The Sword and the Chain

by Joel Rosenberg

  "Have you spotted their wizard yet?" Ahrmin asked, as he stooped to check Ganness' bonds and gag, then rolled the captain through the open hatch, enjoying the thump and muffled groan as Ganness landed in the hold.

  Thyren smirked. "Wizards."

  "Wizards?"

  Thyren closed his eyes. His forehead furrowed. "There's one on the beach." He opened his eyes. "And another, some distance away, beyond the treeline."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes. My inner sight sees their glow." He raised a palm. "But they can't see me; my own glow is damped. They won't be able to see it until it's too late. I have done this before, you know."

  "Good." Ahrmin turned to glare at Lensius and Fihka. Lensius was fondling a hooknet, while Fihka had taken his bolas from the rack beneath the mainmast. "Put those down," he hissed. "We don't show any weapons until we're ready."

  "And when will that be?" Lensius muttered.

  "When enough of them gather on the beach." A simple plan, but a good one: The crossbows would kill twenty or thirty of the Mel men, cutting the locals' ability to defend themselves down to almost nothing. That, and the element of surprise, would make it easy to gather up scores of women and children.

  The nice part of it was that once Thyren had killed the Mel wizards and Ahrmin's men had gotten down to work, Ahrmin would be able to take Thyren and a few others out in search of Karl Cullinane, leaving the rest of his men to the boring task of chasing down the Mel.

  Thyren waved a hand at Ahrmin's pouch. "Best to see where Cullinane is."

  Ahrmin shrugged. The last sighting he had taken, before they had steered around the tiny island, had shown that Cullinane was in the direction of the Mel village. Since he wasn't on the beach, he was probably up at the village.

  Resting comfortably, I hope. It will be the last time you will ever be comfortable, Karl Cullinane. I've put away four bottles of healing draughts, so that I can keep you alive on our trip back to Pandathaway, while I amuse myself with you. I have to deliver you unmarked to Wenthall, but that doesn't mean I can't spend hours cutting you open, then healing you up.

  "Take a sighting," Thyren repeated. "If he's within range, I'll put him to sleep before I deal with the Mel wizards. That way, he won't have the chance to run."

  Ahrmin sneered. "Run? And abandon his friends? Leave slavers alive behind him?" He turned to Lensius. "Now, if you please."

  Lensius smiled, and beckoned to the milling throng on deck. With merry whoops, all except five of the slavers vaulted over the side and charged toward the beach.

  Thyren caught Ahrmin's arm. "Take a sighting."

  Ahrmin shrugged and reached for his pouch. "Since you insist . . ." He pulled the glass sphere from his pouch and unwrapped the soft leathers that covered it. "Although we don't have to—"

  His breath caught in his throat. Bobbing in the yellow oil, the dismembered finger pointed straight down.

  * * *

  "Ganness!" Karl hissed, pulling the other away from the light streaming down through the hatch. When both of them were safely in shadow, Karl shook the captain's shoulder with one hand while he wielded the sword with the other, slicing through the ropes that tied Ganness' hands behind his back.

  His face ashen, Ganness shook his head. His eyes cleared. "Cullinane, they want you."

  "Shh. Drink this." Karl unstoppered the bottle of healing draughts, then forced the mouth of the bottle between Ganness' lips. Immediately, color started to return to Ganness' face. "You'd better get out of here. Things are going to get very nasty in just—"

  "Greetings, Karl Cullinane." A familiar face leaned out over the edge of the hatch. "Please don't move a muscle." Four crossbowmen looked down at him, their bows cocked, the bolts pointing directly toward his heart. "I've been waiting to meet you. If you'll be kind enough to stay where you are, I'll be down in a moment."

  There was no doubt in Karl's mind that Ahira was right: The face was Ohlmin's, only younger, smoother. Perhaps the eyes were a bit sharper, maybe the smile was a trifle more cruel, but that was all.

  Another man joined the five above. "Don't be foolish. Let me put him to sleep. Then you can chain him at your leisure."

  The boy shrugged. "Very well."

  The other raised his hands and began to mutter harsh words that were forgotten as soon as they were heard.

  Ganness' eyes sagged shut, but Karl only felt a momentary faintness.

  He held the sword tighter, while the wizard paled.

  "It's not working," the wizard shrilled. "Something's interfering with—"

  Karl didn't wait for the wizard to finish; he dove for the companionway, bolts thudding into the deck behind him. He ducked through a door, and looked around, while feet pounded on the deck above him.

  There was no way out. They would have the aft hatch covered before he could get to it.

  The captain's cabin, the way I came in. He ran to the cabin, slammed the door behind him, and threw the bolt.

  On the other side of the door, voices shouted, feet thudded. I can dive out through there, and—no. If the slavers' wizard hadn't already taken out Wohtansen, he would be doing that at any moment. There just wasn't time to get off the ship and then warn Wohtansen to get away.

  I'll have to take them out quickly, then get to the wizard. It's either that or make them come to me. His eye fell on the bottles of lamp oil next to the healing draughts.

  I've got to try it. As hard blows shook the door, he uncorked all except one of the bottles of oil, then slathered their contents around the room, soaking himself with the lamp oil in the process. He lunged for his knapsack, jerked it open, then extracted a piece of flint before dropping the knapsack and opening a bottle of healing draughts.

  The pounding grew louder.

  Another few seconds and they'll be inside. A quick, hefty swig of the sweet liquid for luck, then he poured the rest of the bottle over his head, careful to keep both sword and flint dry. He made sure that the healing draughts covered him from head to toe, then tossed the empty bottle aside before opening another, putting it to his lips, and draining it.

  He uncorked the last bottle of lamp oil and held it in his left hand. A quick thrust to the oil-wetted wood stuck the sword into the wall beside the door. He coated most of the sword with the oil, then dropped the empty bottle to the floor.

  He retrieved another bottle of healing draughts, and waited, while the slavers pounded against the door.

  The wood held solid, but the bolt began to give, protesting the punishment with the squeal of metal strained beyond its limits.

  As the door crashed inward, Karl took a deep breath and stroked the flint along the sword's length.

  One spark caught the oil.

  The cabin burst into flame.

  Fire seared him; his skin crackled in the flames, the pain taking his breath away. But he healed instantly, only to be burned again.

  The fire burned brighter, hotter. As the flames seared his eyeballs, Karl screamed, jamming his eyelids shut.

  He smashed a bearded face with the bottle of healing draughts, then jerked the sword from the wall and swung one-handed, slicing through a slaver's neck.

  A lancing pain shot through his belly accompanied by the cool slickness of a steel blade; Karl fell back, batting the blade away. He switched grips and threw the sword like a javelin, driving it into a slaver's chest to its brass quillons.

  Another hand fastened on his bottle of healing draughts.

  No. The bottle was Karl's only chance to come out of this alive. He bit the other's hand, his teeth rending muscle and tendons, a rush of salty blood filling his mouth.

  The pain stopped as his wound healed, but the fire still roared, still burned him. Karl reached out with his free hand and caught hold of a slaver's ear. While the slaver screamed, Karl brought his hand down and his knee up, the man's face shattering against his knee like a bagful of eggs.

  Screams still filled his ears, but now they were only his screams. Karl staggered through the shattered
door and into the companionway beyond, his whole body on fire.

  His right hand rumbled at the bottle's cork, but he couldn't control his fingers. He brought the cork to his mouth, clamped his teeth on it, and jerked it loose.

  As he drank the sweet healing draughts, he inhaled some of the fluid. Doubled over in a coughing spasm, he splashed the healing draughts over his body, making sure to get some into his eyes.

  The pain receded. He opened his eyes. At first, his vision was cloudy; it was as if he had opened his eyes underwater.

  Then his vision cleared. He poured some of the healing draughts onto the smoldering spots of his breechclout, feeling the burns on his thighs and buttocks subside.

  The pain was gone. Tossing the empty bottle aside, he let out his breath, then sucked in sweet, fresh air. Behind him, the fire was spreading beyond the cabin. Through the wall of flame he could see unmoving bodies, scattered across the room, crackling in the flame.

  Beside him in the companionway, a dead slaver sat against a bulkhead, propped up by the sword stuck through his chest, unseeing eyes staring up as Karl jerked the sword from the body.

  The stench of burning flesh filled his nostrils. He gagged, stumbling back through the companionway.

  Ganness lay unmoving on the deck.

  "Ganness." Karl slapped Ganness' face lightly, then harder. "Wake up."

  Ganness' eyelids fluttered, then snapped open. He grabbed at Karl's arm.

  "Ganness, the ship's burning. Get over the side. Quickly, now."

  "My ship—"

  "Your life—move," Karl jerked Ganness to his feet, then pushed him toward the companionway. "Get out through the rear hatch; I've got to get to the wizard."

  Karl ran to the forward ladder, then climbed it, his feet touching every other rung. He broke through into daylight.

  On the beach, a battle raged.

  No time for this. Where's—

  At the bow of the Warthog, the wizard stood, wind whipping through his hair, rippling his tunic, as he raised his hands over his head, murmuring words that Karl couldn't make out.

  Lightning crackled from the wizard's fingers, the sun-bright bolts shooting shoreward.

  "Wizard! Try me!"

  The wizard turned, his sweaty face going ashen as his eyes widened. "Karl Cullinane. Wait." He raised his hands. "Please don't. We can talk—"

  Karl took a step forward.

  The wizard murmured another spell. Again, lightning crackled from his fingertips, streaking across the few feet that separated Karl and the wizard.

  Inches from Karl's chest, the lightning shattered into a stream of sparks that flowed around him, never touching him.

  Karl took another step.

  "The sword—it's the sword of Arta Myrdhyn."

  "A sword made to kill wizards."

  And another step.

  Again, the wizard threw up his hands. "Wait. I surrender to you. There's much I can do for you, Karl Cullinane, much I can tell you. Wait, please."

  Karl stopped three feet away and lowered the point of the sword.

  The wizard relaxed momentarily, a relieved smile spreading across his face.

  Karl returned the smile, then slashed. Once.

  The smile was still on both of their faces as the wizard's head rolled across the deck and splashed overboard, leaving his body behind to twitch in a pool of blood for a moment, and then lie still.

  On the beach, the battle stopped. Slavers and Mel alike staggered, then dropped to their knees, and to their bellies, unconscious.

  Except for one man. Seigar Wohtansen stood at the waterline and lowered his arms. The sand around him was dotted with smoldering black patches.

  He sprinted across the sand to the nearest Mel man and kicked him awake, holding a hand across the man's mouth to prevent him from crying out. "Quickly, before they wake." Roughly, the Mel woke another of his fellows, and then another, until all the Mel men stood among the sleeping bodies of the slavers.

  And slowly, cold-bloodedly, they picked up swords and knives, cutting the slavers' throats as they slept.

  Karl shuddered, but the roar of the fire behind him suggested that the Warthog wasn't the place to be right now; he levered himself over the side and dropped into the water, wading toward shore.

  As he reached the beach, Wohtansen ran up. "This way—some got by us. Going up toward the village."

  They ran up the path, under the overhanging branches. "Just put them all to sleep," Karl said, panting as he ran.

  Wohtansen shook his head. "Can't. All out of . . . spells."

  Scattered across the trail ahead, the pieces of several dead slavers lay, already covered with a blanket of flies. Karl nodded to himself as he leaped over a part of a leg. Looked like Ahira's handiwork; nothing but a battleaxe could dismember someone so thoroughly.

  That boded well.

  A break in the trees loomed ahead. Through it, Karl could see the tops of Mel lodges.

  Karl picked up the pace, leaving Wohtansen behind.

  The lodges of the village were set in a wide circle, surrounding a grassy common area, cleared patches with grids and stones for cooking fires on the near side, water vats on the far side.

  Thirty or forty bodies littered the green. Slavers and Mel men, women, and children lay across the grass, some dead, some moaning from their wounds.

  But the battle wasn't over. Tennetty parried a slaver's thrust, then lunged in perfect extension, spitting him on her sword. She jerked the sword out and turned to help Chak with his opponent.

  A few yards away from Tennetty and Chak, Ahira ducked under his enemy's swing, then swung his battle-axe. The axe didn't slow as it cut through the slaver's torso.

  But Rahff was in trouble. Karl ran toward the boy, hoping he'd make it in time, knowing that he wouldn't.

  Rahff stood between Aeia and a tall, long-haired swordsman. The boy's bloody left arm hung uselessly; a long, bloody gash ran from elbow to shoulder.

  The swordsman beat Rahff's blade aside and slashed.

  Rahff screamed. His belly opened like an overripe fruit.

  Karl was only a few yards away; he dropped the sword and leaped, his arms outstretched.

  As the slaver pulled back his sword for a final thrust, Karl landed on him, bowling him over. Before the slaver could bring his sword into play, Karl grabbed the man's head and twisted, neckbones snapping like pencils.

  He pounded the slaver's face with his fists, not knowing if the man was already dead, not caring.

  "Karl." The dwarf's face was inches away from his. Ahira gripped Karl's hands. "Rahff's alive. He needs help."

  Karl turned. The boy lay sprawled on the grass, his head cradled on Aeia's lap, his hands clawing at his wounds, trying to hold his belly closed.

  "Tennetty," Karl snapped. "Find my horse—healing draughts in the saddlebags."

  "On my way," she called back, her voice already fading in the distance.

  Rahff's arm was badly gashed; a long, deep cut ran from the elbow almost to the shoulder. His whole left side and much of the ground underneath it was soaked with dark blood.

  Rahff smiled weakly, trying to raise his head. "Karl, you're alive," he said, his voice weak. "I told them you would be."

  "Shh. Just lie there." Karl ripped a strip of cloth from his breechclout and slipped it around the upper part of Rahff's left arm. He tied a quick slipknot, then pulled it as tight as he could. That would keep him from bleeding to death from that wound. But what about the belly?

  There was nothing he could do. Direct pressure would just spread the boy's intestines all over the meadow; there was no way to clamp all the bleeding veins and arteries shut.

  Just a few minutes. That's all he needs. Just a few minutes. Tennetty would be back with the healing draughts and then—

  "Chak, Wohtansen's somewhere around. He should know where the Eriksens keep their healing draughts."

  Without a word, Chak ran off.

  Rahff coughed; a blood-flecked foam spewed from his lips
. "Aeia's fine, Karl. I took care of her. Just as you said we were supposed to."

  "Shut up, apprentice." Karl forced a smile to his face. "If you'll just keep still for a moment, Tennetty or Chak will be back with a bottle, and we'll fix you right up."

  "I did right, didn't I? She's fine, isn't she?" He looked up at Karl as though Aeia weren't there.

  "She's just fine, Rahff. Shh."

  Ahira laid a hand on Karl's shoulder. "The boy was overmatched. That slaver went for Aeia, and Rahff couldn't wait for me to finish off mine."

  "How the hell did they get by you?" Karl snarled. "I told Wohtansen to tell you to hide on the path."

  Ahira shrugged. "Just too many of them. Six of them engaged Chak, Tennetty, and me, while the others ran past. By the time we killed ours off and got up to the village . . ." He shook his head. "They went crazy, Karl. Most of them didn't bother trying to capture anyone, they just started hacking. Mainly trying to wound the Mel, it seemed. I guess they figured we'd be so busy treating the injured that we wouldn't have time to chase after them. A lot of them got away, Karl. After they had their fill of killing."

  Their fill of killing. They're going to learn what a fill of killing is. "Just take it easy, Rahff. Just another moment or two."

  Rahff's hand gripped Karl's. "I'm not going to die, am I?"

  " 'Course not." Hurry up, Tennetty, Chak. Hurry. He doesn't have much time. "Ahira, find the Eriksen wizard. Maybe he knows—"

  The dwarf shook his head. "Pile of cinders; the slavers' wizard got a flame spell through to him."

  Rahff's breathing was becoming more shallow. Karl laid a finger on the boy's good wrist. His pulse was rapid, thready.

  Come on, Tennetty.

  At a cry of pain, Karl looked up. Coming around from behind a hut, Chak ran toward him, an uncorked brass bottle cradled in his arms.

  White-lipped, he knelt beside Karl, pouring the liquid into the boy's open belly.

  The healing draughts pooled amid the blood and the gore.

  It's not working. Karl slipped a hand behind Rahff's head, prying the jaw open with his other hand so Chak could pour healing draughts into the boy's mouth.

  It puddled in Rahff's mouth. The overflow ran down the boy's cheek and onto Aeia's lap.