by Jess Lebow
The taskmaster continued his beating, the blows landing one after another in a regular rhythm. He was trying to beat the humanity out of Ryder, trying to turn him into a version of the taskmaster—an animal with no respect for human life or dignity.
Ryder fought against this transformation. But the whip burned him, and with each new attack, he lost more ground. Though he battled against the pain, his grip on his humanity was slipping. The whip's sting was all-consuming, and he lost track of all other sensation. He was adrift in a world of pain, and it was all he could do to hold on and not break down.
The whip struck the side of his face. Ryder breathed then braced himself for the next blow.
It never came.
"Bandits!"
Ryder opened his eyes.
The taskmaster was several paces away, looking out to the west. In front of him, a few of the guardsmen were scrambling to get to their horses. The rest however, were in a fight for their lives.
A band of mounted bandits had come out from behind the boulders and encircled the guards as they began preparing the camp for the night. They wore baggy pantaloons and loose-fitting tunics that fluttered behind them as they rode. Every one of them had wrapped their heads and faces with scarves, leaving only their eyes exposed. They carried a hodgepodge of mismatched weapons—the spoils of other raids—and they howled as they descended upon Lord Purdun's guardsmen.
Taskmaster Cobblepot was rushing now to the guardsmen's aid, swinging his whip over his head, Ryder and the other prisoners seemingly forgotten.
Ryder's body throbbed from the lashing he'd received, but somehow the pain felt diminished by the sight of the bandits. Under different circumstances, he might have been terrified. But right then, anyone who would fight Purdun's men was all right with him.
Nazeem leaned over. "Are you all right?"
Ryder shook his head. "I've been better."
This made Nazeem laugh. "I've never seen a man take such a beating without even making so much as a whimper. You are very brave."
A second wave of billowing riders rode out of the trees behind the prisoners. The prisoners in the rows behind Ryder and Nazeem gasped and stood up, forcing both men to get to their feet. The skinny man was lifted into the air, his full weight carried by the chains.
The entire chain gang got up off the ground and began to move, but the riders were much faster and overtook them. Ryder craned his head to see what was happening. As they approached, two of the bandits dropped down off their horses, leaped to the ground without slowing, and landed on their feet at a full run.
"Hold still," shouted the first one. "We're the Broken Spear. We're not going to hurt you." His voice was high, like that of a boy not quite fully a man.
Nazeem looked to Ryder. "Do you know of these men?"
Ryder nodded. "I've heard of them. My father used to tell us stories about them when we were little. I thought they were a myth, something he had made up to scare us into being good."
"Perhaps your father is not as much of a liar as you thought," replied the tattooed man.
The two dismounted bandits reached the last row of prisoners. Both of them were relatively short, and Ryder lost sight of them behind taller men.
"Please don't hurt me," screamed someone in the back, followed by the sound of metal crashing against metal.
A chill ran up Ryder's spine. This was not the way he wanted to die. Trapped like a hunter's quarry, unable to fight back.
"Be quiet, you coward," yelled the young bandit. "Now go fight your oppressors."
There was more pounding, and the sound of metal bending then giving in. Out of the corner of his eye, Ryder watched several prisoners, their sleeveless gray tunics stained with sweat, running toward the taskmaster, large rocks in their hands.
There was a lot of commotion. The men behind Ryder were shoving. The men in front were craning their necks to see what was going on. The sounds of men fighting and dying floated on the wind, surpassed only by the crack of the taskmaster's whip.
There was another loud metallic snap behind Ryder, then the bandits were standing beside him.
"Hold out your hands," ordered the young one.
Ryder did as he was told.
The man produced a pickaxe and a glass vial. He poured a thin, clear liquid on the two chains that connected Ryder to Nazeem and the skinny man. It seemed to smoke, and the metal touching Ryder's skin grew terribly cold.
The other bandit stepped up and grabbed hold of the chains. This one was much larger than the young one. Ryder could feel the man's strength through the shackles as he pulled them taut.
"Hold your hands as far apart as you can," ordered the muscular bandit.
Ryder nodded.
The younger one reeled back and slammed the pickaxe against the chains on Ryder's wrists—right where he'd poured the liquid. The pointed weapon sparked as it struck, but the chain remained intact.
"Damn," shouted the young one. He hit it again, and again the chain didn't budge.
The muscular bandit let go of the chains. "Try the lock."
The young one nodded and held out the vial of liquid. "Don't move," he said, "or you might lose your hand."
Ryder looked into the man's brown eyes. He had the purposeful look of someone with an agenda—an inner demon that drove him to do great things, perhaps despite himself. Ryder had seen that look before in the eyes of the men of the Crimson Awl. They had a reason to live for, something so dear that they would risk everything to protect it.
Just looking into his eyes, Ryder knew this man was the same.
"You understand?" The bandit poured the liquid directly on the cuff holding Ryder's left hand. The locking mechanism smoked just as the chains had.
Ryder nodded.
"Speak up, man," shouted the bandit. "Do you understand?"
"Yes." It felt strange to speak. The only words he'd spoken in the past several days had nearly gotten him killed.
"Good." The bandit raised the pickaxe.
Ryder held his arms as still as he could and braced himself.
The head of the weapon came down. Clank.
A buzzing pain ran up his arm, and Ryder looked down at his wrist. The shackle hung open, the lock broken, and with a quick shake it dropped away. The chain dragged on the ground, about five feet of it still attached to the cuff on Ryder's right arm.
"That did it," said the muscular bandit.
The younger grunted his acknowledgment and went to work on the other chains. They came away with much less effort, leaving only single links attached to the cuffs on each ankle.
"You are not truly free," said the young one, "until we all escape these oppressors." He slapped Ryder on the shoulder. "Now go. Fight back against the men who would make you into a beast."
Chapter 8
Liam followed Montauk and his men to the woods just outside Duhlnarim.
"Stop right here," said Montauk. He pulled from a pouch a long thin strip of fabric. Holding it up, he pushed it toward Liam's face.
Liam pulled away. "What do you think you're doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing?" replied Montauk. "I'm blindfolding you."
"Montauk, what's with you? I've been a loyal member of the Awl since its inception. You know this. You were there."
Montauk nodded to the other men. Each grabbed one of Liam's arms.
"Yes, Liam, I know how long you've been around. Frankly, that's what surprises me so much about your betrayal."
Liam struggled only slightly as the other men held him in place. "Betrayal? What betrayal?"
"That's what we're going to find out," replied Montauk. "Now play along, or I'll be forced to hurt you." He held up the blindfold again.
His arms pinned to his sides, Liam let Montauk place the fabric against his skin. He felt the knot press against the back of his head, grabbing at his hair as it cinched tight. The two men pulled his arms behind his back. Liam heard the heavy clanging of a chain, then he felt the familiar sensation of
manacle cuffs closing over his wrists.
"Am I a prisoner?" Liam tested the shackles. There wasn't much play in the chain.
"Of a sort," replied Montauk. "You never can be too careful."
A hand on Liam's back urged him forward.
They walked on in silence for a long while, the regular crunch of dried pine needles underfoot keeping time as they went. Liam counted his steps, trying to distract himself from the uncertainty of what was to become of him. Ever since the morning Ryder died, his life seemed to be spinning out of control. The world moved by in front of him. He tried to reach out, to grab hold of something. But it was no use. He was powerless to affect the sights and sounds running before his own eyes. It was as if he were watching a play. The story would work its way to its final conclusion, regardless of whether he was in the audience or not.
Eventually, Liam's mind wandered. He lost track of the number of steps. He lost track of the forest and the men. He thought back on the days not so long ago when he and Ryder would come out into the woods to play hide-and-seek. Ryder would blindfold him like this and spin him in circles. When he fell down from dizziness, Ryder would run off to hide.
Liam had always hated the sensation of being dizzy. It made him sick to his stomach, and the feeling wouldn't go away for some time afterward. Still, Liam had enjoyed these games with his older brother. By this time, both of them had different sets of friends. Liam was still in school, and Ryder had taken to helping their father in the fields full time. The brothers didn't get to spend much time together anymore. So when they did, Liam did whatever his brother wanted. It didn't matter. Somehow, just playing games like they had when they were both younger felt right. Ryder had been the one person Liam could count on to understand him. He had been the one person who would always be there to back him up when things got tough. Liam couldn't say that about his father, or even his mother for that matter. Ryder had been the anchor for Liam.
"I wish you were here right now," whispered Liam.
"What?" said Montauk. "Speak up."
Liam shook his head. "It was nothing."
"Well, you'd better have something to say. You have plenty of explaining to do."
Someone jerked Liam to a stop. Without unlocking his shackles, Montauk pulled down the blindfold and left it dangling from Liam's neck.
They had brought Liam to a clearing. It looked to be the old, abandoned druid's circle—Dowmore Glen. Liam had never met any of the mythical druids who were reputed to live in the forests outside Duhlnarim. No one had seen them. Still, the stories of their existence and of the rituals they carried out deep in the woods were generally taken for truth by the farmers of Duhlnarim. Everyone had heard the hunters' stories of this place.
Liam himself had always believed they were there. At the very least it was an easy way of explaining the strange behavior of the animals during the full moon, and the odd crop growth during times of drought. But if ever he needed any proof, the scene before him would be plenty.
A low rock wall encircled the entire clearing. Years of the elements had worn the edges of the stone down into a series of softly sloping curves. Vines grew up over large sections of the wall, but unlike the roots and brambles Liam had seen tearing apart the buildings in Duhlnarim, these formed patterns and shapes, decorating the wall rather than fighting its unnatural presence.
The vines climbed over the wall and up the sides of four crumbling stone monoliths. Carved into each monolith was a depiction of the same nude female drow, her long flowing hair strategically twisting and turning to cover her more private parts. Liam was no divine scholar, but judging from the carving, he supposed this was the goddess Eilistraee.
In each monolith the goddess struck a slightly different pose than in the last. But the theme was the same in all of them. The goddess stood on one leg, holding a large sword over her head with the full moon large and glorious behind her. The carvings all faced the center of the circle, presumably looking down on the proceedings.
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?"