Oathbreaker: A Dark Fantasy Web Serial

Arc 1: Chapter 32: Death By Dawn

In the depths of the irkwood bordering Caelfall, a lonely campfire crackled in the last hours of night. Two men warmed their hands at it.

Two living men.

“Hate this fucking forest,” the first complained, casting a dark look at the surrounding trees. He was the younger of the two, though his sunken features and graying hair so closely matched his brother’s it wasn’t easy to tell.

The older brother coughed, hacked up something foul, and spat it into the fire. The log within split, scattering sparks as though trying to cough the thing back out.

“You don’t like any forest,” the older grunted. He produced a blade, the motion so quick it blurred, and began cleaning his nails. “Suck it up. We’ll head back to the village come sunrise and report.”

“Report.” The younger Culler scowled at the word. “Like we’re fuckin’ soldiers. I didn’t sign up for no militia. Since when do we take orders from the likes of Vaughn?”

“We’re not taking orders,” the older Culler admonished, picking a chunk of dead skin from his thumb, most of it callous. “This is a commission. You’ve done this before.”

“Haven’t died like this before,” the younger man said, his eyes wandering to the third of their trio. They’d managed to fish their eldest brother down off the trees. The evil things had grown their branches and roots into him, and they’d had to leave most of that still riddled through the carcass’s bones, opting to hack him down.

The one cleaning his nails shrugged. “Death is death. He’ll come back, same as always. We should get it done before sunrise. A whole day in this climate will make him rank, and I don’t need to hear his grousing again.”

“Shouldn’t we… get all that shit out of him? Before, I mean.”

“And how the fuck we supposed to do that? We’ll just mess him up more. Best leave it.”

“He’s not going to be happy,” the younger warned.

The older shrugged again. “He’s never happy. Besides, it’ll make him look right terrifying. Might even earn him a name, like… the Willow Man.”

The younger made a face. “The Willow Man? That’s stupid.”

“I don’t know. I kind of like it.”

Both men were on their feet in the flash, pulling blades as they spun on the source of that new, third voice. Their eyes alighted on the low arm of a skeletal tree. A woman sat there, cast in moonlight, slippers dirtied by a day in the woods swinging beneath the frilled hem of her blue dress. She flashed the two men a mischievous smile, revealing slightly crooked teeth.

“Catrin!” The younger Culler’s shoulders slumped. “You scared the shit out of us. There are devils in these woods.”

Catrin gave him a somber nod. “There are, yes.”

The older Culler didn’t sheath his knife. “Why are you out here? Vaughn send you?”

She scoffed. “Vaughn doesn’t tell me to do shit, and you know it. Why are you two out here?”

“None of your business,” the older said.

At the same time the younger said, “Looking for a man. One of the baron’s guests ran off after killin’ that Will kid. You seen him? The one with the red cloak, pointy cowl. Big bastard, ginger hair, scars over his left eye like so.”

He ran a thumb down the left side of his face at an angle, from temple to cheek.

“William’s dead?” Catrin frowned, leaning forward.

The Culler nodded, ignoring his brother’s scowl. “Killed him in the chapel! Fucking sacrilegious, that. He’ll earn a century in the Pits for it, don’t you doubt.”

“I don’t doubt,” Catrin agreed, quirking an eyebrow. If either of the assassins detected the irony in her voice, they didn’t comment on it.

A sound disturbed the quiet woods. It sounded very much like a light, muffled laugh. Both of the men glanced into the darkness warily, though the woman seemed undisturbed.

“Oh! Right.” The younger brother flashed a gap-toothed grin. “Why don’t you come warm yourself up by the fire, Cat. It’s nice and toasty.”

The older wheeled on his brother. “The fuck are you doing?”

The younger frowned, confused. “What? Just being friendly.”

The older man thrust his knife in Catrin’s direction. “She’s fucking undead, you git. You’re not supposed to invite them into the light of your campfire. The Law of Draubard, remember? It lets them at your neck.”

He shook his head, exasperated. “What kind of necromancer are you?”

The younger brother scratched at his stubbly neck. “I mean… we’re undead, ain’t we?”

“Not like her!”

“Right,” Catrin laughed. “Not nearly as pretty.”

She spoke from little more than a foot away from him. The Culler startled, spinning to raise his blade as he backed away.

“Get away from me, bitch!” He bared his teeth. “I don’t want what you’re offering, and I’m not willing to pay your price.”

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“Speak for yourself,” his brother mumbled, flashing another smile at Catrin. She returned it, though hers was a bit more sheepish.

“So what’s going on back at the castle, boys?” She knelt, holding her palms out toward the campfire. If she noticed the dead Culler lying half hollow and branch-riddled within arms reach of her, she didn’t comment.

“No clue,” the younger Culler said. “Kimber and I have been hoofing it in this mess. Vaughn wants the red hood, that priest, and the other two found before the ritual.”

Catrin’s eyes shot up to the man, suddenly intent. “He’s doing it today?”

The Culler nodded, feverish eyes flashing with eagerness. “So we’ve guessed. Why do you think he was so intent on choking the priest? He needs that hallowed ground unhallowed, you read?”

Catrin nodded slowly, pursing her lips as her eyes wandered back to the fire. “I read, Riley.”

Kimber, the older brother, narrowed his eyes at the dhampir. “Aren’t you part of his inner circle? Why didn’t you know? For that matter, didn’t you just come from the castle?”

Her eyes slowly raised to meet the man’s. Riley blinked, confused by the sudden air of tension that passed over the camp. He noticed something about the changeling woman then, and he spoke in a hesitant voice.

“Hey, Cat, why are you… glowing?”

Catrin blinked, nonplussed, then lifted her hand. It hadn’t been obvious before in the moonlight, but a soft silver glow clung to her frame.

“Huh.” She flexed her fingers, watching the light blur. “I guess a bit of that mansion stuck to me. Neat.”

“Mansion?” One of the brothers asked her.

“Yeah. The elf mansion.”

Kimber took a lurching step forward. “You know where the irks are hiding? You’ve seen their sanctuary?”

“Sure.” Catrin looked up at the assassin and shrugged her bare shoulders. The cold night air didn’t seem to bother her, and the courtly dress showed plenty of skin around her neck and arms. “I just came from there.”

Kimber turned his bloodshot eyes to his sibling. “Baron will want to hear this.”

Riley grinned wide as a ghoul. “He’ll reward us for sure.”

“Yeah,” Kimber agreed, turning his eyes back on Catrin. “Where’d you say this place was?”

“I didn’t,” Catrin said, her eyes still on the fire.

Kimber took a step forward, his blade glinting red in the firelight. “Don’t toy with us, whore. You might be one of the Keeper’s favorite pets, but out here you’re nothing.”

Catrin studied the sharp nails on her right hand, adopting a bored expression. “Kimber, Kimber, old friend, think about what you just said, and where you are. These are the deep woods. This is my kingdom.”

Riley swallowed, his throat bobbing. His older brother was less impressed.

“Fine,” Kimber spat, clutching the knife tighter. “You’ll tell us where those irks are hiding, one way or another. How much of your guts I pull out first is up to you.”

Once again, ghostly laughter stuttered out of the dark.

“The hell is that?” Riley asked, a bead of sweat forming on his brow as he lifted his own weapon, aiming it at the ghastly trees rather than the dhampir. Little lights had begun to form in the distant woods.

“Wil-O’ Wisps,” Catrin told him. She still hadn’t risen from where she knelt by the fire.

Kimber began to mutter with a susurrous, manic energy, his bloodshot eyes wide, almost inhuman in their hateful intensity. A flickering, whispering static began to form around him as he shaped his Art.

The corpse on the ground started to twitch, flickering in the same way as its living brother.

I never got to see how his magic actually worked. I took that moment to step out of the shadows around the little camp and swing. My axe cut the air with an almost musical hum.

The man’s severed head hit the forest floor a moment before the body.

Riley cursed savagely, spinning to hurl his blade. I batted it out of the air in a burst of sparks as metal struck metal. The necromancer’s eyes widened as he saw me standing there at the edge of the campfire’s circle of light.

I must have cut an intimidating figure, with my blood red cloak draped over my shoulders, the pointed cowl over my face, my coat of black iron rings making the interior of the shroud an almost solid darkness. Wil-O’ Wisps formed around me, burning themselves into reality like little violet stars as I lifted my axe.

A good distraction. Catrin’s knife touched Riley’s throat while he still gaped at me.

“Bye Riley,” she said into his ear, baring her fangs in a humorless smile. “This is for what you and your brothers did to Beth.”

She cut his throat, then pushed him into the fire. The blade hadn’t killed him — he’d been raised too many times, and was more like a ghoul than a man. But the fire caught on him like dry tinder. He writhed and wailed as he burned.

Catrin watched the entire time, her brown eyes reflecting the scene so they turned hellish. I didn’t interrupt her, and didn’t much care to hear the story behind that vengeance.

We burned the other two bodies, and the Culler Brothers were no more. I felt no melancholy at the death of that grim little legend.

“Dawn’s not far off,” I told her. “What’s this ritual they were talking about?”

Catrin shrugged, checking the knife Irn Bale had given her idly as she answered. “Don’t really know the details. Something Lillian has been helping the baron set up for weeks. It’s supposed to give that demon of theirs physical form, let them use it for real.”

I rested my axe on my shoulder, considering. “That would require a profane vessel.”

“Like?” Catrin asked, curious.

“Could be any number of things. None of them good. Ritual sacrifice is the most common, of a beast or a person. Could even be a place.”

Catrin’s eyes widened. “The church.”

I nodded. “That’s my thought. He clearly wants the priests there dead, so the sanctuary isn’t protected. Once that’s done, he can sully the place. It’s sort of like…” I searched for words. “It’s like making a wound in the world. The demon is an infection, or maybe a parasite. It can burrow through the wound to enter our world.”

“You seem to know a lot about them,” Catrin noted.

“It’s not my first time dealing with demons,” I admitted.

“I guess it wouldn’t be,” the dhampir agreed. “Just don’t go turning that golden fire on me, alright? I’m no demon.”

I wasn’t so sure about that. She was no typical changeling, born of a union between fae and mortal in the traditional sense. Like the ghouls, she had a presence my powers didn’t like.

I kept my peace on the matter. “We should go.” Then, considering the situation I asked, “Did Micah know about this?”

I felt hesitant to mention the priest, after our last conversation about him. But Catrin kept her calm, shaking her head at my question.

“I don’t know. He seemed to suspect Orson was planning something bad, but he never told me all the details. He… well, he had plenty of his own secrets.”

Which meant he hadn’t trusted her fully, either.

“Then he might have passed something on to Olliard,” I said. “If the doctor knows Orson is leaving his castle for this ritual, then he might be planning to take that opportunity to kill him. I’ll need to get to the baron first.”

I thought it about it a moment longer, then let out a frustrated scoff. “No, Olliard was talking about Edgar finding maps for him. Whatever he plans, it involves the castle.”

“And then what, if you do reach the baron and axe him?” Catrin asked. “Die while all his allies rush in to rip you apart?”

I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. Taking the Recusant lord’s head was my first priority. My duty.

You are no thief in the night, Irn Bale had said. Face the evil.

“Let me worry about that,” I said. “Besides, it would make a good distraction for you, wouldn’t it?”

Catrin shrugged and sheathed her knife. “Yeah. I guess it would.”

Our strange alliance had been born of a mutual enemy. We both wanted the same man dead. I didn’t trust her, and she didn’t trust me. Well enough.

“In any case, we need to get back there. Whatever Orson plans might have already started. There’s not much dark left, and he won’t want to perform this kind of sorcery in broad daylight.”

I needed to have this done by dawn. Otherwise, it might all be for nothing.