World in Chains- The Complete Series

by Ryan W. Mueller

How typical, he decided. He could never feel any confidence in himself, and he really needed it right now as they raced through the corridors. Already, Berig was losing track of where he was. He wanted to consult the map, but he didn't have time.

  The guards were closing in, sending magic at them. The fire surged closer, and Berig cringed, expecting brutal heat. None of them had shields that could stop the flames.

  "We need to send wind at them," Markus said. "It'll keep the fire away."

  Of course. Why hadn't Berig thought of it. He combined his magic with Markus's and Nadia's, and together they sent a massive gust of wind back toward the guards. The wind caught the fire and flung it away. The guards screamed and fell backward as the flames engulfed them. Though they'd probably conjured shields in time to survive, this would surely delay them.

  "Are those the stairs?" Markus asked, pointing to the left.

  Berig stopped for a moment to consult the map. "Yeah, I think so."

  "Then let's go," Markus said. "We've got a prisoner to free."

  Berig wished he could feel so confident. His stomach churned as he raced down the wide stone steps beside Markus and Nadia. Halfway down the steps, it seemed as if they were truly entering a dungeon. The torches had grown dimmer and more widely spaced. A musty smell hung in the air. Vines grew along the damp walls.

  He was reminded suddenly of his time with Markus in the Crayden prison, and the feeling of being trapped weighed down on him. If the guards caught them, they'd either die or end up here. Berig still had trouble believing that he'd survive no matter what.

  Why did Berig's fate have to be so damned certain when nothing else ever seemed to be set in stone?

  Worry about that another time, he told himself as they raced through the dark corridor at the bottom of the stairs, passing dozens of barred cells. Most were empty. A few people occupied others, but none of them were Brandin. No, he was deeper in the dungeon.

  Where were the guards? Surely some had to be patrolling.

  Shouting came from behind, accompanied by steel-booted steps. Not good. How would they get back out of the dungeon with the guards following them?

  According to the map, the dungeon had only one exit.

  No. He'd worry about that once they freed Brandin. Surely the sorcerer could help them.

  A prison guard was walking along the corridor ahead. His eyes widened, and he turned to them, drawing his sword.

  "Don't even think about it," Markus said, sending a gust of wind at the man. The spell caught him by surprise, and his sword flew from his hands. Markus moved toward the man with surprising speed, grabbed him, then held a sword to his neck. "Where is Brandin, the sorcerer?"

  The young man's eyes betrayed his terror. "I-I'll lead you to him. I've got the key, too."

  Markus pressed the sword harder to his neck. "You better not be lying to us."

  "Please, don't kill me. I just guard the prisoners."

  Berig figured Markus wouldn't kill the young man. Klint would, but he wasn't here. Berig worried he'd left Klint to die. Yes, they had a mission to accomplish, but Berig had formed a connection with Klint. The smuggler was his friend.

  Markus kept his sword against the guard's neck as the young man led them deeper into the dungeon. Berig had never seen such a dangerous expression in Markus's eyes. It was an act, of course, but it was still terrifying. Markus was a large enough man to intimidate anyone, and it seemed that the last few months had hardened his personality enough for him to carry off a threat like this. Berig wasn't sure he could have managed himself.

  They descended another set of steps, but their pursuers weren't far behind. The guard kept glancing back, as if hoping for help, but he didn't slow down.

  "Don't even think about running for them," Markus said. "You'll regret it."

  Again, this sounded so unlike the Markus Berig knew.

  At last, they reached the indicated cell, outside of which were glowing wards much like Berig had seen on the roads. This time, they must have been designed to combat Brandin's magic. There was no other way they could imprison a powerful sorcerer.

  The man in the cell was middle-aged and clean-shaven. He wore the finery of nobles, and it looked as if he hadn't struggled against his captors.

  He frowned through the bars. "Are you here to free me? You must be Markus, Nadia, and Berig. I've been expecting you."

  Berig held back a sigh. He was tired of feeling like everyone else knew what they were going to do. Why did they have to be left in the dark so often?

  "Yes," Markus said. "We're here to get you out."

  Brandin rose from a stone bench. "Let's hope it works. I won't lie to you. Many paths within the Webs have shown us all dying here."

  "We've cheated death before," Markus said. "We'll do it again." He pressed his sword against the guard's neck again. "Unlock the cell."

  "O-of course." The guard inserted the key into the lock, fumbling as he tried to turn it. Again, Berig almost felt sorry for him, knowing this was a young man who hadn't asked to become part of events like this. The kind of young man Berig had once been.

  Back in a different life.

  At some point, he had accepted that he was destined to do great things. He had no idea when it had happened, and he didn't know when his life would end. Deep down, he couldn't believe that he would die once he interacted with his past self. There had to be some way out of it, considering he hadn't seen his dead body. He'd merely seen himself vanish.

  If he vanished, then maybe he didn't die. Maybe he went somewhere else.

  Somewhere he could still make a difference.

  The door swung open, disturbing his thoughts. Brandin emerged from the cell and smiled as soon as he stepped outside the wards. "Good. I can feel my magic again." He shook his head. "I helped design those wards, and they decided to use them against me."

  Markus removed his sword from the young guard's throat, and he took off, heading back toward their pursuers, who emerged around the nearest corner.

  "What now?" Berig asked. "How can we fight that many?"

  "Leave it to me," Brandin said, stepping forward with grim determination. He waved an arm, and a massive wave of fire erupted in front of them, engulfing their pursuers. They tried to raise their shields. The channelers must not have been that strong, though, for they were only able to shield themselves. The other guards burned in the flames, their terrible screams echoing in the dim corridors. The stench of burning flesh filled the air. Berig felt sick.

  He froze, wondering if they'd just killed good men.

  But then Markus tugged on his arm. "Come on, Berig. We've gotta move."

  "Yeah," Berig said, running after the others, lost in a daze. They stumbled over the burned bodies of the guards. The channelers remained on their feet, holding their shields strong as Brandin sent powerful magic at them, illuminating the air with brilliant oranges and yellows.

  "I could use a little help here," he said.

  Markus and Nadia both reacted, drawing spikes of rock from the stone floor directly beneath the guards. The rocks didn't penetrate the guards' armor, but it did knock them off their feet and break their concentration. Taking advantage, Brandin let his flames consume them. The smell of burning flesh grew stronger, and Berig pulled the collar of his servant garb over his nose. He followed the others, trying to avoid the dead bodies.

  They raced up the steps, returning to the dungeon's main level. By now, Berig couldn't remember anything that had been on the map, and there was no time to check. More shouts came from the distance. It sounded as if the entire fortress had responded to their infiltration.

  Brandin appeared to know his way. He chose directions without hesitation. It seemed like the path they'd followed on the way in, but Berig couldn't be sure. All he did was follow Brandin, praying that the sorcerer wasn't leading them into danger.

  Berig's heart pounded, and sweat had drenched him. He felt winded, but he kept running. In his time as a thief, he'd discovered he could push through exhausti
on when he had to.

  How did he keep ending up in these crazy situations?

  They were almost out of the dungeon when another contingent of guards blocked their way. Three channelers stood at the front of the group, launching a barrage of spells at the party. Brandin cast a shield around them. This left the others free to attack.

  "What should we do?" Berig asked.

  "Wind," Markus said. Brandin cast him a strange look, but he ignored it. Berig, Markus, and Nadia combined their wind into one great gust. It wasn't clear how much Berig contributed, but the wind they produced was impressive. It slammed against the guards, knocking them off their feet, including the channelers. The ferocity of the wind caught them by surprise. Two of them dropped their staffs and the deluge of spells ended.

  Brandin took advantage, sending his horrible fire at the soldiers, who were still scrambling to their feet. They screamed as the flames consumed them, and the sound grated against Berig like nothing he'd ever heard.

  A couple of the guards still stirred, but they probably wouldn't survive long. Berig wanted to stop and put them out of their misery, but there wasn't time. The party scrambled over the fallen guards. To Berig's dismay, he recognized one of them as the guard that had led them to Brandin's cell. The young man was groaning, his face twisted in agony.

  Maybe he'd survive, but he was badly burned.

  They emerged back in the brighter corridors, and Berig wondered where Klint was. Had Klint escaped, or was he dead already? Or maybe they were interrogating him, trying to figure out why they'd come here. But why wouldn't they have known? These people were in league with Krinir, and he could read the Webs of Fate.

  Surely he would have told them what was going to happen.

  Or did Krinir have other plans?

  But there was no time to think about that right now, so Berig focused on running, on following the others through the wide stone corridors. They met another group of guards, but none of them were channelers. As soon as Brandin sent flames at them, they scurried away.

  At least they hadn't met their deaths.

  Berig's party reached the point where the secret passage was located, but it had been sealed, and the men and women guarding it had the ageless look of sorcerers. The sorcerers held their hands in the air, gathering their power and preparing for a killing blow.

  Brandin raised a shield just in time. Waves of fire washed over the shield, and Berig was sure they'd penetrate it. He could feel the heat almost burning him. Then lightning crackled all around them, and a great gust of wind blasted against him, followed by air that turned colder than anything Berig had ever felt. His legs nearly collapsed beneath the sudden onslaught.

  "We have to find another way," Brandin said, gesturing for them to follow. They all huddled close to him as the sorcerers gave chase.

  More and more magic blasted through the corridors like nothing Berig had ever seen before. They'd faced off against Krinir beneath the Library of Luminia, but even Krinir's magic hadn't seemed this powerful.

  What did that mean? Were these people more powerful than Krinir? Was it the result of them combining their magic?

  No, it couldn't be. But that meant . . .

  Krinir had been holding back.

  But why? If they were a threat to him, wouldn't he want them dead?

  Berig and the others raced around to the place where he'd left Klint. The smuggler was no longer there, but two of the guards lay dead, their blood coating the stone floors. Well, if Klint had died, at least he'd put up a fight.

  From there, Berig's party raced up the stairs, reaching the fortress's main level. The sorcerers remained close behind. The wondrous barrage of magic continued, and Berig would have stared at it in awe if he hadn't been so terrified. How the hell could they escape this?

  The strain was clear on Brandin's face. He couldn't keep up his shield much longer.

  The corridors were emptier than they'd been on the way in. In fact, there were no nobles, no servants, no civilians at all. Instead, the party encountered only guards. Berig, Markus, and Nadia launched spikes of rock at the guards. The guards held up their shields, deflecting the rock, but the magic had distracted them enough for the party to dart past them.

  Still, the sorcerers were close behind, shouting at the guards to get out of the way. Thuds came from behind, followed by the smell of burning flesh. It seemed the sorcerers hadn't waited for the guards to disperse.

  It still didn't make sense. Were these people following Krinir's orders? If Krinir wanted them alive for some reason, why were the sorcerers trying so hard to kill them?

  Keep running, Berig told himself. He'd sort out these questions later.

  If there was a later.

  As it was, he couldn't see any way out of this. They ran and ran, but the sorcerers remained right behind them, blasting them with more and more magic. Brandin's ability to defend them would fail before their pursuers' magic did.

  "Think we can get out through the front gate?" Markus asked breathlessly.

  Brandin glanced to the right. "No, there are more sorcerers down that way."

  "Damn," Markus said. "How many sorcerers do they have?"

  Brandin led them to their left, into a large chamber. "Too many."

  The chamber they'd entered looked warmer and more inviting than the rest of the fortress. Red carpets covered most of the floor, and at the end of the room was an empty golden throne covered in thick red cushions. Above, at the fortress's next level, was a series of walkways ringing the outside of the room.

  Ahead and to the right was another exit, but they wouldn't get through it.

  More sorcerers had stepped into the throne room, preparing to launch their magic at the party. Berig glanced back, looking for another escape route, but the room had only two exits.

  Their pursuers had entered the room behind them, and now both groups of sorcerers were closing in on them.

  "We can't fight this many," Nadia said.

  "Oh, really?" Berig said. "What made you think that?"

  And so Berig would die with sarcasm lacing his last words.

  Chapter 28: Escape from Windhaven

  Klint sat in a wooden chair at a desk, in a room that was empty apart from another chair and the guard sitting in it. The man glared at Klint, and Klint couldn't blame him. Klint had killed some of his comrades.

  "I'm gonna ask you again," the man said. "What are you doing here?"

  Klint smiled mockingly. "I am a humble servant. Don't you see the clothes I'm wearing?"

  "I'm not laughing."

  "If you must know, I didn't want to kill any of your men. If you'd left me alone, I would have done what I needed to do and gotten out of here." He chuckled. "But, no, people like you have to make everything difficult, don't you?"

  "We're guards. That's our job." He leaned forward, ice in his gaze. "Now tell me how many others came here with you. Your hands are bound. Your staff is gone. If you don't tell me now, you will suffer great torture." He patted his own staff. "After all, I’m a channeler too."

  Klint knew all too well what channelers could do. One specific type of magic caused horrible pain. He'd never had it inflicted upon him, but he'd been forced to use it a few times in his time as a thief and smuggler. He'd never liked using it.

  It seemed so inhuman.

  As the man had been talking to him, Klint had pulled out the knife he'd sewn into his boot. Now he was working at his thick cloth bonds, which were slowly coming apart. He had to hurry, though. He couldn't keep the man talking much longer.

  "Why do you think we came here?" Klint asked.

  "I'm the one asking questions."

  "Then ask."

  "You're not gonna tell me anything."

  Klint smiled. "You'll never know if you don't try."

  "I've had enough of this. A little pain should get you to talk."

  Come on, Klint urged himself silently, working at the cloth. All he needed was a few more seconds, but his interrogator was already up and swin
ging around to the other side of the desk. He pointed his staff at Klint, preparing to unleash the torture spell.

  Klint was still strapped to the chair, but the guards that had captured him hadn't strapped his feet together.

  He pushed against the stone floor with all the force he could muster. The chair went flying with him in it, but he couldn't get anywhere near the interrogator. Now he lay on his side, unable to push against the ground Worse, the movement had sent the knife flying out of his hands. It clattered on the floor a few feet away, out of reach.

  "Now what is this?" the man asked. "Trying to cut through your bonds?"

  Klint smiled again, mocking the situation. "Should have searched me more thoroughly."

  "Got any other surprises for us?"

  "Would I tell you if I did?"

  The man delivered a kick to Klint's side. Sharp pain lanced through Klint, and he figured one of his ribs was cracked, but he didn't scream out. He wouldn't give this man the satisfaction.

  That kick was the man's fatal mistake. Klint twisted his body, whipping the chair around so that it knocked the interrogator off his feet. He hit the ground hard, and his staff clattered to the floor. Klint reached for it, but it was just out of reach.

  The interrogator scrambled across the floor, laying his hand on the staff. Klint rolled, ignoring the stabbing pain in his ribcage, and brought the chair down on the man with all his weight. The chair shattered, giving Klint greater range of movement. His legs were on the ground again, but his hands were still tied.

  He kicked the staff as hard as he could. As it flew across the room, he raced over to his knife and scooped it off the floor. Heart pounding, he worked at his bonds again. At the other side the room, his interrogator was on his feet and headed toward the staff.

  Sweat poured down Klint's face, but he ignored it. At last, his hands came free. His right arm felt a little stiff, but it felt good enough for what he had to do.

  The interrogator pointed his staff at Klint. Once that pain hit Klint, he would have no chance of escaping. He pulled his arm back, and with a quick motion, he sent the knife flying toward the man's face. The interrogator, focused on his spell, didn't notice the knife until it was too late. The knife struck him in the eye with enough force to reach his brain.