Master of Chains

by Jess Lebow

  “Get up,” said Knoblauch, kicking the headless body off Liam. “The baron needs our help.”

  CHAPTER 26

  The smaller doors guarding the back entrance to Zerith Hold swung opened and a unit of elite guardsmen rode hard into the night.

  Giselle stood right beside the open doors, her hand on Curtis’s shoulder. Jase’s hand was on her shoulder, and everyone else in the Broken Spear followed suit, forming a human chain. They did this to stay together. Thanks to Curtis, every last one of them was now invisible.

  “Wait for it,” whispered Giselle.

  The last of the riders galloped off into the darkness, and the doors began to close again. The leader of the Broken Spear let go of Curtis’s shoulder.

  “Yie, yie, yie, yie!” she shouted, and she bolted through the open door, bringing her scimitar down on the first standing guard she encountered.

  The rest of the Broken Spear followed her lead, flooding through the gate. The walls inside Zerith Hold echoed with the war cry of the Broken Spear.

  Giselle’s sword connected with the unsuspecting guard, and the blow severed the soft flesh of his exposed neck. The man dropped to the ground, dead before his head hit the flagstones, and the invisible Broken Spear warriors reappeared.

  “Alarm! Alarm!” shouted someone in a guard tower. The tolling of a bell came shortly after, but it was too late. The Broken Spear was inside, and they spread out like a deadly cloud of poisonous gas.

  Giselle dispatched two more guards in quick succession, then she spun to see if the riders were going to circle back and come to the aid of their comrades. They had taken off in a hurry, but the bell likely got their attention.

  When she turned around, there wasn’t a single rider to be seen. Returning her attention to the fight, Giselle took on two more guardsmen.

  Lord Purdun gathered the energy to cast another spell. He’d sent enough electricity through the men he faced to kill them ten times over. They would fall, but they would not die. His half-giant bodyguards had delivered some blows that would have felled an ox. But somehow the Crimson Awl got back up and fought on.

  Here in the Hold, he and his men easily outnumbered the invaders, maybe two to one. Regardless, they made no progress. In fact, they were losing ground, and with it, the hope that they would hold the courtyard. Soon he was going to have to make the decision. He was going to have to cut his losses and pull back inside the keep.

  Rapier in one hand, Purdun hurled four swirling blue-white spheres at an oncoming invader with the other.

  “Will they never stop?”

  “No, my lord, they will not,” hissed a voice.

  The Baron of Ahlarkham turned to see a decrepit old man. His skin was brown and wrinkled. His eyes oozed with purplish liquid that looked as if it might drip down his face at any moment if it weren’t so thick. And he wore the tattered old robes of a courtly mage.

  A chill like the dying breath of a white dragon ran up Purdun’s spine. “Menrick.”

  The old man placed his hands together and bowed. “At your service,” he said.

  “But …” Purdun stood in wonder. “I watched you die.”

  Menrick nodded. “Yes, you did,” said the mage. “And I have come to you in unlife to return the favor.” The old man lifted his staff and pointed it at Purdun, sending a blast of icy crystals smashing into the younger man’s stomach.

  The wind was knocked from the baron’s lungs, and he gasped against the pain and lack of air.

  “Does it hurt?” asked Menrick. “Dying, I mean. It’s been so long since it happened to me, I don’t quite remember.” The undead mage sent another blast at Purdun.

  This one struck him in the face, slicing his cheek and tearing a chunk from his ear.

  Purdun put his hand to the side of his face. It was numb from the magical cold, but he could tell it was mangled.

  “Menrick, this is madness,” protested the baron. “There was nothing I could do.”

  The wrinkled pile of bones stepped closer. “You could have heeded my warnings. You could have walked away from the tomb.” He lifted the staff for another blast. “If you had, I would still be alive.”

  Purdun cowered, casting a quick spell he had memorized for just such an emergency. A shimmering ball of opaque plasma surrounded his entire body, and the blast from Menrick’s staff splashed harmlessly against its surface.

  “I see you have learned much,” said Menrick, circling around the glowing globe. “That old fool in his underwater tower taught you well.”

  Purdun nodded, looking out of his protective shell. “You should know,” he said.

  “Yes,” purred the wizard vampire. “I imagine his teachings didn’t change much from my time to yours.” Menrick ran his finger along the edge of the magical sphere, the melee around them continuing to swirl and rage in the courtyard.

  “You know, though,” continued the old mage. “I suppose I should thank you.”

  Purdun didn’t know what to make of this, so he kept quiet.

  “There are a few advantages to being a vampire,” he said, stopping in front of Purdun and glaring in at him from outside the sphere. “For instance. Magic is no longer my only weapon.”

  Menrick reached through the swirling plasma and grabbed Purdun by the throat. Taking a step back, he dragged the baron out of the protective bubble and bared his teeth.

  “Now I will be the master.” Menrick lifted Purdun toward his open mouth.

  The baron felt his body shake. Menrick’s grip on Purdun’s tunic tightened and both men were lifted from the ground. The lord found himself hanging over the flagstones, the silk of his shirt gripped tightly in Menrick’s clawed hands—the old vampire mage held in the air by two of Purdun’s half-giant bodyguards.

  Purdun put his boot on Menrick’s chest and kicked off. The fabric of his tunic gave way, and the baron dropped to the ground, his chest bare.

  Menrick thrashed against the bodyguards, flailing his limbs with preternatural speed. The old man hissed and clawed at the two silent half-giants, but neither of them budged an inch.

  Scrambling to his feet, Purdun took a step back and looked into the eyes of his one-time mentor and friend, the vampire who had just tried to kill him.

  “I am sorry, Menrick,” he said. “I was sad to see you die the first time, but I will be doubly so the second.”

  Lord Purdun’s saber flashed in the flickering light. It slid quickly through the withered flesh and brittle bone that had been Menrick’s neck, and the old mage’s head toppled from his body. The arms twitched for a moment, then the corpse of Purdun’s old servant went limp.

  “Put that somewhere safe,” Purdun said to his two bodyguards. “We’ll need to dispose of it properly when all of this is over.”

  Ryder looked down on the raging fight in the courtyard below. He couldn’t have asked for anything better. To come out of the dungeon to find the Crimson Awl waiting at the front gate was all the justice he would ever need. Finally Zerith Hold would fall.

  His brother and his wife may have betrayed him, but he would regain his family—he would return to the Awl and be embraced by them as a savior.

  Looking over the familiar faces, he wondered who had been the driving force while he was gone. Who had taken over the role he had hoped Liam would fill?

  The rest of the Awl finished making their way through the partially opened gate and portcullis. The last group to enter didn’t seem all that interested in getting inside and walked casually into the Hold.

  That’s when he spotted the person he’d been looking for.

  “Montauk.” The name rolled off Ryder’s lips with a certain respect and admiration. Ryder had never thought much of Montauk. He had always been a selfish, petty man. But Ryder was willing to overlook his previous opinion. He had been wrong in his characterization, and he would admit that to Montauk when they met again.

  In the meantime, however, there was the little matter of dealing with his brother.

  Placing a hand o
n the ledge, Ryder leaped over the low wall and into the courtyard below, his chains clanking as he landed. At the back of the melee, standing valiantly beside his baron, Liam fought against the men who had at one time been his friends and neighbors.

  They were allies once. Liam had made them into enemies.

  Ryder crossed the courtyard toward his brother. “Liam of Duhlnarim,” he said as he approached. “I call you out.” He grabbed one of the chains dangling from his shoulder and set it in motion.

  Liam finished off the opponent he was fighting and looked back at his brother.

  Ryder didn’t wait for him to acknowledge the challenge. Swinging his chain, he let it fly at Liam’s head. His brother stepped back, dodging the links with a quick weave.

  Ryder stepped forward, pressing his advantage and coming in closer to Liam. This time though, he swung a chain with each hand. Again his brother stepped back, dodging out of the way.

  “Ryder, what are you doing?’

  “I’m killing you.”

  Liam pointed to the fight raging beside them. “Don’t you see? The people of the Awl aren’t what they seem.”

  Ryder swung his chain again. This time Liam had to bring his sword up to block it from slamming into his face.

  “Propaganda,” Ryder shouted, striking out again.

  Liam bashed aside another attack. “I don’t want to fight you. Just look, will you? They’re vampires!”

  “All I need to know is that you stole Samira!” Ryder went low, catching Liam by the foot and sending him sprawling.

  Liam clattered to the ground and scrambled back to his feet. “I thought you were dead,” screamed the younger of the two brothers. “I watched you fall in battle. I didn’t think you were coming back.”

  “Well, here I am.” Ryder shook his chains. “And I’m going to take back that which belongs to me.” Again he attacked Liam.

  This time Liam fought back, smashing aside the chain and countering.

  “That’s more like it,” said Ryder through gritted teeth. “Let’s see what she’s worth to you.”

  Liam’s eyes narrowed. “She’s worth dying for.” He lunged, feinting to the right then changing back to the left—a move Ryder had taught him many years ago.

  The blade spanked off of the links of Ryder’s armor.

  “Nice form,” said Ryder. “But you’ll have to do better than that if you intend to stop me from killing you.”

  Liam lunged again. This time, Ryder slapped the blade away harmlessly with a pair of chains and followed through with another that slammed into Liam’s arm.

  Liam winced from the blow and took a step back, rolling his shoulder.

  “Hurts, don’t it?”

  Liam ignored him. “I never meant for any of this to happen,” he said. “Can’t you believe me?”

  Ryder shook his head. “No. I can’t.” He stepped up to take another swing at his brother.

  A dark shadow flashed in front of Ryder, and in the next moment, he found himself struggling to stay on his feet. Some foul-smelling creature now clung to his shoulders and neck, its feet pressed against his back as if it were using him like a perch.

  Ryder couldn’t see the beast, but he could see the one clinging to Liam. It looked so strange. About the size of a man, it stood atop Ryder’s younger brother at an odd angle, clutching his back. Somehow the creature, whatever it was, looked familiar, as if it were someone he knew.

  Then a terrible chill ran up his spine. He did know this creature—this man. He was a farmer who had lived in Furrowsrich. He was a member of the Crimson Awl. As Ryder watched, the man opened his mouth, revealing long sharp fangs, and he tried to bite down on Liam.

  What was happening here? This wasn’t right.

  Liam had been telling the truth—the Awl had been infiltrated, or worse, sucked dry and turned into vampires. His brother had tried to tell him, but Ryder had been blinded by his jealousy and rage.

  Sorrow filled Ryder’s chest. He had let these people in here, had let the vampires into Zerith Hold. Many men were going to die because of this, including his brother.

  Truly, that was what Ryder had wanted when he escaped his bonds. He had stepped out of the dungeon with every intention of ending Liam’s life.

  But he’d felt that way before, when they were children. He would get so mad at his younger brother that the urge to kill would well up inside him. It was the only power a younger brother had over his older sibling—the power to push him to the point of blinding rage faster than any other human could.

  But every time, that rage passed. Ryder would always forgive Liam. This time was no exception. Liam was his younger brother, and if he was in trouble, it was Ryder who was going to get him out of it.

  Gritting his teeth, Ryder charged forward, launching himself at Liam. With the vampire attached to his back, he crashed into his younger brother and the creature trying to bite his neck. Everyone tumbled, and for the next few instants, Liam, Ryder, and the two vampires were nothing more than a spinning pile of elbows, fangs, and chains.

  When they came to a stop, Ryder leaped to his feet, grabbed Liam by the arm, and lifted him as well.

  Liam had lost his long sword in the tumble, and he pulled a shorter blade from his belt and pointed it at his brother.

  Ryder held up his hands. “I’m sorry, Liam,” he said. “I don’t want to kill you.”

  Liam grimaced. “Great,” he said, pointing over Ryder’s shoulder. “Because if you still did, the line forms over there.”

  Ryder turned around to see more than a dozen vampires charging at the two of them. “Just like back in the old days,” he said as he slapped away the first attack with a chain. He could feel Liam’s back against his. “I’m afraid this is where we left off last time.”

  The Crimson Awl surrounded Ryder and Liam, hissing as they closed the circle.

  CHAPTER 27

  Captain Beetlestone spurred his horse on. It wasn’t far from the back entrance to the front gate of Zerith Hold, but the ride seemed to take an eternity.

  Behind him, he heard the alarm bell toll. Under other circumstances, he would have turned back. But right now, there was nothing he could do to help those men. His baron was in jeopardy.

  “Onward,” he shouted, pointing toward the front gate just to make sure the rest of his men knew his intentions. He didn’t look back. They would follow. They always did.

  Reaching the northeast corner of the Hold, they made the turn around to the front of the fortress.

  The Crimson Awl was nowhere to be seen.

  Beetlestone relaxed. That’s right, he thought. They fled before the arrows of the elite guards on the wall. He looked up to salute the archers who regularly guarded the entrance to Zerith Hold.

  They were nowhere to be seen.

  Now it was time to panic. If the guards had abandoned their posts, it could mean only one thing.

  The Awl was already inside.

  Kicking his horse again, Beetlestone tried to make his mount run faster. He wasn’t going to lose the baron, not this way. Reaching the drawbridge, he could see that the portcullis and the heavy wooden doors behind it were only partially open—just wide enough for them to sneak in single file. Pulling up on the reins, Beetlestone leaped from his horse.

  “Dismount,” he shouted. “We go in on foot.”

  The others soldiers in his unit followed his lead, unsheathing their swords as they hit the ground.

  “That’ll be far enough,” came a voice.

  Captain Beetlestone turned to look up at King Korox sitting on a magnificent black steed.

  “Drop your weapons and give up your allegiance to Lord Purdun, and the Magistrates will go easy on you,” demanded the king.

  Beetlestone stood firm, torn between his obligations to his baron and his king. Beside him, his men stood their ground, waiting for his order.

  “I will not tell you again,” shouted the king. “Drop your weapons and bow before your king, or we will use force.”

 
; Captain Beetlestone lowered his head in a simple bow. His hands were shaking. “I apologize, my liege,” he said. He could feel his palm sweat against the hilt of his sword as he thought on what he was about to do. “But I cannot abandon my baron in his time of need.” Then he turned and ran toward the portcullis.

  The twang of crossbow strings sang through the night air, and the drawbridge before him suddenly sprouted bolts. Beetlestone froze in place, turning to face King Korox. He dropped his sword then dropped to one knee.

  His men did the same.

  “My king,” he said, looking up into the eyes of King Korox, “please forgive my rash actions, but the baron’s life is in mortal danger.”

  Giselle led the Broken Spear through the winding hallways of Zerith Hold. Neither she nor any of the men with her had ever been inside the building. They had no idea where they were going and even less of an idea where Ryder would be.

  They had dealt quickly with the guards at the rear entrance. There were surprisingly few of them there, and Curtis’s invisibility spell had given the Spear an advantage.

  But as they worked their way through the stone corridors, Giselle began to grow nervous. This wasn’t right. They hadn’t encountered anyone. The halls were empty. The rooms were empty. There was no one home.

  “This feels like a trap,” she said to no one in particular.

  “I don’t think so,” replied Curtis. “No. I really don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well,” said the illusionist, “they didn’t know we were coming. How could they set a trap, if they didn’t know we were coming?”

  Giselle thought about this as they continued to run through the halls of the second floor. “Maybe they did,” she said finally. “We don’t know what Nazeem told them. He might have tipped them off about us.”

  “I doubt it,” replied Curtis.

  “How can you be so sure?” asked Giselle.

  “I can’t,” replied the illusionist.

  Giselle threw up her hands. “If this isn’t a trap, then where is everyone?”

  “Outside,” said Curtis.