Oathbreaker: The Knight's Tale (15 page)

When I finished, Paul told me he understood, and gestured Toren to the door.

Toren said, “If you need anything, call out, all right?”

“You won’t hear me, Toren. You’re going too far for that. I’ll be fine.”

They left, and I stared at the ceiling for some time before heaving myself from bed with the aid of my staff. I sat dozing by the fire, waiting for evening to come, and let my mind wander through the various plans I’d laid, and at some point I fell asleep.

After the two came back that night and Paul returned to his cottage, Toren sat with me for a bit quietly, both of us in chairs in front of the fire. After a few minutes, he spoke.

“I've had time to think,” he said. “And I'm going to stay. I've no purpose now, but if you'll have me, I'll stay. I don't know what you're making there or what you're doing in your cave, and I don't want to know. Not right now. But in time, I might want to help. Will you have me?”

“Better with us than against us, sir.”

He grinned with relief and leaned back into his chair. The firelight danced on his face.

After that day, we established a new routine: Paul arrived in the morning, he and Toren fed the sheep and cleaned the barn so the sheep runoff didn’t turn noxious, and as the snow melted, started taking them out to the pastures. Paul went up to the eastern hills, leaving Toren with the usual western spots. Toren knew to fetch the boy if anything went amiss. And me, I stayed indoors with the fire and let my mind wander. It stayed this way until the snows melted in two months, and I was able to hobble out to the barn with the aid of my staff.

At last, as spring was in full flower, Vedru came by and told me that I was allowed to do work in the immediate area, but to leave the long walks for the other men for at least another month or two. But Paul told me that Toren was likely able to handle the flock by himself, and so I let the boy get back to his pursuits. Once he'd finished stowing the gear, there was nothing I really needed to look after in my caves right now.

That same day, as I stood winded atop the small hill near my cottage, my leg afire from my exertions and sweat running into my eyes, I looked down on the main road and saw a pair of riders on gray horses galloping at top speed toward Dunlop. I caught my breath and limped carefully down the hill to my cottage. I was there for perhaps thirty minutes when Paul came tearing to my door. I rose from my sturdy old chair to greet him, but he waved me down, caught his breath, and gasped. When at last he could breathe, he said, “The king's been attacked!”

“What happened? Do you know?” I had expected this day since Glasyin had revealed himself.

“Two post riders came to town on horses near dead, told the mayor the news, and tore south on fresh horses from the post.”

“How did it happen?”

“Mayor says that it was one of the King’s Chosen who did it.” His voice was awed and quiet.

“Did they catch the one responsible?”

“No. They say he slaughtered the king’s kids, escaped, and set Terona on fire before he left. The knighthood is looking for him, and they say that the magi are, too, and they'll be combing the country to find him. The queen fled the city, they say, and they don’t know where she is either.”

“Did they tell the mayor who’s going to rule now?”

“I heard that it was a duke. I don’t remember his name. They said it was just until the king got better or they figured out the succession.”

“Thank you, Paul.”

He left, and I sat and massaged my leg and stared into the fire and thought dark thoughts about the projects I had brewing in my sheds and how that work looked like it had all gone to waste now.

When Toren put the sheep in that night, I made my way to the barn and said, “Nice day out today, aye?”

“Nice enough, I’d say. The snow has melted from the pastures, and the fields are coming in well.”

“Think the sheep are ready to leave the barn for forage?”

“I’d think so.”

“Good, good. Toren, have a seat. You'll want to sit.”

His face closed, guarded, he sat. “Yes?”

“You claimed the king as your friend, some months ago. News today has it that he has been severely wounded.”

It had been a long time since I’d seen someone keep such perfect control. His voice and hands shook only slightly as he said, “How?”

“One of the King’s Chosen, they say. The queen has disappeared, and one of the nobles is claiming the crown… temporarily, of course, to keep order.” I don’t think I was successful in keeping the cynicism out my voice, but I don’t think he noticed.

“So it's started,” he said. “We should be on the watch for assassins. If they had the audacity to kill the king, what paltry thing would it be for them to come for me?”

“I said wounded, not dead. And who is
they
? I said it was one of the King’s Chosen who did it, not a group of them.”

The look he turned on me was pitying. “This is a conspiracy, and the conspirators will be rewarded with an empire. I think he's dead, and they're holding the announcement to let Duke Athedon settle comfortably into the regency, to preserve appearances. If the king isn’t dead, it’s only because they need to show him to the crowd and let him name his successor publicly. Maybe they’ve got the queen someplace as a hostage for his good behavior. But no. No, I think he's dead, and Terona will never see his face again. So I’ll be staying here, I think. I’m not done learning this shepherd trade yet. And you know, I think I'd like to know more about what you're doing in those caves.”

“But—”

“Dark times are about to come to us, Ysabel. Lawless times. We may be seeing the end of everything we know. I don’t see any hope now.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just nodded and backed out the door. As I closed the door behind me, I heard him mutter, “You didn’t have to kill him, you bastards. He was nearly dead already.”

I watched the barn door from the cottage, and he didn’t come out for more than an hour, after the sun had set.

I didn’t expect to see him the next morning, and I admit I gave a start of surprise when he came right on time. He didn’t look like he’d slept much. I gave him a nod, and he nodded back, and we got back to the routine, but I watched him walk up the western slope, and he walked like he’d been kicked in the gut. I wondered how close he was to old Fannon, and how much his life was worth now—and I suppose he had been wondering the same thing.

When he came back down the hill that evening, it seemed he’d come to peace with it. I didn’t say anything to him about it. I figured he’d start talking when he was ready. But he never did, and he never left. He just got quieter, more withdrawn, and he stayed that way into summer. I tried to engage him about the project, but it was no use. It was like he was giving up. It wasn't until Midsummer's Eve that I saw him change.

Toren was already off to the hills that morning when there came a knock on my door. I opened it to find a dark young man on my doorstep. He wore a backpack over his rough clothes, and I could see a head of dark hair peeking from over his shoulder—the backpack was a sling, then, for his child. An itinerant father, I thought, a beggar looking for scraps for his child. Hard to believe a face that proud and hard could stoop to begging, but I’d seen stranger things in my time.

“I’ve got some crusts and milk, if you’ll have it,” I said, “but I’ve got no money, nor do I have work for pay.”

“I’m not looking for coin nor scraps,” he said, his voice flat. “I’ve heard that there are two old shepherds here, and you’re not the one I’m looking for. Where is the other?”

“Toren?” I said. “He's with the flock, but he…” and it was then that I looked at him closely, saw his scars and the strength in his arms. “Who are you?”

“A mendicant. That is all you need to know for now. Save me the trouble of tracking him across these valleys. It will not improve my temper toward you if I have to hunt for him. You cannot send a message to him before I reach him, you have no dog here to fetch him, you have no falcons or pigeons to warn him, and your fire is only ashes. I mean him no harm, but if I did, you could not stop me, and I would wrench the answer from your skin and blood. So tell me: where does he pasture?”

Something dark in that intensely weary face convinced me that I shouldn’t delay. “He’s in the west pasture. Take the small road past the front gate to where it forks around the central hill, and go west. He’ll be on the slopes of Eagle Rock. Know that he’ll be able to spot you well before you see him. He knows me, he knows the townsfolk, and when he sees you coming, he will be long gone.”

“Though he does not know it yet, he will want to see me. I have traveled long to find him.” He pulled his hand from the door and turned quick on his heel. I closed the door behind him and hobbled for my crook. Though I am old, though I fled rather than fight another magus, that young man wasn’t capable of anything but evil, it seemed to me, and now seemed a fine time to break my spell of cowardice.

As I reached the door, ready to call fires with my crook and set the man ablaze, I could see the stranger passing through the meadows, moving faster on his feet than any normal man had a right to do. And that’s when it all clicked together for me—this wasn’t any normal man. This was one of the King’s Chosen. Was this the man who tried assassinate the king? Even if Toren fled from here, there was no eluding one of these bloodhounds, and the young man with the dead eyes had likely come to kill one of the last parts of the old regime to complete the conspiracy in Terona. He’d come to kill my friend. But I might be able to stop him before he could. Even the knights fall before magic.

I left my house as quick as I could run, hurried as fast as I could up the western slope. I don’t know what I was hoping to accomplish—maybe to give Toren enough warning to hide or set up an ambush, or even (dared I hope) to bring the killer down. Fitting that he'd die in flame, this arsonist of Terona.

For some reason, at no point did I wonder why the boy was traveling with a baby.

I rushed across the open ground, each step sending a small shock up my healing leg, and cursed my age again and again. The earth itself seemed ready to trip me up—my staff caught in rabbit holes, small pebbles turned large under my foot, my cloak caught in the bushes and thistles. I was breathing hard, the sweat standing out on my forehead, and a dim despair came over me as I realized I’d be lucky even to get within shouting range. Halfway to the pasturing lands, a great pain exploded in my ankle, and I pitched forward onto my face.

I clawed my way up, spitting dirt, and realized that my only chance in warning Toren lay in my staff. I took the deepest breath my old lungs could swallow, bit my lip, and levered myself to my feet. I blazed my staff into the sky, launching a flaming bolt a hundred feet into the air, its explosion echoing on the hills. I shouted, “Toren! Run!”

And it was only then that I realized that maybe Dunlop could see that bolt as well. Now I was going to have to come up with a story. I sat back down and tore a strip from my cloak, wrapped it tight around my ankle, and began to hobble back down toward my house. I had to formulate something that'd keep people from talking about this, or figure out a way to make it look like something else. Curse the gods to a piss-soaked hell! If the Council sent a magus to investigate, I'd be found for sure. Likewise, if the knight came back to finish me off after he’d killed my friend, I'd want to have something ready for him. When I returned, I splinted my ankle (again!), finished my preparations, and then sat facing the door, my staff laid across my lap, and waited.