The Chain Breaker: Books 1-3

by Holmberg, D. K.

  Gavin realized that he didn’t really know anything about the Fates. Nothing other than what Zella had shared with him, and she had not known nearly enough. There were at least three, though he was dealing with only one. At least, that Gavin knew about.

  What if there were others here?

  He started to focus on his core reserves, trying to prepare for the possibility that he might have to use even more of that power that he had answers faded. If there were more than one of the Fates present in the city, Gavin wasn’t sure what it would take for him to break free.

  The Fate leaned toward Gavin, pressing his face up against him. Darkness still shrouded him, making it difficult for Gavin to see anything, as if the sorcerer intended to keep him in the dark.

  Gavin strained once more against the bindings. He called upon his core reserves, but that strength had already started to fade after everything he’d been through. As he pushed against the strange binding, it constricted even more tightly around him.

  The sorcerer chuckled again. “I must admit that it is quite enjoyable to immobilize you in such a way. I will have what you have stolen from us.”

  Gavin grunted. He tried to turn and shift the sword, but even that wasn’t going to work. The only thing that he could move was his head, and he could barely even twist toward the sorcerer.

  “What makes you think I have anything?” Gavin asked.

  The sorcerer chuckled once more, taking a slight step back as he watched Gavin. “You will share with me.”

  Gavin prepared for the increased squeeze of power around him. He had to summon the core reserves within him—he was convinced that he could break free once he did. He pushed against what the sorcerer wrapped around him. As he did, Gavin could feel the barrier start to slip.

  The sorcerer took a step toward him, now standing only a step away, and the power wrapped more tightly around him. Gavin could still move his head. He jerked it forward in a sharp movement, cracking his forehead against the sorcerer’s.

  The sorcerer cried out, backing away.

  The barrier around Gavin suddenly slipped. He darted forward, slicing through it, and he thrust his sword into the sorcerer’s belly. The shadows fell from around the sorcerer, and suddenly he became visible as he pulled away from Gavin.

  He was a slim man, nothing like the first sorcerer Gavin had seen. His jet-black hair ran in waves down to his shoulders. His eyes were lined, the only evidence of age, and his thin lips pressed together in a tight frown. The dark robes he wore were similar to the other sorcerer’s.

  Where are the others?

  Wrenlow and Jessica had to be here.

  Maybe even Gaspar.

  Not Imogen. She wouldn’t have let a sorcerer hold them.

  “You weren’t expecting that, were you?” Gavin said.

  The sorcerer, no longer shrouded by shadows, glared at Gavin. He wrapped his hands around the sword and pushed, his strength forcing Gavin back much more easily than expected.

  Gavin stumbled backward, still holding on to the sword, and blood dripped from the blade.

  The sorcerer looked down. He tsked and waved his hand over his belly. The bleeding stopped. “No, I wasn’t expecting that, but you’re not the first person to stab me. I doubt you will be the last. It will be the only time you succeed, though.”

  The sorcerer started to wind tendrils of power around Gavin again, which snaked up from the ground and worked around his legs. Gavin brought the sword down, carving at them. Each time, another strange invisible tendril started to crawl around him. The sorcerer worked more rapidly, and more and more of them continued to work around Gavin until he was once again trapped.

  The sorcerer took a step toward him, smiling. He didn’t bother to shroud himself in shadows any longer, likely realizing that it was unnecessary now that Gavin had seen him.

  “I will enjoy tormenting you,” the sorcerer said.

  “Come too close, and you’re going to find my sword in your belly again,” Gavin said.

  The sorcerer grinned. “I think not.” He twisted his hand, and the strange magic that held Gavin surged more tightly, wrapping around him.

  Gavin could barely move. He could barely breathe. He focused on the energy deep within him and continued to call on it, trying to push outward. He felt it bulge again, but not nearly enough. The energy within him, his core reserve, started to fade.

  The sorcerer watched him, almost as if he knew that Gavin had some way of accessing that power.

  All he needed to do was to access that power again, and he hoped that he could shift the sword. He wasn’t going to give up. He’d been through too much to give up like that.

  The power constricted again, squeezing him.

  The sorcerer smiled. “Yes. You will make an interesting—”

  The door to the tavern thundered open. An explosion of light ripped through the room.

  Gavin turned his head, the only part of him that still could move.

  The sorcerer held on to the power around him as darkened figures darted into the room. They moved quickly—enchanted movement. Constables. Even enchanted, they’d be slaughtered.

  “No!” Gavin yelled.

  More shadows streaked into the room.

  The sorcerer leaned forward toward Gavin, smiling at him. “How lovely.”

  They were flickers of movement, dark shadows and nothing else. The constables were getting attacked; the force of it too much, too aggressive, and much more than they could withstand. Occasional explosions of light erupted.

  The sorcerer remained near Gavin, and he held one hand out, turning it slowly in place. There was a buildup of power from him, but the sorcerer’s focus was distracted.

  Gavin could use that and find a different way to surprise him. He pushed against the barrier.

  Glancing in his direction, the sorcerer turned his hand and tried to twist his wrist, but something struck the sorcerer at the same time. The combination of Gavin pushing against him and the suddenness of the attack freed Gavin.

  He could move.

  He slashed, slicing through the sorcerer’s leg, and the sorcerer cried out. Gavin darted forward again, and he brought the sword around and stabbed the sorcerer through his belly. He jerked the blade upward.

  The sorcerer glared at him. Once again, he grabbed the blade, gripping it on either side, and slid it out. He waved a hand at his chest, and the wounds knitted back together.

  Gavin charged forward with the blade and carved at the sorcerer, but the sorcerer blocked him. Gavin lunged, sweeping the blade again.

  The sorcerer held his hand up, and he simply caught it.

  The blade cut through his palm, but then it stopped. He turned his attention to Gavin. “You are most troublesome.”

  He grabbed the blade and threw it across the room. He took a step toward Gavin, and he drove a magically enhanced fist toward him. The punch landed in Gavin’s chest, knocking the wind out of him. He tried to take a gasping breath, but he couldn’t.

  The sorcerer grabbed Gavin and dragged him toward the door. If the sorcerer pulled him out of the Dragon, Gavin doubted he could get back to find Wrenlow and Jessica.

  He had to break free.

  I have an enchantment.

  He pulled it out of his pocket and slipped it onto his wrist. He kept the enchantment on him, though never used it because he tried not to become reliant upon it. It was too dangerous for him to do so.

  He drew upon its power and turned to see whether he could escape in some fashion. Everything seemed to slow. The combination of strength and speed was enough that Gavin wondered if he would be able to overwhelm the sorcerer. He brought his arm around, chopping it through the sorcerer’s arm.

  There was a satisfying crack as the sorcerer’s arm shattered. Gavin staggered back, suddenly freed from his grip. He raced across the room, grabbed his sword, and spun, but the sorcerer was gone.

  Light exploded in the room. Gavin clutched his chest, trying to steady his breathing.

  Ev
erything hurt.

  He noticed a hint of pale white glowing along his blade.

  Gavin looked up and saw Davel Chan. The constables filled the entire front space of the Dragon. A dozen or so men all had swords unsheathed, and all were dressed in the simple gray jacket and pants of the constables. Even Davel held a sword, something Gavin had not yet seen him fight with, but he suspected a man of his station had considerable skill.

  Davel turned to Gavin with a tight smile. “Now. About the egg.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Gavin sat in a chair near the hearth. He clutched his chest, trying to breathe through the pain. He was accustomed to handling pain, but what he now felt was something different—as if his bones had been shattered but, at the same time, as if they were also knitting back together and healing.

  He didn’t know if it was something he was doing, whether he had some enhancement naturally that would allow him to recover, or whether it was something that was tied to what the sorcerer had done to him. He’d always healed fast.

  He held on to the sword. Gavin had refused to sheathe it, even after there was no evidence of the sorcerer attack here. He kept the enchantment on as well.

  Wrenlow sat across from him. His face was bruised, and a trickle of blood ran down from his nose that he hadn’t completely wiped away.

  Jessica looked unharmed. Gavin supposed that he should be thankful for that. She had been injured enough times because of him.

  “He was after you,” Wrenlow said as Gavin approached. “I tried to get word to you, but he attacked before I had a chance.”

  Gavin shook his head. “You did well.”

  “They sealed us after that,” Wrenlow said, looking over to Jessica. She was quiet, but the longer the sorcerer had been gone, the more she seemed to be coming around. “It was like they put up a blanket of darkness over us.”

  Jessica nodded. “I couldn’t see anything. I could barely hear anything. Only muffled sounds.”

  “And the fighting,” Wrenlow said.

  Jessica frowned and nodded. She swept her gaze around her again before settling on the constables nearby. “I don’t like having the constables around here,” Jessica said.

  “I don’t either,” Gavin said, “but I don’t know that we have much choice in the matter.”

  “We could tell them to leave.”

  “Do you think they would?”

  “You have an agreement with them,” she said.

  Gavin shook his head. “I had an agreement, but I don’t know if that’s been modified now that Davel had to save me.”

  Had Davel not come, Gavin had little doubt that he would have succumbed to the sorcerer. He would have been taken from here, tormented and killed. Given that Gavin had stabbed the sorcerer twice, the man probably wanted revenge.

  Gavin got to his feet, feeling shaky. He needed rest.

  The door opened, and Davel strode in, followed by three constables. His gaze darted around the tavern before settling on Gavin. He made his way toward where Gavin sat near the hearth, grabbed a chair, and took a seat across from him. The other three constables took up positions at each door around the room.

  “I suppose I should thank you,” Gavin said.

  “That is generally what one does when their life is saved,” Davel said, smiling tightly.

  “You knew they were here.”

  “As I said, I recognized there was a sorcerer’s presence in the city.”

  But Gavin didn’t think he knew about the Captain. “You weren’t aware of it when Cyran was here.”

  Davel’s brow furrowed. “No. I’m not exactly sure why that is, only that he managed to conceal his presence from us.”

  Gavin flicked his gaze toward where he had been attacked. “I have a feeling this one doesn’t think he needs to hide.”

  “Probably not,” Davel said. He fell silent, and he stared at the crackling logs.

  Lighting a fire was the first thing that Jessica had done after the attack. Well, almost the first thing. She had cleaned up the tavern as well as she could, tipping the chairs back into place, moving the tables back where they belonged. Thankfully, she and Wrenlow had been trapped and held by the sorcerer in one corner, and as soon as the attack started and the sorcerer turned toward the constables, the two of them were able to sneak into the kitchen and hide.

  Gaspar hadn’t been there.

  “Who is he?” Davel finally asked.

  “I don’t know much about him. He called himself one of the Fates, though the only thing that I’ve been able to determine about the Fates is that they somehow lead the sorcerers. I came across him the night before when he killed the Captain.”

  That elicited a slight raise of the brow. Not much more than that. “That one preferred to risk more than he should.” He shook his head. “No, the Fates don’t lead the sorcerers,” Davel said, sighing. “It’s worse than that. Much worse. They control them. The Fates have guided the sorcerers for as long as I’ve been aware of it.”

  “As long as you’ve been aware of it?” Gavin was surprised that word of the Captain’s death didn’t hit Davel any harder than it had.

  “Yes,” Davel said. “We understand the dangers of magic in the city, and we take great pains to ensure that we are prepared for the possibility of any further attack. If the Fates are involved, so are all who serve them.”

  “From what you say, all the sorcerers serve them.”

  Davel shook his head. “If we have one of the Fates within Yoran, then we are in far more trouble than I realized.”

  “And you attacked one.”

  “There was always going to be a fight if one of the Fates was here,” Davel said.

  “What do you know about them?” Gavin shifted on the chair, and he moved the sword. He needed to know if what Zella had shared with him was true or not. It probably was, but there might be gaps in her knowledge.

  “Every rumor you’ve heard is probably true,” Davel said. “The best solution is to offer them whatever they want so that they leave.”

  Don’t let him have it.

  “You think that’s all it will take?” Gavin laughed softly. “My experience with people like that is that even when they get what they want, they don’t necessarily leave. They’re here for a reason, and someone with that much power likely has a reason that brought them here—one that might pose a danger to all of Yoran.”

  “As if you care about Yoran.”

  “I care about several people here,” Gavin said. As he said it, he knew it was true. This despite everything he kept telling himself about needing to leave Yoran. “And myself.”

  “That’s all you care about,” Davel said.

  Gavin shrugged. “I’ve never claimed otherwise. In fact, I have been quite clear that the only person I am concerned about is myself. When it comes to an attack like this, I’m not willing to stay here and suffer.”

  And he couldn’t hand over anything to the Fate as he didn’t have anything. Could he have followed someone other than the Fate out of the Captain’s fortress? The attack on the Captain had been brutal, and he couldn’t imagine anyone not a sorcerer handling him—and his people—like that.

  He had to figure that out.

  The Fate had been near the sorcerer’s lair.

  “I stabbed the Fate twice,” Gavin went on. “The second time should have been enough to kill him. I carved through his belly, up into his chest, and he pushed my sword away as if it were nothing.”

  “They supposedly have diamond-hard skin, and it’s impossible to even get a knife into them.” Davel glanced down at the sword. “What is that weapon?”

  Gavin took a seat and held the sword over his lap, and he glanced down at the blade. “It’s an El’aras sword, at least as far as I can tell. It’s a little bit different than the dagger I have.” He pulled the dagger out from the sheath and held it out. “This one I took off of an El’aras.”

  “Not the sword?”

  “Not the sword,” Gavin said.

  “
But how do you know it’s an El’aras blade?”

  “I don’t. At least not necessarily. But it reacts the same as the dagger. It glows when there’s magic used around us.” Gavin stared at the sword for a moment, then twisted it in place. “Besides, it has something else about it that makes it more likely to be an El’aras blade. This writing,” Gavin said, motioning to it. He held the sword out.

  Davel leaned close. His mouth was pressed together in a tight line, and after studying it for a moment, he sat back in his chair. “I don’t know if it’s an El’aras sword. I have heard that even the El’aras cannot kill one of the Fates.”

  “I doubt that’s true,” Gavin said. “I have some experience with the El’aras, and their sword fighters are quite skilled.”

  “I’m not doubting the skill of their fighters. All I’m saying is that the Fates have incredibly hard skin.”

  “Magically enchanted,” Gavin said.

  “Possibly.”

  “Then maybe there’s something that we can do to counter that.” If they were going to have to deal with the Fates, then they needed more than an equal footing. “Do you think the egg can create an enchantment like that?” he asked.

  “It’s possible.” Davel looked up. “Enchantments can only be created by those who understand them. We have to find someone who has the necessary knowledge.”

  He understood what Davel was getting at—he wanted to know where the enchanters were.

  “I don’t think I can help you,” he said.

  “You can help. You’re just choosing not to.”

  Gavin looked down at the sword again, noting the symbols on the blade. If it were more than just the El’aras blade, then what was it? He had found the sword beneath Cyran’s home. Within his lair.

  Another sorcerer’s lair.

  And it had been protected. Almost as if it were something dangerous.

  Of course, the sword would be. Gavin had seen how dangerous it could be, but that didn’t mean it was anything other than an El’aras sword because even that would be dangerous.

  Only, an El’aras sword wouldn’t have been kept within a protective barrier.

  The Fate had been after something.