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

duke of someplace I am no longer welcome, and so forth. I am in hiding from Terona, where my
friend the king is about to die, and I can do nothing to save him. Now… who are you?”
I looked around my cave, and said, “I was found, amnesiac, in the ruins of Amchester.
They sent me to Askelath to recover, in care of Westkitt Abbey. They taught me the scriptures
and trained me in the ways of the hawk and dove, and at night they strapped me to a chair and ran
lightning across my skull. To restore my memory, they said, but they kept to it even as my
memories returned, and I could hear their disappointment that whatever they were doing wasn't
working. I clamped down on some of my memories, never let them out.” I chose these next words
carefully, chewed them out one at a time, knowing the effect they'd have on this soldier. “I never
told them that my parents had been agents of the Cronen, and that they died as they laid the
explosives that took the Empire to war with the Siullan Republic.”
He surged to his feet, horrified and ready to strike at something, anything, and I could not
keep my scorn from my voice. “Really? Did you really think the Siullans did that? Did you
honestly never think of the benefits that accrued to the High Houses and the Empire because of
that incident? The Empire gained all of the Siullan Republic. Their men garrison our southern and
northern borders now. Their trade flows into our coffers. And their magic!”
He sat back, suddenly a-tremble, and I continued, stabbing my finger to accentuate my
point. “Oh, yes. After the Westkitts decided I was useless to them but still showed remarkable
mental prowess, they sent me off to the Council of Magi for training, and I learned well. I had
access to the council's researches. The Siullans had advanced considerably in certain avenues:
explosives, for instance. If an impartial and knowledgeable observer had actually looked at the
Amchester blast, they'd have recognized it as far too primitive for the Siullans' work.”
Numbly, he said, “So you're the son of traitors and destroyers.”
“No,” I replied. “I'm the son of patriots. They thought they were doing a service to their
masters, but they also thought they would be able retire from the money they'd be paid. They
were fooled, and they were certainly paid for their trouble. Think about it, Toren… I'm sorry,
Tomas: Have the High Houses ever hesitated at anything to grasp more power for themselves?
How many battles have they fought with each other? How much common blood have they spilled
so that their sons and daughters remain fat and happy? How much blood have you spilled in their
names, upholding their laws? Look at the villages around here. Would you say they've been well
served by the Empire?”
“They receive protection… from the reavers, from the warlords, from...” He cradled his
head in his hands. “From us. They pay us so we don't hurt them. And then we hurt them anyway.”
Colin McComb Oathbreaker, Book 1: The Knight's Tale
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