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

Caltash said, would develop a unique fighting style; these new techniques would provide a
cornerstone for each style. By the time of the final graduation, a month later, the newest Elite had
developed formidable killing talents.
Their final graduation, then, was an actual ceremony, an induction into the Fellowship of
Knights Assembled. The ceremony took place in the vast courtyard of the Knights’ Hall in the
Imperial Palace, and half the knighthood was in attendance.
It was a bright blue day, and errant gusts snapped the pennons on the grandstand. The
commander, Sir Ellionn Carderas, stood atop the podium, gazing with sharp eye upon all the
knights of Pelagir’s class who marched before him: the Lesser, the Faithful, and the Elite. They
gleamed in their armor, and their feet beat a thunderous cadence on the hard-packed ground. They
formed into neat rows before the dais and stood at military attention as he spoke to them of duty,
honor, and their service to the Empire.
And then he called forth the newest of the Elite. They came and stood directly in front of
him as attendants placed slim boxes behind the commander. Carderas unlatched the first case and
reverently lifted out a gleaming metal spear. Hints of red glittered from it in the sun, chasing each
other up and down the shaft. The commander held it aloft, letting the assembled warriors view it,
and called out, “Sir Michael, of the Order Elite, Class of the Hawk!”
Michael stepped forward and extended his hands. Carderas laid the spear across
Michael's hands, and when he released it, Michael jerked slightly, his hands clamping down hard
on the shaft of the spear. He bowed slightly to the commander over the spear, and blood welled
between his fingers as he stepped backward to his place in the line. This process repeated for the
other six—swords of varying size and shape for Kelvin, Sonia, Lyral, and Tarrason, a wickedly
flanged mace for Kildare, and a morning star for Allan.
When it came to be Pelagir’s turn, Carderas lifted forth a greatsword five feet long. He
lifted it to the sky: “Sir Pelagir, of the Order Elite, Class of the Crown!” The others restrained
themselves, but their surprise was obvious—Pelagir had become one of the King’s Chosen, one
of the king’s bodyguards, spies, and assassins, ordinarily a slot reserved for a knight who had
proven himself over years.
Pelagir bowed and took the hilt of his weapon, and pain entered him again. It was if
thorns shot from the grip, sliding into his tendons and veins, and the blade hummed in his grasp.
The red tint in the blade became more pronounced as the sword fed on Pelagir’s blood and bound
the two together. Even as Pelagir sheathed his weapon, he found that he understood its workings
Colin McComb Oathbreaker, Book 1: The Knight's Tale
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