Page 1 of Oath of War
Iwas floating in a stormy sea of darkness. My body rocked back and forth with such force that pain skittered across my awareness in muted colours. The sounds of scratching and whispered hate left fear teasing the edges of my mind.
‘Are you sure about this?’ I heard someone ask through the haze.
‘Yes, the passage through the Rift is too closely guarded to transport her straight to Katrass, and his fae mage showed me how to draw the portal sigil. I have everything prepared; no one will disturb us here. Just make sure there are no witnesses.’
‘What if the king asks about her?’
‘That damn fool hasn’t been lucid for years. Besides, he won’t be king for long.’
‘We still need her geas.’
‘Don’t worry about that. Just do your best to ensure the sigil works.’
Danger,whispered my instincts, trying to keep me awake, butanother voice lulled me into unconsciousness, and the blackness swallowed me whole.
My awareness resurfaced as my body was buffeted and manhandled, and I felt myself recoil from the distasteful pawing. Rusted hinges screeched, then rough hands grasped my clothes and I had a sudden sense of falling, followed by the painful impact of my head hitting something solid.
The unexpected pain that blossomed in my skull overwhelmed me, and the darkness took me once more.
Maybe I was dreaming. Or perhaps I occasionally regained consciousness . . . but I swore someone was pouring something down my throat. The bitter taste was so foul it reminded me of the flavour Katja would make my medicinal concoctions whenever she was particularly upset over something I’d done. I grimaced and choked, trying to tell her I was fine and didn’t need any medicine, but nothing stopped the vile liquid as the dream faded into shadows.
A rasping groan woke me, and it dawned on me that it was my own voice protesting the deep ache throbbing through my head and body. Every bruised and battered muscle flared with pain as I tried to lift my head, dragging me back to reality. For a moment, I thought the murkiness around me was caused by the headache, but as my eyes adjusted, it didn’t take me long to realise it was my surroundings—a dank cell in gods knew where.
My stomach growled, and I pressed my hand to it. It felt like days had passed since I had last eaten.
‘Vahin?’ I whispered, testing my magic, but his presence in my mind was missing.
As my memories returned, I recalled Ihrain and his bloody poison and a wave of panic hit me. I slid a hand to mychest, ripping off a few buttons in my haste until my fingers touched the mark of my Anchor bonds over my heart. It was still there. Tracing the sword and the dragon with my fingertip gave me some reassurance. Whatever had happened, the bonds themselves were not broken, only blocked, along with the rest of my power.
I searched around, my probing fingers moving upwards as I pressed against something solid.It must be a wall, I thought and shifted over, supporting myself against it. I needed to get up, but my pounding headache made it difficult to concentrate.
It took longer than I wanted to admit, but eventually, my shaking legs pushed me upright as I fought giddiness and nausea. I wondered if I should have stayed on the ground, but I was determined to show I wasn’t beaten down and helpless.
‘Ihrain! Come out, you coward. Stop hiding in the shadows.’
My voice bounced off the bare walls, its echo giving me the sense that I was in a tall but confined space.A tower, maybe?To test the theory, I called out again. ‘Hello! Is anyone there? C’mon, you didn’t drag me here just to abandon me in this fucking dump.’
I listened, but no one answered. The echoes carried upwards, confirming the emptiness around me. Down here, only a handful of sounds broke the oppressive silence: the steady drip of water, a faint rustling—likely from insects or rodents—and the whistle of the wind above, its icy drafts biting through me. The longer I strained my ears, the clearer it became that I was the only prisoner in this place. The darkness remained unbroken; no flicker of light hinted at the presence of a guard. I was utterly alone, and I couldn’t yet decide if that solitude was a curse—or an opportunity.
‘Gods, that hurts,’ I muttered as I took a few steps forward, feeling the wall with my hands.
The spot under my ribs was particularly painful, as if someone had kicked me there right before they threw me on a pile of rocks, and I cursed each time I took a deep breath. The absence of aether, also, was a strange sensation, almost as if I were missing a limb. It wasn’t exactly painful, but it was a very disconcerting and unbalanced feeling.
‘Bloody Ihrain and his godsforsaken potions. I will geld him when I get my hands on him, magic missing or not,’ I snapped out, followed by a short laugh that ended as a sob.
Who was I kidding? I was locked up, drugged, and injured, likely to be served to the Lich King with a golden bow tied around my neck.
I bit my lip, trying to calm myself, and my fingers slid over my heart, tracing the mark. The image of bright blue eyes, their depths burning with lightning, filled my mind. Vahin, my lovingly hypervigilant dragon, would find me. As long as I stayed alive, there was always a chance to escape.
‘I’m Annika fucking Diavellar, and I won’t give up,’ I whispered to myself. ‘Ihrain, you will regret messing with me. I swear to the gods, even the Lich King won’t be able to resurrect you after I’m done!’ I shouted to the darkness above me, smiling at how the promise of vengeance against Ihrain and his accomplices somehow made me feel better.
I knew the potion would wear off eventually. After all, the Lich King wanted afunctioningconduit mage, not some wreck who couldn’t access her abilities. But until that happened, I needed to rely on more mundane means of survival.
Shuffling and feeling my way around slowly, I trailed the edge of my hand along the damp, uneven wall as I groped for any cracks or weaknesses to exploit. The rough texture of sandstone met my fingertips, slick with a fine layer of condensation that made my task all the more difficult. Occasionally, my hand struck cold metal—chains bolted into the stone, their loosemanacles rattling with a hollow clang that echoed through the darkness.
‘Ewww ...’ I groused when I accidentally slid a finger over two long bones still bound to the wall, but I kept going until I encountered what felt like a door and its lock.
‘Great, I’m in a dungeon with a rusted lock,’ I mumbled, pondering which slimy establishment they’d chosen as my temporary domicile. I assumed I was in the capital, as that made the most sense. If I was right, there were three places in Truso with dungeons like this.
