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

Spring, Clasping Year 577
Three . . . four . . . five . . .
Childhood’s Tale
Pelagir’s hands wrapped tightly around the straps of the whipping post.
Six . . .
Hot dust in his nostrils.
Seven . . .
Wet warmth on his back.
Eight . . .
Underneath the pain of the whip, he whispered a mantra:
Nine . . .
(you are a knight’s son a knight’s son)
Ten . . .
the darkness.
(KNIGHT’S SON KNIGHT’S SON)
Eleven . . .
The pain vanished deep within him, each lash of the whip a silvery explosion fading into
Twelve . . .
it caused him.
His mind was blank for the final stroke. He might as well have been dead for all the pain
It was his twelfth birthday. This punishment was nearly routine by now. Punishment for
insubordination, for failing to complete his chores, for anything that angered his father… and Sir
Pelgram had a notoriously short temper, especially since Pelagir’s mother had left his cruel hand
six years prior; Pelgram said she had fled home, but neighbors whispered of darker things. Pelagir
hardly remembered her: the black hair, a tearful face, and the smell of flour with her embraces.
But she had fled, and for all Pelagir knew, she could be dead now. He loathed her for her
disappearance even as he secretly enshrined the ideal of her memory into his heart. He came into
no contact with women, unless it was while collecting food from the market, and his interactions
were no more than necessary to complete his transactions.
The casual slaps, disdain, and occasional beatings that once were her burden became her
son’s, and they increased in frequency and severity. Whippings could be had any time. Today it
was for some imagined impudence, and Pelagir knew better than to protest his punishment.
Colin McComb Oathbreaker, Book 1: The Knight's Tale
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