Oathbreaker, Book 1: The Knight's Tale - Colin McComb

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
Colin McComb Oathbreaker, Book 1: The Knight's Tale
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