by Jess Lebow
He stood up, shouting at Kharl. “You knew what you were getting into. You knew the consequences.”
The young man looked shocked. He stopped crying, stunned at Liam’s quick turn.
“Ryder knew it too. He knew this could happen, and he chose to go through with it anyway.”
Kharl looked to the ground, remaining quiet.
Liam stared down at the young man for a long time, not saying a word. Then, finally, “What you do with the rest of your life is up to you. But I’ll continue to fight Purdun until they pry my sword from my cold, dead hand.” He turned away from Kharl and headed through Furrowsrich village toward his brother’s house. “I will not let Ryder’s sacrifice be in vain.”
Liam knocked on the heavy wooden door. He didn’t know what he was going to say. He didn’t know how to make the news any easier. Hells, he was in shock himself. Not long ago he’d left his brother’s dead body lying under a dying guardsman.
Samira opened the door. She smiled, looking relieved. “Liam.” She wrapped her arms around him in a warm hug. “Thank the gods you made it back safely.”
Liam felt his heart sink into his belly. Nothing could have made what he had to say any harder.
Except that.
He tried to raise his arms to return the embrace, but they rebelled against him. Nothing would work the way it was supposed to. He stood motionless, stiff as a board, with his brother’s wife’s arms around him.
Samira must have felt it because she pushed herself away in a hurry. “Where’s Ryder?”
Tears welled up in his eyes.
“Liam,” she said, the high pitch of desperation entering her voice, “where is Ryder?”
“He’s gone.” Liam began to sob just like Kharl had sitting under the tree. “He fell trying to give me a chance to escape.”
“No.” Her voice pleaded with him. “No. No. No. He’s not gone. He can’t be gone.” She gripped his arms and shook him. “Tell me where he is. Tell me he’s coming back.”
Liam stared at the dirt in front of the doorway. He couldn’t look Samira in the eye. Instead, he watched his tears as they fell to the ground.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He gathered the courage to look up at his brother’s widow. She was trying to hold herself together, but her face was dark, streaked with the lines of pain that he felt deep inside. “Ryder is dead.”
Liam watched as her last bit of strength fled. Samira’s anguish overtook her entire face, and her knees went weak. Liam caught her before she hit the ground, and she collapsed into him, her head falling to his shoulder.
Liam held her up, squeezing her sobbing body against his. She was so soft, so clean, and so without fault. He felt dirty and ruined, as if the events of the day had somehow changed him, made him less of an honest man and more of an evil one. Her pain only served to amplify his own. It was his fault his brother had been killed. It was his fault Samira was now alone.
He stood there in the doorway for a moment longer, trying to let the wave of sorrow and guilt wash over and pass.
It never did.
Liam took Samira inside, closing the door behind him.
“What happened?”
Liam looked up from his load. “Mother? What are you doing here?”
The gray-haired woman stood up from the kitchen table where she had been sitting. “I came to talk to Samira about Ryder’s birthday,” she said in a huff, crossing the room to lay her hand on Samira’s forehead. “What happened? And where’s Ryder?”
Liam carried Samira across the room and placed her on the bed. She clung to his neck, continuing to sob.
His mother grabbed him by the arm. “Liam, answer me. What happened?”
Liam disentangled himself from his brother’s widow and turned to look down on his aging mother. He remembered what she had looked like when he was a child. Her curly locks had been a beautiful auburn. Her skin had been smooth and tan. Now, though, her bushel of hair was a salt-and-pepper gray, and her skin had bunched up in folds and wrinkles, transforming into a soft, pale whiteness.
“Liam.” She shook him. “Liam. What’s wrong with you?”
Liam looked her in the eyes. The same sadness that had consumed him upon seeing Samira at the door welled up again.
“Ryder’s gone.”
“I know that,” she said, miffed. “But when is he going to be back?”
Liam put his arms around her. “He’s not coming back, mother. Ryder is dead.”
“What? Dead?” His mother shook her head. “What are you talking about? He can’t be dead. Where is he?” She squeezed his arm tighter. “Stop fooling around and tell me what’s going on here.”
Liam took a deep breath. “Ryder and I ambushed a carriage today … a carriage from Zerith Hold.” Liam stuttered a bit, not really wanting to recount the story. He already knew his mother’s reaction. “It was … it was one of Lord Purdun’s carriages. We were only after a letter, a treaty that was to be signed by High Watcher Laxaella Bronshield, the Baroness of Tanistan. But the carriage was a setup. We were attacked by more than a dozen of Purdun’s elite guards.”
“But why?” His mother held her hands to her face.
“Ryder and I are … were part of the local resistance.”
His mother let go of his arms. “The Crimson Awl? All those stories about bandits robbing Lord Purdun’s coaches and mercenaries roaming around attacking his guardsmen … that was you? Liam, why?”
“Because we had to,” said Liam. “Lord Purdun is an evil, evil man. He takes our crops, taxes our livelihoods, and imposes unfair laws.” Liam had endured arguments with his mother on the topic before. They had never seen eye to eye. “But more importantly, he was in the process of putting together a treaty that could have ruined everything we’ve worked for, perhaps irrevocably.” Liam took a breath, holding up his hand to keep his place, making sure his mother didn’t butt in, as she was wont to do.
“The Awl is not a large organization,” he continued. “We are all farmers or craftsmen. We don’t have the means to fight a large-scale war. We’ve made progress against Baron Purdun and his guardsmen. Their numbers dwindle, and they have trouble recruiting new members. The people of Ahlarkham believe in what we are fighting for, and they refuse to help Purdun keep us down. But if Tanistan sent men as well, all of the work we have done would be lost. All our sacrifices would have been in vain.”
“And what about Ryder’s sacrifice? Did he know about all of this?” his mother demanded.
Liam nodded. “Ryder was our leader. The organizer. He planned most of the raids, and I helped him.”
His mother suddenly got angry. “What has Lord Purdun ever done to you?” She hit him across the chest. “You and your foolish notions of right and wrong. How many times has your father told you to keep your nose out of the baron’s business? Now look at what you’ve gone and done. You’ve gotten your brother killed, haven’t you? And we’ll never get him back.” She began to cry. “This is all your fault, Liam. All your fault.”
“No it’s not, Angeline.”
Liam turned around to see Samira sitting up on the bed. Her eyes were wet with tears, but some of the color had returned to her cheeks.
“Ryder knew what he was getting himself into.” Samira stood up and placed her hand on Liam’s shoulder, standing beside him in defense. “He knew the risks just as well as Liam did.”
“How can you say that, Samira?” said the matriarch through her sobs. “Your husband is dead.”
“I know that, Angeline.”
“Do you not grieve?”
Samira wiped the tears from her eyes, the pain on her face turning visibly to anger. “How dare you say that to me. Of course I do. And so does Liam.”
Liam felt a calmness wash through him. Somehow, Samira could forgive him for what he could not forgive himself. How could she do that? Samira was an angel. That must be it. No other creature on the plane could have such love in her heart. No other creature would be able to see through her grief and not
condemn the brother who lived for the death of the one who did not.
Angeline stared at Samira for a long moment, seemingly piecing together the words she had just heard. Then she turned to her youngest son, now her only son.
“And what of the rest of us?” she asked, glaring at Liam. “Samira may forgive you for Ryder’s death, but your foolish little game has now put us all at risk.”
Liam shook his head. “How?”
“Do you think those guards are blind? Do you think Purdun is stupid?” Angeline threw her hands in the air. “As soon as he realizes even one of you got away, he’ll send his men out looking.” She stepped up right into Liam’s face. “And when they come looking, they will be looking for you. And when they find you, we will all be in jeopardy.”
Liam put his hands to his head, rubbing his temples. He hadn’t thought of that. “What do you want me to do? You want me to march to Zerith Hold and turn myself in?”
Angeline opened her mouth, but Samira cut her off.
“No. Absolutely not.” She stared at Angeline until the older woman looked away, then she turned to gaze at Liam. “We’ve lost enough of our family for one day, I think.”
A tense silence filled the house, broken only by the crackling of the fire.
Liam watched his mother, not knowing what to say to her.
She watched him back, a stern look of disapproval on her face. Then the anger in her eyes faded, replaced by sadness, and she wrapped her arms around him. “You’re right,” she said, sobbing again. “I’m sorry, Liam. I’m sorry.”
CHAPTER 3
Two hooded figures stood before the mausoleum in the ruins of the cemetery outside Dajaan. A jagged hole in the ground slowly closed, taking with it the eerie green glow, the thick wisps of fog, and the demon the two men had summoned. All that remained was an open archway and a dark passage leading deep into the stone structure.
One of the men removed his hood, revealing a young half-elf with graying hair, ashen skin, and a long scaly ridge running from the back of his head down his neck and into his heavy robe. He wore a golden torque with five large oval rubies laid into its surface—the traditional symbol of power for the baron of Impresk.
“I hope you’re right about this,” said the bejeweled man.
The still-hooded man nodded. “I assure you, Lord Tammsel, the tomb offers all that you desire and more.” He bowed and held his open palm out, as if offering the baron the tomb’s entrance as a gift.
The half-elf eyed the darkened opening to the mausoleum. Then, adjusting his grip on his axe, he stepped forward and into the darkness. As he crossed the threshold, a torch came to life, filling the entrance with a thin, flickering light.
The hooded man took the torch from its sconce. “This way, my lord,” he said, indicating a flight of stairs leading down deeper into the tomb.
The two men followed the low light down the dusty stairway. At the bottom they stepped out into a large room filled wall to wall with stone sarcophagi. The lids on all of them were ajar.
Baron Tammsel stepped up to an empty sarcophagus. Not even the bones of the occupants remained.
“It looks as though we are too late,” said the baron. “This tomb has already been raided.”
“We are not petty thieves, my lord,” assured the hooded man. He walked farther in, heading for a raised platform in the middle of the room. “We are here for a much greater purpose.”
The half-elf wearily followed his companion to the center of the room. There, atop a stepped dais, sat a beautiful coffin carved in the shape of a human woman.
The hooded man took all of the steps in a single bound and lifted the torch, casting a weak circle of light over the entire coffin. The baron scanned the room, seemingly very uncomfortable in the bowels of the tomb.
“The wisdom you seek lies inside this coffin,” said the hooded man.
The baron shook his head. “Something is not right here.” He squinted, peering into the far reaches of the room. But even with his keen eyesight, the darkness ran out too far for him to see all the way across. “I sense we are being watched.” He turned a slow circle, still searching for something. “This is a place of great evil.” He spun back to face his companion. “I do not know why you brought me here, but I no longer believe your stories of steel dragons and scrolls of ancient wisdom.”
Baron Tammsel backed down the steps, away from the dais, keeping his eyes on the other man. “I am leaving now.”
The hooded figure shook his head. “No, Lord Tammsel. You are not.”
The half-elf spun around, breaking into a run toward the stairs. The shadows on the walls began to shift, taking shape. Moving with a preternatural speed that far outpaced the swift half-elf, they blocked the exit.
Lord Tammsel skidded to a stop, the dust on the floor rising into the air. The shapes before him were not made of shadow. They had only been using the darkness to conceal their presence. They hissed at him and moved closer. In the fading light Lord Tammsel could see their tattered flesh and jutting fangs.
“Vampires,” he said.
Backing up, he turned to see that the coffin on the dais lay open, and a female human—or what had once been a female human, now skeletal and decayed—stood beside the hooded man and looked down at Tammsel with great interest. Arrayed around the steps, several dozen slavering thralls clawed at the air, hissing and exposing their fangs.
Lord Tammsel let out a low growl. Dropping his axe, he pulled his arms out of his long sleeves, revealing two sets of powerful dragon claws. With a quick slash, the half-elf, half-dragon tore away his robes, exposing the elven chain beneath.
“I know not what treachery this is,” growled the baron, “but I assure you, I will not go down without a fight.”
The woman on the dais laughed, a sound like teeth chattering together. “You were right, Montauk,” she said, placing her hand on the hooded man’s shoulder. “He is full of fight.”
The man pulled back his cowl. His pale skin seemed even paler so deep in the mausoleum. And his hair, tied back in a ponytail, looked like a slithering snake, writhing over his back in the flickering torchlight. He smiled. “You are too kind, my mistress.”
Lord Tammsel growled again, a deep rolling sound from within his chest. His eyes narrowed. Then he charged the door and the stairs leading out of the tomb.
The entire room seemed to lose air as the vampires and their spawn let out a collective hiss. They gathered in a tight group in front of the door and closed in behind him from the dais. The half-dragon, half-elf baron leaped into the air and came down in the middle of the vampires’ blockade.
The tips of his outstretched hands ripped into the first spawn in his path. The creature let out a wail as it was torn in half, shredded by Lord Tammsel’s powerful claws. He turned on another, ripping its head from its shoulders with a single swat.
His enemies attacked back. A fist slammed into his shoulder, spinning Tammsel to one side. The blow temporarily dazed him, but he managed to shake it off, bringing his hand up in time to block another fist meant for his jaw. A pair of teeth bit down on his arm. Jerking away, the baron lifted the vampire off its feet, its fangs still clenched against his elven chain.
With a mighty roar, Tammsel hurled the undead from his arm, sending it flying into half a dozen of its brethren. They fell to the floor in a hissing pile of fangs and claws. He’d managed to make a small opening, and he took advantage of it, stepping toward the fallen foes and into the gap.
One step closer to the door, Lord Tammsel fought on. Grabbing hold of a vampire spawn with both hands, he pulled the creature toward him and sank his teeth into its face. Shaking his head, the Baron of Impresk bit the spawn’s face right off its head and the spawn fell away, unable to see.
With a satisfied purr, Tammsel spat the rotting flesh from his mouth and came on guard again. He took another step, closing in on the door. His life was nearly saved. The prize of freedom he sought was near, and it filled him with new strength.
&nbs
p; There were only a handful of undead between him and the doorway. Taking in a deep breath, the half-silver dragon shook his head back and forth, blowing out all of the air in his lungs. A gust of super cold spread out, catching a half-dozen vampire spawn in a maelstrom of freezing breath. The bile and mellifluent fluids that held them together turned to ice. Their slumping skin turned hard and fell from their bones. Collectively the quickly freezing beasts let out a wail, then they went silent, either stopping in their tracks or falling frozen to the ground.
Without hesitation, Tammsel dived into the new gap, moving within just a few steps of the way out. He reached for the next in his way, but something caught him from behind and spun him around. Looking back at the dais, the baron could see the circle of undead closing in. The vampires he had knocked down were already back on their feet.
They seized him, clasping his arms, legs, shoulders, and head. Though he struggled, the undead piled on. Their hands scratched at his skin. Their fangs clanked against his armor. Slowly the tomb disappeared from his view, replaced with dead gray flesh and shadow.
The onslaught was more than the baron could take, and he sank to his knees. Twisting under the pile, he gritted his teeth and growled, struggling for one more look at the door. He reached, his claws grasping around in the stale crypt air. His fist shook as his body was pummeled, over and over again, until he finally stopped moving. His hand fell limp to the floor.
The pile of spawn climbed off his corpse, leaving the older, more deserving vampires to lap up the fresh blood.
Montauk looked down on the former Baron of Impresk, a smile on his face. “Goodbye, Tammsel.”
The woman standing next to him placed her hand on his shoulder. “I trust his replacement has been put into place.”