Master of Chains

by Jess Lebow

  Liam watched the Magistrates regroup. The fact that he was still alive at this point seemed to perplex them. They were obviously not used to drawn-out fights.

  Out of nowhere, four spiraling magical blue-white orbs crashed into Magistrate Olivio, and he was thrown farther back, taking two steps before he regained his footing. Two more of the King’s Magistrates sprang into the air. Behind them, Liam could see two of Purdun’s half-giant guardians. They lifted the Magistrates off the ground and over their heads. With a heavy grunt—the only sound Liam had ever heard any of them make—both threw their captives at Magistrate Olivio.

  The three heavily armored men crashed into a heap on the ground, clanging and banging as they tumbled around on the floor. Liam couldn’t be certain, but he could have sworn he heard bones breaking mixed in with the rest of the cacophony.

  A third half-giant guardian appeared in the hole left by the tossed Magistrates. It reached into the middle of the fray, grabbing Liam with a single hand. It seemed every time he was in this room he was being lifted off his feet by one of Lord Purdun’s bodyguards. This time, however, he didn’t really mind.

  The half-giant took a step away and put Liam down near a bookshelf on the edge of the room. Though the creature had likely saved his life, the ride was less than comfortable. The wounds in Liam’s side and hip flared again as he was set down. Liam wasn’t able to keep his feet, and he crumpled into a ball as he came to the floor. He cringed against the pain. He’d never been hurt so badly in his entire life.

  Prying his eyes open, Liam forced himself to look out at the melee in the middle of Lord Purdun’s sitting room. Only two Magistrates remained on their feet. Each now stood face to face with one of Purdun’s half-giant guards. Olivio and the other two conscious Magistrates were disentangling themselves from each other on the opposite side of the room. Behind it all stood Lord Purdun, his hands alight with a fiery orange-yellow glow.

  “Magistrate Olivio,” shouted the baron, “I’ll give you another chance,” he said, lifting his hands over his head, a magical flame flickering between them. “Leave here now with your lives. Don’t force me to kill you.”

  Just then the double doors blew open, and in charged Captain Beetlestone and the rest of Liam’s old unit. The room filled with elite guardsmen, and they surrounded the Magistrates. Lord Purdun’s troops outnumbered Olivio and his men more than five to one.

  Magistrate Olivio dropped his long sword and rose to his feet. “All right, Lord Purdun,” he said. “We will do as you ask.”

  The other Magistrates lowered their blades.

  Purdun lowered his hands, letting the magical energies he held dissipate harmlessly into the air.

  “Captain Beetlestone, please escort these men out of Zerith Hold. You can return their weapons when they are safely outside.”

  “Yes, my lord,” said Beetlestone. He and his men collected the Magistrates’ swords and began shuffling them out of the room.

  As he left, Magistrate Olivio turned over his shoulder to look at the baron. “I hope for your sake that you are right about this.”

  “That makes two of us,” said Purdun.

  An army of servants ran around the baron’s sitting room, repairing tables and uprighting chairs. Liam lay on a long, richly appointed couch. Lord Purdun’s personal healer hovered over him, poking at the wounds in his side.

  Every time the pudgy, robed man pressed on a wound, Liam drew breath in through his teeth.

  Lord Purdun paced along the wall, deep in thought.

  The healer poked Liam one last time, then pressed both his hands against his side. Closing his eyes, the cleric whispered some words to himself. Divine energy flowed through the healer’s hand, and Liam let out a huge sigh. The pain in his side slipped away, and Liam was filled with relief.

  Getting up off the couch, Liam lifted his arm. There was no pain. And where there had been weeping wounds in his hip, ribs, and forearm, there were now just tiny, pink scars.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  The healer bowed, then turned and waddled his portly girth over to the half-giant who had succumbed to the strange yellow liquid. Shortly after the fight had ended, the guardian had awoken, getting back to his feet without a single word and returning to his place in the corner.

  The healer examined him as Lord Purdun looked on.

  After a moment the cleric shrugged. “He appears to be in fine shape. It was probably nothing more than an alchemical sleeping draught.” The portly man turned to the baron. “If I had to guess, I would say it’s a common tool of the Magistrates. Much easier to subdue criminals if they are dead asleep.”

  Purdun grunted his understanding then turned and walked over to Liam.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  Liam nodded. “I think so.”

  “Good.” He looked Liam in the eye and he cracked a smile. “You know, I’ve never seen a man take on six Magistrates by himself before.” He started to laugh. “Either that was the bravest thing I’ve ever witnessed—or the stupidest. I’m not sure which.”

  Liam performed a shallow bow. “At your service.”

  Purdun smiled and slapped Liam on the arm.

  “My lord,” said Liam. “Do you think the king will do as you’ve asked? Even after we sent his Magistrates home in such poor shape?”

  “Well,” said the baron, pondering for a long moment. “I don’t honestly know. I probably wouldn’t believe me. This whole story is starting to sound too unimaginable.” Purdun shrugged. “But no matter what, we’re under a lot more pressure now. Shyressa has put her plan in motion. The appearance of the vampires just before a visit from the King’s Magistrates is no coincidence. We must be vigilant. If we are not, it will likely cost all of us our lives.”

  CHAPTER 22

  The Royal Herald of Erlkazar pushed open the double doors to King Korox’s throne room. When he reached the middle of the round woven Zakharan rug that dominated the center of the room, he bowed as he had thousands of times before.

  “My lord, King of all five baronies and the Kingdom of Erlkazar,” said the herald, “I present to you Magistrate Olivio.”

  King Korox lowered his goblet of wine to the table beside his throne and sat up straight. Olivio had returned early. This matter was going to require a smooth and diplomatic hand. His sister was going to be none too happy with him for having apprehended her husband.

  Korox grunted. Purdun was going to be none too happy with him for apprehending him. But they were old friends. They had been in the Crusaders together. Surely he would indulge his king and close friend.

  Through the door Magistrate Olivio entered. He walked across the round room, bowing in the center of the rug as was customary, then continued to approach the throne. Officers in the King’s Magistrates were the only soldiers in the kingdom allowed to approach the throne without first being given permission. It was they who were charged with keeping the laws of the land. It was their steel that kept the king safe from assassins and power-hungry nobles from other lands. If he couldn’t trust them, who could he trust?

  As Olivio came near, King Korox noticed that the man’s face was battered and bruised. He also appeared to be walking with a slight limp.

  The king stood up. “What happened to you? Were you ambushed? Where’s Purdun?”

  Magistrate Olivio shook his head. “No, my lord, we were not ambushed. We were bested by Lord Purdun and his guardsmen. The baron did not accompany us back. He is holed up inside Zerith Hold.”

  “What!” shouted the king. He was fuming. “He disobeyed a direct order from my Magistrates?”

  Olivio nodded. “Yes, my lord. He did.”

  “Did he deny the accusations?”

  Magistrate Olivio shook his head. “No, my lord. Baron Purdun acknowledged that the vampires had indeed returned, and that they were causing problems in Ahlarkham. He further acknowledged that there was a group of revolutionaries stirring up the locals.”

  “And he still refused to be escorted
to Llorbauth?”

  “Yes, my lord. He said that if your highness was indeed worried about the reappearance of the undead causing a peasant uprising then you should be sending troops to aid him, not to bring him in.”

  King Korox scratched his chin. “I see. Did he say anything else?”

  “Yes, my lord. He said that taking him out of Ahlarkham was an attempt by the vampires to get him out of the way so that Ahlarkham would be leaderless during an all-out assault.”

  “What is your opinion of all this, Olivio?”

  The Magistrate thought for a moment. “My lord, his story is far-fetched.”

  “Yes it is. But Purdun is not the type to exaggerate or to make things up.”

  “That is my opinion of Baron Purdun as well, my lord,” replied the Magistrate.

  King Korox turned around and lifted his still-full goblet of wine off the table. Lifting it to his lips, he downed the entire thing in one large gulp. Wiping his face with the sleeve of his robes he turned back to Olivio.

  “All right. Prepare the rest of the Magistrates,” he ordered. “And bring me my armor. We march to Ahlarkham.”

  The trip back to Duhlnarim was long. The Broken Spear was in the habit of traveling discreetly, which suited Ryder’s purposes. He was close to returning. The journey had begun. He had waited this long; he could wait a few days longer.

  Giselle led the group through land that Ryder never would have guessed was passable. They must have traversed every possible hidden route and passage between the Giant’s Plain and the Deepwash. Twice, while traveling past the borders of Impresk—and once again in the foothills outside of Carrelath—they effortlessly bypassed armed patrols of King Korox’s soldiers without causing so much as a raised eyebrow. The soldiers of the Broken Spear were ghosts passing through the mortal realm, visiting but not leaving a trace.

  As they crossed over from the hills of Carrelath and into the familiar borders of Ahlarkham, Ryder felt a tremendous joy fill him. Soon he would be embracing his mother. Soon he would be seeing his younger brother.

  And soon he would gaze once again upon Samira.

  The thought of his wife brought with it as much sadness as it did joy. He had missed her so. But he didn’t know what he was going to tell her about Giselle. He didn’t know how she would react. She might not want him back if he told her the truth, but he couldn’t think of resuming his life with her without being honest.

  Then there was Giselle. She was even more of an unknown. How would she react to seeing Ryder with Samira? Ryder didn’t know which he feared more, having to fight Lord Purdun’s elite guard or having to face the two women in his life.

  “Now that you are home again,” said Nazeem, interrupting Ryder’s introspection somewhere in Tanistan, north of Five Spears Hold, “what will you do first? Kiss your beautiful wife?” The Chultan raised his eyebrows.

  Ryder shook his head, glad for the intrusion. “I have unfinished business with Baron Purdun.”

  “You will go risk your life for your cause before you will go tell your family you are alive?”

  “Believe me, if I could, I’d go to them straight away,” said Ryder, “but then I would have to leave them again.” Ryder could see that Nazeem didn’t understand, so he continued. “If Purdun found out I had returned, there would be a huge price on my head. Every bounty hunter and guardsman in the barony would be after me.” He shook his head. “Until the baron is dead, I will never be at peace. Besides, the fewer people who know I have returned, the easier it will be.”

  “The easier what will be?” asked Nazeem.

  Ryder smiled. “Sneaking into Zerith Hold and killing Lord Purdun.”

  Nazeem craned his neck to look back at the men and women of the Broken Spear. “How do you intend to sneak all of us into the baron’s stronghold?”

  “I don’t,” said Ryder. “I’m going in by myself.”

  Nazeem lowered his voice to a whisper. “Then why did you bring the Broken Spear with you?”

  “To get me back out.”

  Giselle stepped up next to Ryder, interrupting the conversation. “The sun is going down. It will be dark soon. We should be thinking about making camp.”

  Ryder nodded. “We need to be within a half-day’s walk from Zerith Hold,” he said. “I want to be within striking distance for tomorrow night.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Giselle.

  “We should march on until dark and sleep into the day,” said Ryder. “We’ll need to be rested for a night raid.” He rubbed his hands together. “Purdun has strangled the good people of Ahlarkham for too long. His reign of tyranny ends tomorrow night.”

  Nazeem stared up at the stars in the clear night sky. But he wasn’t really looking at them. He was listening.

  The Broken Spear had marched on until it had grown very late. They had made camp a morning’s walk away from Zerith Hold. All the plans were laid and all the preparations were done. All that was left was to go through with them.

  That, thought Nazeem, and collect the bounty for Ryder of Duhlnarim.

  It was the deepest part of the night. Everyone around him was asleep, except for two Broken Spear sentries. But it had been a long, tiring haul from Fairhaven to Duhlnarim over the past two tendays. They were exhausted and nearly asleep themselves.

  Quietly slipping out from under his blanket, Nazeem rolled away from the others who slept near him. Then, as quietly as he could, he placed his hands on the ground and lifted himself up enough to get his feet under him in a crouch. In the shadows on the edge of the Broken Spear camp, Nazeem watched the sentries.

  When he was sure they hadn’t heard him, he backed farther into the darkness and stood up. It would be a long night for him. Ryder had said the trip to Zerith Hold would take them from sunrise to mid-morning walking. It was already very late at night, and he was going to have to make a round trip before dawn.

  Nazeem began to jog. He had always been a good runner, especially when he was properly motivated. If his life or a large pile of gold was on the line, Nazeem could run forever.

  The night wore on. Nazeem stopped only a handful of times to drink some water and rest. Eventually, he came upon a main road. He could hear in the distance the lapping waters of the Deepwash. And in front of them, in what remained of the pale moonlight, he could just make out the silhouette of Zerith Hold.

  He would go around behind, to where they had taken him out of the Hold in chains several months ago. There would be soldiers there—men who would likely pay well for the information Nazeem had.

  Staying in the shadows, Nazeem made his way to the other side of Zerith Hold. As he had suspected, there was a buzz of activity. He crouched in the low bushes along the side of the well-kept gravel road. Guardsmen on horses were coming and going through the heavily guarded entrance. And as he watched, a pair of riders came down the road toward him.

  Now for the hard part. Nazeem took a deep breath and stepped out into the middle of the gravel, his hands in the air.

  The guardsmen immediately pulled up and pulled their swords.

  “Who goes there?”

  “My name is not important,” said Nazeem. “What is important is the information I have and just how much you are willing to pay for it.”

  “Why should I believe you?” asked Captain Phinneous.

  “Can you afford not to?” replied Nazeem.

  The two riders he had approached on the road had taken him back to Zerith Hold. Nazeem sat at a wooden table, a flagon of water before him and a half-dozen armed guards around him.

  The bald captain scratched his face, looking skeptically at the tattooed Chultan.

  Nazeem took another drink of his water, then placed the mug back down on the table. “What have you got to lose?” he asked. “If I’m lying, you’re out a few coins. But if I’m not—” he raised a long, skinny finger in the air— “and you disregard what I have said, then you will be blamed for any ill that happens here.”

  Captain Phinneous put his boot on th
e low bench beside Nazeem. “And what if I don’t pay you and throw you in the dungeon instead?”

  Nazeem shrugged. “When they wake up and I am gone, they will know something has happened and will likely change their plans,” explained the Chultan. He looked up, staring into the bald captain’s eyes. “You will be blamed for letting Ryder of Duhlnarim get away when you had him in your grasp.”

  The two men stared at each other for a long while without blinking. Then a grin broke out over Phinneous’s scarred face. He took his boot off the stool, unhitched a sack from his belt, and tossed it on the table beside Nazeem.

  “If what you have said is true,” said the big captain, “there will be more—much more.”

  Captain Phinneous turned and walked out of the room. “Now get out of here, Chultan. Come find me after Ryder is dead.”

  Captain Beetlestone barged into Lord Purdun’s sitting room, a pile of notes in his arms.

  Liam stood behind Lord Purdun, who sat looking over a series of maps of Ahlarkham with his two military advisors. The baron looked up when the captain entered and waved him over to the table.

  “What do you have for me?” asked Purdun, dispensing with the pleasantries.

  Beetlestone nodded his head in place of a formal bow and got to the point. “We have word in from three scouting parties and have reason to believe that the undead will be making a move on Zerith Hold within the next day or two. There are also reports that the Crimson Awl are active and could be a factor.”

  Purdun nodded, looking back down at his maps, tracing his fingers along the shore of the Deepwash. “Anything else?”

  “My lord,” Beetlestone’s face grew grim, “the King’s Magistrates are on the march.”

  Purdun looked up from the map, his finger slipping from its place.

  Beetlestone swallowed then continued. “The king himself leads them.”

  “How long?” asked the lord, his voice thin and quiet.