Free Oathbreaker: The Knight's Tale by Colin McComb Page A

grasping vines that hung from the high branches. I called out in birdsong as I ran and heard trills from the other foresters. We spread farther and farther apart as the hours wore on, and still we came across no sign of Pelagir.

    It was midafternoon. We had been running for most of the day and still had no sign of the knight, no warning from the others. I’d come across Strom’s trail, and hooted thrice to let him know I’d seen it. His master Karl would want to know. Clouds had built in the sky since the morning, and a cold wind rushed through the forest, swaying the trees and stripping leaves from their branches. I knew the signs of the storm. This was going to be a loud one.
    When it broke, it broke hard. The lightning tore into the day’s gloom, the thunder following in a swift counterstroke, the sign for the rain to fall on us like heaven’s arrows. For a less experienced forester, this would wipe out all traces of Pelagir’s passing. Not for us.
    I covered my crossbow with a sheet of brown felt to protect it from the rain and set out again, choosing my steps with greater care. It wouldn’t do to slip now. I cast my eyes more carefully along the forest floor. I watched for any sign out of the ordinary, and found none. I called out in birdsong again to see if any of the other foresters could hear me over the rain and thunder. I waited for a minute and called again. I tightened the crossbow’s strap and wove south and westward through the wood.
    I stopped at the first sight of blood on the northern banks of the Branish River. The splatter was already nearly lost in the rain. I unslung my crossbow and started to run along the bloody trail.
    It grew fresher as I ran. I had forgotten my fear in the run through the forest, but now it returned full force. I smelled death in the air.
    I rounded a bend in the river’s course and saw Xis stretched out on the pebbles by the water’s edge. His soft leather jerkin had a hole about the size of my fist in the middle of his chest, darkening red against his dark skin. His blood pumped rich and scarlet into the water. I trotted to him, cautious of ambush. I lifted his head gently.
    “Xis…”
    “Mishi,” he whispered, and coughed blood. “Warren did’t. Had a clear shot, he jogged my arm. Fought. Sliced him. Fled. Shot me here. Dying. Hurts.”
    I kissed his eyes, farewell forester-style, and opened the big vein in his throat with my belt knife. I watched in respect until he stopped breathing. The rain slipped into slight drizzle, soon headed for mist, and the clouds began to break in the few moments it took. I checked his crossbow. It was ruined, and I left it with his body. I fired a single shot from mine into the air, a signal flare for the others. I marked five stones to point where I’d gone, and I ran, ran. I was more afraid than ever.
    Warren, a traitor. Who knew how many more of our kind Pelagir had under his spell? I had known Warren for years. He had always seemed loyal. Now I was facing a forester as skilled as I was, and a knight to boot. My heart sank. I knew I wouldn’t leave the day alive.
    Warren was close, I knew. He hadn’t taken the time to bind his wound. He was running alone on the river’s edge, bleeding. It was a stupid mistake…
    … or was it? I stopped. I crept back into the cover of the hilly woods and started looking. In a few moments, I saw him.
    Warren was pressed against the bole of a huge oak tree, sighting down his crossbow at me. I raised my weapon, knowing it was already too late, when he flung his bow to the ground with a curse and rushed at me. He drew his knife as he came, and I could not understand his shouts or the look of panic in his eyes.
    I fired once, and the impact took him off his feet. I think I got him in the head. I watched him fall for an instant.
    Something heavy slammed into me from behind. My head hit a trunk on the way down. Darkness rushed into my eyes as earth filled my mouth.

    When I opened my eyes, my back