Oathbreaker: A Dark Fantasy Web Serial

Many had spoken, including me. Not all were in agreement about much, which told me something I’d already suspected, as I’d wandered the land these past eight years.

The Accord was not united. The lords bickered, and held suspicions and jealousies toward one another. These things had sewn the seeds of the last war. Urnic nobility had always been quarrelsome. They were meant to be warriors, an army of God, so the infighting could hardly be called surprising.

Even still, it disheartened me.

Markham leant forward on his throne of iron and stone, and the court fell silent once again. His flinty eyes were an almost physical weight. I met them, and waited.

By the weariness in his gaze, I knew the decision he’d come to. I exhaled, unsure whether I felt acceptance or disappointment.

Rosanna saw what her husband decided as well. She knew him better than I. She started to stand, drawing in a breath to speak.

No! I bared my teeth, willing her not to.

But neither Emperor nor Empress spoke. Instead, a sharp click echoed off the walls as a figure stepped out from the columns which lined the edges of the chamber.

“Apologies, great lord, but may I speak?”

All eyes turned as the ancient music of that voice went forth. When the huge form concealed in layers of brown cloth removed their hood, the shadows in the hall seemed to brighten. A light shone from the face within, aura visible even to the naked eye.

Oradyn Fen Harus bowed his head to the Emperor. “Apologies, O’ King, but I must say my piece. May I?”

Markham tilted his head down in respect. “Lord Fen Harus. I thought you intended to remain anonymous for these proceedings?”

Murmurs filled the court as the alien features of the seydii elf, like some mix between a man and an albino deer, shifted into mirth. Once again Fen Harus spoke.

“I had intended it, but this matter bears weight on the fate of mine own people as well. My lady would wish me to speak.”

Prior Diana took a step forward, her teeth bared. No doubt, she intended to spit more invective about the “mad lady” of the Seydii.

Oraise grabbed her shoulder, hard, and pulled her back. They spoke in hushed voices, but whatever the Presider said cowed the woman, and she went still.

Fen Harus turned his dark eyes on me. I couldn’t move my head much with the ungentle hands gripping my hair, but I met his gaze out of the corner of my eye.

“This was rather brash,” he told me, his demeanor grandfatherly. “Don’t you think?”

I lifted one shoulder, much as I could with the gauntlet pressing down on it, in a shrug.

The elf snorted, then began to speak to the gathered nobles. “It is true. This man serves as Doomsman, a sanctioned executioner among my folk.”

Discontent stirred in the throne room once again.

“He has been killing mortals,” the Steward boomed, frowning deeply from atop the high dais. “It has never been the place of elves to rule over men. Has that changed, ambassador?”

“Which part?” Fen Harus asked in a bright tone. “Do you wish to know whether Ser Alken has stopped killing mortals, or if my people rule over yours now?”

The Steward opened his mouth, then shut it. Confused murmurs rippled through the court.

“Is your realm complicit in the deaths of our nobles and priests, through Alken Hewer?” Lord Oswald clarified, his tone patient. His House, at least, had some elf lore, and much law.

Fen Harus hook his head, his mane of silvered hair swinging with the motion. “Ah, I understand.” He nodded his cervid head. “I simply mean to say that my people see the position of Headsman as lawful. It is an ancient office, respected and pitied in equal measure.”

Not much of an answer. I’d gotten well used to this sort of thing with elves, and even my temples were beginning to ache.

Roland Marcher spoke, leaning forward on his cane. “So this man serves your lady, ser elf? Is it the Princess Maerlys who dispatches him on these errands?”

All ears pricked at that. If the oradyn admitted as much, it would be as good as pinning all the blame on the elves. What was the old faerie’s game? He couldn’t mean to throw shade onto his own faction.

“He serves her as he serves all my people, and yours.” Fen Harus’s lips, not quite human, turned up in a pleasant smile.

The Lady Ark, frustrated, addressed the elf. “I tire of this game. Speak plainly, elf. Is this man a vigilante, or do your people sanction him?”

“We do sanction him,” Fen Harus said. “And we pity him.”

“Do you give him his names?” The Steward asked, growing more frustrated.

“Not all of them!” Fen Harus answered, his eyes full of mischief.

The entire court glowered at the elf.

Markham shook his head. “You expect us to believe it is truly the gods?”

Fen Harus shrugged. “Your most ancient ancestors saw my people as gods. Who can say?”

I blinked, confused. Murmurs rippled through the court. Everyone else seemed as nonplussed as me. If I didn't suspect something else, I would have believed the elf mad. Most of them were, especially the older ones.

The elf lord turned his head, and winked at me.

I didn’t—

Then I got it. He’s stalling.

Why? Did he expect me to do something? Say something?

“What is it you are trying to tell us?” Oswald Pardoner demanded, exasperated.

“I only mean to say that this is a most delicate circumstance,” Fen Harus told the man. “Alken Hewer is a subject of your realms, and thus subject to your laws. But he is also an Alder Knight. He is subject to our customs as well, the bridge between our worlds.”

He locked his fingers, four on each hand, together.

Prior Diana spoke then, heedless of Oraise’s gloomy countenance hovering behind her. “He is not a knight! His name was stricken from canon the day of his excommunication.”

“An oath sworn to the ‘corse of the Golden Alder binds for life,” Fen Harus told the woman calmly. “Indeed, even beyond it. His dissolution changes nothing where my kind are concerned. He will always be of the Table.”

“Even though they are traitors?” The Emperor asked. “Even though that order is dissolved?”

“So long as one persists who holds the flame She gifted,” Fen Harus said, “it is so.”

“This is not a matter for the elves,” Eryn Brightling snapped. “He spills our blood, so it is for us to judge.”

Fen Harus bowed to the boy lord. “Even so.”

The Lady Ark rubbed at her chin, thoughtful. One of her knights whispered into her ear, but they kept their own council.

The old abbot who’d spoken on behalf of the amber priests turned to Markham. “You are the Knight of the Faith, Your Grace. We will respect your judgement in this.”

Roland Marcher nodded. “Aye. I will as well.”

More agreement from the higher ranking lords. Oswald Pardoner abstained from comment, as did the Prince of the Linden. The Vyke twins said nothing.

Snoë Farram, after much silent thought, spoke aloud to the court. “I think we should spare him. Indeed, I think we should let him continue his work.” She shrugged, causing the snarling beast-hare on her left shoulder to bare its buck teeth. “Seems like all those he’s chopped have deserved it, to me, and we could use more demon slayers.”

“Heresy!” One of the Priory clerics shot at the princess. She only sniffed, and ignored him.

“Though they have suffered a tragedy,” the High Abbot said, “and I am loathe to criticize, the Priory does not speak for all the Faith on this matter.”

Fen Harus remained still and silent, his drooping sleeves folded.

I thought furiously. Why was he stalling? What did he intend? What did he think I intended?

Did he want me to try to escape? I didn’t come here to run away. No, it had been the opposite.

I hoped Emma didn’t do anything foolish. For that matter, I hoped Rosanna kept her peace. I kept glancing at her, wondering when the dam would break.

When she did speak, a spike of terror shot through me. But Rosanna wove her words with a calm mien, showing no particular bias toward me. Even still, a risk. Would someone here draw the connection between us, remember that Alken Hewer had been a Karledaler knight, once?

“Ser Headsman,” Rosanna Silvering said to me. “There has been much talk about lives within our Accorded Realms you have taken unlawfully. I would ask, why? If the gods, or the elves, truly did command these things, what were the reasons?”

She lifted her plucked eyebrows. Inside, I felt a surge of relief for my queen’s cleverness.

Many lords murmured agreeably. Markham indicated I should speak.

I spoke.

“Horace Laudner, to speak of my actions this past night, had been taking council from a crowfriar. Do you know them, Your Graces?”

Rosanna nodded slowly, though Markham frowned.

“A cult from the continent, I believe.” He turned to his steward, who shrugged.

“That is my understanding,” The Lord Steward noted. “Though, from what I have heard, it is more a matter of western superstition.”

One of the Bantesean dignitaries smiled blandly. Others in his delegation kept their expressions carefully neutral. They didn’t much like speaking of the Missionaries of Hell in the west, either.

“They are real,” I said. “The one I speak of had convinced the Grand Prior to sign all his order over to the Iron Tribunal, the lords of the Iron Hell.”

Oswald Pardoner scoffed, as did the Brightling boy and many others. I spoke before I could be interrupted by another round of goring politics.

“The crowfriars were banished when our realms were established in this land,” I said. “But they are returning since the war, and they are trying to claim influence. This isn’t the only time I’ve seen it. That, I understand, is why I was commanded to slay him.”

“You understand?” The Empress asked, frowning. “There is more?”

I nodded. “Horace Laudner has done much evil. Ask his priors. They saw their knight-confessor’s true form.”

All eyes turned to the Priory mob. Diana bared her teeth at me.

“All I saw was you, butcher!” She stepped forward, adjusting her soot-stained robes. “I saw Ser Renuart Kross valiantly try to stop you, only for you to use your elf magic to brutally cut him down before leaving him to burn in the ensuing conflagration!”

None of the red clericons gainsaid her, though I saw some uncertain looks pass among them. At least a few had certainly seen the hellhound.

“Presider?” Markham asked, looking to Oraise. I had almost forgotten, until then, that the man was also an aide to the Emperor’s own staff.

Oraise glanced at the prior. The disfigured woman had triumph in her eyes. He looked at me, his blue eyes cold, and I felt my heart sink. Whatever he said, the court would accept it as truth.

The Presider turned to the Emperor. “I am afraid I was injured during the violence, Your Grace, and saw none of the final confrontation between the knight-confessor and Alken Hewer.”

Prior Diana blinked, perplexed at the man’s neutral tone.

“Horace Laudner did not serve God or the realms of men,” I said aloud. “He served himself, and he was willing to sell his flock out to monsters in order to gain power. He instigated murders, kidnappings, and other atrocities. I have seen it all with my own eyes.”

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I recalled an empty village in the heartlands, eerie and cold, with the barbed trident hovering like a faded sunray above it.

“Yet,” King Roland put in, “you did not kill him for your own personal feelings?”

I saw the doubt in his eyes. I had expected this, too.

“I do not regret killing him, Your Grace.” I bowed my head to the king. “But I would not have done it just for my own satisfaction.”

“How can we believe that?” Lord Oswald insisted.

I looked at the throne when I spoke, instead of the Judge of the Bairns. “Because, if it were for my own satisfaction, I would not be here.”

Silence. I sensed I had struck a point, for whatever good it did me.

“It was the same for all of them,” I said, my voice gaining strength as they listened. “These years… I have been challenged. I have tried to keep to my oaths, but I will not deny I have broken many, and stretched the rest. I have lied, and cheated, and been dishonorable. I have hated, and I have spurned this land.”

I shook my head, forcing myself not to look at my queen. “I swear to all of you, I am no Recusant. I am no mad butcher. Least, I don’t want to believe I am. I regret those lives I have taken that I did not need to.”

Markham’s gray eyes narrowed. He let my words hang a moment before speaking.

“Why are you here, Alken Hewer? Is this some sort of grand suicide?”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. The hands on me tightened, angry by my insolence, but the Emperor waved them off and the grips slackened somewhat. I gathered my wits before answering the question.

“I expected I might die,” I said. “But no. This is not suicide.”

I lifted my head to look at them all. Only last did I let myself meet Rosanna’s eyes.

“My existence, and my identity, are no secret to the elves.” I nodded to Fen Harus, who bowed his own agreement. “I believe it should be the same for us. For mortals. I do still consider myself one of you, my lords, for whatever that’s worth. I am tired of lying to you, of hiding from you, of living in shame.”

I straightened best I could, lifting my chin. “I was made a lord of Urn, and a knight. I take pride in that. I swore to that before anything else. I will serve you, to my death if I need to, but I will not do it as a shadow.”

“How can you serve us by killing us?” Lord Oswald asked. He had no scorn in his voice now. The question was an honest one, and fair.

“I have been given no name I believe to be undeserving of harsh judgement,” I said. “There are those who lie beyond the authority of this court, for all the power in it. The Recusants, yes, but worse things still. Dark sorcerers, serial murderers who hide behind their authority, traitors who court powers most of you see only as superstition.”

I let my eyes drift to the Lord Steward. He inclined his head, acknowledging the point. The red priests watched me, hateful and afraid, but said nothing.

“My task,” I said, “and I do not brag when I say this — believe me, it is fell to my eyes as any of yours — but my task is to strike fear into those who would make prey of us. To hunt them where they would not otherwise be hunted.”

Roland Marcher leaned forward on his staff, his expression dark. “And you would have us sanction you?”

I nodded. “That, or be rid of me. Without your consent, this all just feels foul. That is what I decided.”

“So the Choir did not command you to come here?" Markham drummed the golden fingers of his gauntlet against his throne.

“No,” I confirmed.

“Then you do seem mad to my eyes, Alken Hewer.” The Emperor sighed. “Your suggestion, Lord Fen Harus?”

The elf thought a moment, then spoke in an almost bright tone. “He is your subject as much as ours. My lady will not object to any judgement passed in this court. She will simply appoint her own Headsman, one who will be less… willful. I will have to request you return that.”

He pointed to the axe. That did not seem to settle well with the mortal lords. Many faces paled.

The Emperor rubbed at his temple. “You have given us all a great headache, Hewer.”

I could not disagree.

Even still, the vast majority of eyes in that court remained hostile. Markham Forger saw it well as I, and I knew, deep in my bones, he would not be brash here. He would do as the Accord willed, or he could not remain their emperor.

Not enough. I’d known nothing might be enough to make this fool plan turn out aright.

Sometimes, I can be a true cynic. The gods seem to enjoy making a fool of me.

There was a commotion at the doors, which were opening. The Emperor, scowling, shouted out a protest which was lost in the din. The Steward descended a single step on the dais, his cherubic face livid. Rosanna almost stood, trying to see over the throng. Her sons looked between her and their father, worried and confused.

I couldn’t turn about, so I only got their reactions. But the doors opened, and someone came through.

“What is this!?” Markham roared. “Court is in session, damn you! Those doors are to remain shut!”

“Forgive me!” A tremulous voice cried out, sounding truly terrified. “Forgive me, great one, but I had to come.”

It took a moment for the familiar voice to register.

Why would he be here?

Long, threadbare robes scratched along the ancient stone of the throne room as a figure stepped up next to me and the knights. I caught sight of them out of the corner of my eye — small, bent, withered with age, with huge moss-green eyes and the wispy remains of hair on an oddly round, liver-spotted pate.

I also caught sight of clawed feet beneath the hem of the robe, and the swipe of a long, reptilian tale. He hadn’t even come in glamour.

Voices murmured across the room. Another elf? They all asked. One of the oradyn’s kin?

Fen Harus smiled. I knew it wasn’t one of his, at least not directly. Somewhere behind me, I heard a huge form shift, and a bestial snort. I could almost imagine hateful yellow eyes searing a hole into the back of my skull. How had they--

But my attention remained on the changeling, Parn, elder to the canal slums of Garihelm.

“I apologize, gracious lord!” Parn fell to his knees and pressed his round head flat to the marble. “I apologize! But I must speak!”

Markham was as confused as everyone else. By Rosanna’s face, she didn’t know this creature either.

“What are you doing?” I muttered. One of the knights cursed and jerked me by the hair, silencing me, but I’d managed to get the question out.

Parn threw a nervous glance my way. “Repaying a debt.”

The Emperor traded a glance with his advisors, then beckoned. “Name yourself, Fair One.”

An old name for elves. Parn laughed, stifling it immediately when he realized he’d just giggled at the Emperor of Urn.

“I am no Fair One,” the old apothecary said, leaning on his crooked cane. “I am of the Hidden Folk, gracious lord.”

The Lord Steward frowned deeply. “A changeling?”

“A monster,” Prior Diana hissed. “A creature of darkness. Guards!”

Markham turned his iron glare on the woman, who barely seemed to notice. No knight moved to seize the old changeling.

“Your name?” The Emperor asked the newcomer.

“Parn, gracious lord.” Parn dipped into another deep bow. “I speak for the inhabitants of the lower city, what we call the Drains. They are your subjects, O’ King.”

Markham took that in without a change of expression. “I see.”

Parn continued. “I would like to speak on behalf of this man.”

“You are acquainted?” The Empress asked, gesturing toward me.

Parn nodded eagerly. “This man saved my life.” He nodded to the red priests. “From them. And the…” he waved a hand in front of his wide lips. “The veiled ones.”

“You mean the priorguard,” Rosanna said. “The Inquisition.”

Parn dipped his head. “Yes. They raided the Drains many weeks ago, thinking my people were behind the killings. They took me prisoner. I was… I was tortured.”

That pronouncement was met with silence. All present knew the Inquisition had been Prior Horace’s weapon.

“This man!” Parn waved a hand at me, picking up his thread. “He saved me. The inquisitors captured him, and tortured him as well, but he broke free and saved my life. I watched him face demons and slay them.”

“Why did the inquisitors believe you were responsible for the murders which have plagued this city?” Rosanna asked.

Many eyes went to the Presider, who kept his silence. He had been the hand, and all knew it.

Parn shook his head. “My people have always been seen as the beast under the bed, gracious lady. This is not the first time, and it was not always the veiled ones who sought to punish us for perceived evils.”

I knew what they all must be thinking, looking at the small creature, almost childish despite his wrinkled skin. Does he seem a great monster to you? I wondered, my eyes wandering the crowd.

This had been why Fen Harus had stalled. Had he set this up? He couldn’t have known what I intended, could he?

Markham took all this in some time before speaking. “Though this is… unprecedented, your courage is noted, Master Parn. Understand, it does nothing to change this man’s crimes?”

He gestured to me.

Parn bowed his head. “I could not have lived with myself had I not spoken, O’ King.”

His bravery came close to shaming me. He had to have expected he might die here. How in all the world had Fen Harus managed to get him into the court? Sensing Karog looming in the background, I wondered how they’d managed that too.

I was touched. But even still, it wouldn’t be enough. I saw it in all those angry eyes, those mighty visages.

I was a threat. A renegade, who’d attacked a division of the Church in this very city. A dark rumor was one thing, but seeing what the Headsman was capable of… that had to be quite another.

I don’t think all of them seemed entirely against the idea of my existence. I saw more calculating eyes. The Graill princess, and Roland Marcher. The Grimhearts had vouched for me, as had the Greengoods. Hell, even proud young Siriks Sontae had spoken for me, as much good as it might do.

The Vykes remained silent. I couldn’t be certain, but I thought I saw glee in Hyperia’s eyes. She had to have enjoyed seeing just how divided the leaders of the Accord were.

None of them would save me. And Markham would do whatever would keep the lords united. If it meant killing me, he’d do it without hesitation, apology, or guilt.

And Rosanna would have to watch. Her sons would watch.

Emma…

I’d failed her in this. I hoped she did the smart thing, and left.

Markham’s eyes narrowed, and he spoke.

“Call them.”

I blinked. I imagined many others did as well.

“Your Grace?” I asked, confused.

“Call them,” the Emperor repeated. “If you are the Choir’s champion, if you deliver their edicts with steel and fire, then let them speak on your behalf.”

He stood. As I’d noted before, Markham Forger was no tall man. Stocky and solid, graying with age but firm still, he swept back his dark cape and held up a golden hand.

“The Choir of God is not God Herself,” Markham intoned, “but they are our saints and protectors. I am the First Sword of the Aureate, the protector of our realms. I am no tyrant. This court has named me First Among Equals, but I accept there are powers greater than mine.”

His flint eyes swept the court, his face a graven mask. “Should the Onsolain declare for this man, and say he serves them, then I will not challenge it. Let them speak. Otherwise…”

His iron gaze fell on me. “I will judge you, and your death will be swift and done here, before all eyes.”

My heart sank. I saw Rosanna close her eyes, already grieving. Faisa Dance shrugged, as though to say ah, well.

Laessa Greengood turned her head, knowing her fate wouldn’t be so pleasant after mine was sealed. The Priory cast glares of righteous triumph. Jocelyn, the Ironleaf Knight, stared at me with an intense, hawkish gaze that reminded me very much of Emma. What he thought, or expected, I couldn't guess.

Siriks Sontae shifted, his arms still folded, but looked more annoyed than defiant.

Rosanna's sons watched. The younger, Darsus, looked unnerved by the tense atmosphere but otherwise uncertain, his young age showing. Malcom resembled his father, and glared at me with stern disapproval. How pitiful I must look, after I'd knelt to them and offered my service like a knight.

The knights let me stand. What did they have to fear? This was all just a show, a way for Markham to say he’d acted the devout ruler, and make my death just.

The Onsolain wouldn’t save me. I’d defied them in coming here today. I had always been their fall man, their tool so they could act without breaking the laws that kept them from direct interference.

Even still. There was no harm in trying.

The knights backed away from me, wary, their swords still drawn. All eyes in the court bore into the spot in which I stood, and I almost thought I might be crushed under their combined weight.

I’d never sought such attention. I’d never wanted power, just as Rosanna had said.

I held up a hand, staring at my bloodstained palm, and I prayed.

“I’ve given all these years,” I said quietly.

I didn’t need to speak loud — I was no preoster, wailing before a congregation of the faithful. The gods would hear me, or they wouldn’t.

“I will keep fighting.” I closed my hand into a fist, my eyes downcast. “I won’t ever stop, no matter how many times I’m broken. As long as there’s something I love in this world, I will fight for it. I swear that. I make an oath of it. If that’s enough… then give me a sign.”

Am I your tool? I thought. Or your instrument?

Tools are discarded. Instruments…

The silence lingered. Before long, it cemented itself. I couldn’t speak, could barely breathe.

Someone coughed. Cloth rustled. I heard scattered voices whispering. Two or three people might have laughed quietly, amused. The Lady Ark hid a titter behind her fist. Laessa prayed openly, her hands clasped together, her head bowed.

Markham, for his part, looked resigned more than satisfied. I did not believe him to be my enemy, even then.

“Your judgment?” Oswald Pardoner asked the Emperor in a solemn voice.

Markham nodded, and began to pass my sentence. He lifted a hand, taking a breath to speak.

Would the mad shades in my dreams take me? Or…

There is no escape from me now, my knight.

I heard the sound of rustling feathers. The chamber seemed to turn darker — perhaps a cloud passing overhead, blotting out the light of the high, slim windows.

“It is my judgement—”

There were gasps, followed by cries of panic, or wonder. The Emperor’s voice went abruptly silent. Armor rattled and swords rasped out of their sheaths. I felt a gust of wind over my hair.

I blinked, and turned my eyes up as a gentle hand laid itself over my shoulder.

“Ah, my sweet fool.” The face of an angel stared down at me, beautiful and terrible, wrought from love and grief older than the world itself.

“Lady Eanor,” I breathed, seeing the black tresses and shining eyes of the Saint of Love. I couldn’t breathe, could barely think. I could only mumble a single word.

“Why?”

She wore a gown of purest white, and a single feathered wing, black and blue as the sky when night first settles, rose from her right shoulder. Her hair undulated softly, as though caught by some gentle current. She stood taller than any lord, even the High Steward.

“You made your oath with love,” the Onsolain murmured to me. “Not with wrath, or pride, or despair. You did not think I would hear you?”

“Oh, it wasn’t all love. There is much wrath in this shell.”

Another, much more dreadful presence cast its shadow over me. One of the Forger knights shivered, trembled, then grew. A single wing of deepest red, with cruel barbs hidden among its feathers, unfurled as the glamour lifted. Those knights nearby, seeing what they’d believed to be a comrade transform before them, fell back with panicked cries.

Thorned Nath, Angel of the Briar, placed her clawed fingers on my other shoulder. “My dear sister will be chastised most grievously by Umareon, I think. He intended to let you perish.”

Eanor frowned at her twin. “You do not know that.”

Nath only smiled.

“What is this?” I asked, stunned almost beyond words.

Nath smiled, her empty eyes wide with cruel mirth. “I intended to whisk my dear godchild away after this foolishness — I will not let her fall with you, knightling. But…”

She looked to her sister. “This one had to go and ruin that plan. Ah, well.”

Eanor, for her part, only inclined her head demurely.

The rattle of chain mail drew our attention. The court had been stunned speechless, from the highest lord to the priests, including the red ones. Many had fallen to their knees, clasping their hands or holding auremarks in trembling fists. Scattered voices filled the room.

Rosanna had stood, with Ser Kaia moving to defend her. But it was Markham Forger, Emperor and King, who descended the steps of his dais on shaking legs.

“You…” The Emperor fell to one knee, bowing his head. “Holy ones. I did not… I wasn’t—”

“Raise your head,” Eanor told the old soldier in a kind voice. “This is your court, O’ King. We are but rude trespassers.”

“As you can see,” Nath said, “we do claim him. Alken Hewer is our Headsman. His work is…” She seemed to taste the word. “Holy.”

I winced.

“Then we should spare him?” Markham asked the twin angels. “Accept him?”

Nath shrugged, her barbed wing flexing. “Kill him if that is your wont. As my dear sister says, this is your court.”

Eanor nodded, her immortal face dour. “Alken Hewer was correct in this, O’ King of Men. The peoples of Urn must sanction him, or he is no better than an assassin. One my kindred have used… poorly.”

She frowned, tilting her head up to the sky. “Dark days are coming, and dark champions must be needed to weather them. While there are those who might fight in the light…”

She gestured toward the tourney knights, Ser Jocelyn and Lord Siriks foremost among them. Then she indicated me.

“This man has been touched by darkness, but still holds the aures, the Golden Fire. Let him bear a torch into the shadows. Our enemy still lurks there.”

Markham nodded, though he seemed more dazed than agreeable. “I…” He swallowed. “I think I understand.”

“Good!” Nath threw back her head and let out a fell laugh. “Then we have said our piece! Do with this fool as you will.”

The two sisters, who had once been handmaidens to God, clasped hands. A black wing and a red furled together, two halves of one whole, peaceable night and bitter thorns.

As the phantasms of the two Onsolain broke, more complex than all the spells mortals and elves could weave together, the court was left in a strange gloom. The world seemed more drab, with the angels departed.

And I stood alone, amidst the lords of Urn.

Markham stood, faced me, and gathered himself. Then he nodded.

“This court is adjourned. Alken Hewer, you will remain in the palace until I have decided what is to be done with you. Are there any objections to this?”

There were none.

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