Oathbreaker: The Knight's Tale Read Free Page A

declarations of war, especially war that would serve only to benefit interests of certain nobles in the court. I dislike politics because I am at a decided disadvantage among the courtiers who practice that skill even in their sleep. Still, I have served my king with integrity and loyalty since the time he rode to campaign with us as a prince.
    I value my men, and I love the Empire, though it has fallen into decay. I try to hold back the decay as long as I can. I do not know if even I can do this. It might be too late. No, I am certain it is. My time has passed.
    It is now ten of the clock.

    I first distinguished myself around forty years ago, when I was but eighteen. My father had just secured me a place on the general staff of the Third Army. I served as a page to General Jon Hawkins, the infamous Butcher of Greenfield. Mine was an honorable job, I suppose, but it was designed to keep me clear of combat, out of harm’s way, and to show how useful I could be to those in power.
    My father clearly wanted me to stand out from the others, and he raised me as only a baron’s son can be raised. I received instruction in dancing, etiquette, and some of the other arts, but I excelled only in strategy and weapons craft. I would have made an imperfect courtier, but as my father had no other vision for my future, I had no choice but to continue with the course he assigned. I suppose I should thank him for his interest in my future, but he is long dead, felled by an assassin’s blade at the height of the troubles thirty-five years ago, in the Birdsnest Wars sparked by the death of the old king. My father was a bit player in that drama between the powerful Houses, but he aligned himself stupidly when he could have stepped aside with honor. He could have bettered himself by remaining neutral in a clash of giants—neutrality would have put him in good stead no matter who won. Instead, he made just enough partisan fuss that his sentence was sealed. I was lucky they did not kill me as well. I have never investigated his death, though I have a good idea who ordered it. She is dead now, and naming names would serve only to inflame passions better left to heal. And if I were mistaken, why, that would be worse.
    My father’s death showed me that politics is a more dangerous battleground than the fields of war—certainly a good deal more treacherous. By the time of his murder, however, I had ensconced myself firmly in the military, nearly beyond the reach of his particular enemies, and too valuable to the Empire to be punished for his sins.
    I digress again.
    General Hawkins was brilliant, with a knowledge of strategy and tactics so deep it was practically instinctive. When I was permitted to remain in his tent for any length of time, I learned more than I ever had learned in the training schools, and the more level-headed tactics of Hawkins have led me through many a battle safely and well. He earned his nickname, though, for he did not care if he brought suffering and destruction as long as he achieved his goal, and he loved nothing more than to lead his troops personally so that he might taste the blood of his foes. There were many in his staff who felt as he did, declaring that diplomacy and respect are the battleground of the courtier, that we in the armies were simply the muscle behind the words and should commit ourselves fully to the craft of death. That attitude led us nearly to the brink of destruction.
    I entered the army and the general staff during a time of peace, during the old king’s final attempts at negotiations with the Siullans to the east. As the history books tell us, those attempts were doomed to failure, and they failed not long after they began, a year into my service. The people of both sides wanted peace, but our rulers had no heart for it. Outwardly, they called for calm, but between themselves, they understood that the negotiations would ultimately bear no fruit. Furthermore, the Siullan leaders understood