The Fighters: Master of Chains

by Jess Lebow

  "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 the 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.

  "They are within a day's march, my lord."

  Purdun sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "How did it come to this?"

  There was silence in the room for several heartbeats. Liam didn't know what to make of it all. Had things gone differently for him, he might have been overjoyed that Zerith Hold was about to be the center point of one of the largest battles in the history of Erlkazar. But things hadn't gone differently for him, and despite his earlier convictions, he believed Lord Purdun to be a good man. He didn't deserve all this. He didn't deserve the reputa­tion that had been created for him.

  Captain Beetlestone cleared his throat. "Lord Purdun," he started. "Things are going to get... chaotic in the next day. It is entirely possible that my men won't be avail­able to come to your aid if one of these groups manages to breach Zerith Hold."

  "What are you suggesting?" asked Purdun.

  "I think it would be wise if you were to start wearing your armor inside the Hold."

  Purdun nodded.

  "And I would like to assign to you another bodyguard," Beetlestone looked up at Liam. "Someone to watch Liam's back the next time he decides to take on six Magistrates by himself."

  Liam thought he detected a hint of a smile on the captain's face.

  "Who did you have in mind?" asked the baron.

  "Guardsman Knoblauch, sir," said Beetlestone.

  Lord Purdun nodded, obviously weighing the sug­gestion in his mind. "You know my reservations," he said finally.

  Beetlestone nodded. "Yes, but he is the best man I have. And if I may be frank—" He stopped, looking to the baron for approval.

  Purdun
nodded. "Of course."

  "If Knoblauch had been accompanied by a second man, one to watch his back as I am suggesting for Liam, then the unfortunate events of several years ago may never have happened."

  Purdun took a deep breath and rubbed his hand over his face. "All right, Beetlestone. Send him up." He turned to look at Liam. "We can use all the help we can get."

  Chapter 23

  Ryder woke late in the day. The sun was high in the sky, and the soldiers of the Broken Spear were quietly preparing themselves. All of the plans had been laid out the previous night. They all knew what they were supposed to do.

  Ryder too knew what he had to do. He had to end this thing. He had to take the head from the serpent before it could strike at him. Once he had killed Purdun, he would locate Liam and the rest of the Crimson Awl. With the baron dead, they would have a real shot at taking Zerith Hold.

  Tonight would be the spark that ignited the fire. It would be the break the Awl had always waited for.

  He looked out over the men and women around him. With the addition of the Broken Spear, the Awl would be twice as strong. His gaze searched the group and fell upon Giselle.

  She was a fine leader. It would be nice to have someone to fall back on. The Awl had always lacked strong lead­ers. He hoped that Liam had risen to his expectations and been able to keep the momentum in his absence. He would soon find out.

  Then there was Nazeem. The Chultan sat calmly on the edge of camp, his legs crossed, his eyes closed, medi­tating. Ryder wasn't sure where this man would fit into the overall plans. But somehow he knew that Nazeem would play a vital role. The tattooed man always seemed to be in the right place at the right time. He had a knack for showing up when he could do the most good. Ryder smiled to himself. He supposed those were skills one had to hone if one wanted to become a successful criminal. However he had come by them, Nazeem's ability to seem­ingly appear and disappear at will would be useful tools moving forward.

  Giselle touched Ryder's arm. "Are you ready?"

  He nodded. "You?"

  Giselle smiled. "We will be waiting for your signal," she said. "You just stay alive long enough for us to have something to do. I would hate to have come all this way for nothing."

  "I would hate that too," he replied.

  Giselle placed her hand on his chest, her eyes linger­ing on his for a long moment. Then she reached up and gave him a kiss.

  Ryder felt a wave of sadness fill him. "Giselle—"

  "For luck," she said. Then she pushed him away. "Now take Curtis and go. We will see you before sunrise."

  Ryder placed a hand to his lips, the soft wetness of her kiss still lingering. Then he turned and walked away.

  * * * *

  "All right, listen up," said Captain Phinneous. He had his entire unit assembled in the common room of the barracks inside Zerith Hold. "I have volunteered all of you for late-night guard duty tonight."

  This brought a few moans and groans from the men.

  Under other circumstances, Phinneous might have been angry. But not today. Today he was going to get a little revenge. Nothing could spoil his good mood.

  "All right, quiet down," he said. "I know none of you like that too much, but I have a little surprise for you."

  The men quieted down.

  "I have word that Ryder of Duhlnarim has found his way back to Ahlarkham."

  "I thought he'd been shipped off to Westgate," shouted a soldier.

  "Aye, lad," said Captain Phinneous. "Somehow the bastard has earned his freedom, and he's come back to finish what he started."

  Phinneous looked at each of the men, making sure his words sank in. "I have it on good authority that he's going to try to infiltrate Zerith Hold tonight."

  "Ah," shouted the same guard. "And we're going to be there to catch him." He slapped the guard next to him on the arm in celebration. "We'll all be heroes."

  The men let out a huzzah!

  Captain Phinneous shook his head. "No, lads," he said. "I've got an even better idea." The men grew quiet again as Phinneous leaned in, talking just above a whisper. "We're gonna let the man in and let him get all the way to the baron's sitting room."

  "Why would we do that?"

  Captain Phinneous smiled a huge bucktoothed grin. "Because, boys, we'll have a surprise waiting for our guest when he arrives. Stay sharp tonight. I've got hunch we'll be in for a spectacular show."

  * * * *

  It was the darkest part of the night. The moon had yet to rise over the Deepwash as Ryder and Curtis inched their way closer to Zerith Hold.

  There were only two ways into the fortress. The most accessible was the same way Ryder had been taken out-through the stables and barracks in the back where all of Purdun's elite guardsmen lived and slept. Even with Curtis's illusions, Ryder doubted there was much of a chance of his making it in through there undetected.

  The other way was through the front gate. Though it, too, was heavily watched, there were far fewer guards­men around and not nearly as much traffic. The back of the Hold was where all the real business—the comings and goings of merchants and soldiers—took place. The front was more for diplomatic purposes, and it didn't see as much use.

  That night, Ryder was going to be a visiting foreign dignitary—an uninvited ambassador from Fairhaven.

  Though the portcullis and double doors that blocked entry to Zerith Hold were down and closed, the draw­bridge had not been raised. A person so inclined could walk right up to the front door of Zerith Hold and knock on the heavy wood. That wouldn't be the way Ryder chose to enter.

  The huge chains that lifted the bridge back up against the doors of the Hold hung slack from the top of the wall. They attached to the wooden drawbridge by two large cast-iron hooks that were forged directly into the bridge. The links of the chain rose into the air, sagging as they climbed toward the top of the wall and through two large holes in the stone. Ryder had never seen the other side of the door, but he assumed the rest of the chains were connected to a wheel or a pulley, some mechanism that allowed a handful of guardsmen to open and close the drawbridge as the need arose.

  Ryder watched the guards on top of the wall. From what he could tell, there were only a handful of them up there. They were paired off, and they marched from one end of the wall on a strict rotation. In the time it took Ryder to count to three hundred, one patrol had covered the entire length of the wall and had moved out of sight.

  As they patrolled, the guards hardly even turned their attention away from their conversations. Only once did Ryder see a soldier actually look out off the wall through the crenellations. They really weren't paying any attention to the ground in front of the Hold, seemingly convinced that the doors, the portcullis, and their presence would make anyone wanting to get in think twice.

  They were wrong.

  "Are you ready?" asked Ryder.

  Curtis nodded. "Yes. I think so."

  Ryder frowned at the illusionist. "What do you mean, 'I think so?'"

  Curtis shrugged. "I mean I think I'm ready. I won't really know if I'm ready until I actually try to be ready. Judging from every other experience I have, all signs point to me being ready." He held a finger in the air. "But you never know. I provide no assurances."

  Ryder shook his head. "Get on with it."

  "Right," said Curtis, and he began to cast a spell. Waving his hands over Ryder's head, the illusionist spoke two quiet words then snapped his fingers.

  Ryder looked down at his hands. All he could see was the dirt and stones on the ground below. His body was completely invisible.

  "Guess I was ready," said Curtis.

  "Good work," said Ryder. "Now head back and meet up with the others. You know what to do, don't you?"

  Curtis nodded. "I think so."

  Ryder sighed. "Well, I guess that will have to do."

  "All right," said Curtis, and without another word he turned and walked back toward where the Broken Spear would be waiting for Ryder's signal.

  Ryder
watched the wall. When the first guards came into sight, he started counting. When the same guards had moved out of view, he crept closer to the drawbridge. Darting under the huge links, he jumped, grabbed hold of the massive chain, and clung to its underside. Then he waited, finishing the count he started when the guards had moved out of sight. From where he was, he couldn't see the patrolling guardsmen. He smiled. Even if he could, they certainly couldn't see him.

  Hanging there, upside down, Ryder counted. When he reached three hundred he began to climb. Hand over hand, he pulled himself up the chain. He moved cau­tiously, not wanting to rattle the links or to call any attention to himself. He was invisible, but not silent.

  The going was slow, but soon he was close to the top. The chain entered the wall just below the bottom of the crenellations. As he got close, Ryder could hear the guards conversing.

  "Do you think there is any truth to the rumors that the Crimson Awl are planning a raid on Zerith Hold?" asked one man.

  Ryder stopped climbing to listen.

  "No," said another. "Haven't heard much out of them for a while."

  Ryder smiled. By morning, they will have heard some­thing out of the Awl.

  He continued to climb until he got to the edge of the stone. The voices of the two guards grew softer as they moved on. When Ryder could no longer hear them, he hoisted himself up on top of the chain and through the hole in the wall.

  Slipping inside, Ryder let himself down onto the dark­ened floor. As he had suspected, the chains ran through the wall and down into a torchlit courtyard beyond. About a man's height above ground level there was a raised platform that ran the entire circumference of the courtyard. In the middle of the platform, the iron links of the chains connected to a circular contraption that was covered with gears and had a large crank attached to one side.

  Though the chain was the way Ryder had intended to enter the Hold, the platform below was not empty. Archers patrolled along the edge, looking down toward the wooden doors and iron portcullis, ready to pincushion anyone who set foot inside. If he climbed down the chain, he'd likely be heard.