A Clatter of Chains

by A Van Wyck

  Christian was going to die.

  The realization came as a shock.

  No. No, that couldn’t happen. He felt the clammy grip of the sword in his hands as he straightened, willing his trembling knees into stiffness. Christian needed help.

  “Bear!” He yelled at the top of his lungs. “Finch! Leffley! Ryhorn! Anybody!” Even if they heard, they wouldn’t get here in time. He shifted forward, feeling like he was going to throw up. Bile bubbling in his throat, he rushed Luvid’s exposed back. He roared his fear as he swung.

  His blade bit at the stone floor, nearly jumping from his stinging palms. Bewildered, he cast around for Luvid.

  The man smiled at him from six paces away, sword dangling in apparent unconcern.

  He felt Christian step up beside him. Unspoken communication passed between them. As one, they stepped off, separating as they neared Luvid, coming at the man from two sides.

  Expectant smile and sword were raised to meet them.

  They rushed the man together, blades flashing.

  He knew from the first they were in trouble. At Luvid’s belt hung a heavy, curved knife. Almost a shortsword. It could have provided an offhand weapon to block with. The man ignored it and the offhand that went with it. Instead, he met them with a contemptuous, one-handed sword style that deftly turned their every stroke. They’d thought to press Luvid but he stood unmoving. Smiling easily at them through the flurry of blades, the bodyguard seemed impervious.

  And then the bodyguard did laugh. Roaring with head thrown back, unmindful of their continued attacks. Which fell impotently on the one-handed defense. Loud peals of exultation rang through the hall.

  He jumped back in astonishment. Beside him Christian did the same. The sound of clashing steel faded. Gradually the laughter did too and the bodyguard turned a jubilant smile on them.

  “I’ve enjoyed you both,” the man sighed regretfully, “but unless you’ve anything more to show me, I’m afraid we’re done here.”

  His heart lurched at those calm words but he copied Christian, readying for another attack. Fear ran thickly through him but his hands were mercifully steady on the grip of the sword he raised before him. He cast one last glance in the keeper’s direction, feeling searing defeat take him.

  He’d failed. Again. Useless tears stung his eyes, clouding his vision but he didn’t bother shaking them away. Whether he could see or not would make little difference in the outcome of this fight. He tightened his grip and bit down on his teeth until they creaked, waiting for Christian’s move. His heart beat loudly in his ears, savoring its last moments. Time slowed.

  Duhm-dip… duhm-dip… duhm-dip…

  He plunged forward along with the masha’na at his shoulder.

  Smiling indulgence, Luvid’s sword only started to move at the last possible instant, on a path that would intersect both of their cuts, confident grin turning anticipatory.

  I’m sorry, Fathe–

  Something flashed by his ear.

  “Ugh!” Two throwing stars bloomed high on Luvid’s chest, stuck deep into the leather armor. Somehow the bodyguard still managed to parry Christian’s cut but the tip of Marco’s sword plunged into the man’s side. It bit through the armor to find the flesh beneath. But the man was unbelievably fast and he twisted lithely away.

  What should have been an impaling lunge became a glancing cut. It tore a bloody furrow through the dark leathers. A gauntleted hand snapped down to grab hold of the wounding blade. A foot shot out.

  He folded around it. He’d never been hit so hard in his life. His feet left the floor and he cartwheeled limply away. The wall brought him up short with a crack to his head. Through curdling vision, he watched Luvid – no longer smiling – beat away Christian’s sword with such violence the masha’na stumbled. Steel flashed. The blond commander crumpled, lifeblood fanning out amid broken chain links. The captain crashed heavily to the ground.

  A door behind Luvid burst open as more soldiers came pouring in.

  “Christian!”

  Unable to rise, his cheek scraped floor as he turned to look. Finch was framed in the main entrance at the head of several masha’na.

  “Leave them!” Luvid barked, hurling Marco’s sword aside. “Get the priest!” Two soldiers hoisted the insensate keeper from the chair and beat a hasty retreat, disappearing through the rear door.

  “No…”

  He’d meant it to be a shout but it came out a croak. It was a battle just to breathe. Finch reached the rear door just as it slammed shut behind Luvid and the captured keeper. They all heard the heavy bar drop on the other side. The slight warrior kicked at the thick wood and cast around for something to use as a battering ram. He came up empty.

  “They’ve got to come out somewhere!” the woodsman declared. “Fan out and search the ruins!”

  The assembled masha’na dashed back out into the daylight.

  It was strange to think the sun still shone outside.

  He rolled over, groaning upright on one elbow as his head slowly cleared.

  “You should stay still,” Nin said, kneeling at his side.

  His abdomen was a knot of pain. He thought something of his old wound might have torn.

  “Help me up,” he wheezed at her.

  She put one hand under his armpit and dragged him upright. He clamped his lips around a sob of pain but made it to his feet. Gasping, he leaned against the wall for support. Fingers probing beneath his shirt came up blood-free. Steeling himself against all kinds of pain, he hobbled over to Christian’s limp form. Ryhorn knelt there, cutting the captain’s robes into bandages.

  “Is he alive?”

  “Only just.”

  “Is he going to live?”

  The masha’na shrugged but the disfigured cheek seemed to sneer at Christian’s chances.

  He knelt by them.

  “Christian, can you hear me? Christian I’m sor–”

  “Go…” the bleeding man mouthed at him, eyes fluttering open.

  “What?”

  “Go,” the man said again, wincing weakly at Ryhorn’s ministrations. “Find… keeper. Bring him… bring him…” the young officer coughed up blood.

  “Quiet you,” Ryhorn chided, not unkindly.

  Christian’s eyes drifted closed.

  Turning away, he hobbled over to scoop his bloodied sword from the floor and made his gasping way outside. Nin stepped up beside him. Apart from some scattered bodies (none of them masha’na) there was no sign of anyone.

  “This is crazy, you know,” she told him casually. “Did you even see that thing?”

  There was no need to ask what thing she was talking about.

  “I saw,” he said, feeling strangely calm.

  “And you want to go after it?”

  He nodded, “You?”

  She regarded him seriously. “He’s got my pay,” she said simply.

  He knew it was the hysteria that made him smile at that.

  “You go that way,” she directed, walking in the opposite direction. “Holler if you see them.”

  His smile died as he stared after her.

  What am I thinking?

  He set out, heading for the trees, every step feeling like another kick to the gut. The pressure behind his eyes was getting worse. He began intoning a prayer but the words kept slipping away. He concentrated on dragging his feet toward the pine forest. He started in a wide circle around the ruins, nostrils flaring as he shuffled along.

  Breathing was hard but walking was torture. He wove unsteadily among the boles, ribs feeling like crushed glass. He lost himself in the effort of putting one foot in front of the other. For a time, the only thing he could hear was his own labored breathing. He gradually became aware of another, low sound – a peculiar rumbling drone. He stumbled towards it.

  If not for his uncanny hearing, he might have fought his way through the thick brush just to step over the cliff’s edge. Instead, he stood gasping in the damp, empty air, clutching desperately at the nearest
tree. Its gnarled roots grew over the edge of the cleft. The far side was lost in a haze, the sudden break as wide across as he could run in ten long breaths on his best day. Vertigo made his head spin as he looked down. Far below, a river of ice-melt raged, rushing in a white torrent that raised freezing clouds of diamond mist. From this height, the water seemed immobile but the evidence of its violent turmoil echoed upwards, bouncing from the canyon walls.

  A swirl of air brought his head around. He stared along the curve of the canyon wall, eyes narrowing. Was that movement? He set off, moving faster now, ignoring the stabbing pain in his midriff as best he could.

  The narrow forest path was old and overgrown and he might have stumbled past it if not for the heavy scent of Luvid’s passage. The man’s stench was overlain by that of a handful of others and (he breathed deeply) the keeper. Not bothering to move inconspicuously, he followed, trying for a hurried trot but dragging both feet. The pressure behind his eyes spiked, his stomach clenching tight as black spots swirled across his vision. Losing his footing, he left some skin on the rough bark of an old pine but clenched his teeth stubbornly and pushed on.

  The small clearing was right on the edge of the cliff. Absurdly green grass, sprouting pristine white flowers, introduced a rough triangle of open ground. At its end stood a bridge. It was little more than a decrepit rope ladder. Generations old, it probably hadn’t seen use in a decade. The thick ropes, once wide around as his wrist, were badly frayed in places. Wild mops of loose, bearded tangles danced in the gusts rising from the chasm. The thick, wooden planks were molting green and blue with age except where breaks showed the pulpy, yellow fibers of the interior. Some were missing entirely. His gaze drawn, automatically, to the far side. He glimpsed two figures, the limp from of a third slung between them, disappearing among the trees.

  “I’m disappointed.”

  Startled, he focused his eyes closer to hand. Less than fifteen paces away, cutting off passage to the bridge, Luvid smiled. The bodyguard had recovered his good humor, despite the weeping hole in the side and the two throwing stars embedded in the shoulder.

  “I had hoped,” the man continued, “you would favor me with another performance like you did in the tourney.” The smile broadened. “I don’t mind telling you, you surprised me – you forced me to seriousness. Not many in this backwater realm could have managed that, I promise you.” The man inclined his head, as though conferring a great honor. The effect was spoiled by a skewed smirk. The bodyguard glanced over a shoulder, ensuring the keeper’s captors had made good their escape. “You cannot imagine,” the man confided, “how bored I’ve been.”

  Luvid’s drawn sword drew his eye, still swinging from that relaxed grip and crusted now with Christian’s blood. Luvid followed his gaze.

  “Oh, yes,” the man said. “That.” The bodyguard seemed to notice the throwing stars for the first time. “I think,” tentative fingers reached to grip one between thumb and forefinger, “your friend may have severed a sinew or damaged a nerve with these.” The star did not surrender the flesh easily, though Luvid’s smile remained unfazed as it was dragged out. The star was held up for study. Mouth twisting wryly, the bodyguard flicked it absently away over a shoulder. The second followed suit.

  He stared.

  “Now I can’t seem to let go of this damn thing,” Luvid chuckled menacingly, shrugging the bad shoulder to indicate the sword at the end of it. “Guess I’ll just have to use it.” The grin broadened.

  He drew his own sword, dragging it free despite the resistance of drying blood and sickening fear.

  “That’s the spirit!” Luvid encouraged.

  He concentrated on ignoring the man. Even wounded, Luvid could cut him to ribbons and he was much worse off than the bodyguard. He would need every last ounce of skill he possessed. So, he’d surprised the would-be assassin on the tourney field? What had he done differently then?

  Calm the mind, Master Crysopher’s voice whispered. He closed his eyes.

  Breathe in...

  Exhale the fear.

  …out...

  Draw in the calm.

  …in…

  He opened his eyes.

  Calm.

  He’d gone a long time without practicing his fighting focus but it embraced him readily. Everything else fell away as his thoughts sharpened into the cold, precise comfort of the trance. His breathing was even, his heartbeat regular, his pain swept into a corner of his mind, leaving the rest free to simply… be.

  Be victorious.

  That had never been part of Master Crysopher teachings but to lose here was unthinkable. Sword at the ready, he padded to meet Luvid.

  They clashed in the middle of the clearing. Metal sang off metal. He was aware of the stunning power that, even wounded and fighting one handed, Luvid put behind each blow. Inside the trance, he was buffered against the pain that shot through his arms. His sword moved in a blur, an extension of his will, weaving a skein of protection around him.

  Luvid smiled wide as his first attack met that defense and was turned. And the second. The third. By the fourth the man gave a delighted chortle and the attacks began to fall even harder, faster. Somehow he matched the bodyguard. By the tenth exchange Luvid’s smile had evaporated. The bodyguard’s pace increased again. Again he matched it, feeling the strain across his shoulders as if they belonged to someone else.

  Their exchanges came too fast to count now. Luvid growled at him, smile long gone beneath frustrated fury.

  Now...

  He pressed in hard, his sword flying, and drove Luvid back a step. Then another. And another.

  The cliff’s edge hove nearer. He saw an opening and swung. The bodyguard spat an oath through bared teeth, leaping away as the blow whistled past. Not letting up, he pressed forward, committing himself to the offensive. Luvid was no more than a handful of paces from the edge. Metal rang discordantly as the blades bit at each other again and again. The snarling bodyguard was forced back another step. Muscles screaming even inside the trance, he stepped it up. His sword sung through the air and Luvid retreated another step. The man’s heel stuck out over the lip of the gorge, dislodging a scattering of pebbles.

  He roared his defiance into that snarling face, throwing reserves he didn’t have into this last push. His sword whistled as it cut the air, connecting with Luvid’s blade hard enough to throw the man’s damaged arm wide, exposing a stretch of chest. He reversed his cut. Luvid’s sword was too far out of play to block this blow and he threw all his will behind it. His sword sped toward the murderer’s heart. It was over. He’d done it.

  Clang!

  He stared in disbelief as his sword struck the heavy knife edge-on and stopped dead, like it’d hit a wall. He hadn’t even seen Luvid draw it but its sheath hung empty at the man’s belt. The bodyguard’s sword came flashing back and, just like that, his chance was lost.

  He dropped and rolled, frantically avoiding the looping cut that threatened to take his arm off. He felt it tug at his borrowed shirt as he tumbled away. Dragging his sword with him, he sprang back up. Luvid gave him no time to think. Sword and long knife reached for him hungrily, driven from behind by the bodyguard’s snarling face. The blows rained down relentlessly, faster and harder than before. Even inside the trance, he felt his frame give under the shock of the merciless assault. There was no thought for counterattack. It was all he could do to stay alive. Seeing his chance, he locked swords with Luvid. The edge of his blade pressed down hard on the scissored sword and long knife, holding them in place. If he could just get a moment to catch his breath…

  Ignoring their interlocked weapons, Luvid leaned in close, putting them face to face. He started. The man’s bright green irises had expanded to hide the whites of his eyes. They shone with a putrid pearlescence, the pupils reduced to pinpricks.

  Inhuman.

  The thing that was Luvid barked a curse at him in an unknown language, voice unrecognizable. The word was foul, even if the meaning was obscure. And it held power
. It stabbed into his ears and exploded inside his head, like a slap that had bypassed the flesh and bones to land on his mind.

  The trance vanished from him like a pricked soap bubble. In an instant, his arms were leaden, his muscles agony and his lungs starved. Then the pain hit him and he could do nothing but gasp as the thing that was Luvid slashed its weapons left and right. The scything cut shearing through his sword, cutting swathes through his flesh. He heard his sternum crack as his own arms smashed into him. He was thrown from his feet, rolling among the white flowers. His blood misted around him, turning the nearest ones pink. Somehow, he retained his grip on his ruined sword.

  “Take comfort, human.”

  He looked up in dazed disbelief at that deep, distorted voice. Luvid padded towards him, a good deal of wrist now extending beyond their cuffs. Leather armor strained around muscle swelled far beyond what it was designed to contain.

  With muted horror, he noted the man’s teeth had grown to points.

  “At least you weren’t boring,” the apparition soothed, raising its blade high.

  With a strangled yell, he rolled. Black dirt gouted up in his wake. It pattered down around them as the thing drew its sword back, padding after him.

  “You should be grateful,” it said, following unhurriedly, “you have no idea the fate I’m sparing you.”

  With the grace of Helia, he’d made it to his feet. Now he stood, weaving and spent, breath coming in short, painful stabs. He held one arm cradled to his holed chest and raised his sword. It was sheared off two handspans shy of the tip.

  The oncoming attack batted at him with soft paws, like he was a lame mouse. Stumbling drunkenly, he struggled keep his ruined blade up. Somehow, he managed to interpose it between himself and the next blow. Except that the next blow fell unexpectedly. Luvid’s elbow bent strangely, his sword changing course. Everything slowed. He watched the blade sink slowly toward him. He couldn’t even blink.