by Jess Lebow
Ryder easily pulled away from Cobblepot’s grasping hands. The man reached, then reached again, as if trying to catch an elusive butterfly. His clumsiness was only accentuated by the agility of his prey. For a moment, Ryder felt pity for the man. Sitting there, bathed in his own blood, the one-time tormentor of men looked like a newborn baby, unable to defend himself against the dangers of the world.
With his arms in the air, the taskmaster’s legs had momentarily stilled, and Ryder took advantage of it. Untangling the shackles from the big man’s leg, he took several steps back and breathed. He was tired, perhaps more so than he’d ever been in his entire life. Turning around, he looked out to see the rest of the battle.
Huge dust clouds rose off the plain. The bandits’ horses kicked the dirt into the air as they rode circles around the surrounded guardsmen. There were screams and the other telltale sounds of battle, and Ryder couldn’t get a good sense of what was happening.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of something moving in on him. Leaping back without knowing for certain what was coming, Ryder threw himself to the dirt.
He didn’t see much more.
“Now it’s my turn.” The taskmaster grabbed him by the throat, lifting Ryder from the ground.
Ryder was shocked at how fast the big man had gotten to his feet. He clawed at Cobblepot’s hands and kicked at the ground with the tips of his toes as he dangled from the big man’s grasp.
“I’m going to break your neck.” The taskmaster began to squeeze Ryder’s throat.
Ryder struggled as best he could, but there was little he could do. Cobblepot was much stronger, and even beating on the big man’s hands had little effect. Ryder’s vision blurred and blood filled his head. The pressure built until it felt as though the whole thing would pop off.
Into his field of view came the form of a man. His arms were bare and his chest was covered with gray cloth. Over his head he carried what appeared to be a large rock. The man closed on the taskmaster, and Ryder caught sight of his face—and the tattoo on his forehead.
Nazeem’s feet came off the ground as he hit the taskmaster in the head. Ryder could feel the shock of the blow course through Cobblepot’s grip around his neck. The big man jerked, then seemed to relax.
Ryder pulled free of Cobblepot’s chokehold and fell gasping to the ground.
The taskmaster staggered a step, his upper body swaying. He put his hand on the back of his head and turned around to look at Nazeem. As he did, Ryder could see the oozing wound the rock had made. Both the front and the back of his skull were caved in. Blood ran freely down his chest and back. He took one more step toward Nazeem, then collapsed to the ground in a puff of dust.
“Are you all right?” Nazeem came to Ryder’s side, grabbed hold of his arm, and helped him to his feet.
Ryder shook his head to clear it. “I’ll be fine.” He looked the tattooed man in the eye. “Thank you.”
Nazeem smiled, bowing his head. “I am sure you would do the same for me.”
A loud hoot came from behind both men, and they spun toward the sound. Ryder grabbed hold of the chain on his wrist and dropped into a crouch, prepared to start swinging.
As the dust settled, Ryder could see men strewn all over the ground. Some of them wore gray tunics. Others wore the dusky robes of the sand bandits. But most of them Ryder recognized as Purdun’s men.
The fight was over. The bandits had won. They stood on top of the carriage, holding up handfuls of gold and bolts of silk cloth. Others sat on their horses shaking their clubs, swords, and crossbows in the air. Many of the freed prisoners joined them in the revelry.
Nazeem put his hand on Ryder’s shoulder. “I think you can relax.”
Ryder straightened, still gripping the chain. “Can I?” The young man who had freed Ryder from his bonds stood on the back of a horse, shaking his fist in the air. He put his fingers to his lips and let out a shrill, rolling whistle. All of the bandits immediately stopped their celebrating.
“This has been a fine victory for the Broken Spear,” he said in his high, adolescent voice.
The bandits let out a joyous cheer.
“And we have liberated many from their oppressive bonds!”
This got a cheer out of many of the freed prisoners.
Ryder, however, kept his mouth shut.
“Gather all you can carry; we make for Fairhaven.”
The bandits went to work immediately, packing up the riches from the looted carriage and picking through the belongings of the fallen guardsmen.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” said Ryder.
“You feel bad about being freed?”
Ryder shook his head. “No, it is good to be free.” He looked at the tattooed man. “I just don’t know if we should trust these men. Perhaps we should just slip away and head back to Duhlnarim.”
Nazeem shrugged. “They did not want us in Duhlnarim.”
Ryder shrugged. “I have family there. We would be safe among people we could trust. We’d have time to take some rest.” He leaned in close to Nazeem’s ear. “Come back with me. You could become one of the Crimson Awl. Help us overthrow Purdun.”
“The revolutionary spirit lives strong in you.” Nazeem smiled. “But we are thirty days’ march from your home. We have no food or water. And you are covered from head to toe in bruises.” He looked out at the bandits as they prepared to leave. “As much as I would like to get my revenge on the dog Purdun for placing me in chains, I think we need time to recover our strength.”
Ryder looked around. None of the bandits were paying any attention to him. He could easily just turn and walk toward home.
“There will be plenty of time to achieve your revolution after you have healed. Purdun will still be there when you return. And if he is not, then so much the better.”
The bandits were nearly ready to leave. They had packed their horses and were gathering up the freed prisoners. The young man who apparently led the bandits looked right at Nazeem and Ryder.
He raised his hands to his mouth and shouted, “Come, it is time to leave. We have food and shelter for you in our camp, just east of here. You will be safe with us in the Giant’s Run Mountains.”
Ryder looked again at the road that led back to Duhlnarim. He felt Nazeem’s hand on his shoulder.
“My friend, you will never make it,” said the tattooed man. “A wise revolutionary is one who lives to fight another day. Better to delay your return than to never return at all. I do not think it would be wise for you to go back to Duhlnarim just yet. But if you are going to go, you must do so now.”
Samira was down that road, waiting for him. It pained Ryder to think about what she must be going through. Every moment he delayed his return would only extend that agony.
“Only a few more days,” he said softly. Then he turned around and headed with Nazeem toward the waiting bandits.
CHAPTER 10
I know you might think me cruel, but I do the things I do for the safety of the barony,” explained Lord Purdun. “Sometimes they might seem harsh, but there are things at stake here greater than personal freedom.”
Liam was seated on one of the many couches in the baron’s sitting room. He laughed. “Spoken like a true dictator.”
“I apologize for having you followed like that,” said the baron, standing up from one of the plush upholstered chairs. “But I’m sure you would agree, all is fair in these sorts of situations.”
Liam spat in Purdun’s face.
Purdun slowly wiped the gob off his cheek.
Liam smirked. “All’s fair, right?”
Baron Purdun lifted a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and wiped the mucus off his hand. “You don’t have any idea what sort of forces you are dealing with.”
“I know enough of how you’ve treated my family and the villagers of Duhlnarim,” said Liam. “I know enough to want you out of power. And, yes, I have a real good idea of what you and your men are capable of. I’ve witnessed i
t firsthand.”
Purdun shook his head. “I’m not talking about my elite guard, and I’m not talking about the Crimson Awl.”
Liam wrinkled his forehead. “What are you babbling about, Purdun? I’m getting tired of your games.”
The baron clenched his teeth, visibly trying to maintain his patience. “Listen, Liam. The members of the Crimson Awl aren’t what they seem.”
“Why should I believe you? Why should I believe anything you say to me? You used me. You picked me up and brought me here to try to discredit me. You used me as bait to get at the Awl. You put my family in jeopardy, and you destroyed my life.”
“I understand you’re angry,” said Purdun, “But you should be thankful I didn’t throw you in the dungeon for ambushing my carriage.”
This didn’t make Liam feel any better about the situation.
The baron continued. “Think about the meeting at Dowmore Glen. Were there any new people there? Anyone who wasn’t already part of the Awl?”
Liam thought back on the group of hooded strangers he’d seen watching the proceedings. “No,” he lied.
Purdun shook his head. “Come now. Think hard. Did no one seem out of place?”
Liam narrowed his eyes. “What are you getting at?”
“The Awl is being manipulated by an outside power.” Purdun said, slightly exasperated. “Someone who has reason to see me removed from power.”
Liam shrugged. “Then perhaps I should meet them. Sounds like my kind of person.”
Purdun turned around, pacing between the chairs, holding his chin in contemplation. “If you met this one, you’d think differently.”
“Anyone who wants to see you out of power is a friend of mine.”
Purdun stopped his pacing and turned to face Liam. “This person is a very powerful, ancient undead spell-caster. A vampire by the name of Shyressa.”
A chill ran down Liam’s spine, just hearing her name.
“And I can assure you, she doesn’t have your best interest at heart,” explained the baron.
A vampire? Liam thought back on the clearing, on the strange group of robed figures followed by a group of wolves. He’d heard legends of vampires and their spawn having the ability to turn into wolves. Maybe what Purdun was saying was true. How could he have known about the strangers at the meeting? None of this made any sense.
Liam shook his head. “You’re making this up.”
“I wish I were.” Purdun rubbed the back of his neck, looking as if he were quite stressed. “But I’m not. Shyressa has it out for me, and she’s using the Awl as a way to destabilize Ahlarkham.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
Purdun walked across the room to stand in front of Liam. “Because I want you to understand why I did what I did. I want you to see that I had to have you followed so that I could try to get to Shyressa before she gets to me. It was nothing personal. I ordered my men to do everything in their power to ensure your safety.”
Liam was confused. “You ordered them to protect me?”
Purdun nodded.
“Why would you do that? I’m not on your side.”
Purdun took a deep breath. “Because, despite what you think of me, I am not an evil man. I don’t want to see you or any of the citizens of Duhlnarim harmed.” The baron sat back down in the chair he had started in. “And I know you’re not on my side, but I want you to be. I want you to join my elite guard.”
“Again with the elite guard.” Liam didn’t understand any of this. “Why are you doing this to me? What is so special about me?”
“You have passion. You genuinely believe in what you are doing, and you care about the well-being of the citizens of Ahlarkham. I could use a man like that.”
“How?”
“Well, for one thing, if you were to join us it would add a lot of legitimacy to the guard that is currently lacking. You and the Awl have done a pretty good job convincing the people of Duhlnarim that we’re a no-good bunch of despots.”
Liam couldn’t help but feel a small amount of pride swelling in his chest. To hear from the baron’s own mouth that his work had made some impact was a heartwarming thing.
“And you want me to switch sides and tell my friends and family that I was wrong all this time. Is that it?”
Purdun nodded. “The people listen to you. If they see you—a man they look to for leadership, a man they trust—put his own faith in me and the elite guard, then I believe they will follow suit.”
“Well,” responded Liam, “thanks to you, they no longer believe I’m on their side.”
“Your reputation has been called into question with the compromised leadership of the Crimson Awl, not with the people at large.”
“You stand here and tell me incredible stories about a vampire who wants you out of power, saying that I don’t understand the forces at work. But it is you who don’t understand.” Liam shook his head. “The Crimson Awl is the people at large. This isn’t some bought-and-paid-for group of thugs or mercenaries. The members of the Awl are the people who suffer daily under your heavy-handed taxation and your brutal guardsmen. They are one and the same.”
“Fine, say what you will. There are other reasons I want you to join the elite guard.”
“Like?”
“Of all the members of the Awl I could approach, you are the only one I am completely convinced is not in cahoots with Shyressa.”
“What makes you so sure?” Liam shot back. “Your story is starting to come apart. If the Awl really are being manipulated, why would you think you could trust me?”
“Simply put, it’s because no man fights as hard as you do unless he truly believes he’s right. If you were in the vampire’s employ, you wouldn’t carry so much conviction.”
Liam stood up. “I fight you as hard as I do because I find you despicable.”
“Calm down.” The baron made a gesture with his hands like he was pushing a cloud toward the floor. “Don’t you see a compliment when it’s given to you?”
“Your words are poison. No matter what you say, you will never convince me that you are a good man.”
Purdun threw his hands in the air. “Why won’t you listen to reason?”
“Because I refuse to believe that the man who killed my brother can be reasonable.”
Purdun’s face turned very serious. “It was not my blade that killed your brother.”
“It might as well have been,” Liam raised his voice. “It was your fault we were out there that morning. It was your order that put those men inside the carriage. And it was your money that paid for the steel that cut him through the gut. You are as guilty as any one of your murderous guards.”
Purdun stood up. His fair skin was flushed red. His fists were clenched so tight they shook, and the skin on his knuckles had turned white.
“Your brother attacked one of my carriages. He killed five of my men. Men who had families. Men whose lives were at least as precious as his own.” Purdun glared at Liam. “In my opinion, your brother got what he deserved.”
Liam lunged at Purdun. This was the second time he’d tried to attack the feudal lord inside his own private chambers. It was also the second time he found himself dangling from his tunic, held off the ground by one of the baron’s half-giant bodyguards.
Purdun shook his head as he looked up at Liam. Then he turned toward the door and shouted, “Captain Beetlestone.”
The doors flew open, and the guard captain came into the room. “Yes, my lord.”
“Take this man to the dungeon.” He glared one last time at Liam, then turned and walked toward the door on the other side of the room. “Maybe the rats can talk some sense into him.”
Ryder marched up the steep, walled canyon that lead into the Giant’s Run Mountains, limping the entire way. Every step seemed another lesson in agony. They were escorted by the bandits on horseback, none of whom talked during the trip. The carriage that Purdun’s guard had been protecting was packed full of the wounded and the freed p
risoners who simply couldn’t walk any farther.
Beside Ryder, just as when they had marched from Duhlnarim, walked the tattooed Nazeem. There were no chains binding them together, but they traveled side by side nonetheless.
As they walked, Ryder tried to think about things other than the pain that sank through his flesh and seeped into his bones. If he focused too much on the bruises and wounds, they became unbearable, so he thought about his home and his family. He longed to be back there with his lovely wife. He could see her long dark hair and those beautiful blue eyes. It pained him to think of her alone. He knew that Liam would look after her, and there was a small consolation in that. He vowed as he traveled that as soon as he was able, he would find a way to get home.
“Ryder.” Nazeem’s voice brought him out of his daydreaming and back to the painful reality of climbing up the mountain pass.
“Yes.”
“Why do you think the guards were carrying so much treasure?”
Ryder hadn’t thought about it until the tattooed man pointed it out. “I’m not sure. Perhaps they intended to trade for something in Westgate.”
Nazeem nodded. “Yes, but they had all of us to trade. Had we made it there, they could have easily auctioned us for several thousand gold apiece.”
“So, they could have gotten a lot of money for us,” said Ryder, tugging at his torn pants, trying to make his journey just a little more comfortable. “Maybe they wanted something even more valuable than slaves.”
Nazeem shook his head. “In the Pirate Isles, few things are more valuable. The merchants in Westgate know this. It’s just a short trip out to the islands from their port. No, with that kind of money, Purdun could have purchased the fastest warship in the Shining Sea.” Nazeem chuckled. “In some places, he could have bought himself a small castle—or an army of mercenaries.”
Ryder looked at his companion. “How do you know all this?”
Nazeem smiled. “I am a criminal,” he said pointing at the tattoo on his forehead. “I know this sort of thing.”