by Jess Lebow
At the far end, opposite where Liam was standing, three large oak trees reached up over the wall. They leaned over the middle of the circle, and their branches grew into each other, woven together like crisscrossed fingers. As a farmer, Liam had spent much of his life attending to the needs of growing plants, but never had he seen anything like this. It was as if the trees had at some point come to life, twisting their trunks toward each other to engage their branches and leaves in one giant embrace, creating a natural canopy over the circle.
Underneath the trees’ outstretched arms stood six of the seven members of the Council—the official decision making body of the Crimson Awl. Though most of the decisions were made in the Awl through a vote of all the attending members, when there were disputes, the Council was the final authority.
The members now stood in a line, three on each side—an obvious absence in the center. Up until the ambush, Ryder had been the seventh and most senior member of the group. The open space between the other Council members was there for him. Despite the circumstances, it made Liam feel a small amount of warmth for these men that they would honor his brother in such a way. He began to relax. Surely they would realize that he was no traitor. They would show to him the same honor they showed now to Ryder.
Arrayed around the wall, standing two and sometimes three deep, were many of the other members of the Crimson Awl. Liam recognized all of them. He’d seen them at meetings, even fought with them side by side against Purdun and his men. He had come to think of them as his extended family. They looked out for him, and he did the same for them.
Behind the Awl, standing in the shadows several steps off but still within earshot, was a group of odd-looking people. All but one wore heavy cloaks of dark gray wool that were hard to see in the shadow-laden forest. At first, Liam couldn’t tell how many of them there were. They seemed to fade in and out, blending in with the darkness. Two in the group stood out. One because he was the sole person among them with his hood pulled down and his face exposed. The other, like those behind, wore a hood over its face, but unlike its companions, the fabric was a deep red, like the color of blood.
Liam looked at them for a long moment and decided that there were six of them in all. He didn’t recognize the man without a hood, and the others showed no distinguishing features. They were intently focused on the proceedings, looking on with obvious interest.
The cuffs of his shackles bit into Liam’s wrists, and he twisted them to see if he could make himself more comfortable. If the Council wanted to talk about betrayal, he’d talk about betrayal—namely the way they were treating him after he’d lost his brother in the raid.
Montauk left Liam’s side, stepping over the low stone wall and into the circle. He passed by the other members and took the empty place among the line of Council members.
Liam’s heart sank. “You’ve given Montauk Ryder’s seat on the Council?” He glared at them.
All of the Council members except Montauk averted their eyes.
“How long did you wait in respect for his passing?” said Liam, sadness slowly filling his chest. “A day? Perhaps a full tenday?”
“It’s not like that, Liam,” said a portly man standing beside Montauk.
“Then what is it like, Meirdan?”
The portly man grabbed his long, graying beard, seeming to use it to steady himself and collect his thoughts. “We mean … Well, it’s …” Meirdan took a deep breath. “Your brother would have wanted it this way.”
“How do you know what Ryder would have—” started Liam.
“Enough,” interrupted Montauk. “It is not the Council that has to justify its actions. It is you.”
“Yes, yes,” said Meirdan, obviously glad to have the spotlight moved onto Liam. “You have some explaining to do.”
“And what would you like me to explain?” spat Liam. “How we got ambushed? How Ryder was killed when the elite guard—?”
“Why don’t you start with your visit to Zerith Hold and your little chat with Lord Purdun?” interrupted Montauk.
The collected members of the Crimson Awl stirred angrily.
“He took me prisoner,” defended Liam. “I had no choice.”
“You didn’t resist?” probed Meirdan.
Liam nodded. “I did,” he replied. “But they threatened to burn down my home. Samira and my mother were inside. Surely any of you would have given yourselves up to save your family.”
“Then why didn’t you do the same for Ryder?” jabbed Montauk.
Suddenly, Liam hated this man. “Why don’t you unlock my hands and ask me that question again?”
“Now, now, Liam. I am only trying to get to the bottom of what happened and what was said.”
“We were ambushed, Montauk,” shouted Liam. “Somehow they knew we were coming, and they were ready. They had us outnumbered. When things got tough, Ryder pushed me out of the way of a guardsman’s blade.” Liam bit his lip. He could see Ryder in his mind. He watched again as the soldier’s blade pierced his gut. “He saved my life, then begged me to run.” Liam looked out into the crowd of Awl. He spotted Kharl. He shoved his chin toward the young man. “Ask Kharl, he’ll tell you. He was there.”
The Awl mumbled to themselves. Behind them, the newcomers stood stock still, unmoved by Liam’s words.
Montauk took a step forward and put his arms up. Instantly the circle fell silent. “You are avoiding the issue. Get to the point. What did you tell Lord Purdun? What does he know about the Awl?”
Liam held his chin up defiantly in the face of this thinly veiled accusation. “I told him nothing.”
“Surely the baron wanted something from you,” goaded Montauk.
Liam took a breath, looking out at the other Awl. He didn’t know how this next part was going to sound. He looked to the ground. “Yes, he did.”
“And? Out with it, man. What did he want?” demanded Montauk.
“He offered me a job.”
“A job?” Montauk’s voice rose to an incredulous pitch.
Liam nodded. “He wanted me to join his elite guard.”
This brought another burst of mumbles from the rank and file.
Montauk laughed. “You expect us to believe that you were taken by force to see the Baron of Ahlarkham after you ambushed one of his carriages so that he could offer you work?”
Liam nodded again. “That’s what happened.”
“And what was your answer?”
Liam stood up straight, puffing out his chest. “I told him I’d rather die than do his dirty work.”
This brought a few hoots from the crowd, and a “That a boy!”
Montauk glared at the Awl, and they fell silent again. “And after you told him this, he just let you go, no punishment, no exchange of information, no nothing?” He spun a slow circle, making a big deal out of making eye contact with everyone present. When he had completed his turn, he faced Liam again. “Well, I don’t know about your other brothers and sisters of the Awl, but I for one do not believe you.”
Liam looked around at the men and women he had thought were his friends. They stared at him with accusation in their eyes. Even Kharl, who would have been lying dead next to Ryder if it hadn’t been for Liam, seemed to condemn him.
There was a loud noise behind Liam, and a whole lot of rustling.
Then someone shouted, “It’s Purdun’s men. Run!”
There were a few choice swear words, then commotion broke out. Dowmore Glen became a frenzy of activity. The veterans in the group organized quickly, forming a line, trying to give the others time to flee. They grabbed the younger ones, forcing them behind the line. The Council members and those on the fringes of the circle ran for cover.
As Liam spun around, he caught one last glimpse of the strange robed group on the fringe of the Glen. Only two of them remained. The hoodless man and the red-cloaked person looked on with the same stoic gaze they had worn while watching Liam fight accusations of treason. Then they turned and walked calmly from the cleari
ng. As they left, four gray wolves padded out from behind the trees, following them deeper into the forest.
Liam wondered about them for a quick moment, then the hum of bowstrings brought him back to the soldiers raiding the clearing. He turned around to see a host of well-armed elite guardsmen charging through the woods toward the druid’s circle.
“Damn,” he said under his breath, and he took off running. He made for the defensive line, following the rest of the Awl as they ran from the clearing.
The crossbowmen were only a few large strides away. They had crouched behind the low stone wall for cover, and Liam wanted to get behind them. Reaching the wall, he lifted his foot to leap over, but Montauk moved in front of him. The man who had usurped Ryder’s place as head of the Crimson Awl gave Liam a shove. Off balance from preparing to jump over the stones, Liam couldn’t catch himself in time and fell backward. With his hands cinched behind him, he tumbled, landing on his tailbone with all his weight. It hurt, and he gritted his teeth. His eyes watered from the pain, and he looked up at a blurry image of Montauk leering down at him.
“This is your fault.” He pulled a dagger from his belt, turned the point toward Liam, and lifted it over his shoulder. “You’re a traitor to the Awl and a disgrace to the memory of your own brother.”
Liam’s heart raced. He scrambled sideways, bending his knees and lifting his weight with his bound hands as he slid one foot under his rump. But as he shifted his weight the pine needles moved, and he slipped, falling again on his tailbone.
“Good-bye and good riddance,” said Montauk.
“Incoming,” shouted one of the Awl.
A volley of arrows came raining down near the crossbowmen. Most of them shattered harmlessly against the stone wall, but a few hit home.
Montauk let out a cry and stumbled backward, holding his right arm. “Damn.”
One of Purdun’s men had grazed Montauk with his shot. Two of the crossbowmen stood up to help him, pulling the usurper back and away from the stone wall. Most of the other Awl had already fled the clearing, leaving only the veterans and Montauk.
“Fall back,” shouted another of the crossbowmen.
The crouching revolutionaries stood slowly and backed away from the druid’s circle, keeping their crossbows pointed at the oncoming soldiers. One at a time, they fired off their bolts, turned, and ran, leaving Dowmore Glen and those who had fallen behind.
Liam struggled again to get to his feet. This time the sharpened tip of an arrow blocked his path, and he lay back down.
“Well, well, if it isn’t our old friend Liam.”
Liam looked up into the face of Captain Beetlestone.
“So,” said the captain, a huge grin on his face, “have you reconsidered our offer? By the look of things, I’d say you haven’t much choice.”
CHAPTER 9
Ryder stretched his back. It was the first time in a month that he’d been able to move without the help of the man chained beside him. The feeling was euphoric, completely erasing the bruises and aching muscles, the marching and the beatings. He was free again, and nothing in the world could take away from that.
He examined the shackle attached to his wrist. He moved his arm back and forth, making the heavy chain swing. Without a sword, it would have to do.
Ryder looked up to the swirling melee before him. A couple of Purdun’s guardsmen had managed to get on their horses, but most of them—those who hadn’t already been killed—were still on foot. Small pockets had formed, the guards standing back to back, lashing out at the bandits encircling them.
Closer, standing a full head taller than anyone else, was the taskmaster. His whip in one hand, a meat cleaver in the other, he swatted at a freed prisoner. The smaller man threw a rock at Mr. Cobblepot, which the taskmaster batted away. Then the huge man stepped forward and brought his cleaver down, slamming it into the prisoner’s head. The man’s skull split in two, drenching the taskmaster’s bare chest with blood.
The dead man stayed on his feet for a moment longer, swaying, then he toppled to the ground, chunks of red and gray spilling from the massive wound in his head.
Ryder closed in on the taskmaster. His tormentor stood in the middle of the battle, reveling in his last kill. Fresh blood dripped from his chest, arms, and neck as he looked for his next victim. He didn’t see Ryder right away, and the revolutionary turned freed prisoner took advantage of the opening.
Charging forward, Ryder swung the chain on his wrist up over his head in a quick circle. The heavy end lagged behind his arm, picking up speed as it came around. Cobblepot turned to see Ryder just as the chain hit him square in the face. The shackle cuff made a resounding clank as it collided with the huge man’s skull, slapping closed then open again as it hit.
The taskmaster blinked his eyes and shook his head, obviously stunned by the attack. Ryder took four large steps back, pulling the unwieldy chain with him. It shook and rattled as he prepared to swing it again.
Cobblepot regained his composure, and he turned to face off with Ryder, a red welt forming on his forehead where the chain had hit him.
“You should’ve stayed put, filth,” bellowed the huge, bloody man. He cracked his whip toward Ryder, slapping at the dusty ground. “But I’m glad you didn’t.” The whip cracked again. “Because now I can take you apart.”
The big man lunged, eating up two of Ryder’s backward paces with one of his own. He came on with his heavy cleaver, swinging it as effortlessly as though it were nothing more than an extension of his own hand.
Ryder jumped back and brought his arm around reflexively. The chain swung slowly through the air, and the taskmaster bashed it aside with a quick blow. The chain clanked back, jerking Ryder’s arm with it, and he stumbled sideways.
The taskmaster retaliated with his whip, catching Ryder on the chest and shoulder. The strike burned his skin and tore his gray tunic. But more than anything, it infuriated Ryder. The last time the taskmaster hit him with his whip, Ryder had been bound, unable to fight back. This time, things were different. Ryder was free to take control of his own destiny, and he intended to do just that. Gritting his teeth and forcing the pain from his mind, Ryder spun around, accelerating as he went. The chain rose into the air, carried by his body’s momentum. At the end of the spin, a bit disoriented, he raised his arm and lunged toward Cobblepot’s head. The heavy cuff slammed against the taskmaster’s ear, dropping the big man to one knee.
Cobblepot let out a yell, dropped his cleaver, and lifted his hand to the side of his head. When he pulled it away, it too, just like the rest of his body, was covered with blood. This time, however, it was his own.
Ryder fell back, trying to catch his balance, keeping the bare-chested man in front of him.
Cobblepot looked up from his place on one knee. “I’ll get you for that.”
Standing up, he cracked his whip, snapping it forward and back. Pop, pop, pop, pop. The whip sang through the air. The taskmaster began to advance.
Ryder swung the chain, the whistling sound of air rushing through the links growing with each circle it made over his head. He held his ground as the big man charged.
The whip snapped as it came for his face. Ryder dodged to the left and ducked. The whip caught him on the top of his head, making a painful crack as it connected. But it didn’t stop Ryder’s advance. He lunged forward, sending the chain out at Cobblepot’s ankles. The cuff wrapped around the big man’s leg and the chain made a full loop, flopping over and tangling itself on its own links—just as Ryder had hoped it would.
Dropping to his knees, Ryder leaned back with all his weight, pulling the chain toward him with every last ounce of strength he had left.
The move caught the taskmaster off guard, and Ryder managed to pull the man’s legs out from under him. Cobblepot swung his arms in wide circles, trying to stay upright, but all that did was prolong his fall. The taskmaster landed on his back, sending up a huge plume of dust from the dry plain. Ryder immediately jumped to his feet, the chain o
n his arm still entangled around the taskmaster’s leg. Turning a quick circle to give himself as much slack as he could, Ryder lifted his foot in the air and came down on Cobblepot’s head with the heel of his boot.
The big man let out a howl, his whole body convulsing from the blow, and he pulled his hands to his face. The chain around his leg pulled taut, yanking Ryder back. He stumbled to his knees, but the sight of his torturer lying there on the ground drove him on. He leaped to his feet and came at the man again.
Ryder brought his foot up, this time stomping harder. His heel landed against Cobblepot’s hands, smashing them into his face. Blood poured out from behind his fingers, and the taskmaster shook, his body twitching. Ryder repeated his attack, nearly losing his balance with the momentum of his foot.
His boot connected with a loud snap, and the front of Cobblepot’s face collapsed. Ryder’s boot heel sank deeper than he had expected it to, and a jolt of fear and exhilaration ran up his spine. The taskmaster screamed and started to thrash. Ryder was thrown to the ground.
The chain, still tangled around Cobblepot’s leg, pulled at Ryder’s arm, yanking him around like a dog on a leash. He tried to get closer, to loosen the slack, but the big man was thrashing so hard, there just weren’t enough links in the chain. Struggling to his feet, Ryder changed his approach. Risking being pummeled to death by Cobblepot’s flailing boots, he looped his arm forward and around, trying to shake the chain free.
Cobblepot sat up and lunged forward, pulling both hands away from his face to grab at Ryder. The piggish man had been ugly before, but now he was downright hideous. His nose had been completely caved in. Instead of a protruding ridge, there was a deep recess. Blood flowed from the wound, spraying out in speckled drops with each labored breath.
The rest of the taskmaster’s face had shifted, filling in the gap where his nose had been. Where before the cartilage had held the skin taut, it had now gone slack. Large wrinkles of flesh gathered across his cheeks and forehead. It looked to Ryder as if the man’s face was now longer, thinner. His eye sockets were closer together, and his gaze seemed to wander, his eyeballs shaking as they tried to focus.