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

was to a tree, my arse on the ground. There was a blade at my throat. Behind that knife was the man I’m looking for, hoping not to find. And behind that man stood death. My fear surged into my throat. Just as quickly, it slipped from me like a waterfall.
    I am fully in the moment of my life and my death.
    “Pelagir,” I say.
    “Forester. How many of you follow me today? How soon can I expect them?”
    “How long was I unconscious?”
    “A minute and a half.”
    “You probably have five minutes. You might be able to escape in time.” No use in lying.
    “I might. It was a pity you shot your friend.” For the first time, I hear something in his voice. Compassion, perhaps?
    “Xis said he was a traitor. Said Warren jogged his arm and then shot him.”
    His hard mouth quirks slightly. “It was the other way around. Xis was a friend of mine in the eastern war. When he heard my name today, he thought he would repay a debt. Your friend Warren did much better in close quarters against a soldier than I’d have given a forester credit for. But Xis gave me time to get off the river. Is he dead?”
    I think of lying this time. But then I realize it won’t matter—he’ll kill me fast either way. “Yes. I slit a vein. There was no helping him. Where is the child?”
    “In a safe place. She’s sleeping.” The light dims from his eyes. “Will you renounce your oath and let me go free? Or do you die here?”
    “I die today one way or another, from you or my fellows. If I let you go, I would live only another few minutes.”
    “I have no taste for killing women who perform their duty faithfully, forester. I’ve seen and done enough of that in the city.”
    “You’ve broken your oath, Sir Pelagir. Why do you care about morals now?”
    Now I see actual hurt in his eyes. “Mine required me to be faithless. I could not bear it any longer.” The knife presses harder. “But I have no more time to exchange words. I ask one last time: Will you let us flee? Will you help lay a false trail?”
    I look beyond him at the squirrels dancing on the branches of the trees. Tears spring unbidden to my eyes.
    I take in what might be my final breath.
    “No.”
    The knife leaves my throat for a second. The clouds break behind the knight as he brings his knife back for a swing. Through my tears, the sun shines golden behind his head.
    He reverses his dagger at the far end of the arc, and the pommel crashes into my temple. Darkness comes, and surprised gratitude is the last light I see that day. I must face the judgment of my fellows, but I am breathing even as I slip into unconsciousness.

The Tale of the Excruciations
    Morning, early spring, and the chill had not yet left the air. The courser’s motion was smooth, even as it leaped rocks, streams, logs. Pelagir sat atop his mount, cradling the child. His face was dirty with the dust of the countryside.

    Spring, Month of the Metal Dog, CY 581
    The dormitory of the senior squires was quiet, moonlight from the high windows streaking across the midnight floor. The boys and girls slept in their bunks, some snoring softly. A spring breeze sighed in the open windows behind the moon, and on the back of the breeze came the hooded men. There were twenty of them, and they moved without sound as they clambered through the windows. They dropped to the floor, and in teams of two they spread across the bedchamber. They took their positions, and at once, they struck.
    Seven boys and three girls were clubbed, gagged, and stuffed into black sacks within moments. The twenty men and their burdens were out of the room with such efficiency that none of the other squires had awakened.
    Their destination was Devilsfoot. They were to begin the excruciations.

    Pelagir awoke draped unceremoniously across a saddle, and he could feel the courser moving smoothly underneath him. Its smooth gait told him that it was no natural beast. This likewise told him he was in the custody of a high-ranking officer of the