and then we can both do as we please.”

I shook my head in exasperation. “You Houseborn. How can you think like that?”

She shrugged. “I forget you were raised to the nobility. Marrying for love is a nice fairy tale, but it never really happens. We may as well be adults about this. So let’s level, my lord. I am willing to provide you the full backing of my House once I’ve taken the Serpenthead Throne. With your support as my consort, and the Empress’s patronage, I can do it.”

So much for a romantic dinner and seeing if we actually like each other, I thought glumly. Aloud I said, “You want to take control of your House?”

Myrice’s eyes glittered in the candlelight. Her pupils were slitted, and there was a light in them that gave them an amber hue at the center of dark green irises. She could project aura from her eyes just as I could. “Yes, and you want that as well. My relatives are still Recusant in their hearts, Lord Headsman, but I would see us as full adherents to the Accord. It’s a good deal for all involved.”

Before I could reply, the door burst open. A young boy rushed in, sweating from a long run up many steps.

“What is it?” Myrice snapped.

It was my Basil, my borrowed page. The boy quailed, and blushed at the sight of Myrice’s bare tit.

“It’s alright, lad.” I nodded for him to speak.

“It’s…” he had to take a moment to swallow and catch his breath. He was a little afraid of me, and more than a little afraid of the Gorgon. “It’s the Emperor. There’s news from the north.”

Myrice and I looked at one another, and her sudden concern mirrored mine.

“What news?” I asked.

Basil wasn’t just pale from exertion and embarrassment at interrupting our dinner. There was fear there.

“The Gorelion has attacked Isengotta. The Emperor is under siege.”