Master of Chains

by Jess Lebow

  “Liam,” interrupted Samira, squeezing his arm. “Don’t be foolish. Do what the baron asks, and get yourself out of this place.”

  “Stay out of this,” said Liam. He gave her a stern look, which she returned.

  “Liam, be reasonable,” said Purdun. “Listen to Samira. If you stay here in the dungeon, you will live a short, miserable life.”

  “Then let me go,” said Liam, holding his arms out so the locks could be removed.

  Purdun didn’t budge. “If I did, then what? Where would you go? Home? The Crimson Awl thinks you’re a traitor. Your life wouldn’t be worth a single shaft of wheat. Would you leave Duhlnarim? Leave Ahlarkham all together? I’d be willing to bet a man like you has never been farther north than Llorbauth, maybe Shalane at best. Do you think you’d be safe only a hundred miles away? You know the Awl better than I, but in my estimation, even they could track you down if you stay in Erlkazar. Are you willing to abandon everything? Give up your family and everything you know and start over again with nothing?”

  Liam glared at the baron.

  Purdun continued, “Or you could join the elite guard. You’ll be out of your chains.” Purdun put his hand in his coat pocket and produced a key. “You’ll be able to stay here and keep your family.” He nodded toward Samira. “You will be safe. You will be well trained, well equipped, and well paid.”

  “He’s right, Liam,” coaxed Samira. She squeezed more tightly. Despite the soreness in his muscles, her touch somehow soothed him. “You really don’t have another choice.”

  “No, you don’t.” Purdun shook his head, a smug smile on his lips.

  Just the look on his face was enough to make Liam’s innards burn. That self-righteous bastard! It was easy for him. He held all of the cards, and he knew it. It infuriated Liam. Purdun had the money and the army, and in his eyes, that made him right. It gave him whatever he wanted. Liam wondered if the spoiled little brat had ever had to go without anything in his entire life. He’d probably never had to work a single day in the fields, or go to bed with his stomach still grumbling. No one ever said “no” to him.

  Well, thought Liam, let me be the first then. He lifted his chin and stared at Purdun, defiance in his chest. “I do have a choice. I can choose to say no. I can choose death over betrayal.”

  The smug smile on Purdun’s lips disappeared, replaced by the mixed, tight-jawed look of frustration and anger.

  Samira’s hands slipped from Liam’s arm. The sudden absence of her touch was saddening. With her there, standing beside him, he had strength, the power to fight back.

  “Please don’t do that,” she said, her lip quivering. “I don’t think I could stand to lose both of you.”

  In his mind, Liam conjured his image of Ryder—the last moment they had spent together. His older brother lay dying on the ground. His last words played in his head: “Look after Samira. Tell her I love her.”

  Liam looked down at Samira. There were times when he’d seen her be as tough as bulette hide. Then there were other times. This was one of those.

  He closed his eyes. He could clearly see Ryder, looking at him expectantly. He gritted his teeth and shook his head. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Ryder reached the top of the enormous stairs and turned around to look out over the plain. The sun was already beginning to set, but from here he could still see far to the west, deep into the Giant’s Plain. He thought he could see the point at which the caravan had been ambushed, but he couldn’t be sure. From this height, one copse of trees was indistinguishable from every other, and the rolling plain looked as flat as a blacksmith’s anvil.

  Behind him, a long stretch of pathway led up to the huge broken stone archway of Fairhaven. Battered pillars carved to look like gaunt, muscular humans carrying huge rocks or spears lined the path on both sides. They were nearly twice Ryder’s height, and their deep, inset eyes stared straight ahead, unconcerned and uninterested in anything happening below their knees. Nearly half of them were smashed beyond recognition. Of those still standing, many looked as if they might topple over at any moment. By the dour looks on the faces of those remaining, Ryder assumed this wasn’t a very happy place when it was originally occupied.

  At the end of the path, carved right out of the dark gray stone of the mountain itself, stood a grand palace. By Ryder’s estimation, its walls rose straight up over eight times the height of a man. Behind that, the top of a spiral tower jutted up even higher. From the plain below, the tower probably looked like one of the jagged, natural peaks of the mountain. Up close though, Ryder could see that some artisan had spent much time carving ornate designs all along its surface.

  The walls themselves were covered with paintings. They were hard to see at first. Large bits of rock had been chipped away by what Ryder guessed had been a siege some time ago. On what remained, the brighter colors had faded from time and exposure to the elements, so the images blended in with the speckled mountain rock. As Ryder got closer, he could make out shapes and scenes. They appeared to be paintings of giants. The paintings depicted giants hurling rocks at one another or sitting in drum circles around the nighttime fire. In one particularly ruined image, Ryder even thought he could make out the image of a giant painting upon the wall—a self-portrait of the artist.

  Ryder and Nazeem followed Giselle and the rest of the caravan under the archway at the end of the path and through what must have at one time been a huge wooden door guarding the entrance to the palace. All that remained were a few smashed wooden planks and two sets of huge rusty metal hinges.

  Ryder leaned over to Nazeem. “What sort of creatures do you think could have caved in the walls of such a place?”

  Nazeem shrugged. “Demons? Dragons?”

  “Dwarves,” corrected Giselle.

  “Dwarves?” Ryder could hardly believe it. “But they are so small.”

  Giselle looked at Ryder, a sly look on her face. “You are bigger than me,” she said. “Do you think that makes me less mighty?”

  Ryder thought about it for a moment. “Well, yes,” he said nodding.

  Giselle cocked her head to the side. “Really?”

  Ryder realized his faux pas. “Though,” he stammered, trying to cover for himself, “I suppose there are exceptions.”

  “Exceptions?” Giselle put her hands on her hips and looked him up and down.

  Ryder shrugged. “Well, all I mean is, were I not so beaten up, I would have an advantage over you in a fight.”

  “If you think so,” said Giselle, smiling, “then perhaps you should prove it.”

  Nazeem chuckled. “I believe you have just been challenged, my friend.”

  Ryder blushed. “I … I didn’t—”

  “Don’t worry.” Giselle nodded and touched his arm. “I’ll wait until you are fully healed before I beat you again.” She added her laughter to Nazeem’s.

  Ryder just shrugged, not knowing any other way to pull his foot out of his mouth.

  “The dwarves have always had a particular hatred for the giants. But despite your lack of tact, your point does have relevance here,” continued Giselle as they walked into the bustling open courtyard behind the wall. The brown-robed Broken Spear busied themselves with many different tasks. Fires were being lit. Wounded were being tended to. And on the walls above, sentries climbed atop huge stone blocks that gave them a view of the path and the plains beyond.

  “You see,” continued Giselle, “the giants were involved in another battle when the dwarves arrived at Fairhaven. They had already taken many casualties, and were not prepared to take on two foes at once. They fought until they realized all was lost, then they fled to the Underdark.”

  “The Underdark? I thought only the drow dwelt there,” said Ryder.

  Giselle shook her head. “There are many creatures who make their home below the surface of the world. The giants founded a new village there. It’s called Cairnheim. It is said that there are passages to it scattered all over
the Giant’s Run Mountains.” Giselle stopped walking when they reached the base of the tower.

  There was a long pause, then Giselle clapped her hands. “And that concludes our history lesson for today. Please forgive me if I prattle on. I get excited about the past. Anyway,” she stepped past the two men, “I’m sure you are both very tired.” She looked up into the sky. “It will be getting dark soon. Find yourself a place to rest. There will be a feast tonight, to celebrate the great haul we made.” She looked at them both. “And to welcome our new friends. Until then, be at ease. I have much work to do, but I will make sure to have a healer come take a look at your wounds.”

  With that, Giselle turned and walked away into the busy center of the courtyard. Ryder watched her go.

  “I think she likes you, my friend,” said Nazeem.

  Ryder felt his heart race. “What?” He shook his head. “I didn’t get that impression at all.” The thought of this powerful woman being attracted to him did sort of excite him. He might have let himself enjoy it a bit more if it weren’t for the guilt he felt over Samira.

  “You know,” replied Nazeem, “for a man with two good eyes, you see very little.”

  Ryder shook his head at the smiling Chultan. “I see what I choose to see.”

  “My point exactly.”

  As Giselle disappeared into the crowd, Ryder turned away and headed for a pile of straw under a canvas lean-to. He lay down on it, letting his aching body rest for the first time in what seemed like his entire life.

  “Doesn’t matter what she thinks anyway,” he said as he settled in. “We’ll be leaving soon.”

  That night there was a terrific feast and celebration. The tales of the battle grew longer. The foes they fought grew larger, and the heroic deeds grew more frequent. Ryder sat near the fire speaking with Nazeem, eating fresh meat off the bone.

  A portly man wearing a leather apron with several huge stone mugs hanging from his belt approached them. He staggered when he walked, and his cheeks were a bright red. Under his left arm he carried a sloshing bucket full of a greenish liquid.

  “Krogynth, gentlemen?” asked the overly jolly man.

  Nazeem was on his feet in a flash, taking a giant-sized mug of whatever it was the man was peddling.

  “Krogynth?” asked Ryder.

  Nazeem’s eyes were wide as he looked down into the grog. “It’s a type of moonshine,” explained the Chultan.

  “Made from a fermented green mold,” expanded the jolly man.

  “And you drink this?” asked Ryder.

  Nazeem took a large quaff then smacked his lips, wiping off any leftover drips with the back of his hand. “Don’t knock it until you try it. Krogynth is hard to make and even harder to come by if you don’t know the recipe.” He held his mug out to Ryder. “You may never again get the opportunity to try it.”

  “Well,” said Ryder, reaching out to take the mug from his friend. He sniffed it. The green liquid smelled vaguely like licorice root. “Since you put it that way.” He lifted the stone mug with both hands and took a sip.

  Despite its mild scent, Krogynth had a rather abrasive flavor. “It tastes like currants mixed with earwax.”

  The jolly man let out a belly laugh. “Don’t it though?” He dipped another mug into the bucket and offered it to Ryder.

  He pointed to the Chultan. “Let him have it.” He looked down into the huge mug in his hands. It was more than half full. “I’ll just finish this one.”

  “Suit yourself,” said the jolly man, giving the fresh vessel of Krogynth to Nazeem.

  The Chultan lifted his mug. “To freedom,” he said.

  Ryder lifted his own. “To going home,” he replied.

  Then both men drank.

  As Ryder lowered his mug from his face, he looked up at Giselle standing over him.

  “Having a good time, I see.” She knelt beside him.

  Ryder swallowed his mouthful of the foul-tasting liquid. The first sip he’d taken was starting to hit his head. His muscles relaxed, and the aches in his bones seemed to ease some.

  “Yes,” he said. “I do believe we are.”

  Giselle smiled. She had the most beautiful brown eyes.

  “Good.” She grabbed hold of his arm. “Now let me take a look at those wounds of yours.”

  Ryder let her have his arm. He enjoyed the touch of her skin. “I thought you were going to have a healer come look at me.”

  She pushed back the edge of his tattered gray tunic. “That’s what I’m doing.”

  “You’re a cleric?”

  Giselle ran her fingers along his arm, poking at the bruises. She hit one that hurt like the nine hells, and Ryder bit down on his lip to keep from shouting.

  “Does this surprise you?” she asked.

  As the pain subsided, Ryder lifted his mug, struggling a bit with only one hand, and took a big gulp of the green stuff. “No,” he said after swallowing. “I guess nothing about you should surprise me anymore.”

  Finishing her examination, Giselle fished around inside of her pouch and pulled out a stoppered bottle with a waxy substance covering the top. “Well, I’m not,” she said, laughing as Ryder’s jaw dropped open. She shoved the bottle into his free hand. “Unless you count handing out healing potions.”

  Ryder put down his mug of Krogynth and opened the bottle. “You’re full of surprises.” Then he downed the contents. Immediately he could feel the magical warmth spread out through his body, reaching from his stomach and touching everything out to the tips of his fingers. He exhaled as he lowered the bottle from his lips. He felt whole again, the most exquisite sensation he’d experienced in recent memory.

  “Thank you,” he said, letting the bottle slip to the ground.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  Ryder tested his joints, relishing the feeling of his body working the way it was supposed to without experiencing any pain. “I’ll be ready to make the journey home tomorrow.”

  “Journey home?” asked Giselle.

  Ryder turned to her. “I appreciate everything you have done for me,” he said. “I owe you my freedom, and if I can ever repay that to you, I will do it gladly.” He touched her hand. “But I must return to Duhlnarim.” He looked away. “To my family.”

  Giselle pulled away from him. “I’m sorry, but you can’t. You can’t leave.”

  Ryder got to his feet. “What do you mean? Of course I can. Look.” He did a little jig in front of the fire to prove that he was healthy. “See. I’m fine.”

  Giselle shook her head. “No, I mean I can’t just let you leave.”

  Ryder looked down on her, sadness filling his heart. “I know it’s hard to let go, but I have responsibilities in Duhlnarim, Giselle, and there could never be anything between—”

  Giselle stood up. “No. I mean that once you’ve seen Fairhaven and the route that leads you here, you have to stay.” She looked at Nazeem. “That goes for you too. And all the other freed men. Now that you know how to get to us, we can’t let you go. None of you can leave.”

  Ryder shook his head. It was clouded with Krogynth. “So, what are you saying?”

  “That you can join the Broken Spear and become one of us,” said Giselle, “or you can stay here, in Fairhaven, as our prisoner.”

  Ryder dived for the broken chain that had been his shackles. His fingers wrapped around the rusted links as he tumbled back to his feet. Swinging the chain over his shoulder, he looked out at a half-dozen naked blades, their tips pointed at his chest.

  “I would think twice if I were you,” said Giselle.

  Ryder took in the scene before him. Six Broken Spear warriors had him backed in a corner. Giselle stood behind them. Her sword was still in its sheath, and she made no move to pull it out. She was fast, though, and Ryder had no doubt she could have it out and on him in a single heartbeat. Nazeem was outside of the ring of warriors. He stood on guard, his gaze darting from the Broken Spear to Ryder and back again, watching to see what was going to happen next
.

  “What do you intend to do, Ryder?” asked Giselle.

  Ryder released the chain, letting it clatter to the ground. Then he lifted his hands in the air, putting them up so everyone could see he was unarmed.

  “Please,” he said, looking at Giselle. “How would you feel if our roles were reversed? What if you were in Duhlnarim needing to get back here to the Broken Spear?”

  Giselle took a deep breath. “Then I would try to get accustomed to life in Duhlnarim.”

  Ryder grit his teeth. “You wouldn’t even try to come back here, to return to the people who mattered to you most? I find it hard to believe that you would so easily give up all that you had worked for.”

  “I understand what you are trying to do, and perhaps you are right.” Giselle grimaced. “But I can’t risk the safety of everyone in Fairhaven just because you are homesick. And no matter how persuasive your arguments, I don’t intend to change my mind.”

  “You know,” replied Ryder, “it doesn’t matter what reason you give yourself for putting me in chains. Call it whatever you want. You’ll still be an oppressor, just like the men you rescued me from.”

  Giselle took a deep breath and sighed. “So,” she said, a look of disappointment on her face, “what’s it going to be? You can keep your freedom if you promise to stay.”

  Ryder shook his head. “I can’t do that.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Giselle shook her head. “All right.” She turned and started walking away. “Take them to the cage.”

  “Not Nazeem,” shouted Ryder. “He has nothing to do with this.”

  “Your actions have condemned you both,” said Giselle over her shoulder, then she disappeared into the shadows.

  “Let’s go,” said one of the armed warriors, shaking his bare blade.

  Ryder and Nazeem were guided across the courtyard at the tips of the Broken Spear’s swords. On the far side, opposite the broken gate, a huge cage was recessed into the stone wall. It looked as if it hadn’t seen much use. The bars were rusted and the ground was covered with rocks and silt. In the corners, large mountain brush plants had grown up through the hard-packed dirt and in some places out of the cracks in the stone itself.