Oathbreaker: A Dark Fantasy Web Serial

Arc 7: Toll || Chapter 1: Revelation

It’s often said that knowledge is power. The Magi are considered the most powerful individuals in the world, only a step down from angels and demigods, because they know things the rest of us mere mortals can barely fathom.

I meant to take that lesson to heart, but I’d underestimated how useless most of it is. Or how damned expensive it can be.

Winter struck the coastlands early and hard, bringing bitterly cold winds and covering the countryside in snow. I sat in my tower office, which was more of a study lately, pouring over a manuscript I’d been waiting on for months. The ship that brought it from the continent had been delayed by the foul weather around Urn’s coasts.

The scribe who’d translated it had done an awful job, so I was fixing his mistakes more than really absorbing the contents. It irritated me considering how much I’d paid out of the budget the court provided and how long I’d waited for it. Lisette’s lessons were paying off, but I still felt slow and apish in my efforts. My calloused fingers, so sure when they grasped a weapon, felt clumsy with the delicate quill.

And as I transcribed, I tried to absorb the manuscript’s information.

As discussed in the previous volume of this collection, Razmus of Kell theorized that the hunger which afflicts ghouls — or ghûls, as he calls them — is more akin to a disease than a curse. This implies that the affliction can be safeguarded against, even cured, and yet no means has ever been discovered in all the various cultures and iterations of these creatures across known lands. They appear to exhibit many similarities to other forms of undead, including similar weaknesses, which seems to imply that there is indeed no cure. After all, while reanimation can occur through natural or necromantic means the body is not truly alive and there has never been a recorded case of the dead truly returning to life.

In conclusion, a ghoul is no different to a dyghoul, wight, or vampire — a corpse with a soul tethered to the flesh, different only in the fact that it can forestall decay through cannibalism and in the means of its creation. Yet, in many cases ghouls are formed from individuals who have indeed neither died nor display any of the typical signs of undead save for their ravenous hunger. It has been theorized that—

Useless. All useless. I couldn’t do anything with any of this. I put the quill down and rubbed at my temple, trying to massage away a growing headache.

Mournful winds howled outside the tower’s new glass window. Even with the fire crackling in the hearth, the chamber was cold. I paused to twist the knob on the alchemical light on my desk — a new model with far too many extraneous pieces — and squinted at the page.

I turned the page, paused a beat, then glanced around at the room. There were more ghosts than ever, some of them having become permanent residents in the tower, and perhaps the stilling of their ever shifting shadows drew my attention.

There’d been an assassination attempt just a few weeks back. Emma and Hendry were still investigating, and we were all on guard.

I dimmed the light before slowly pulling a dagger from a leather sheath I kept nailed to the underside of the desk. I stood and paced into the middle of the room. My armor was set on its stand by one wall, leaving me hardly ready for an ambush.

Another whistling gust of frosted wind rattled the window pane.

“If someone is there, best show yourself.”

No response. I’d laced a minuscule amount of power into those words. Sometimes less is more when it comes to compulsion, and even a subtle touch of magic can catch someone off guard if they don’t notice.

Yet no response. Had I imagined it? We kept the tower warded and some of the few remaining gargoyles who inhabited the Fulgurkeep had made a roost on it, but those weren't foolproof protections. Ghosts still slipped in, drawn to me and to the structure itself thanks to its violent history as a dungeon.

And there were things besides fiends and the dead I needed to be wary of.

The ghosts crowding the shadows muddied my spiritual senses. With a silent command I scattered them. That’d become easier lately, though they were never gone for long. It gave me the chance to unspool my aura and sense what was amiss. My eyelids drooped, not quite closing, and I started to cast my will out into the tower.

“Best not do that. You’ll hurt yourself.”

I spun and saw a figure standing in the corner by the window where there’d been no one before. The shape stepped out of the shadows to reveal a man of average height, dressed as a road weary traveler in a long coat, faded scarf, and tough boots. His hair was short and slightly unkempt, and he had a long, hawk-nosed face that belonged to a pirate or a charismatic rogue. Ꞧ₳ΝȮBĘs

I recognized him, although I’d not seen him in most of a year. “Donnelly.”

The ghost smiled. “It’s good to see you, Al.”

I stoked the fire hot and invited him to warm himself by it. That always helped spirits become more substantial. Strangely, Donnelly didn’t squat by the flames as he usually did.

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I studied the man with mixed feelings. Part of me felt relieved to see a familiar face after the strange twists and turns the past year had taken. The other part of me knew what this portended, and I wasn’t in a hurry to rush things.

Donnelly had a strange story. Once an accomplished thief who’d gained the attention of Tuvon the elf king and become something of a fixture in Seydis, he’d died during the first days of the war that’d destroyed that country. His essence had been fused with the remnants of a dying angel.

The Choir of Onsolem made him their herald, a messenger who traveled the lands as something halfway between a courier and a spy. He’d been the one to pass on information to me during my years wandering the realms as a vagabond executioner. When the gods had a new task, Donnelly would be my first warning with some cryptic message and instructions to travel in a particular direction.

He’d also been close to a friend, though I’d resented him for reasons entirely not his fault.

It was difficult not to feel an anticipatory resentment in that moment, knowing what his return probably meant.

“You look different,” I noted.

He did. Though his physical appearance and clothes were typical, the spirit looked more solid. A very faint light seemed to exude from him, and his eyes were a uniform color, like liquid silver. They seemed like the most solid thing about him.

This usually would have been where he’d get annoyed or have some wise crack. Instead, Donnelly considered and nodded slowly. “I am different. A lot’s happened recently.”

He looked at me with those uncanny eyes. “You look different too. Brighter, but… also darker.”

I shook my head. “What does that mean?”

“The shadows around you are deeper. More crowded. A lot has happened to you too, old friend.”

An understatement. I folded my arms and leaned against my desk. “Yes.”

“Moving up in the world.” Donnelly paced around the room, barely seeming to move his feet. One moment he took a step, the next he was several paces away in some completely new pose. “I hardly recognized you for that unwashed vagabond I remember.”

“It’s a long story.”

The Herald of the Choir nodded. “And I’m afraid I don’t have much time for it. I hear you got a mission straight from the First Sword himself.”

The title of “First Sword” was used across the realms of Urn, always for the personal champion of a great lord or monarch. I’d been one once, to Rosanna Silvering when she’d just been Queen of the Karledale and not the Empress. I knew two of them fairly well, the Twinbolt who served the Emperor and Kaia Gorr who protected Rosanna as I once had.

But Donnelly could only be referring to one individual. Umareon, Saint of Crusades and First Sword of the Heir of Heaven. I’d only met the angelic warrior once, and the fallout from that interview had been… dramatic.

“They’ve been quiet,” I said. “The Choir.”

Donnelly nodded. “We’ve had much to deal with. The world’s shifting, Al.”

We. Donnelly had never included himself with our immortal masters before.

“You made waves when you went public,” Donnelly continued, standing now by my desk and studying all my books and scrolls. “And since when were you a scholar?”

“Since being a half illiterate bludgeon made my life unmanageable,” I said dryly. “So I’ve not heard anything because I did all this?” I waved at my office.

“That is part of it,” he agreed with a strange note of caution. “Lady Eanor convinced the others that you needed time to settle into your new responsibilities. There was pushback, but you were given… let’s just call it a grace period.”

He turned to face me and his manner became serious again. “That period is now over. We have orders for you, Headsman.”

His voice had changed, taking on a faint echo. I tried not to shiver. Something had changed. Even as a spirit, Donnelly had always seemed himself before.

“We want you to travel to Tol,” he told me.

“Tol?” I struggled to place the name. A township, I thought, somewhere in the heartlands far to the south of Garihelm.

Donnelly bowed his head. “Go there. Make haste. Once you arrive you will be contacted again.”

I shook my head, confused and flustered by this sudden development. “Wait Don, can you just tell me—”

Anything. Where you’ve been, what’s been happening while I’ve been in this city.

“—What they want me to do?” Who they wanted me to kill.

“There is no time.” Donnelly turned toward the window. He paused, and something more human entered his voice. “Heavensreach has been attacked.”

I stared at him in stunned silence. “What?”

“I can’t say much more. I wasn’t even supposed to tell you that… focus on your mission. You will be told what is needed when you’re there. Go quickly.”

And just like that he vanished, leaving a sense of emptiness behind. The wind whistled outside. The waves in the bay rolled against the island.

“Damn it,” I snapped in frustration. Both my sudden orders and what he’d said made me reel. My headache throbbed like little iron hammers were repeatedly striking me in the sides of my skull, slow and rhythmic blows that never let up.

Heavensreach was the domain of the Onsolain, a fabled mountain palace where the immortals held court. The domain of angels and demigods. Only I knew it wasn’t just a fable. Garihelm might be the capital of the Accorded Realms, but that high mountain could be considered the true center of the world.

Hearing it was attacked felt something like hearing that someone had wounded the moon, or poisoned the sun. Impossible, too huge to contemplate the consequences of. Who would even be capable?

Donnelly had said not to worry about it. No way in hell I wouldn’t, but I tried to focus on what he’d tasked me to do. Who was in Tol? Did they want me to execute someone in the city, or was it just where they intended to give me my next set of instructions?

It would be a long trip, especially in winter.

My gaze went to the window, and all at once I felt a deep and crushing exhaustion bear down on me. It had been a very long year, and I still had so much to do.

That manuscript waiting half translated on my desk felt like an admonishment. It wasn’t idle research. I’d made a promise.

I didn’t have time to wander across the realms chasing vague portents and visions. I had other responsibilities. The lance was already getting ready to travel to Mirrebel to assist the crown duke there with a string of unsolved murders. It would be my team’s first action outside of the Emperor’s own lands, an important test.

To run off now without even knowing what I’d be getting myself into… something told me that it wouldn’t be a short trip, either.

“Damn it, Donnelly.” Only it wasn’t Donnelly, but them.

I let my dagger clatter back on the desk, leaned my palms against its surface, and stared at all the research and reports I’d piled on it. My eyes ran across the growing collection of shelves and chests along the back wall.

I had preparations to make and people to talk to. I needed to figure out where I was going, how long it would take to get there, and decide what to do about Markham’s orders.

You chose to take all this on, I reminded myself. Time to swim if you don’t want to drown.