Oathbreaker: A Dark Fantasy Web Serial

Arc 7: Chapter 4: The Devils We Know

The last time I’d been at the Backroad Inn, it had transformed into a bustling, seedy den of debauchery and noise. Now it was back to its previous persona; a large, dimly lit taproom with two levels, tables spaced throughout and a set of stairs near the back that led up to the balcony section. A long bar stood on the other side of a centrally located fire pit, which blazed hot against the cold season.

There were others inside, but fewer than I was used to. Less than a score, not counting a number of attractive men and women who I knew worked for the Keeper. Most of the patrons would be people like me, ones who knew the nature of this place.

Some would be Saska’s “paupers,” who weren’t any more safe in here than they’d be outside at the mercy of the wilderness.

Part of me still felt bothered at that truth. This was a den of wolves, and shouldn’t I take issue with it? And yet, the beings who called this place home weren’t all soulless monsters. I knew some of them, even liked a few. Yet I also knew that Saska and her fellows were predators, this inn their honey-coated trap to lure in prey.

People with invitations were protected, able to use the inn as a resource. Anyone else…

The paladin I’d once been warned me this place should be cleansed, but that inner voice had become quieter lately.

Conversation quieted as the door closed behind me, cutting off the gust of cold I’d brought in. My red cloak settled along the wooden floorboards, and my armor clinked softly. I scanned the current stock of patrons, and most watched me back with demeanors ranging between furtive and hostile. Most would know who I was.

It seemed like the usual fair. Mostly innocuous looking travelers, all dressed for the cold weather with concealing garments. Some looked more eccentric. I could hear a strange rattling sound somewhere, but couldn’t place it.

I moved to the bar, refusing to acknowledge all the eyes I could feel following me, pausing only briefly to let my burn-scarred fingers linger near the fire pit so the creature inside could take my scent. A man stood behind the bar, dressed innocuously in a clean shirt and apron. He was thin, looked perhaps fifty, and had his long and severely receded hair tied into a ponytail.

“It’s fucking lunacy is what it is,” the second man said. He looked to be in his early thirties, with the fur lined coat of a hunter and hair cut close to his scalp. He had a short beard, brown skin, and hadn’t touched the mead set in front of him. He looked unsettled, bordering on angry.

“It’s just noble pricks rattling their swords,” the Keeper said in his surly, rasping voice. “You know the score, Sans.”

The man, Sans, shook his head vehemently. “I’m telling you it’s more than that, Falstaff. I was in the Baerns just three weeks ago, just a few miles north of Isengotta. The city was on fire. I’ve seen the refugees, the dead villages. I know what a goddamn war looks like.”

He suddenly fell quiet, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “I’ve heard rumors too. Of someone seen lingering near battlefields and villages lost to plague or famine. A warrior in fine armor. A knight… one with the head of a lion.”

The Keeper scoffed. “The Gorelion hasn’t left Elfgrave in twelve years, not since the last war started. These rumors crop up all the time, they’re never verified.”

“It’s not just that.” Sans tapped his knuckles against the counter twice, as though knocking for luck. “There’s been all sorts of strangeness this past year. All that drama in Garihelm, and the weather being strange. This winter came early, even earlier than last year. The fighting in the city-states, rumors of another war in Cymrinor, more monsters seen lurking near towns and villages. And don’t even get me started on the dead. You’re not deaf, old friend, and I know you’ve been hearing all this from your guests.”

The Keeper shrugged. He glanced at me and raised an eyebrow, making a motion with one hand to ask if I wanted a drink. I shook my head, and he poured me water.

Sans seemed to notice me only then. He gave me a once over, wiped his nose on the back of a sleeve, then pushed away from the counter.

“I heard about the fighting in the Baerns too,” I said. “Though the way I heard it, it’s just a pair of counts sniping at one another. The Judge would interfere if it escalated to all out war.”

Sans glared at me suspiciously. “And who the fuck are you?”

“Someone with actual business,” the Keeper growled at him.

“Wait…” The fur-burdened man, who I’d take to be a trapper or hunter in normal circumstances, suddenly leaned forward and started sniffing like a dog. He had dark eyes, almost black, and an oddly shaped scar under the left that looked like a symbol. A brand.

“I’ve heard of you.” He wheeled on the Keeper. “You’re really still letting him in here?”

The Keeper didn’t reply, just maintained his perpetually sour expression.

Sans jerked a thumb at me. “This man is one of them. He works for the fucking seraphs. This inn is for us.”

“It’s for any stray who wanders through the door, and you’ve always known that.” The Keeper made a shooing motion. “Off with you. Go get a tug from one of my girls or order a meal, but if you expect to pay for it with stale rumors then I’ll make you sleep out in the cold.” 𝐑À₦ŏ𐌱Ëʂ

The man stalked off, grumbling, but not before spitting at my feet. The Keeper sighed, looking unusually tired.

“Quieter than last time,” I noted.

He shrugged. “The summit was good for business, but it was never going to last. What do you want, Hewer?”

“Information, of course.” I pressed my bronze coin down on the counter. “I’ll pay for it with the question itself.”

The Keeper lifted an eyebrow. He pressed his palms to the counter and leaned forward, looking enticed. “Oh?”

I nodded. “I want information about Osheim. Any news or rumors about it, especially recent ones.”

The Keeper studied me a long moment, his pinched face unreadable. “And now I know the Headsman has business in Osheim. Fair enough.” He took the ancient bronze coin.

The Keeper, Falstaff, might masquerade as the simple proprietor of a roadside inn, but his true profession was as an information broker. He traded in secrets and hearsay, and the eldritch nature of his establishment made it very likely he’d know details about lands it might take me weeks to travel to.

Most of the travelers scattered across the taproom probably hadn’t entered from the same woodland road in Reynwell that I had. I didn’t know exactly how it worked, but I suspected the inn itself was a Burrow, a demiplane connected to the Wending Roads.

The Keeper considered a while, then shook his head. “There’s definitely not a war starting there, or anything that dramatic. When I saw you walk through the door I was certain you’d ask about the Baerns.”

There had been some talk of sending me to the city states. The Lord Judge Oswald Pardoner, who acted as a sort of arbiter in that country, had resisted letting the Emperor get involved through me. We’d decided that smaller steps were required to get the realms at large to respect my new and largely untested role, especially when it came to diplomacy. We’d settled for investigating the trouble in Mirrebel instead.

Before I’d been sidetracked by this, anyway.

I said none of that aloud. “I’m heading south. Osheim might just be a stop along the way, but…”

“But you don’t think so.” The Keeper nodded. “Talk to Eilidh. She’s got relations there, and I know she still hears from them sometimes.”

I recognized the name of one of the Backroad’s workers. I nodded, but didn’t turn away just yet.

I hadn’t just come to the Backroad for rumors about my destination. I couldn’t get what Donnelly said towards the end of our conversation out of my mind, about the attack on Heavensreach. If anyone might have heard something, it would be the Keeper.

Yet, if he hadn’t heard anything and I tipped him off, I didn’t want to even think about the kind of trouble it might cause. It seemed insanely important, but I’d heard nothing until Donnelly’s seemingly impulsive comment.

The Keeper must have sensed I held out on him. “What is it?” He asked.

“Have you heard anything else?” I asked, deciding to default to vagueness. “That Sans fellow is right about this past year, but it all seems normal to me. The lords bickering, bad weather, rumors of monsters and boogeymen, but I’ve been cloistered away in the capital.”

The Keeper nodded slowly, his one good eye fixed on me. “You know I give nothing for free, Hewer.”

I considered telling him about Heavensreach, gambling that he might know something useful in return for that tidbit. I decided better of it and shook my head. “I’ll talk to Eilidh.”

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Before I turned away I decided to ask a safer question. “You don’t usually have a guard outside. What’s Saska on the lookout for?”

The Keeper’s sour face turned positively ghoulish. “While you’ve been tucked away in your warm, comfortable city this past year, the rest of the world’s gotten darker. Have you really not noticed?”

When I didn’t respond, his expression hardened. “I’ve been around a long time, Ser Knight.” His use of the formal title made me pay closer attention. “Your fellows tried to destroy me many times, so I won’t pretend to be their admirer… but I know what that torch you were given is for. It doesn’t belong to the likes of Markham Forger.”

I felt taken off guard by this sudden admonishment. The Keeper always seemed neutral for the most part, but there was anger in his voice. It was quiet, controlled, but I did hear it.

“Sans was right.” He said quietly. “You’re not the outcast you were when you first stumbled through that door, Hewer. This place is for the lost and the damned. Don’t expect it to always be so welcoming to you.”

I wasn’t at all fond of the Keeper. During a previous interview he’d provoked me, and shown himself to be both vulgar and manipulative. I knew this inn had a hidden predatory nature, drawing desperate people in out of the cold and taking more than they were willing to give.

Sometimes it ate its guests body and soul. It was well suited to its proprietor, whose true nature I had some strong suspicions about.

“I’m not in the habit of taking advice from devils,” I said in an equally low voice. “You might not be a friar anymore, Falstaff, but you’re still doing the same thing as your former brothers. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that.”

Almost as soon as I made the veiled threat, I regretted it. The Keeper’s face settled into calm neutrality and he straightened.

“Enjoy your time at the Backroad, traveler. I’d suggest keeping inside tonight. Night’s cold and full of terrors.”

I walked away from the bar without another word. Music played through the taproom, played by three minstrels on a stage to the bar’s right.

It wasn’t hard to find Eilidh, as she was one of the few people in the inn I’d interacted with before. She sat at a table tucked away in a corner beneath the balcony, perched on the lap of a changeling who hadn’t bothered to cover himself in glamour. He resembled an enormous toad crossed with a burly man, and had a warty arm wrapped around the woman’s shoulders while she leaned against his chest. They were both laughing as I approached.

They weren’t the only two at the table. I noted a man in brightly dyed clothes, all yellow and green with patterns of white. A toadstool hat sat askew on his head. He whispered into the ear of one of Eilidh’s fellow wenches.

Sans also sat at the table. He glowered at me, but kept his silence and nursed a cup of mead.

The changeling took several gulps from his pint and started to speak again, but Eilidh noticed me and patted him on the chest. She whispered into his ear. He eyed her curiously, then glanced at me and frowned. Before he could protest, his lap companion slipped away.

I paced a distance so we could speak in relative privacy. Eilidh was a tall woman, willowy and long limbed, with dark brown hair and a face that was more handsome than pretty. She folded her arms and shuffled as I turned to her, looking uncomfortable and making little effort to hide it.

“Alken,” she greeted me cautiously. “What can I do for you?”

“The Keeper told me to speak to you,” I said. “He says you have kin in Osheim. I’m heading that way and hoped you might have some information for me.”

She immediately went on guard. It was a subtle thing, but I saw it. “Information?”

“Just recent news,” I said in a placating tone. “I haven’t been there in years and have some business. I want to know if there’s been any trouble in that region.”

“You mean the kind of trouble you get involved in.” The woman sighed and adjusted a lock of hair out of her eyes. “I have family there, yes. We trade letters. And before you make some comment about a whore who knows letters, my father and brothers are bookkeepers.”

I hadn’t been about to make any such comment. “So was my father,” I said wryly. “When did you last hear from them?”

Eilidh still looked perplexed. “Before winter. Maybe two months?”

I silently cursed. That would make it difficult to know if any news she might have would matter. The kingdom could have fallen into a giant hole all the way down to Draubard, and half of Urn wouldn’t realize until the snows melted.

“There might be something…” Eilidh looked uncertain.

“Anything helps,” I prompted.

She seemed to relax. “Last letter I received from my brother mentioned some business with the Church.”

I felt a kernel of trepidation. “The Church?”

Eilidh nodded. “Yeah. He said a lot of high ranking priests were attending some important council at Baille Os. That’s the country’s capital.”

I nodded patiently. “I know. When did your brother say this was happening?”

“Supposed to have been a while ago. Some weeks I think, but with the early winter it might have been delayed.”

I hadn’t heard of any large gathering of the clergy in Osheim, but Urn was huge and not at all centralized. The Church also governed itself, and didn’t ask permission from the lords to host its own councils.

“My brother also mentioned that several members of the Clericon College were to be there,” Eilidh added. “It sounded important. It might have something to do with resettling the old capital — folk have been talking about that in the region for years, and I’ve heard the Church was petitioned to help fund it.”

“A synod,” I said quietly. “You’re sure?”

Eilidh shrugged. “As I said, it might’ve already happened. So what, you going to kill a cardinal or something?”

I paused, taken aback. If there was a synod happening in Osheim, then that wasn’t unlikely considering I’d slain two high ranking priests before. Everyone knew I was responsible for the Grand Prior and the Bishop of Vinhithe.

But I’d been told to go to Tol, not Baille Os. Also, I felt like the Keeper would have known this news already if one of his people did. Had he not thought it important, or was there another reason he’d redirected me?

More mystery, but at least I had something to go on. I nodded to Eilidh. “Thank you.”

She shrugged again. My eyes roamed the taproom idly as I thought. The minstrels shifted into a new song, something more jaunty. Again I heard that odd rattling sound.

“She’s not here.”

I blinked and turned back to Eilidh, who was watching me with a strange expression. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb.” She tilted her head towards the tables. “Catrin. She left about three months ago. Wouldn’t tell anyone where, but I think you know that.”

I had known the dhampir planned to leave, and that she was probably already long gone. Even still, I realized part of me had hoped to see her.

I could have, but I’d willingly passed up several opportunities until it became too late. She’d never asked me to stay away. That’d just been me being a coward. Now it was too late. The truth came like a punch to the gut.

“She said she was going to stay long enough to help Joy pay off her debt,” I said. My voice sounded distant to my own ears.

“She did. Joy is gone too, run off with a man who might be her child’s father.” Eilidh tilted her head and glanced at me sidelong. “The Keeper isn’t happy with you. He blames you for Cat leaving.”

“I think he’s right to,” I admitted. I understood then the strange feeling of discontent I’d had since walking into the inn. It felt colder than before, despite the blazing warmth of the fiend fire in the pit, the conversation, the music. It was missing a crooked smile and cheerful, hungry brown eyes.

Eilidh’s demeanor softened. “Why don’t you sit a while and have a drink? It’s a cold night and you shouldn’t be out in it. May as well relax a while.”

I glanced at her table. The changeling was happily chatting away with the one in the toadstool hat and his companion. Sans looked sullen and seemed to sit in his own little island despite being able to simply reach out and touch one of the other three.

“I’m not so sure your friends would appreciate my company,” I said diplomatically.

Eilidh nodded slowly, doing me the courtesy of not pretending she didn’t know what I meant. “Jean-Luc is from the continent and I doubt he cares who you are. The changeling, Tam, lost his daughter to Priory inquisitors. He’d probably buy you a drink.”

"And Sans?" I asked.

Eilidh made a dismissive gesture. "Sans doesn't like anyone. Necromancers, you know? Don't pay him mind."

She let me consider that a moment before continuing. “You come in here two or three times a year, take your gossip, then vanish again. No one really knows you, Alken, and you don’t really know them.” She nodded to the gathering.

“…Maybe it’s better that way.”

I felt something slide along my ankle. I glanced down and saw something vanish into the shadows beneath the table. From the brief look I got, it looked sinuous and scaly. A tail?

Eilidh sighed. “You know I’m the only one who works for the Keeper who’s completely human? Well, besides the hostler I guess.”

I turned to her. “I didn’t know. I assumed you were mostly all changelings.”

“We have plenty of those,” she agreed. “A few lesser vampires, more than a few ghosts who can touch the livingbecause of the inn’s magic, at least one hagspawn. Some genuine elves even. The darker kind. Lucienne there is a lamia from the isles north of Cymrinor.”

Eilidh nodded to the woman at the table. I glanced at her and saw it — the glamour was strengthened by the inn itself, but when I knew to look her skin seemed to ripple, her eyes changing color and shape, her ears becoming pointed. Just for a moment, then the illusion reasserted itself.

She was smirking at me. Again, I heard a rattle.

“All predators in most any other environment,” Eilidh continued. “Even here, they can be territorial. Everyone knew not to touch you, because we knew you belonged to Catrin.”

“Belonged to her?” I asked with a slight smile.

Eilidh nodded, completely serious. “Yes. We all saw it. The others could smell her on you, and we knew she was feeding on you.”

I said nothing, but I didn’t need to. Eilidh knew from a previous conversation we’d had back in the city.

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.

Eilidh lowered her voice. “Because Cat’s gone now, and you’re open season. Half the creatures here hate you, and the others are enticed because of what you are. Even the ones who hate you are attracted. You’re a conquest to them, forbidden fruit. The great knight who’s dipped his head into their world.”

I felt that earlier sensation of eyes on me. Their focus took on a much different sensation to before, and I had to suppress a shiver. “That’s… a disturbing thought.”

Eilidh shrugged, looking unconcerned. “Cat cared about you. I’m telling you this as a favor to her, so listen. You work for them. The elves, the lords. People here know it. This inn works because we’re a community. Cat brought you in, but she’s not around as your tether anymore. You want to keep using this place?” She gave me a hard look. “Stop looking at us like we’re the enemy and start to know us.”

I absorbed her words for a while before answering. It surprised me, not least of all because I realized she was right.

“Thank you,” I said, meaning it. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Eilidh nodded, then adjusted her hair again and shuffled. “Are you, by the way?”

“Am I what?” I asked.

She smiled, and it didn’t seem forced this time. “Available?”

I met her eyes. “No.”

She sighed sadly. “Ah well. I’ll make sure the others know, but they can be persistent. Watch your back.”

As I walked away, it struck me that I should have asked how she was the only human worker in the inn. I did feel some curiosity about how that came to be.

But I had other things on my mind.

Just as I was on the cusp of deciding it would be a good idea to spend the night at the inn regardless of any horde of monstrous wenches, the front door suddenly burst open. Cold poured in, and even over the taproom’s din I could hear the wind howling outside. The fire pit suddenly blazed higher, as though the spirit in it were angrily trying to compensate for the chill.

Someone stumbled through the door, turning to slam it shut behind them before slumping against it to catch their breath. They held that pose for almost a minute before turning towards the rest of the room. They wore a concealing cloak, heavy enough to hide their features and covered in snow.

The hooded face seemed to scan the room before finding me. They froze a moment, then lurched forward at a limping gait. Directly towards me.

My hand drifted to my dagger, but the stranger reached out and grasped my elbow before I could draw it. His fingers looked like they were starting to suffer from frostbite, but the grip was firm.

“Wait.”

I paused as the familiar voice emerged from the man’s hood. It tilted up, and I got a good look at the face beneath. A face I recognized.

“They’re after me,” Renuart Kross said. “Please, Alken. I need your help.”