The Fighters: Master of Chains

by Jess Lebow

  The vampire hissed one last time then slumped to the ground motionless.

  Liam took a deep breath. His hands were shaking, and his brain was buzzing with adrenaline.

  "I told you," he shouted at the finally dead vampire, "nobody bites me."

  Knoblauch groaned and pushed himself up onto an elbow. Having partially regained his composure, Liam went to the veteran's side.

  "You showed her," said the older soldier.

  "That was a nasty spill you took," said Liam, grabbing Knoblauch's arm and helping him to his feet.

  The veteran drew air in through his teeth, obviously in pain. "Not the most graceful way to get off a horse."

  The bushes rustled, and Liam stepped in front of Knoblauch, putting himself between the veteran and whatever it was that was coming after them.

  "If you two lovers are done," said Captain Beetlestone stepping into view, his armor and face smeared with splotches of blood, "then I suggest you help us cut the heads off of those we felled, so we can get out of here before those that got away come back with friends."

  * * * *

  Liam never thought he would be so glad to see the inside of Zerith Hold. He wearily tromped down the long stone hall that wound through the keep from the stable to the barracks on the other side. His body ached from the fighting, and the thought of his own room and a private bed was delicious.

  Traversing the entire length of Zerith Hold, he finally crossed the threshold into the barracks. Voices wafted down the hall, and as Liam got closer, he could hear the conversation from around the corner.

  "No, I'm telling you, he was great," said the first voice.

  "Come on," argued another. "Everyone knows the Awl aren't anything more than a bunch of angry thugs. He's never even had any training."

  "Hey, I don't know, but I saw him out on the parade grounds," said a third. "He looked pretty good to me." The man laughed. "I'll tell you what. I'm glad he's on our side now."

  "So's Knoblauch," said the first voice. "Liam saved his life."

  Liam came around the corner to see a group of four elite guardsmen leaning on their doorframes, talking. He hadn't seen many of them without their helmets on, but he did recognize a man with a goatee—the only one beside himself who still wore his armor.

  "There he is," said the man, "the hero of the day."

  Liam looked at the other three men then back to the speaker. "You're in my unit."

  The man with the goatee nodded. "I sure am." He put his hand out. "The name's Claudius." He glanced at the other three men. "These men are in Captain Phinneous's unit, so they're completely unimportant."

  The three guardsmen grumbled, one chuckling at the jibe.

  He shook the man's hand. "Liam." And nodded to the others.

  Claudius's face broke out into a huge grin. "Well, well, Liam. More than three months in the unit and finally you're one of us." He stood up from the wall and grabbed Liam by the shoulder. "Come on, friend. There is beer to be drunk and songs about your bravery to be sung." He turned Liam around and ushered him back down the hall.

  Liam partially resisted. "But I still have my armor on."

  "Me too, lad. Me too." Claudius slapped him on the back. "Believe me, it's safer that way."

  The other men fell into step behind Liam and Claudius, and they marched together to a pair of plain wooden doors at the end of the hall.

  Two of Phinneous's men stepped in front of Liam and pushed the doors open. Before them was a large room, filled with wooden tables, flagons of ale, and a whole mess of drunken guardsmen.

  Still carrying his helm under one arm, Liam stepped through the door, and a cry went up.

  "Three cheers for Liam."

  The room exploded in noise.

  "Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!"

  The next moment, Liam was surrounded by other sol­diers slapping him on the shoulders and back (and even a time or two on the rear). Someone grabbed his helm, but before he could reach for it someone else replaced it with a large stone flagon.

  Claudius appeared at his side. "Drink up," he said, lifting a flagon himself. "All of this is for you."

  "For me?" Someone pushed the bottom of Liam's flagon toward him. Faced with the choice of drinking the golden liquid or letting it slop wastefully to the floor, Liam chose to take a huge quaff.

  It was both sweet and bitter at the same time. Liam recognized it immediately. "Honey mead," he said, taking a breath followed by another drink. He looked at Claudius, a big smile on his face. "My favorite."

  Claudius lifted his flagon, clinking it against Liam's. "I knew I liked you, lad." He took a drink. "Yes sir, I knew I liked you."

  The mead flowed all night. Songs were sung and stories were told. Soldiers climbed on the tables and did little dances. As the night drew on, the crowd of drunken soldiers got rowdier and rowdier, and from time to time, chunks of bread and even an empty flagon or two flew through the air.

  All the while, the accounting of the fight with the undead and of Liam's bravery grew larger. Pretty soon there was an army of vampires, each standing as tall as the highest tower of Zerith Hold. And Liam cut them down two at a time.

  Liam's head spun. He wobbled unsteadily, a smile plastered to his face. This wasn't such a bad thing. These men liked him. They threw parties in his honor.

  He raised the flagon to his lips again. He smiled even wider.

  They had an endless supply of honey mead. What more could a man ask for?

  He spotted Knoblauch in the corner seated against the wall, a sling over his arm. Liam wandered over and sat down next to him.

  "How you feeling?" he said as he plopped down.

  Knoblauch laughed. "Not as good as you, I'm afraid."

  Liam lifted his flagon. "I'll drink to that."

  Knoblauch lifted his empty hand and nodded his head.

  "What? Don't you like honey mead?" asked Liam.

  The veteran shook his head. "I like it plenty," he said. "It's the torment I endure the morning after that I don't like so much."

  "Ah," said Liam, pointing his finger at Knoblauch, "but no one said you had to have too much." He brought his thumb and forefinger almost together, leaving only a pebble's space between them. "Only a little." Liam squinted for emphasis.

  "Thank you Liam. I've already had my fill," said the veteran.

  "Already?"

  Knoblauch shrugged. "I'm an old man now, Liam. That stuff hits me a little harder than it used to." He leaned forward and grabbed hold of an empty flagon on the table, turning it over and letting the last few drops of mead drip out. "When I was a young man like you, I could drink all day and all night and never feel the wrath of the mead." He righted the flagon and put it back down on the table. "But then I got old, and the stuff caught up with me." He shook his head then laughed. "It's just not worth the pain anymore."

  Liam sighed. "Suit yourself." He took another swig.

  Knoblauch pointed across the room. "Look who came to your party."

  Liam followed the veteran's finger. Beside the door, looking on with a rather disapproving frown, stood Captain Phinneous.

  "Bah," said Liam, "what does he want?"

  Knoblauch leaned back against the wall. "I don't know. That one's a real manure bag—always steaming and never pleasant to be around."

  Liam nearly blew mead out of his nose. "You should—" He coughed, spitting a little errant mead onto the table— "You should warn me when you're going to do that."

  "That wouldn't be any fun, now would it?" Knoblauch placed his hands behind his head.

  "Yes. Yes it would," said Liam, putting his flagon down and wiping splattered mead off his face.

  The room went silent, and Knoblauch jumped to his feet. "Purdun's here."

  Liam coughed once, trying to clear his throat. Then he got to his feet and stood beside the veteran just as the baron approached their table.

  Knoblauch bowed. "My lord."

  Liam watched the veteran out of the corner of his eye and scowled. He didn't kn
ow how he felt about the bowing thing. Not that long ago he hadn't felt the need to show Lord Purdun any respect or even acknowledge his authority.

  Now though, something had changed. He kind of liked being part of the elite guard. That gave him something to lose, something that could be taken from him.

  Liam bowed as well. "Lord Purdun."

  "Please, gentlemen, no need for ceremony here," said the baron, lifting a full flagon of mead from the table and taking a large swig. "I've only come to tell you how relieved I am that you made it back safely."

  "Thank you, sir," said Knoblauch. "It's really only because of Liam that I made it back today at all."

  Purdun nodded, looking directly at Liam. "So I have heard. So I have heard."

  Liam was a little uncomfortable. He'd saved the lives of many men before. It was an almost daily occurrence in the Awl. But he'd never received so much attention for it. He stood silently, not knowing what to say, trying to avoid eye contact with the baron.

  "Well," said Purdun after a long awkward moment of silence, "I don't want to derail everyone's well-deserved fun." He turned to the room. "Please, everyone, carry on."

  A few of the men started to drink their mead, but for the most part the room stayed quiet. Only Captain Phinneous, lurking near the door, seemed to be enjoy­ing himself.

  The baron turned back to Liam and Knoblauch. "Liam, may I have a word with you in private?" he asked in a hushed voice.

  Liam looked to Knoblauch. The veteran soldier nodded his head and gave Liam a little shove.

  "Uh, all right," said Liam.

  "Excellent," replied Lord Purdun, then he headed across the room and out the double doors.

  Liam put his mead down on the table and did his best to look sober as he followed the baron out of the room.

  Once they were outside, Liam could hear the soldiers begin to laugh and talk again. Purdun walked on in silence, waiting until he was halfway down the hall before speaking again.

  "You've done well, Liam," he said, slowing his pace.

  "Thank you."

  "Far better than I ever imagined."

  Liam shrugged. "Guess you underestimated me," he said.

  Purdun smiled. "Indeed. And that is precisely what I wanted to talk to you about." Purdun stopped only a few steps from the door to Liam's room.

  Liam stood at attention, his hands behind his back.

  "I think your talents aren't being fully used," contin­ued the baron. "I want to offer you a promotion."

  Liam's head swam. "A promotion? What . . . what exactly does that mean?"

  Purdun put his hand on Liam's shoulder. "It means that with the undead incursions into Ahlarkham on the rise, the threat to my personal safety has increased as well. I'm going to be adding more men to my personal bodyguard, and I want you to be one of them."

  Liam shook his head, trying to clear the fuzzy haze of mead covering the inside of his skull. This was happen­ing so fast. It wasn't that long ago that he was fighting against this man, and now Liam was being offered a job as his personal bodyguard. Was this really happening?

  "I... I don't know what to say," he said. It was one thing to take refuge in the elite guard, but protecting the life of the man he had worked so long to kill...

  Liam shook his head. "I... don't think—"

  Purdun put up his hands, interrupting Liam. "Wait," said the baron, reaching over and grabbing hold of the door to Liam's private room. "I have a surprise for you." Tugging it open, Purdun waved his arm as if he were a herald presenting a visiting dignitary.

  "Listen," said Liam, gathering his will to turn down the offer. "I—"

  A slippered foot appeared first, followed by the rest of a beautiful woman. Out of his room stepped Samira, and Liam's jaw dropped.

  She looked like an angel descending into Zerith Hold. She wore a flowing white silk gown with ornate lace sleeves that flared at her hands, hiding them from view. Her long black hair had been lifted into an exquisite pile on top of her head, adorned with wildflowers and a handful of tiny sparkling jewels. She seemed to float as she moved, the smooth fabric of the gown trailing behind her.

  Looking at her made Liam feel warm all over.

  "Hello, Liam," she said.

  "Uh." Liam did a once-over of his own appearance. He was still wearing most of his armor and was covered in tiny bits of leaves and wood. "Hi," he said.

  Liam looked into Samira's eyes. She smiled, and the rest of the world seemed to disappear.

  "I don't want to keep you two any longer than I have to," interrupted Purdun.

  Liam tried to break eye contact with Samira, but he simply couldn't. She was entrancing, and he was helpless.

  "Liam," continued Purdun, "don't give me your answer now. But let me leave you with this one thought. The posi­tion I am offering you would come with a considerable raise in pay. Enough to, say, keep a lovely young woman in the custom she deserves."

  Liam and Samira continued to stare into each other's eyes.

  Lord Purdun bowed to the two of them. "I take my leave." Then he turned and hurried down the hall.

  Samira reached up and pulled out one of the torn leaves stuck in Liam's armor. "What happened to you?"

  Liam looked down at himself again. "Got in a fight," he said.

  "I heard," she said. "Baron Purdun told me you saved a man's life."

  Liam nodded. "I guess I did."

  The two of them stood in the doorway for a moment longer, looking at each other. Then Samira grabbed his hand.

  "Come on. Let's get that dirty armor off you."

  Liam followed her inside his room and closed the door behind him.

  Chapter 19

  Ryder lay on the warm stone floor, Giselle's head on his chest, his fingers dangling in the quickly cooling water, staring at the stars.

  The muscles in his back that had relaxed from the warm water and Giselle's caresses were once again knotted and tense. His head hurt, and it took tremendous effort to simply lie still. He laughed at the absurdity. This was a fantasy come true—he was on top of a tower inside a splendid palace with a beautiful, exotic woman lounging naked beside him. Things like this didn't happen to people like Ryder. They happened to the rich and powerful, not the poor farmer or the revolutionary. Yet, he couldn't enjoy it.

  The moment they had finished, Ryder was struck right smack in the middle of his chest with a tremendous wave of guilt.

  Samira.

  How could he have done that to her? She would never forgive him, and he wouldn't blame her. She would never do something like that to him. Had he been killed, she would have likely spent the rest of her life celibate, grieving over him.

  But not him. He had always thought of himself as a good man. But right now, he didn't feel like one.

  Giselle stirred, stretching her arms and turning to look up at Ryder.

  "Hi," she said, smiling.

  He looked at her but couldn't keep eye contact. "Hi," he said, trying to put a smile on his face.

  Giselle rolled over and got to her knees, then climbed up to straddle Ryder, looking down into his face.

  "That was nice," she said.

  "Uh-huh," he said, looking off over the tub.

  Giselle grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. She was frowning. "What's wrong?"

  Ryder shook his head.

  Giselle shook hers as well. "No. I mean it. What's wrong?"

  Ryder took a deep breath and let it out. He was nervous about how she would react to the truth, but if he didn't tell her... well, he didn't know what would happen, but he was sure it wouldn't be good.

  "I... I don't know what to say," he said. He sat silently for a moment, trying to build up the courage to say what he needed to say. Finally he blurted, "Giselle, I'm a married man."

  "Well," she said, leaning back a bit but not getting off his chest, "that doesn't seem like you don't know what to say."

  Ryder looked up at her. Instead of being angry, as he had expected she would be, she smiled and tou
ched the edge of his face.

  "You're feeling guilty," she said, not a question, just a matter-of-fact statement.

  Ryder swallowed. "Yes."

  "That's understandable." She paused. "Thank you."

  "For what?"

  "For your honesty," she said. Then she leaned down and kissed him. "And for not turning me down."

  Ryder blushed. He'd never been in this situation before, but he felt tremendous relief. Much of his guilt was simply concern over what this attractive woman would think of him when she found out the truth.

  "Listen, this life is very short," she said. "I learned a long time ago that every moment I waste regretting something I did or didn't do is another moment I don't spend actually living my life."

  "Spoken like a true farmer," said Ryder.

  "What is that supposed to mean?" Giselle frowned.

  "Just that before you can truly move forward, you have to be willing to live with the consequences."

  Giselle looked puzzled. "And what does that mean?"

  "It's something an old farmer in Furrowsrich used to say. To him it was a bit of wisdom about how and where to plow a piece of land into a new field. I've always thought it had a larger meaning."

  "All right, philosopher. How?"

  Ryder lifted himself up onto his elbows. "Living your life is a scary proposition. The more you gain, the more you have to lose. The more you have to lose, the harder it becomes to live with the consequences. But that shouldn't stop you from living the life you think you should live." He looked into Giselle's beautiful brown eyes. Then he touched her face. "You and I aren't that different."

  Giselle leaned into his touch. "No?"

  Ryder shook his head. "No."

  There was a long silence with both of them just gazing at each other.

  After a long while, Giselle broke the silence. "So, this wife of yours must be the reason you've been so eager to leave Fairhaven."