by Jess Lebow
A portly man wearing a leather apron with several huge stone mugs hanging from his belt approached them. He staggered when he walked, and his cheeks were a bright red. Under his left arm he carried a sloshing bucket full of a greenish liquid.
"Krogynth, gentlemen?" asked the overly jolly man.
Nazeem was on his feet in a flash, taking a giant-sized mug of whatever it was the man was peddling.
"Krogynth?" asked Ryder.
Nazeem's eyes were wide as he looked down into the grog. "It's a type of moonshine," explained the Chultan.
"Made from a fermented green mold," expanded the jolly man.
"And you drink this?" asked Ryder.
Nazeem took a large quaff then smacked his lips, wiping off any leftover drips with the back of his hand. "Don't knock it until you try it. Krogynth is hard to make and even harder to come by if you don't know the recipe." He held his mug out to Ryder. "You may never again get the opportunity to try it."
"Well," said Ryder, reaching out to take the mug from his friend. He sniffed it. The green liquid smelled vaguely like licorice root. "Since you put it that way." He lifted the stone mug with both hands and took a sip.
Despite its mild scent, Krogynth had a rather abrasive flavor. "It tastes like currants mixed with earwax."
The jolly man let out a belly laugh. "Don't it though?" He dipped another mug into the bucket and offered it to Ryder.
He pointed to the Chultan. "Let him have it." He looked down into the huge mug in his hands. It was more than half full. "I'll just finish this one."
"Suit yourself," said the jolly man, giving the fresh vessel of Krogynth to Nazeem.
The Chultan lifted his mug. "To freedom," he said.
Ryder lifted his own. "To going home," he replied.
Then both men drank.
As Ryder lowered his mug from his face, he looked up at Giselle standing over him.
"Having a good time, I see." She knelt beside him.
Ryder swallowed his mouthful of the foul-tasting liquid. The first sip he'd taken was starting to hit his head. His muscles relaxed, and the aches in his bones seemed to ease some.
"Yes," he said. "I do believe we are."
Giselle smiled. She had the most beautiful brown eyes.
"Good." She grabbed hold of his arm. "Now let me take a look at those wounds of yours."
Ryder let her have his arm. He enjoyed the touch of her skin. "I thought you were going to have a healer come look at me."
She pushed back the edge of his tattered gray tunic. "That's what I'm doing."
"You're a cleric?"
Giselle ran her fingers along his arm, poking at the bruises. She hit one that hurt like the nine hells, and Ryder bit down on his lip to keep from shouting.
"Does this surprise you?" she asked.
As the pain subsided, Ryder lifted his mug, struggling a bit with only one hand, and took a big gulp of the green stuff. "No," he said after swallowing. "I guess nothing about you should surprise me anymore."
Finishing her examination, Giselle fished around inside of her pouch and pulled out a stoppered bottle with a waxy substance covering the top. "Well, I'm not," she said, laughing as Ryder's jaw dropped open. She shoved the bottle into his free hand. "Unless you count handing out healing potions."
Ryder put down his mug of Krogynth and opened the bottle. "You're full of surprises." Then he downed the contents. Immediately he could feel the magical warmth spread out through his body, reaching from his stomach and touching everything out to the tips of his fingers. He exhaled as he lowered the bottle from his lips. He felt whole again, the most exquisite sensation he'd experienced in recent memory.
"Thank you," he said, letting the bottle slip to the ground.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it."
Ryder tested his joints, relishing the feeling of his body working the way it was supposed to without experiencing any pain. "I'll be ready to make the journey home tomorrow."
"Journey home?" asked Giselle.
Ryder turned to her. "I appreciate everything you have done for me," he said. "I owe you my freedom, and if I can ever repay that to you, I will do it gladly." He touched her hand. "But I must return to Duhlnarim." He looked away. "To my family."
Giselle pulled away from him. "I'm sorry, but you can't. You can't leave."
Ryder got to his feet. "What do you mean? Of course I can. Look." He did a little jig in front of the fire to prove that he was healthy. "See. I'm fine."
Giselle shook her head. "No, I mean I can't just let you leave."
Ryder looked down on her, sadness filling his heart. "I know it's hard to let go, but I have responsibilities in Duhlnarim, Giselle, and there could never be anything between-"
Giselle stood up. "No. I mean that once you've seen Fairhaven and the route that leads you here, you have to stay." She looked at Nazeem. "That goes for you too. And all the other freed men. Now that you know how to get to us, we can't let you go. None of you can leave."
Ryder shook his head. It was clouded with Krogynth. "So, what are you saying?"
"That you can join the Broken Spear and become one of us," said Giselle, "or you can stay here, in Fairhaven, as our prisoner."
Ryder dived for the broken chain that had been his shackles. His fingers wrapped around the rusted links as he tumbled back to his feet. Swinging the chain over his shoulder, he looked out at a half-dozen naked blades, their tips pointed at his chest.
"I would think twice if I were you," said Giselle.
Ryder took in the scene before him. Six Broken Spear warriors had him backed in a corner. Giselle stood behind them. Her sword was still in its sheath, and she made no move to pull it out. She was fast, though, and Ryder had no doubt she could have it out and on him in a single heartbeat. Nazeem was outside of the ring of warriors. He stood on guard, his gaze darting from the Broken Spear to Ryder and back again, watching to see what was going to happen next.
"What do you intend to do, Ryder?" asked Giselle.
Ryder released the chain, letting it clatter to the ground. Then he lifted his hands in the air, putting them up so everyone could see he was unarmed.
"Please," he said, looking at Giselle. "How would you feel if our roles were reversed? What if you were in Duhlnarim needing to get back here to the Broken Spear?"
Giselle took a deep breath. "Then I would try to get accustomed to life in Duhlnarim."
Ryder grit his teeth. "You wouldn't even try to come back here, to return to the people who mattered to you most? I find it hard to believe that you would so easily give up all that you had worked for."
"I understand what you are trying to do, and perhaps you are right." Giselle grimaced. "But I can't risk the safety of everyone in Fairhaven just because you are homesick. And no matter how persuasive your arguments, I don't intend to change my mind."
"You know," replied Ryder, "it doesn't matter what reason you give yourself for putting me in chains. Call it whatever you want. You'll still be an oppressor, just like the men you rescued me from."
Giselle took a deep breath and sighed. "So," she said, a look of disappointment on her face, "what's it going to be? You can keep your freedom if you promise to stay."
Ryder shook his head. "I can't do that."
"That's what I thought." Giselle shook her head. "All right." She turned and started walking away. "Take them to the cage."
"Not Nazeem," shouted Ryder. "He has nothing to do with this."
"Your actions have condemned you both," said Giselle over her shoulder, then she disappeared into the shadows.
"Let's go," said one of the armed warriors, shaking his bare blade.
Ryder and Nazeem were guided across the courtyard at the tips of the Broken Spear's swords. On the far side, opposite the broken gate, a huge cage was recessed into the stone wall. It looked as if it hadn't seen much use. The bars were rusted and the ground was covered with rocks and silt. In the corners, large mountain brush plants had grown up through the hard-packed dirt and
in some places out of the cracks in the stone itself.
The armed warrior produced a key and unlocked the bars. Ryder and Nazeem were ushered inside.
"Welcome to Fairhaven," the warrior said, closing the gate.
Huge flakes of rust rained down on the ground as the bars clanged and locked.
Chapter 13
Liam woke with a start, feeling rats nibble at his legs. His arms flew to his sides. He thrashed, and panic filled his chest. Liam opened his eyes, and he didn't recognize the room. He was in a soft bed with fine linen sheets. There was a nightstand with a candle and a washbasin on one side, and a wooden door with a lock on the inside on the other. In the corner was a set of fine scale mail armor neatly arranged on a rack.
There was a pounding at the door.
"Liam."
Liam shook himself further awake. This was the third day in a row he'd woken to that dream, but he remembered where he was now. This was his new room. He remembered having a hot bath and having been fitted for armor. He had agreed to join Lord Purdun's elite guard. His entire life, for good or for bad, had changed.
Another knock on the door. "Guardsman Liam, it's time for roll call."
Liam rolled out of bed, got to his feet, and crossed the stone floor. Opening the door, he looked out at Captain Beetlestone. "You sound different," said Liam.
The captain nodded. "We're on the same side now. Get yourself together. The bugle for roll call will sound soon. We will be assembled in the parade grounds." He turned and pointed down the hall. "Just go to the end of this corridor and head out the double doors to the left."
Liam nodded and ran his hand over his face. He was trembling.
Beetlestone must have seen it, because he said, "It's all right. You'll be fine. It'll be rough at first, but you'll do all right." Then he turned and walked down the long stone hallway.
Liam watched him go. This was all very strange. This day was going to be telling. To be honest, he wasn't sure he could even do what it was they asked of him. Could he cut it as a soldier? He took a deep breath, trying to steady his hands, then he shrugged. Guess he was going to find out.
Shutting the door, he turned and proceeded to put on his new armor. Behind the rack were a helm and a pair of new swords, one long and one short. He pulled the longer out of its sheath and examined it. The handle was wrapped in fine leather, and the hilt was inscribed with several ornate runes. He ran his finger over them and they flashed a light blue under his touch.
"Enchanted," he said. He'd never handled such fine weapons. Then he smiled to himself. "The elite guards have some help."
Liam had just finished strapping on the last piece of his armor when he heard the bugle blow.
"This is it." Dropping the two new swords into the belt on his hip and placing his helm on his head, Liam took one last deep breath then headed out the door to the parade grounds.
Outside in the cool morning air, the rest of the elite guard had already assembled. Several units were lined up in military-style rows, all facing a set of steps at the far end of the courtyard. The soldiers stood at attention before a collection of armored men, none of whom Liam recognized.
Beetlestone had conveniently forgotten to tell Liam where he was supposed to report. He didn't have any idea who most of these people were or where he was supposed to go, so he just sort of stood there, taking it all in. There were a lot of guardsmen, but fewer than Liam would have guessed. He had always imagined them as an inexhaustible supply of faceless warriors. They were the insurmountable force that the Awl was to somehow find a way to beat despite impossible odds. The odds were still in the favor of the elite guard, but not by as much. Maybe that's why Purdun wanted him to join so badly. His inexhaustible supply was starting to dry up.
"Liam of Duhlnarim." A big bald guardsman with scars crisscrossing his face came marching right at him. "You're late."
Liam looked up at the man as he came to a stop. He was pretty good sized, and up close, Liam could see that not only was the man's head bald but so too were his forearms and face. It looked as if the man had no hair at all.
"Who are you?" asked Liam.
The man's face wrinkled. "I'm Captain Phinneous," snarled the bald man. "I'm the commander of your unit."
Liam's heart sank. He'd heard of Captain Phinneous. Everyone in the Awl had heard of him.
Phinneous looked Liam over from head to toe. "I'm not particularly happy about having one of you revolutionary types in my command."
Liam waited, expecting the captain to say more, but Phinneous just stood there silently, glaring down at him. As time passed, it became increasingly more uncomfortable for Liam. He felt as if all eyes were on him, expecting him to do something.
Finally, when he couldn't take it anymore, he said, "Well, I'm not particularly thrilled about this arrangement either."
Captain Phinneous sneered at Liam, the corner of his lip curling up like a growling wolf. He snapped his fingers and three of his guardsmen were at his side.
"So it's like this, huh?" said Liam, sizing up the four men.
Captain Phinneous smiled. "Well, we need to see what kind of man you are, Liam of Duhlnarim. If we're going to be fighting by your side, we'd like to know if you can handle yourself." The bald man pulled his long sword out of its sheath. The enchanted metal made a slow grinding ring as it came free.
The other guards followed their captain's lead.
Liam gripped the hilt of his new long sword. He'd never taken more than three guardsmen at a time by himself. He'd always had Ryder to watch his back.
"Draw your weapon," commanded Phinneous.
Liam didn't budge.
Captain Phinneous took a step forward. "Draw your weapon," he repeated. "That's an order."
Liam still didn't move, holding the hilt of his sword and watching the other soldiers instead.
Phinneous snapped his fingers again and all three guardsmen advanced on Liam. He barely had time to pull his blade from its sheath and step back before they were on him. With a wide swing, he slapped aside their first attack. He could already feel the effects of the enchanted blade. Though it didn't make him faster, it did feel as if the blade followed his intentions more readily than his previous sword.
The three men separated and spread out, forcing Liam back another step. They were trying to surround him. He didn't have much room, and unless he intended on taking this fight into the stone hallways of Zerith Hold, then very soon he was going to have to take a stand.
Lifting his short sword from its sheath, he felt its weight in his hand. He'd never fought with two weapons before, but there wasn't a better time than the present to learn.
All three guards moved in at the same time. Liam stepped to his right and lunged with his long sword, running the length of the blade along his opponent's. The hand guards on both blades connected with a deep clank, and Liam twisted his wrist with a quick snap. He managed to lodge the ornate bell of his sword on the other guardsman's. Then he yanked the swords toward himself. The other guard wasn't expecting such a bold maneuver. He teetered forward and before toppling over, he let go of his weapon to avoid losing his balance and falling onto Liam's short blade.
With another quick twist and a flip of his wrist, Liam tossed the extra sword away. Then he turned to defend himself from the other two soldiers. The nearest guardsman was coming down on him, both hands on his weapon. Liam barely had time to raise his short sword to parry the blow. The guard pressed his advantage, overpowering Liam's off hand and forcing him down to one knee. Liam pushed back, but he wasn't strong enough to hold back the guard's two-handed attack. Bringing his long sword around, he went on the offensive, swinging at the other man's feet.
The guardsman pulled back just in time, leaping in the air and lifting himself over Liam's flying blade. Pushing off with all of his might, Liam threw himself away from his attackers. He tumbled once and came back to his feet, both blades out before him. He didn't have long to reassess the situation. The tip of another sword came
right for his face. He twisted his torso, dodging to his right to avoid losing his left eye.
Though his new, enchanted sword was a boon, the new armor was somewhat of a hindrance. Though it was lighter than he had expected it to be, it was more restrictive than his typical studded leather, and it slowed his movements just a touch. His attacker's sword slipped past his cheek, but he wasn't fast enough to avoid it all together. The sharp tip connected with his pauldron, and he felt the blow jolt through his shoulder.
Liam was thrown back, and he stumbled as he caught his balance. His shoulder hurt, and he looked down at it, expecting to see blood. There was none. The scale mail had done its job. It had caused him to miss the dodge, but it had also saved him from serious injury. It was a trade-off, but perhaps one that he could use to his advantage.
By now the disarmed guardsman had retrieved his weapon. He joined his comrades as they closed in on their prey. They had Liam backed up against the wall. Though his back was protected, they outnumbered him, and they could use the wall as a way to force that advantage. He wanted to avoid that.
Liam lifted his elbows away from his sides a few extra inches and watched them come in, waiting for the right moment. The three soldiers took a different strategy this time. The first man came in alone, staggered shortly thereafter by the second, while the third circled, looking for the right moment to move in.
As the first guard lunged for him, Liam sidestepped the blade, taking it under his left arm. Dropping his elbow, he clamped down on the sword, letting his armor protect him from the blade's sharp edge. He couldn't completely hold the guard's sword in place, but the extra pressure slowed the man's retreat, and Liam came around with a right hook, catching the man in the jaw and sending him sprawling to the ground.
There was an audible gasp from several of the assembled guardsmen, and Liam allowed himself a smile. Didn't expect him to last this long, did they?
Liam stepped to his right, putting the downed guardsman between him and the next opponent. The charging guard had to slow down to avoid stepping on his companion, and this gave Liam the opportunity to circle around and get away from the wall.