The Fighters: Master of Chains

by Jess Lebow

  Dropping to one knee, Ryder used the ground to steady himself, and he hurled the end of his shackles at the giant. The cuff wrapped around one leg, hitching itself on the links of the chain—not what he had been trying to do.

  With the chain wrapped around the giant's leg, he had little choice but to try to pull the brute off its feet. He leaned back and put his back into it. The leg didn't budge. The giant was just too strong.

  The giant brought his club down toward the kneeling human. Not letting go of his chain, Ryder dropped to his belly and rolled to his right. Dust flew as the creature's weapon slammed into the dirt.

  Getting to his feet, Ryder pulled the chain again. It still didn't move, and he cursed, wishing he had a sword instead of his rusting, ruined set of shackles.

  The other two giants finally made their way over to their leader. They encircled Ryder, surrounding him with their bulk, their clubs raised and ready.

  "I could use a little help here," said Ryder through grit­ted teeth. He gave the chain one last hard yank. It drew taut, but the giant attached to the other end held firm.

  The two new giants swung down on him at the same time. Ryder had nowhere to go, and he didn't even have time to get out of the way. He flinched back, reacting on instinct.

  The two clubs crossed in midair, just missing their target and slamming into the chain instead. Alone, Ryder had not been strong enough to pull the undead giant leader from his feet, but with the help of the other two…

  The chain slammed to the ground under the tremen­dous blow. Ryder was thrown forward, his chest flying into the crossed clubs, knocking the wind from his lungs and his chain from his hand. On the other end of the chain, the giant's leg was yanked out from under it, and the creature toppled backward. With a great roar, the beast fell back onto the jagged stone fragments of the shattered statue, and the giant was impaled a dozen times on the pointy shards.

  The creature tried to regain its feet, but the heavy stones through its back held it pinned down, and it thrashed against its gruesome imprisonment. The vio­lent movement shifted the broken boulder-sized stones back and forth inside its body, tearing the rancid flesh from the creature's bones.

  The monster struggled for a moment more and let out one last grinding noise. Then its body went limp, and it slipped into death once again.

  One moment, Ryder lay atop a pair of clubs, looking up at the two remaining undead giants. The next, he was flying through the air, hurled toward the broken gate of Fairhaven. His arms and legs flailed as he fell through empty space. Then he came crashing down, tumbling as he landed. The back of his skull slammed into the base of another statue just a few steps from the painted wall of the palace.

  Ryder saw stars, and his head exploded in pain. His eyes teared up, and he could hardly open them. It hurt too much to focus on anything, and when he tried to stand up, his stomach would pitch and yaw.

  Ryder managed to get to his knees, and he placed his forehead in the cool dirt. "Dear Ilmater, make it stop."

  The sound of lumbering footsteps forced Ryder to open his eyes again. Though his head felt as if it might split open, his vision had cleared enough for him to see the giants closing in. Through sheer force of will, he man­aged to get to his feet.

  Unarmed, wounded, nearly blind, and with a pair of undead giants charging down on him, Ryder teetered on uneasy legs. To his left was the entrance to Fairhaven. Giselle and the Broken Spear waited there for the first giant to pass through. If he could only make it to that gate, he'd have a chance.

  Ryder turned and started to run toward the opening, but the ground seemed to shift, and his legs felt as if they were made of warm candle wax. His knees buckled, and he had to put his hand down to keep from falling again. Though he was no longer nauseous, he was still in bad shape.

  The undead giants reached him in just a few steps, and Ryder made one last attempt to dart away. His feet crossed, and he got tangled. With tremendous effort, he remained upright, but he was once again standing under the glowering glares of two undead giants.

  There was a flash of light and suddenly a figure appeared next to Ryder. He shied back, not sure what he was seeing. The fighter from Duhlnarim blinked and did a double take. There, standing beside Ryder was ... another Ryder? He rubbed his eyes. Was he really seeing this?

  The second Ryder saluted the first then drew a sword from a scabbard on his belt. He ran right up to the two remaining undead giants, waving his sword, and shouted, "Over here, you big louts!"

  The giants swung their clubs at him, but the sword-wielding Ryder managed to dodge out of the way.

  "That the best you can do?" he taunted. Then he ran around behind the two lumbering monstrosities.

  The undead giants turned to face the new Ryder.

  "Psst. Ryder," came a voice from above.

  Ryder looked up. He could just make out Curtis's head sticking out over the edge of the palace wall.

  "Ryder," he called. "Hurry through the gate. The illu­sion won't last forever."

  Ryder looked back at the giants and the illusionary version of himself. Guess the skinny man knew more than a few parlor tricks.

  Ryder turned and ran unsteadily through the broken gate to Fairhaven. He was attacked the moment his foot crossed the threshold, and he landed on the ground, chest first.

  "Hold," whispered Giselle. "It's only Ryder."

  A pair of Broken Spear warriors got up off the downed fighter.

  "Thanks," said Ryder as he got back to his feet, "you really go the extra step to make a person feel welcome."

  Giselle stepped right into his face. "So much for the plan."

  Ryder dusted himself off. "We had no choice. They were going to find us, so we improvised."

  "And where's Nazeem?"

  Ryder spun around to look out on to the path leading away from the gate. "Hells. He's still out there."

  Chapter 15

  "We'll be riding out a communique for Baron Purdun to King Korox of Erlkazar," explained Captain Beetlestone. "The road will be treach­erous, and we expect resistance either from the Awl—"

  Liam squirmed a little when he said this.

  "—or from another source."

  "Sir?" One of the other soldiers stood up from his chair.

  "Yes, Buckwald?" acknowledged Beetlestone.

  "Another source?"

  The captain took a deep breath, looking at each of the soldiers around the table. All of them belonged to the unit that reported directly to Beetlestone. He was going to be leading this mission, and none of the other troops in the baron's army would accompany them.

  He nodded. "There have been an alarming number of scouting reports recently about an incursion of the walking dead in the region surrounding Duhlnarim, particularly in the areas near Dajaan and along Shalane Lake."

  Though no one spoke, Liam could feel the room tense. They would no doubt be headed to Klarsamryn, the king's stronghold in Llorbauth. The road to the capital ran par­allel to Shalane Lake almost the entire way.

  "If there are no other questions," said Beetlestone, "then we will mount up and head out immediately." The captain placed his hands behind his back, waiting.

  The room remained silent.

  "Very well, then," he said. "To the stables."

  The soldiers all stood and filed out of the briefing room. Outside, the sun was just coming up.

  The stables had been a late addition to the north end of Zerith Hold. It was attached to a special holding cell used to deal with large groups of prisoners. The dungeon in the Hold wasn't very large, so long-term criminals were moved to other facilities. Or so Liam was told.

  The stable boy brought the soldiers' horses into the courtyard. The young man approached Liam and handed him the reins of a beautiful brown mare.

  "This one's yours," said the youth.

  Liam took the reins. "Thank you." He'd never had a horse of his own. And this one was magnificent. Tall and lean, it was a young horse in its prime. It had been well cared for, and it
s eyes were bright and clear.

  "Hello, there," he said, running his hand along the horse's mane.

  The horse let out a whiny.

  "Liam," shouted Captain Beetlestone.

  Liam looked up from the horse to see that all the other soldiers were already mounted and ready to ride.

  "Do you know how to ride, son?" asked the captain.

  Liam placed his left foot in the stirrup and swung himself up onto the horse's back in a single fluid motion. Once he was situated, he turned and saluted the captain. "Yes, Captain."

  Beetlestone smirked. "Very good." He turned his horse and headed toward the gate out of Zerith Hold. "Let's ride."

  The gate opened, and the soldiers filed out of the courtyard. They fell into line, two abreast, and headed down the cobbled path, the horses' hooves clanking on the stone.

  Liam rode beside a gray-haired man. Though he didn't appear to be too old, his skin was beginning to wrinkle on his forehead and below his eyes. He had an easy confi­dence about him that put Liam at ease. The man smiled when he saw Liam looking at him.

  "The name's Knoblauch." The veteran soldier touched his helm in a familiar greeting, one Liam had seen other soldiers use with each other.

  "Liam," he replied, repeating the gesture.

  The older man nodded. "I know who you are."

  Liam shrugged. He didn't know how the old man was going to react to him. Judging from the way Captain Phinneous had responded, he didn't want to make any assumptions. So he kept his mouth shut.

  Knoblauch must have sensed Liam's reservations. "Don't worry," he said. "I hold no grudges."

  "That's good to know," replied Liam.

  "In fact," the veteran leaned in his saddle closer to Liam, lowering his voice, "Captain paired me with you as a precaution. Asked me to look after you, make sure none of the other men got any wrong ideas."

  "Oh," said Liam, "aren't you the martyr."

  "Well," said Knoblauch, sitting up as he rode, "if you're going to be like that about it."

  Liam sighed. "I apologize. It's just that things have been pretty rough for me the past few months."

  Knoblauch gave Liam a knowing nod. "I'll bet."

  The two men rode on quietly into late morning. In the silence, Liam mulled over all the thoughts Knoblauch could be having about him. What if their roles were reversed?

  "Hey, Knoblauch," Liam said after some time, "can I ask you a question?"

  The veteran nodded. "Yeah."

  "Did you ever fight the Crimson Awl?"

  Knoblauch squirmed a bit in his saddle. Then he nodded. "Yes."

  Liam felt a chill run down his spine and a knot formed in his stomach. He steeled himself then asked his next question. "Did you ever kill any?"

  Knoblauch took a deep breath. "I already told you I don't hold grudges."

  Liam shrugged. "Yeah, but maybe I do."

  Knoblauch laughed. "All right. The answer is no. I never killed any of your 'Brothers' or 'Sisters.' " The veteran continued to chuckle to himself.

  Liam nodded. He wasn't sure he believed the man, but he guessed it didn't matter. Would it make a difference in his situation if the guard next to him had killed members of the Awl? Probably not. And knowing for sure which of the soldiers around him had killed his friends and which hadn't would only serve to torture him more.

  The same was likely true for many of these men. They surely had friends and comrades killed by the Awl. None of them would know if it had been by Liam's hand or some other. Liam looked around at the soldiers in his unit. If they got into a fight, would one of them turn on him?

  Then he looked at Knoblauch. Guess the captain already thought of that.

  Liam settled into his saddle. He wished Ryder were here.

  Up ahead, the road took a turn to the east, and Shalane Lake came into view. It was a beautiful deep blue.

  "There she is," said Knoblauch. "Big Blue."

  "Big Blue?" asked Liam.

  "You've never heard of Big Blue?"

  Liam shrugged. "Should I have?"

  The veteran looked at Liam with astonishment. "Then you don't know the tale of Ellhimar's Tower?"

  Liam shook his head. "No."

  A smile bloomed on Knoblauch's face, and he rubbed his hands together. "Well," he started, "lakes this far inland usually look green and less pristine than Sha­lane Lake. This one, however, is the sapphire blue of the tropical ocean."

  Liam looked at the water. It was remarkably blue. He'd never seen the tropical ocean before, so he'd just take the veteran's word for it.

  "As the story goes," continued Knoblauch, "there is a wizard who lives at the bottom of the lake."

  "At the bottom?"

  Knoblauch nodded, a knowing smile on his face. "At the bottom. Ellhimar's Tower is said to be surrounded by a protective magical bubble that keeps the water out and the air in."

  "Sounds reasonable," said Liam, trying his best to keep a straight face.

  "The brilliant blue of the water is a result of the magic that powers the wizard's enchantment." Knoblauch looked at Liam, who obviously wasn't buying the story. "You can ask Lord Purdun if you like. He studied with old Ellhimar before becoming baron."

  "What?"

  Knoblauch nodded. "That's right. Purdun is a mage."

  "But..." Liam stumbled for words. "He pulled a sword on me."

  "I heard about that." The veteran chuckled.

  "You and everyone else in Ahlarkham," said Liam, sulking.

  "Well," said Knoblauch still laughing, "I'll give you this—you certainly have courage,"

  Liam tried to hide his smile by turning his head and covering his face with his hand. Finally he couldn't hold it back, and the two men had a good laugh.

  "Purdun only dabbles in the martial arts," explained the veteran, his laughter subsiding. "At heart, he's an evoker."

  "An evoker. Really?" Liam didn't know what an evoker was, but he didn't want to reveal his ignorance.

  Knoblauch smiled. "You don't know what that is, do you?"

  "Uh," Liam started. "Of course. An evoker, sure I know what one is."

  "All right." Knoblauch shook his head. "I'll let you off the hook. Evokers manipulate arcane energies to create things out of thin air."

  The regiment rode around the bend. The road turned west again, away from the lake and into the surrounding forest. The clopping of the horses' hooves grew quieter as the ground turned soft and damp under the canopy of trees.

  Liam shrugged. "Yeah."

  "You know the battle mages who patrol the top of the wall at Zerith Hold?"

  Liam nodded.

  "They're all evokers."

  Liam understood. "You mean the ones that shoot the big balls of flame?" He blurted.

  "Have you heard Lord Purdun ever referred to as the Firefist?"

  "Yes." Liam had heard him called that more than a few times. Ryder had even used that nickname the day they had ambushed the carriage.

  "Do you know how he got this nickname?"

  Liam relaxed, glad to get to a different topic. "No, I don't." Making up stuff to sound like he knew what he was talking about was hard work.

  "Well, you might not guess it now, but as a younger man, Purdun was a brash, foolish, hothead with a quick temper." Knoblauch leaned away in his saddle, taking a long look at Liam. "Not unlike someone else I recently met."

  "Is this part of the story?" asked Liam.

  Knoblauch ignored him and continued. "Just after he married Princess Dijara and became baron, Purdun had a meeting with one of the princess's previous lovers, a minor noble by the name of Stanley Smorthby."

  "Stanley Smorthby? What a name," replied Liam.

  "I know. Anyway, Stanley had been in line to marry the beautiful young princess and become the Baron of Ahlarkham. So naturally, he was a bit uppity when meet­ing the man who had taken away not only his woman but also his political power."

  "Yeah." Liam scratched his chin. "Must be rough."

  "As the story goes, old S
tanley Smorthby rubbed Purdun the wrong way. Nobody knows exactly what he said or what he did, but all those present could see that Purdun was mad." Knoblauch shifted in his saddle once again, settling in. "When their conversation finally ended, Purdun offered Stanley his hand—presumably to shake and part on peaceful terms. But when Stanley grabbed hold a huge jet of fire launched out of the baron's fingertips, filling up a quarter of the room and looking like a giant piece of molten cherry pie."

  "He burned him? He torched his wife's old lover?"

  Knoblauch nodded, a mischievous grin on his face. "Scorched all the clothes and hair right off the corpulent, uppity little snob." The veteran laughed. "It was the funniest thing I ever saw."

  "You were there?"

  Knoblauch smiled. "I was one of Purdun's personal bodyguards."

  "Really?" asked Liam. "So what are you doing back here in the guard?"

  Knoblauch paused. "I failed in my duty," said the veteran.

  Liam laughed. "What do you mean you failed? Purdun's still alive, isn't he?"

  Knoblauch nodded. "Yes, but only by the grace of the High Priest of Gond and an expensive resurrection spell."

  Liam cocked his head, a huge smile spreading across his face. "Dear Tymora. It's amazing he even keeps you in the elite guard."

  The veteran got a sour look on his face, his smile fading quickly into a powerful scowl. Liam felt like a scolded child. His comment was flippant, yes, but he hadn't intended to make the man angry.

  "Hey, Knoblauch, I—"

  The veteran held his hand up to silence Liam. Then he pointed to the ground beside them. "See that."

  A chill ran down Liam's spine, and he looked to where Knoblauch was pointing. While they were talking, they had ridden deep into the Argent Forest, which bordered Shalane Lake. The trees had grown thick along the side of the road and overhead, blocking out the sun's rays and making it very dark. The road was soft and damp, and though it was midday, it felt like an early summer evening.

  On the ground, near the horses' hooves, a wispy, trans­lucent mist was seeping out of the dense bushes that defined the edge of the road. It seemed to move with a purpose, growing as it pulled into view. The sight of it gave Liam a very bad feeling.