Page 36 of Fate's Wicked Oath

Faren waited, watching me intently.

“We were mitigating it as best we could, but our Oaths require secrecy, and the closer monsters get to townships, the harder and more contradictory our duties become.”

“How so?”

“It’s difficult to protect someone from a creature they aren’t supposed to know about,” I said. “If I intervene with civilianwitnesses, my presence—with my special armor and magic weapon and lack of fear—all but confirms the abomination’s existence.” I spread my hands in a shrug. “I can’t claim a cursed wolf is simply rabid if it’s deformed body is bleeding at my feet with a crowd of villagers standing watch.”

“So the Valiant purposefully waited too long to save Yar?”

“Is that what I just said?”

Faren’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“Eventually, there had been enough incidents in and around Yar to warrant a less…clandestine intervention,” I continued. “We sent word to the Lord, asking for assistance. More knights or perhaps an official decree for evacuation.Somethingto get the townsfolk out of harm’s way. But no answer came.”

Faren was quick to jump to the Lord’s defense. “That can’t be right.”

“It wasn’t right,” I agreed. “There reached a tipping point where our duty to keep the secret was eclipsed by our duty to protect innocent lives. We intervened, but with limited resources, we could only slow the destruction, not stop it. It was too late.”

“You were there,” Faren realized. “When Yar fell.”

I nodded. Memory swept over me like a sheet, shrouding my vision. In my mind’s eye, I could see the Morta—ten of them, at least—sweeping through town with vicious hunger. I saw shops going up in flames, folks running and screaming. Cursed animals adding to the chaos, turning more into monsters. I’d defeated two Morta that night, but it hadn’t been enough to quell the destruction, and afterward, Heris had me beaten for making kills I hadn’t had a right to.

“What happened to the citizens?” Faren asked. “Were they turned?”

“Some were.”

“And the rest?”

That was a detail I couldn’t bring myself to speak.They know too much,Heris had said.If word spreads, it’ll be the end of the Valiant, and all our plans will have been for naught. I had left before it was done, but it still weighed heavy on my conscience.

Whatever conclusion Faren reached by my silence, he didn’t share it. “Fates,” he swore, rubbing his chin again. “Fucking Fates, what a mess.”

“Yeah,” I agreed.

He met my eyes. “Mariana, we can’t just—”

A series of cracks—not unlike the sound of a falling tree—cut him off. The wolves keeping post at the base of the tower scattered, racing into the fog with tails tucked. My heart began to pound with an instinctual, knowing sort of terror, the tattoo around my neck tingling with anticipatory awareness.

“What is it?” Faren asked. “What’s—”

I gripped his hand, willing him to keep quiet. Unlike the last time we touched, neither of us recoiled. His hand was broad, knuckles prominent, palm calloused. I could feel the veins in the back of his hand, his elevated pulse as he stared over the edge of the balustrade, ticking faster as the abomination came into view from the west.

A Morta.

14

That is How You Die

Faren

You will do exactly as I say,” Mariana said, quickly descending the spiral stairs. Her sword was lit, leading the way into the darkness below. “When we exit the tower, you will run east. You will not waver. Do you understand?”

Faren felt vaguely sick. Just a glimpse of the Morta from atop the tower had made his palms clammy and his stomach sour. It was huge. Grotesque. Humanoid, but disturbinglystretched, with claw-tipped arms that were too long, and legs bent backward like a dog’s. Its gray skin appeared to be rotting, torn around its joints to expose white tendons and sharp bone. Twisted antlers protruded from its head. Red eyes glowed above black fangs.

Faren had studied the drawings and read the reports, but those paltry renderings had not prepared him for seeing the atrocity in the flesh. The Morta was an unthinkable horror. A curse against nature.

As Faren followed Mariana down the stairs, he kept his eyes on his feet, focusing on not tripping down the narrow stoneslabs. The stairwell was not made for a man of his size—or any man wearing armor, it seemed. Ahead of him, Mariana moved nimbly, confidently.