Chains of the Heretic

by Jeff Salyards

  He walked away, chuckling at his own joke, licking blood off his hairy fingers.

  I turned to Mulldoos and offered my hand as he made his way to his feet again, but he shook his head. “Don’t need your plaguing help, scribbler. Had it under control.”

  “Uh-huh,” I replied. “Of course. Just like Braylar did against that big spearman when we rescued Henlester. How silly of me.”

  Some anger flashed in his one good eye and I was sure he was going to strike me, but then he stopped and reached up to rub the knot forming on his skull. “Ayyup. Just like that.”

  I said, “That wasn’t just a ‘friendly scrap,’ was it?”

  Mulldoos shrugged his shoulders. “Do you mean, would one of us beat the other to death? Nahh. Likely not. But there weren’t nothing friendly about it neither.”

  I nodded and then said, “You don’t like each other much, do you?”

  Mulldoos spit some blood on the floor. “We’re brothers, Jackals. I’d die defending him, and him me, when it came down to it. But no, we don’t like each other much. That’s for certain.”

  I shuddered, imagining how quickly Azmorgon could have turned me into a bloody puddle if he wanted to. “That shot to the groin should have felled him. I was amazed he kept going.”

  Mulldoos replied, “The Ogre’s the biggest bastard I ever seen. Leastwise, before this side of the Veil. Takes a lot to take him out. And I didn’t hit him square as I would have liked. Got a lot of thigh.”

  “I guess you better hit him right in the jewels next time.”

  Mulldoos favored me with a bloody smile. “Guessing so.”

  I watched the candle near me burning, wick flickering and hissing, wax very slowly melting. It was a torturous way to pass the time, but I knew sleep would prove impossible. It amazed me that so many of the Syldoon were able to close their eyes with such apparent ease, but that seemed to be a skill inherent or nurtured through years of potentially having death around every corner—eventually you must simply get inured to such things.

  Vendurro and Braylar had both cautioned me to try to get some rest whenever the opportunity was there. But all I could think every time I shut my eyes and tried was the likelihood that someone had plummeted to their deaths climbing the wet stones outside, their scream lost in the sounds of running water and rain, or been impaled on one of the Deserters’ massive flat-hafted clubs, or otherwise dispatched in gruesome fashion.

  Still, I must have possessed some innate talent for sleeping while stressed, as I managed to drift off when a hand roughly shook me awake.

  The candle was still lit and hadn’t burned much lower, so it couldn’t have been that long. “Wha—? Are they, did they—?”

  Mulldoos said, “They’re back. And they brought a friend. We’re moving.”

  I rubbed my eyes, still tired but suddenly very alert, and joined all the other Syldoon who were gathered in the main chamber by the open door.

  I was relieved to see all of them had returned. Their hair and clothes were still damp, but they were very much alive. Braylar and Vendurro were each holding a short blunt candlestick they had procured, with long spikes where the candles would be mounted; Soffjian was carrying a lit lamp; and Rudgi was propping an unconscious Nustenzia against the wall opposite the door.

  All of us inside the room stopped just short of the trigger that set off the memory trap and waited. I had a hundred questions and was glad I couldn’t approach or I might have simply spewed them all at once.

  Braylar was looking down the hallway when Mulldoos said, “A lantern, Cap. Ain’t that a bit . . . obvious?”

  Braylar replied, “Better that than stumbling about in the dark.” Then he turned to Soffjian. “Time is of the essence, yes? Wake our dreaming Focus. Now, if you please.”

  She looked at Nustenzia as she set the lamp down. “I will try. I wanted to be sure she didn’t raise an alarm, so I took her out somewhat more . . . forcefully than I intended.” Soffjian tilted the woman’s chin up with one hand, and pressed her other hand on the side of the Focus’s head. She closed her eyes, lips moving the way a mumbler’s might, barely perceptible, and a moment later Nustenzia’s eyes flew open and she jerked as if dunked in cold water.

  Rudgi held her tight as Soffjian said, “I am tired, anxious, and peckish, so there is a very good chance I won’t take you out so gently a second time. I suggest you behave yourself.”

  Nustenzia looked at the Memoridon and three Syldoon, then through the door at the rest of us watching. “Well,” she said, then wiped some spittle off her lip. “This is a surprise. I’m not certain what you possibly hope to gain by abducting—”

  Braylar said, “You seem a moderately clever woman. I am sure you can piece things together. You are going to help us escape.”

  Nustenzia laughed, and then lifted her hand to cover her mouth as if it might continue if she didn’t stifle it. “Oh, no. No, I am sure you are mistaken. You could not—”

  Braylar loomed over her. “You are going to either remove that trap, or you are going to guide us through the door. I don’t particularly care which. But you will do one of those things, or I will beat you to death in this hallway. Now, tell me again, am I very much mistaken?”

  Nustenzia blinked several times and slowly lowered her hands. “I would like to live. Truly. But I do not possess the power to undo what my masters have done.” She looked at Soffjian. “Your own flesh and blood here possesses far more potent abilities than my meager skills. I have seen it. I assure you.”

  Soffjian grabbed the woman’s face with both hands and pressed hard. “And I assure you that getting beaten to death will be a far kinder fate than what I can do to you. And will, if you do not cooperate. Now, you have narrow scope of ability, it’s true, but what the Deserters have not neutered is quite impressive indeed. You forget, I too have seen what you do. You amplify power. That is something no one in my order has managed, and you can do it with the Deserters’ memorycraft, which is several times more potent than what I can do. So you will tell me how to manage this, and you will assist, or you will suffer immeasurably, and then I will let my brother finish you off with his barbaric fists. Do you understand, Lady Focus?”

  Nustenzia looked at Soffjian, saw the truth in the threat, and nodded, or as much as she could while her head was mostly immobilized.

  Soffjian let go of her and said, “Good. Now tell me how to do this thing.”

  Nustenzia pushed herself off the wall and stood. “The spell is woven into the stones itself. We cannot shut it down entirely. Only the Matriarch or one of her sisterhood could manage such a thing. But we might be able to bypass it long enough for the Syldoon to walk out. But I do not know for sure, and even if we manage this, you are still trapped—”

  “Let us worry about what comes next,” Braylar said. “You will be kept alive only so long as you prove useful. I suggest you begin proving yourself now. And I don’t suppose I need to tell you what will happen if you betray us, delay us, or lie to us, do I?”

  Nustenzia gave a rueful smile. “Oh, no, I am moderately clever. I believe I know.” Then she took Soffjian by the hand and stepped forward, stopping just outside the door. “We cannot stop the trap. But I believe we can stop it from reacting to you.”

  “Like the Veil around Roxtiniak?” Soffjian asked.

  “Yes. Precisely. So, we will enter, and I will try to help you, to give your soldiers a temporary mark. It won’t hold long, but—”

  “Long enough,” Soffjian finished. “Go on. What do I need to do?”

  The older woman said, “Concentrate on me, bonding with me. Do you think you can do that?”

  Soffjian gave her that vulpine smile she and Braylar shared. “Oh, I do have some experience at that.”

  The pair walked through the large doorway holding hands. I half expected the light and sounds to explode anyway, but the two women made it through without the slightest ripple or reaction.

  When they were inside the range of the trap, Soffjian asked, �
�And now?”

  “Now,” Nustenzia replied, “it becomes more . . . elusive. I cannot create the mark the door recognizes. But if you can figure it out, the mark in me, I can assist you in tagging each man in this room with it.”

  Soffjian looked puzzled, Braylar irritated, and Azmorgon and Mulldoos seemed like they were ready to put aside their differences to pummel the woman to death.

  And then something hit me. “It will be something raised, or textured. Something the Deserters could sense after they had marked a human with it. Like the brand on Nustenzia’s face. But probably buried inside them.”

  Soffjian favored me with one of her rare heartfelt smiles. “Yes, Arki. I suspect you are right.” She looked at Nustenzia again, closed her eyes, and for a moment I thought the Focus might try to run back out the door, but she closed her eyes as well, thin arms slack at her sides, and accepted the examination.

  A few moments later, Soffjian opened her eyes and took the older woman by the hand again. “Open yourself up. I will show you the mark. But you will need to help me apply it to the Syldoon.”

  Nustenzia gave a curt nod. “As you say. I will try.”

  The two women stood silently, hand in hand, facing the Syldoon. Several moments dragged by, and I heard Benk whisper, “What are those witches playing at? What’s taking so plaguing—”

  Mulldoos growled, “Shut your mouth, soldier.”

  Benk glared at Mulldoos but wisely said nothing more.

  Soffjian opened her eyes, as did Nustenzia, and the Memoridon said, “Benk, since you seem so eager to walk out of here, you will be our test subject. Walk through the door.”

  Benk looked like he very much wished he had kept his mouth shut, and he turned to Azmorgon for guidance. The Ogre said, “Get to it, you little bastard.” Then he slapped Benk on the back with an open hand and sent him flying forward.

  Benk flailed, arms waving as he tried to grab purchase but there was only air, and he nearly landed on his face. When he finally stopped himself, he was only a foot from the door. Well within range of the trap, which had not been activated.

  Braylar asked, “Are the rest marked?”

  Nustenzia nodded, and Braylar said, “Two at a time then. Out you come.”

  The Syldoon lined up and began walking through the portal. Each time, they seemed to hold their breath or flinch, and each time they exited unmolested. I ran back to my sleeping roll, snatched my writing case, and made it back just in time to walk out with a soldier ahead of Mulldoos and Azmorgon, the last Syldoon.

  When they were all clear of the room, Soffjian and Nustenzia walked out as well. The Focus said, “I would continue proving my worth. What would you have of me?”

  Braylar said, “Are there patrols in the middle of the night?”

  “No,” she replied. “What need?”

  “And guards at the stairwells?”

  “Again, no.”

  “And on the floor below, am I to believe that the storage room full of our arms and armor is unguarded as well?”

  Nustenzia’s brow wrinkled. “I have never checked. I could not say.”

  Braylar said, “And if you had to hazard a guess?”

  She gave him a cold, level look. “The room itself? No. Not likely. But it is near the barracks. They occupy three floors in the palace—the one below ours, and two below that. So if you are asking if you will run into my masters, I would say yes, even in the middle of the night, you just might.”

  Judging by the gleam in her eye, she was looking forward to that prospect.

  Braylar said, “Bloodsounder. My flail. It is close. I can feel it. Is it housed with everything else they took from us?”

  She gave him a long look and then the tiniest of smiles. “You are Bloodsounder. You would know better than I.”

  He appraised her as well, and then decided her sarcasm wasn’t worthy of a rejoinder, and instead addressed his troops. “We reclaim what is ours, and we kill anyone who tries to stop us. Then we are free.”

  It sounded so deceptively simple and singular.

  We left our quarters—Braylar, his officers, Soffjian, and Nustenzia at the front, with the rest of the Syldoon following. I was in the group of soldiers just behind Braylar’s retinue. Nustenzia was bound with strips of cloth but left ungagged, presumably to mine her for information as we proceeded. I overheard snippets of conversation about our horses, and the shifts of Deserters. Braylar didn’t seem especially worried about her giving us away—if someone encountered a group of Syldoon prisoners wandering the halls, it wouldn’t much matter if Nustenzia shouted or not.

  We made it to the stairwell without incident and started spiraling down, with the single lantern taken from Nustenzia’s quarters lighting our way and throwing shaky shadows on the walls. While our numbers had been thinned considerably since leaving Sunwrack, it was still a large party to sneak through a sleeping citadel, and the sound of so many feet moving at once seemed like drums to my ears. I expected we would alert the Deserters of our passing any moment.

  While I hadn’t grown accustomed to weapons and could only use them with something just below competency, I couldn’t help wishing I had something in my hands to defend myself with. It was ridiculous, really—if we were discovered, we were doomed, as a handful of Deserters could take out what remained of our company even if we were fully armed and armored. But I had never felt more defenseless in my life walking down those gigantic halls and stairs.

  The doorway to the level below was open, as seemed to be Deserter custom. Braylar held up a hand, and we all stopped walking down, though several soldiers bumped into each other where the lantern failed to keep the darkness at bay.

  I strained to hear as the captain whispered something to Mulldoos and turned and grabbed Rudgi by her small shoulder. The sergeant moved around him on the oversized stairs and made her way to the doorway. She and Soffjian crept out onto the floor and moved off in opposite directions.

  Braylar was leaning close to Nustenzia, speaking in her ear and listening to her whispered response. He nodded and waited until the two women returned and reported.

  I assumed the way was clear, as we started to file out, heading to the left. The soldier ahead of me shoved me off with his elbow as I nearly fell over him in the dark. “Watch it, you skinny bastard. Keep your bony bones to yourself.”

  With every step, I imagined Deserters suddenly roaring and charging out of their barracks quarters to crush us into red sludge, and I felt my heart hammering like a cornered animal’s.

  The company walked by several open doors as quietly as we could, and I was sure the light from the lantern, however shuttered, might wake the Deserters until remembering that they couldn’t see light or dark. But their legless human basket riders or slaves were another matter. And I had no illusion about them not waking their masters if they did.

  We followed the gently curving corridor around the round keep, and then Nustenzia pointed further ahead.

  Braylar called a halt and Rudgi again did the advance scouting, creeping forward at a crouch as she disappeared into the dark, and we waited. I looked behind us, though there was nothing to see save the illuminated contours of hardened faces.

  Rudgi came back a minute later, and I thought I saw her hold up two fingers.

  Braylar nodded, and he huddled with his officers. They exchanged some signals with their hands. Soffjian interjected herself, grabbing her brother’s arm as she shook her head. She pointed at herself.

  They clearly didn’t agree, but without being able to throw verbal barbs at each other, they managed to resolve it fairly quickly. Another hand-signal exchange occurred between captain and men, and they nodded silently.

  Soffjian straightened up and pressed herself close to the wall as she began sidling along it towards whatever lay ahead. The keep was so large, and the curve of the hall so gradual, it would be impossible to truly sneak up on anything. If there were Deserter guards ahead, I didn’t see what hope we had of continuing, but then again, I wasn’
t the one issuing hand-commands.

  Vendurro and Braylar followed, wielding the carved candlesticks as short weapons, then the other officers and a few other soldiers. They all stopped twenty or thirty paces from Soffjian, who was still pressed up against the wall ahead.

  Then she stepped away from the wall, though it was difficult to see anything more than the faintest silhouette in the dark. Nothing happened, and she took a few steps ahead and raised both her hands. I knew her fingers must have been splayed, though they were impossible to see. She continued walking, and then I heard something scuffling from somewhere further down the corridor, but it was immediately lost in the footfalls of eight Syldoon rushing forward.

  Mulldoos grabbed Nustenzia’s arm and held up a hand.

  I couldn’t make out what happened in the gloom ahead, but I heard fighting, and some guttural grunts, then a pronounced thud that could have only been a Deserter hitting the floor, followed closely by another.

  Mulldoos lowered his hand and the rest of the company approached. I saw the Deserters’ arms and legs on the ground while Vendurro and Braylar continued bludgeoning them with their candlesticks. One Deserter’s four-fingered hand jerked and the other one shifted his limbs a little, but it was clear they weren’t putting up a fight, and with their thick skin, it took multiple blows before the captain and lieutenant delivered enough to make sure they didn’t get up again. Braylar had chosen to crack open a skull and Vendurro was using both arms to drive the spike of the candlestick into the other Deserter’s neck. I forced myself not to gag as I saw a large pool of blood that looked as black as ink in the pale flickering light, and I nearly stepped in it before seeing it. Blood was dripping off both slender spikes of the candlesticks the captain and lieutenant were holding, and splattered on their forearms and chests.

  Nustenzia looked at Soffjian, then at the Deserters, and back to the Memoridon. Her voice was measured, but not disguising some awe along the edges. “You . . . stunned them?”