Master of Chains f-2

by Jess Lebow

Obviously Purdun didn't want whoever it was to see how they had been keeping Liam. Though this new room was still a cell, it was much larger and cleaner than the one Liam had just been in, and there were barred windows high up in the walls that let in fresh air. Liam took in a lungful of the stuff. It felt so good.

  In the middle of the room, hanging from the ceiling, were at least a dozen sets of shackles. Unlike the chains in his last cell, these didn't allow the prisoners to sit on the ground. Beetlestone gently nudged Liam toward the hanging shackles.

  "Left," he said, grabbing at Liam's wrist.

  Liam complied, too tired to fight back.

  "So, what do you think of our dungeon now?" quipped the captain.

  Though the remark was meant to sting, Liam could tell Beetlestone didn't really put his heart in it. His voice was somehow sad, almost apologetic.

  When Liam was securely fastened to the ceiling, the captain and his two guards exited the room, leaving the wooden door wide open. Once they were gone, Liam gave the chains a hard tug. They rattled against each other, swaying back and forth, but they held him fast. Letting the chains hold his weight, he leaned forward, holding his arms out to his sides. Up on his tiptoes, he twisted to one side then the other, feeling a little bit like a child on a playground. His mind had wandered for days on end, and now he finally had some light and something to play with. If he was going to be held against his will, at least he could entertain himself.

  Standing up straight, he broke another piece off the loaf of bread and stuffed it in his mouth. Though it wasn't very pleasing, it did satisfy his grumbling stomach.

  From down the hall Liam heard footsteps. Then two people appeared in the door.

  "Gods. Look at you, Liam."

  Liam lowered his head. He had expected some sort of interrogator, someone who would try to coax information out of him now that he'd had some time to suffer in the dungeon. He didn't expect this.

  "Hello, Mother."

  Angeline came running into the room only to stop several steps before her son. "Are you all right?"

  Liam looked at himself. His clothes were filthy. He smelled, and he was slouched from having spent the last few days sleeping on a stone floor. "What do you think?"

  Angeline put her hand to her mouth, and tears welled up in her eyes.

  Liam instantly regretted his gruff response. "I'm fine. A little worse for the wear, but I'll live."

  "That's what you get for being involved with those Awl," said Douglas.

  Liam looked up at his father. "Now that I'm chained up you've come to finish that fight, pop?"

  "Stop it," interjected Angeline. "Both of you." She looked at Douglas then turned and put her hands on Liam's shoulders, trying to calm the situation.

  Liam glared over her at his father. He hated the man. He'd never had the courage to even think that before. In his exhaustion, he'd lost his inhibitions, his fears over the consequences of having such thoughts. He had been afraid of what the other farmers in Duhlnarim would think about him if they knew his secret feelings for the man who had brought him into the world. But sitting for more than a tenday in a stone-walled dungeon had given him plenty of time to fear much larger things. He had very little left to lose, and this man no longer scared him.

  "Then why did you come?" he asked, not lowering his eyes.

  "One of Purdun's guardsmen came and asked us to," replied the old man, staring back at Liam, a look of disgust on his face.

  "We came because we were worried about you," interjected his mother. "You just disappeared. We didn't know where you were. We thought maybe you'd been killed on one of those stupid raids, like Ryder."

  The sound of his brother's name made Liam break his staring contest with his father. He took a step back from his mother.

  "Ryder died fighting for what he believed in," he said, not raising his voice. It hurt him to hear her belittle Ryder's sacrifice. "You both are just too stupid or thoughtless to recognize that."

  "Oh, Liam." Angeline began to cry.

  Douglas put his arm around her. "See what you did?" he shouted.

  Liam looked at them both. He was tired of feeling sorry for them. "What do you want from me? Why did you come here?"

  "We just came," said Angeline, trying to hold back a sob, "to try to talk some sense into you."

  "Well," said Liam, holding his arms out to make the chains shake, "I'm a captive audience. Talk all you like." He leaned back, falling backward until the chains caught him, holding him off the ground by his wrists.

  Liam hung there, his head resting back, his eyes closed, smiling to himself. He'd never been able to tell his folks off like that. There was no guilt, no fear of reprisal, none of the feelings he'd had when getting in a fight with his parents as a child. His captivity had changed him. The chains of the dungeon had set him free. Despite the aches in his bones, and the weakness from lack of sleep, Liam was stronger now, and it felt great.

  He leaned farther back, stretching the tired muscles in his neck. Then he lifted his head. He wanted to see the look on Douglas's face. Opening his eyes, he looked up at Samira. Both Douglas and Angeline were gone.

  "Hi," said Samira, a reserved smile on her face.

  Liam stood up, suddenly feeling ashamed of his appearance. "What are you doing here?" He blushed, his sense of triumph transformed into flustered insecurity.

  "I mean, hi."

  "Oh, look at you," she said, stepping up and taking hold of his face.

  Where she touched him, it stung, and he pulled back. Putting his own hand to his face, he felt a long fresh scratch, complete with dried blood, running across his right cheek.

  "Where did that come from?" he asked.

  "I was hoping you'd know that."

  Liam shrugged. "Must have been the rats."

  The smile on Samira's face dissolved into a look of disgust. "Rats?"

  Liam nodded. "In my cell."

  Samira scanned the floor.

  Liam shook his head. "Not here. They had me in another cell before you came." He looked around. "One about a third of this size. No windows. Kind of damp."

  Samira put her hands on his cheeks and turned his face to hers. "What are you doing this for?"

  "Doing what?"

  "Putting yourself through this," she said.

  "What choice do I have?" replied Liam. "I didn't ask for this."

  "If I ask you a question," she said, letting go of his face, "will you answer me honestly?"

  "Of course."

  "Did you try to attack Lord Purdun in his own chambers?"

  Liam smiled. "You heard that, did you?"

  Samira nodded. "Is it true?"

  "Yes," he said. "Twice."

  "Twice?" Samira's voice rose as she said the word. She put her hand over her mouth, as if embarrassed of her outburst. In a more hushed tone, she said, "Really?"

  He nodded, still smiling. The thought of how bold and truly stupid that was made him warm inside. Oddly, he was proud of himself for being so foolish.

  Samira covered the smile on her mouth, but Liam could see in her eyes that she too was amused by his brash behavior.

  "Ryder would have been proud of you," she said.

  Liam nodded his agreement. "Yes, I think he probably would have been."

  "But he also wouldn't want to see you like this." She grabbed hold of his filthy, tattered shirt and gave it a tug.

  " I don't want to see me like this."

  "Then be done with it," came a voice from behind Samira.

  Liam looked around his brother's wife. Lord Purdun stood in the doorway.

  "Well, if it isn't my old friend," said Liam. He grabbed Samira by the arm and turned her around. "Samira," he said, his voice thick with sarcasm, "may I present to you the Baron of Ahlarkham, Lord Purdun."

  Purdun obviously didn't get the slight, because he smiled and bowed as he entered the room. "Thank you, Liam. And you must be Samira." Purdun crossed the stone floor and took Samira's hand.

  Samira dropped into a cu
rtsy. "Yes, my lord," she said.

  "So, Liam, are you ready to accept my offer?" asked Purdun.

  There were no guardsmen here, and Purdun's personal bodyguard likely wouldn't fit inside the tiny room. Liam noticed that though he was chained up, Purdun kept a good distance from him.

  "What offer?" asked Samira.

  "Liam hasn't told you? I've asked him to join my elite guard."

  "And my answer is still no," spat Liam.

  "Has none of this-" Purdun spread his arms to indicate the stone walls and hanging chains of the dungeon- "had any impact on you?"

  Liam's eyes narrowed. "Yes it has," he said, his voice rising. "It's strengthened my-"

  "Liam," interrupted Samira, squeezing his arm. "Don't be foolish. Do what the baron asks, and get yourself out of this place."

  "Stay out of this," said Liam. He gave her a stern look, which she returned.

  "Liam, be reasonable," said Purdun. "Listen to Samira. If you stay here in the dungeon, you will live a short, miserable life."

  "Then let me go," said Liam, holding his arms out so the locks could be removed.

  Purdun didn't budge. "If I did, then what? Where would you go? Home? The Crimson Awl thinks you're a traitor. Your life wouldn't be worth a single shaft of wheat. Would you leave Duhlnarim? Leave Ahlarkham all together? I'd be willing to bet a man like you has never been farther north than Llorbauth, maybe Shalane at best. Do you think you'd be safe only a hundred miles away? You know the Awl better than I, but in my estimation, even they could track you down if you stay in Erlkazar. Are you willing to abandon everything? Give up your family and everything you know and start over again with nothing?"

  Liam glared at the baron.

  Purdun continued, "Or you could join the elite guard. You'll be out of your chains." Purdun put his hand in his coat pocket and produced a key. "You'll be able to stay here and keep your family." He nodded toward Samira. "You will be safe. You will be well trained, well equipped, and well paid."

  "He's right, Liam," coaxed Samira. She squeezed more tightly. Despite the soreness in his muscles, her touch somehow soothed him. "You really don't have another choice."

  "No, you don't." Purdun shook his head, a smug smile on his lips.

  Just the look on his face was enough to make Liam's innards burn. That self-righteous bastard! It was easy for him. He held all of the cards, and he knew it. It infuriated Liam. Purdun had the money and the army, and in his eyes, that made him right. It gave him whatever he wanted. Liam wondered if the spoiled little brat had ever had to go without anything in his entire life. He'd probably never had to work a single day in the fields, or go to bed with his stomach still grumbling. No one ever said "no" to him.

  Well, thought Liam, let me be the first then. He lifted his chin and stared at Purdun, defiance in his chest. "I do have a choice. I can choose to say no. I can choose death over betrayal."

  The smug smile on Purdun's lips disappeared, replaced by the mixed, tight-jawed look of frustration and anger.

  Samira's hands slipped from Liam's arm. The sudden absence of her touch was saddening. With her there, standing beside him, he had strength, the power to fight back.

  "Please don't do that," she said, her lip quivering. "I don't think I could stand to lose both of you."

  In his mind, Liam conjured his image of Ryder-the last moment they had spent together. His older brother lay dying on the ground. His last words played in his head: "Look after Samira. Tell her I love her."

  Liam looked down at Samira. There were times when he'd seen her be as tough as bulette hide. Then there were other times. This was one of those.

  He closed his eyes. He could clearly see Ryder, looking at him expectantly. He gritted his teeth and shook his head. "Fine," he said. "I'll do it."

  Chapter 12

  Ryder reached the top of the enormous stairs and turned around to look out over the plain. The sun was already beginning to set, but from here he could still see far to the west, deep into the Giant's Plain. He thought he could see the point at which the caravan had been ambushed, but he couldn't be sure. From this height, one copse of trees was indistinguishable from every other, and the rolling plain looked as flat as a blacksmith's anvil.

  Behind him, a long stretch of pathway led up to the huge broken stone archway of Fairhaven. Battered pillars carved to look like gaunt, muscular humans carrying huge rocks or spears lined the path on both sides. They were nearly twice Ryder's height, and their deep, inset eyes stared straight ahead, unconcerned and uninterested in anything happening below their knees. Nearly half of them were smashed beyond recognition. Of those still standing, many looked as if they might topple over at any moment. By the dour looks on the faces of those remaining, Ryder assumed this wasn't a very happy place when it was originally occupied.

  At the end of the path, carved right out of the dark gray stone of the mountain itself, stood a grand palace. By Ryder's estimation, its walls rose straight up over eight times the height of a man. Behind that, the top of a spiral tower jutted up even higher. From the plain below, the tower probably looked like one of the jagged, natural peaks of the mountain. Up close though, Ryder could see that some artisan had spent much time carving ornate designs all along its surface.

  The walls themselves were covered with paintings. They were hard to see at first. Large bits of rock had been chipped away by what Ryder guessed had been a siege some time ago. On what remained, the brighter colors had faded from time and exposure to the elements, so the images blended in with the speckled mountain rock. As Ryder got closer, he could make out shapes and scenes. They appeared to be paintings of giants. The paintings depicted giants hurling rocks at one another or sitting in drum circles around the nighttime fire. In one particularly ruined image, Ryder even thought he could make out the image of a giant painting upon the wall-a self-portrait of the artist.

  Ryder and Nazeem followed Giselle and the rest of the caravan under the archway at the end of the path and through what must have at one time been a huge wooden door guarding the entrance to the palace. All that remained were a few smashed wooden planks and two sets of huge rusty metal hinges.

  Ryder leaned over to Nazeem. "What sort of creatures do you think could have caved in the walls of such a place?"

  Nazeem shrugged. "Demons? Dragons?"

  "Dwarves," corrected Giselle.

  "Dwarves?" Ryder could hardly believe it. "But they are so small."

  Giselle looked at Ryder, a sly look on her face. "You are bigger than me," she said. "Do you think that makes me less mighty?"

  Ryder thought about it for a moment. "Well, yes," he said nodding.

  Giselle cocked her head to the side. "Really?"

  Ryder realized his faux pas. "Though," he stammered, trying to cover for himself, "I suppose there are exceptions."

  "Exceptions?" Giselle put her hands on her hips and looked him up and down.

  Ryder shrugged. "Well, all I mean is, were I not so beaten up, I would have an advantage over you in a fight."

  "If you think so," said Giselle, smiling, "then perhaps you should prove it."

  Nazeem chuckled. "I believe you have just been challenged, my friend."

  Ryder blushed. "I… I didn't-"

  "Don't worry." Giselle nodded and touched his arm. "I'll wait until you are fully healed before I beat you again." She added her laughter to Nazeem's.

  Ryder just shrugged, not knowing any other way to pull his foot out of his mouth.

  "The dwarves have always had a particular hatred for the giants. But despite your lack of tact, your point does have relevance here," continued Giselle as they walked into the bustling open courtyard behind the wall. The brown-robed Broken Spear busied themselves with many different tasks. Fires were being lit. Wounded were being tended to. And on the walls above, sentries climbed atop huge stone blocks that gave them a view of the path and the plains beyond.

  "You see," continued Giselle, "the giants were involved in another battle when the dwarves arriv
ed at Fairhaven. They had already taken many casualties, and were not prepared to take on two foes at once. They fought until they realized all was lost, then they fled to the Underdark."

  "The Underdark? I thought only the drow dwelt there," said Ryder.

  Giselle shook her head. "There are many creatures who make their home below the surface of the world. The giants founded a new village there. It's called Cairnheim. It is said that there are passages to it scattered all over the Giant's Run Mountains." Giselle stopped walking when they reached the base of the tower.

  There was a long pause, then Giselle clapped her hands. "And that concludes our history lesson for today. Please forgive me if I prattle on. I get excited about the past. Anyway," she stepped past the two men, "I'm sure you are both very tired." She looked up into the sky. "It will be getting dark soon. Find yourself a place to rest. There will be a feast tonight, to celebrate the great haul we made." She looked at them both. "And to welcome our new friends. Until then, be at ease. I have much work to do, but I will make sure to have a healer come take a look at your wounds."

  With that, Giselle turned and walked away into the busy center of the courtyard. Ryder watched her go.

  "I think she likes you, my friend," said Nazeem.

  Ryder felt his heart race. "What?" He shook his head. "I didn't get that impression at all." The thought of this powerful woman being attracted to him did sort of excite him. He might have let himself enjoy it a bit more if it weren't for the guilt he felt over Samira.

  "You know," replied Nazeem, "for a man with two good eyes, you see very little."

  Ryder shook his head at the smiling Chultan. "I see what I choose to see."

  "My point exactly."

  As Giselle disappeared into the crowd, Ryder turned away and headed for a pile of straw under a canvas lean-to. He lay down on it, letting his aching body rest for the first time in what seemed like his entire life.

  "Doesn't matter what she thinks anyway," he said as he settled in. "We'll be leaving soon."

  That night there was a terrific feast and celebration. The tales of the battle grew longer. The foes they fought grew larger, and the heroic deeds grew more frequent. Ryder sat near the fire speaking with Nazeem, eating fresh meat off the bone.