Oathbreaker: The Knight's Tale (16 page)

I heard the complaints of bleating of the sheep, and I straightened myself in my chair, ready to trigger my surprises. But the tone of the voices that intermingled with the bleating was wrong. I recognized the slight lilt of Toren's northern accent and the flat affect of the knight, and Toren sounded… glad?

I stood quickly and disarmed the traps and opened the door to Toren's smiling face, and the face of the kingslayer.

Toren smiled slightly and said, “Ysabel, it is my great pleasure to present you to Her Royal Highness, Princess Caitrona, and her guardian, Sir Pelagir Amons of the Knights Elite.”

I sat right back down, my mouth hanging open, and the killer stepped into my house, cradling the baby as if it were his own.

Toren said, “The sheep are in the barn. Crosh is watching them for these few moments. Let me put some food together, and I’ll explain what I can.”

When they'd found a seat, Toren sat in front of me and examined my outstretched leg. “When you said that this was a logical place for outcasts and rebels, my friend, I did not think the implications through. The fact that Pelagir could find me within months of my arrival has shown me that I am most certainly not safe remaining here.”

“Did you see my warning signal?” I asked.

“I did, and if you'll forgive me, that's another reason I must leave. You have been here for years, and may be able to explain that. But I am new, and Pelagir and the princess are newer still, and so we must leave. Now. Our presence here endangers you as well.”

I rose and hobbled to the kitchen. “In that case, let me speed you on your way. You'll need food and drink, fresh clothing, and money. I do not have much, but—”

Pelagir handed me five gold coins, more than I’d seen in one place in years. “Take this. I have more.”

“Sir Pelagir tells me,” Toren continued, “that he took no part in the king’s death.”

“I thought the king merely wounded,” I said.

“No,” said Pelagir. “He was to have been killed that night, and some few exceptions aside,” he glanced at the old general, “the conspirators did not generally fail in their tasks.”

“Toren, do you believe him?” I asked, looking at that dark, impassive face.

“Without reserve. He has been cruelly used by those who had his trust, and furthermore, he has held my life in his hands and gave it back to me. He had the courage to do what I could not, acting against the conspirators when none else would. Pelagir, tell him what happened.”

The young man spoke: “Duke Athedon—the man who has now taken the throne—approached me, and spoke to me of honor and duty. He spoke to me of gratitude, and bade me listen to the king and his advisors, and how they appreciate the mortal service their subjects tender them. Not three days later, as I stood guard outside His Majesty’s chamber, I heard him speak to the queen about our lack of ambition, our willingness to be slaughtered for his whim, and he laughed. He
laughed
at our sacrifice, and I thought then that he was unworthy of our devotion. I sought out the duke and asked him what he planned.”

“Was the queen a part of the plot?”

“Absolutely not,” said Pelagir. “Would she have willingly removed herself from power? She would not have been able to secure an alliance with the Cronen, and no matter her personal faults, she would not have seen her children murdered for her gain.”

“Very well. What did the duke say when you questioned him about this?” I asked.

“He said that he wished to restore honor to the Empire and to the knighthood, to bring back the glory that had been squandered under Fannon and his family. He told me that he scoffed at us for the queen's sake, so that she would consider us beneath her notice, and I believed him. Even then I trusted him. He drew me into his confidence, just enough that I would feel myself to be an integral part of his plot, and so I was. I was to be the scapegoat. It was early spring, months after the general fled because he could do nothing to stop this betrayal.” He nodded respectfully at Toren, who interjected.

“I tried, dammit! Not one of my compatriots proved worthy of my trust!”

Pelagir held up a placatory hand. “Nothing could have changed the course of events, sir. The duke approached you as a formality. You were a piece of the puzzle, but not integral. As long as he could take the army, he did not need you except as a figurehead.”

Toren nodded, half-mollified.

Pelagir continued his story. “I followed one of the duke’s compatriots, a duchess, one night to a meeting I was to attend later. I listened as he and she spoke of their allies in the knighthood, and their dupe who would take the blame. And it was then that I discovered that Duke Athedon intended not to glorify the knights, but eliminate us altogether and form a new force that would be entirely loyal to him and his family, rather than to the Empire.”

“I tried to warn my captain of this, and when he tried to have me killed outside his chambers, I discovered that he was a part of the conspiracy. I escaped, killing two of my brethren. I went to the nursery and slew the assassin there before taking one of the children; I could carry no more and still effect an escape. I left through the kitchens, arrived in the stable, found my courser and destroyed another by overloading the core in its chest so that it exploded, leaving the keep burning behind me. I came west, seeking the one man whose leadership may save us. There are others I trust, but they are not leaders of his caliber.”

“How did you find him here, far from Terona?”

“I am one of the Knights Elite,” he said, as if that answered the question.

Toren said, “They have blamed Pelagir for the king’s death, as we have heard, and so we must assume that they are moving ahead with their plan to discredit the knighthood. What Pelagir has accomplished is the salvation of the royal family, though what good it will do us now remains to be seen. At any rate, we should be moving.”

“Of course.” We rose, and I whistled Crosh to round up the sheep. We began walking back toward the cottage. Pelagir moved quickly, instinctively, his long strides eating up the ground, and he slowed down only with a visible effort. “Before you go, Pelagir, I have a question.”

“What is it?”

“Toren knows about the caves, but perhaps you do not. I received some training as a magus, but I fled Terona in disgrace years ago. I’ve had some time to put together a few odds and ends that you might find useful, and I’ve had the help of a few townsfolk who’re sick of being stepped on by the powerful. They’d help you if you’d help them. Give me the word and we'll put my work to use.”

“No,” he said.

My friend Toren added, “The time isn’t right, and these shepherds and townsfolk will be slaughtered if they try anything. The army will strike hard at trouble spots during the transition and will make severe examples of those who think to take advantage of this time. No. Continue with your livelihood, teach the children, train them quietly, and if we can manage it, someone will return to check on your progress.”

“All right,” I said. “I can’t say I’m not disappointed. So nothing now?”

“Not if you value your life. And not if you intend for your revolt to have a chance at success.”

“Fine,” I said, but I was thinking differently. “What are your plans?”

“I can’t tell you that.” He looked carefully at me. “It’s best you not know, both for your sake and for ours. It is one thing that you know our names. It is another thing altogether to know our plans.”

“You’d best be going, then. No time to waste.” I grinned. “I’ll try to restrain myself.”

Pelagir stood out in the yard already, the girl on his back, looking around alertly. Toren—Glasyin—took my hands in his and said, “I wish we could have brought something better to you, and if we come through this alive, I’ll see to it that you’re handsomely repaid.”

“We’ll see,” I said. “Who knows what’ll happen?”

I had packed food enough for several days, and I bade them farewell from my yard. I stood and watched them walk north, the young knight carrying the princess and the pack, the general—my last true friend—walking alongside. I watched until they were out of sight, and then I went back to explain the fire in the sky.

Epilogue: Into the North

Midsummer, CY 586

The two travelers and their child traveled the road, drawing discreetly to the side whenever carriages or post riders thundered past them. They soon wore a coat of mud despite their care, and it was only the quick reactions of the younger man that kept the face of the baby girl he carried from being spattered as well.

He watched the older man from the corner of his eye as they walked, but then his eyes roamed everywhere even as the rest of him seemed to be at peace. At last, the older man sighed and leaned on his staff.

“You have something to say, Sir Knight. You’ve been waiting to say it since we left the farm, and you’re trying to find a way to broach the subject gracefully. Well, then. We’re not at court anymore. You have betrayed your oath”—the young knight flinched visibly at this—”so you might as well come to terms with it. I suspect you have hardly been thinking of the issue, intent on your mission of finding me or dancing around it, but you should let it sink in. You have betrayed your oath to your country, and you are traveling in the company of an exile from the court, an old general likely labeled a traitor and with a price on his head. I think it’s best that we speak honestly with each other, rather than spare the other’s feelings.”

Pelagir searched Glasyin’s face. “Very well, General. What I wanted to—”

“No,” said Glasyin. “Call me Toren. Not Glasyin. Not lord. Not general. Get out of those habits now. They will kill us if uttered in the wrong ears. You can still call me sir if it will make you feel better.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Better. Now what was your question?”

The youth swallowed. “I had not thought past finding you, sir. I am trained to fight and kill. I have studied tactics and strategy. I have read how to build an insurgency. But I don’t know how to raise a child, and I don’t know what to do next.”

“So you’re looking for a commanding officer to push you in the right direction?”

“Yes, sir. I have spent my life taking commands. I need to serve under someone I can trust.”

Glasyin sighed, and said, “All right. Our first job is deception. We must become new people. With times being what they are and the nobles going at each other, it’s easy enough. We can be refugees looking for a new home. Since I don’t think you can lose the habit of calling me ‘sir,’ you will have been recently discharged from the army. I am your grandfather, Toren. You are my grandson, and your name is … what’s your mother’s name?”

“Arulia, sir.”

“Your name is Arul now.”

“Yes … grandfather.”

Glasyin—Toren—coughed. “I think ‘sir’ sounds better from your mouth.”

“Yes, sir. But what about Her Highness?”

“What about her?”

“She needs a name. And who shall we entrust to raise her properly?”

A sharp look. “Entrust? No one. We do it ourselves.”

“We, sir? Have you ever raised a child?”

The old man smiled thinly. “Your father. And you, when he died. We need to remember this. And now I’m helping you raise your daughter, because your wife died in the attack on our village. It needs to be a northern village. Let's choose Half-crest. It's far enough away that no one will send for our information. Have you ever been there?”

“Sir, I meant in your real life.”

“This is my real life now. Boy, I don’t like this any better than you, but we’re going to have to accept our current circumstances. Whether we do a good job with her depends entirely on what our goals are. I’ve seen enough of the spoiled nobility to know that our little princess will be better off being raised outside Terona. She might not have the courtly graces, but we can make her honest.”

“When do we restore her to the throne? And how?”

“Sir Kn … Arul, I have barely had time to think about that. By the time she’s ready, it might very well be the case that there’s no empire left for her to rule. Fortunately, we have time to think that over. What we don’t have is a place to live, and that’s our most pressing issue. You still have money, I saw.”

“I do.”

Glasyin said, “Then our first business is to find ourselves horses, and then find ourselves a home near a place with books. What sorts of skills do you have besides fighting?”

“Frankly, sir, not many.”

“Any farm work?”

“No, sir. My father was a Knight Faithful.”

“All right. So we’re a military family, and that explains why we’re so piss-poor at this work. I can do some shepherding, you can apprentice yourself out to a smith. We can’t draw attention to ourselves more than necessary. We need to fade in fast and stay out of trouble, get into the fabric of the town quickly enough that they forget about us. That means we need to find a place where it’s not so tight-knit that we’ll be all they talk about. And that means we need a town of about a thousand people or more.

“Fortunately,” he said, “I made a study of the towns about a hundred miles around this area during my official duties, and I have an idea where we can go. It’s a small town called Kingsecret. Martyn’s heirs used it as a retreat from Terona, and then it was overrun with nobility, and then they all abandoned it. Most of the mansions have been torn down and replaced, and while there are a few noble bastards with the run of the place, the Imperial spies have mostly decided that it’s not worth keeping a serious eye on it.”

Glasyin looked at the ground, thinking. “Of course, I have no true idea where the spies are these days. But then, we take a chance everywhere we go.”

Pelagir thought for a moment and nodded. “Agreed. Another question: What shall we tell her of her past?”

“Nothing. At least, not until she’s old enough to understand. We’ll talk about her lessons as the time comes, but she should be well educated.”

Pelagir considered this and began to number them on his fingers. “Skill at arms. Command, strategy, and tactics. History of the Empire. History of the Houses. History of our foreign neighbors. Ecclesiastical studies. Economics. The great philo—”

“Enough! Perhaps we should focus on reading and writing first. Keep in mind that by the time she is old enough to study these things, I will be even older. I may suffer dementia. I have seen it happen to younger men. You must study as well so that you can step in to take over when I die.”

“I cannot teach—”

Glasyin snapped, “If you cannot teach her, why did you take her? Who else will be responsible? As much as you may admire me for my refusal to betray my friend, your admiration will not stop the march of time. I am not a young man. Accept that.”

That night, as they sat before the campfire, Glasyin was struck by a thought. “Tell me: Have you rid yourself of all the trackers they might use to find you?”

“I left my sword and horse in Westport before I boarded the ship.”

Glasyin studied him, stroking the beard he had grown over the long winter. “I wonder if the magi's gift might be something deeper than your blade and your steed.”

Pelagir stared at Glasyin for a moment and said, “Yes. Perhaps. During the Battle of Malaqin, a sinkhole swallowed Commander Carderas, and none saw where he had vanished. His weapon and courser were near his headquarters, but the captain knew where to dig to retrieve him.”

“Well. This complicates matters. We need to see an old friend of mine. I don’t think you’ll care for him. His name is Underhill.”

And so they came to the town of Lower Pippen, where the old man made inquiries in a certain tavern. That night, they were met by a man outside town, and they slept in his strange, sun-seeking tower for a month. For a day, the basement of the tower echoed with groans of agony and occasionally a powerful roar. Pelagir remained in bed for a week thereafter, swathed in bandages. Glasyin watched the baby in this time, and she began to love him in the unconditional way that babies love anyone who treats them well. When at last Pelagir rose, he walked unsteadily, and the old man and the magus spoke quietly with each other.

At last, the three travelers set out again. They traveled alone, except when it would look suspicious for them to avoid company. Slowly, over the weeks it took them to reach Kingsecret, Pelagir began to lose his stiff and formal manner, though he continued to speak from a well of deep reserve.

Months later, in the small hill-town of Kingsecret, an old man, a young man, and his daughter bought a struggling sheep farm, the old man counting out the silver as if it were his last hope. The farmhouse was built into the hillside, and the new family improved it by building terraces and a garden, and if there wasn’t always evidence of digging outside to explain the dirt piles that sometimes appeared, no one made any mention of it. If any villagers had gone to investigate, they would have found that the young man was expanding the farmhouse by turning it into an underhill fortress past a hidden door.

The young man took himself to the blacksmith and began to learn the trade, and although he was far too old for ordinary apprenticing, he took quickly to the work. His powerful, scarred arms invited comment; his face did not. He deflected questions about his past genially but firmly, and the people of the town assumed that he had seen horrors in the wars. The newcomers found a wet nurse for the baby, and the travelers faded into the background—just friendly enough and open enough to ease suspicion, but not so gregarious that any would have called them friends.

Occasionally the young man would take journeys to the nearby city of Avollan and return with a donkey laden down with supplies: hardware, books, writing utensils. He had grown a beard and favored wide-brimmed hats when he left town.

The baby began to crawl, walk, and talk. She was possessed of a natural grace and charm but could generate truly powerful rages when thwarted. She spent most of her time with her family, learning how to watch the sheep with her da and listening to his stories with wide eyes.

And time passed.

Colonies and protectorates of the Empire felt their leashes slipping and began to revolt. Old enemies raised their heads. Conscriptions took farmers from their fields and merchants from their trades; the smith and his apprentice were careful to watch for press gangs in towns and on the road. There were food shortages and riots in the cities as the fields turned wild; with the farmers gone, the fields went unharvested.

The unreliable stories from the roads had the Houses at one another’s throats, the Birdsnest Wars come again in blood and pain. Duke Athedon the regent instituted martial law in some of the lesser cities and colonies and brought the rebel leaders to Terona for public trials and painful executions. A wave of assassinations swept through lower ranks of the Houses, and some of the more tractable nobles fell in line behind Athedon.

Slowly, very slowly, Athedon began to exert control. With his allies in the Council of Magi, the Council of Knights, and the High Exegetes of the Church, he consolidated his strength. And even in the far-flung provinces, the citizens of the Empire could feel his fingers around their throats, and they shivered in the chill of the growing shadow.

END OF PART ONE