Page 10 of Oath of War
‘Ari. Alaric. Please stop fighting me. Please, Ari . . .’
The voice was older, more mature, but unmistakable. My breath hitched.
‘Ro? How—? You aren’t ... are you?’
Rowena’va Shen’ra, my sister. A powerful mage and necromancer, she was a strong summoner capable of returning life to the dead and imbuing decayed flesh with aether to create the semblance of life. Dreamwalking was secondary for her—a skill she’d never mastered. Her reaching me like this shouldn’t have been possible.
‘Alaric, I finally did it. No, don’t speak—he may sense you. Just watch, please. Just watch.’
Ro’s words, strange and urgent, echoed in my mind, but they made little sense. Why reach out to me if she didn’t want to talk? Before I could process her meaning, a blinding light enveloped me.
Orm’s hand remained on my hip, grounding me in reality, but when my vision cleared, I found myself walking through a corridor. Intricate tapestries adorned the stone walls, their vibrant embroidery dimmed by age. My sister’s presence lingered, urging me forward.
Whatever this was, I had to trust her. Wary of dreamwalkers, I forced myself to relax, opening my mind to what she wanted me to witness.
Through her eyes, I saw what might have once been the grand castle she had described in her letters, its magnificence now ravaged by time. The tapestries were paper-thin, frayed at the edges, and everywhere I looked, decay spread like a sickness.
It’s falling apart, I thought, feeling my sister’s agreement ripple through our link.
The corridor ended in a vast chamber with towering ceilings. Ornamental carvings of climbing vines and roses adorned the walls, their elegance muted beneath a heavy layer of dust. In its prime, I imagined the room had been illuminated by a thousand candles; now, it was a graveyard of forgotten splendour.
‘Rowena, where have you been? Have you made progress with the trolls I sent you last week?’
The voice was smooth, commanding—a pleasant baritone that belied the rot beneath its surface. My gaze snapped towards the speaker, and rage surged through me as I recognised him.
My father.
The bastard who had destroyed my life.
He stood beside another man, his face drawn into the same sour expression I’d never forget. Thin lines etched his features, but my resemblance to him was uncanny. And while Roan’va Shen’ra had aged well, looking at him was like staring into a mirror that reflected a possible future I wanted no part of. His stern gaze bore down on my sister, unrelenting, heavy-handed—exactly as he’d always been. A despot who demanded perfection and crushed anything less.
Once, I had yearned for his approval. Now, I despised him.
‘I was preparing the army for our lord,’ Rowena replied coldly, her tone as sharp as a blade. ‘Not tinkering with those defective trolls. Your spell scrambled their minds so badly that all I could create were more mindless beasts we’ll have to release near the border.’
Her voice was icy, unrecognisable compared to the sister I knew.
‘Let her be, Shen’ra,’ another man said, his tone casual, almost bored. ‘As soon as we have your boy, none of this will matter. He will lead them all.’
My sister’s gaze moved to the figure sitting on the throne. The man was striking in a conventional way—dark hair dusted with silver, fine lines framing his eyes. He was well-built, perhaps too much so for his apparent age. Yet as he rose from the throne, I caught a shimmer of magic rippling across his form.
An illusion.
Beneath the glamour I saw what must have been the mummified husk of Cahyon, the Lich King. His desiccated body betrayed his immortality, but the illusion persisted.Why?I wondered.
Vanity. He wants to be an emperor of men, not a king of the undead.
My sister’s thought came through unexpectedly, but it made sense. Why would he think I would ever lead his abominations, though? Even if he dragged me to Katrass, his plans were doomed.
‘My lord,’ Rowena said carefully, her words laced with scepticism. ‘Alaric can be wilful. Are you sure he has enough power to control so many creatures?’
The Lich King’s expression darkened, displeased by her doubt.
‘Once the bond is complete, and our connection is forged, he will have my power as I will have his mind and obedience. Alaric’s necromancy already exceeds your father’s, and with the conduit mage he loves ...’ Cahyon’s lips curled into a smug grin. ‘Tell me, my dear, who will be more powerful than my puppet and I?’
He turned, grasping my father’s chin as though handling a pet. ‘Look at your father. He knows Alaric will be more than enough.Such jealousy from a doting parent,’ he sneered, patting Roan’s cheek mockingly. ‘It amuses me.’
Rowena gasped, but I felt immense pleasure at the insult. My father’s thunderous expression soured further, yet he didn’t pull away from the king’s grasp. He endured it silently, as though such humiliation was routine.
