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

His father was one of the Knights Faithful and burned to be more, but his desire was too
strong and his flesh too weak. He spent his rage on the enemies of the Empire, and when none
were available, he spent it on his son Pelagir. He said that he wanted to make his son one of the
finest of the knights, and Pelgram knew that the Knights Elite had their feelings beaten out of
them. Well, as he had said more than once, he’d bring his boy to them ready, and through his son
his own glory would grow.
Pelgram’s cruel nature was mirrored in his lean face. His black hair was shot through
with streaks of iron gray, and his mustache was beginning to turn as well. His lean body was
covered in scars from countless battles, and when he wore no shirt, Pelagir used to try to count
them.
Pelagir’s face was that of his father, and he was already almost as tall as his sire. He was
not extraordinarily strong yet, despite the endless exercises his father forced upon him, but his
relentless endurance made him the equal of any boy on the field.
Pelagir used to live for the times when his father was away on campaign. But now that he
was twelve, he would be expected to travel with his father as a squire. He had only two options:
continue to suffer the lash, or flee.
He chose to suffer. He chose the long path that could lead him to the place his father had
failed to reach. He taught himself silence at the whipping post, taught himself to overcome pain,
and buried the small voice within him that cried out at the injustice his father doled out.
His face betrayed none of this as he let go of the post and picked up his shirt, slipping it
over the burning welts on his back without a grimace. His father had already turned away, telling
him that dinner had best be ready by the time Pelgram returned from the knights’ headquarters.
Pelagir watched his father stride away, and though his face did not show it, he prayed for
his father’s death.
Summer, CY 577
In Glendavy, the rebellious northeastern province of the Empire, Pelagir stood watch over his
father, a bloody sword in his hand. Shouts rang out across the battlefield, the din of sword striking
metal or flesh, the firing of the heavy artillery behind. Muffled explosions and screams. And
Pelagir, unshaking, his cold eyes on a Glendavin man moving toward the unconscious knight and
Colin McComb Oathbreaker, Book 1: The Knight's Tale
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