by Jess Lebow
But judging from his heroics in the plaza before Fairhaven, Ryder was not only driven to fight inequality, he was also crazy. Nazeem liked to think of himself as a brave man, a man willing to take risks—an entrepreneur. But looking out at the two undead giants, he felt this venture was taking a turn for the worst.
Perhaps it was time to cut his losses.
Taking one last look at Fairhaven and Ryder, Nazeem skirted down the shadows on the edge of the rock wall toward the giant-sized stairs. “Goodbye, Ryder of Duhlnarim,” he said as he slipped over the edge of the first step and into the darkness beyond.
“I need a weapon.” Ryder crouched beside the open gate to Fairhaven.
“I told you,” said Giselle, “there’s nothing here that we haven’t already put to use.”
“No one here has a second? Not even a dagger?” Ryder threw his hands in the air. “How do you intend to—”
“I … I have something,” said Jase timidly.
Both Ryder and Giselle turned to the young man.
“I didn’t think it was much of a weapon until I saw you fight the giants with your shackles, but …”
“Great,” said Ryder. “Whatever it is, I’ll take it.”
“It’s in my footlocker,” said the young Broken Spear.
“Well go get it then,” spat Giselle. “And be quick about it.”
Jase nodded his head then took off running into the courtyard.
The undead giants had finished with Curtis’s illusion and were making their way toward the open gate.
“All right. Everyone stay calm,” whispered Giselle. “We wait until they cross the threshold, then we pull the rope tight. As soon as that smelly bastard hits the ground, we jump on him.”
The Broken Spear nodded their understanding.
The moments that followed seemed to take an eternity. The shuffling footfalls of the giants could be heard outside the gate, and no one inside moved a muscle. Ryder looked out at all the waiting warriors. He hadn’t studied them all that closely before. The few standing here were young, and they all looked completely terrified. All of them, that is, except Giselle.
Their leader had a grim glint in her eye, a look of complete determination, as if her will alone could carry the day and deliver these young men and women to safety. Ryder nodded. Perhaps it could.
Ryder could smell the first of the giants before it stepped through the gate. Its foul stench burned his nostrils, and he began breathing through his mouth.
The lumbering undead appeared inside the threshold. It took two steps more.
“Now,” shouted Giselle, standing up from the shadows and pulling on the rope as hard as she could. The fine muscles in her arms lifted to the surface, and Ryder could see her straining.
The other Broken Spear warriors did the same, and the rope snapped taut. The giant obliged and moved forward, entangling itself in the trap.
“Pull,” shouted Giselle. She redoubled her efforts.
The giant took another step. But instead of falling, it dragged the rope and the Broken Spear warriors with it. All eleven of them slid forward a step, their feet slipping on the dry, dusty ground.
“I can’t get a grip on the ground,” shouted one of the warriors.
The giant took a second step, and the group slid several more feet. A few of them even lost their grip, and the rope came free of their hands.
The second giant came through the gate. The Broken Spear warriors still clinging to the rope had all been pulled out of the protection of the shadows and into the middle of the path that led through the front gate.
“Look out,” shouted Ryder.
The gigantic undead growled and brought its club down on the closest Broken Spear warrior it could find. The man was focusing so hard on keeping hold of the rope that he never even saw it coming. The club smashed the man’s head down through his shoulders and into his own chest. Blood splashed across the ground, looking like specks of black rain in the pale moonlight.
“Let go,” shouted Ryder. “Scatter. Fight for your lives.”
Giselle looked back from where she held the rope, then echoed Ryder’s warning. “Run for the shadows.”
Just then Ryder felt someone tug on his elbow. It was Jase.
“Here,” he said, holding out a length of steel chain.
Ryder took the weapon from the young man with a smile. He never thought he would be so happy to see a simple length of chain, but under the circumstances, he’d take it. “Thanks.” He slapped Jase on the shoulder. “Now scatter.”
Jase nodded and bolted for the dark edges of the courtyard.
Ryder did the same, skidding to a stop behind a broken section of rock that had fallen down from the wall high above. Dropping into a crouch he quickly examined the weapon young Jase had given him. It was beautiful. It was made of fine blue steel. Unlike the regular chain that Ryder had used hundreds of times on the farm to hitch carts to oxen, the links on this one were rectangular. In the middle of each was a thick, sharpened spike attached to the rest of the chain on a hinge. The point could swing one way or the other, supposedly depending on how the wielder swung it. Along the edge of each link there were tiny sigils—what looked like a pair of triangles with their tips attached and an extended S running through from the middle of the base of one to the base of the other.
The spikes were absent on each end and along a stretch in the middle of the chain. These spikeless links were a darker color than the others. It was hard to see in the gloom, but when Ryder grabbed hold of the end, he could feel that the darkened sections were wrapped in some sort of leather or hide. This wasn’t just a chain; it was a masterly crafted weapon.
“That’s more like it,” said Ryder. He lifted his gaze to find the giants in the middle of the courtyard.
The pair of them had their backs to Ryder. They stood before the wall on the opposite side of the courtyard, bent forward, looking down at something. Though he couldn’t see for sure, Ryder thought it looked as if they had someone cornered.
He gave his new chain a quick tug. “Time to give you a test run.”
Charging across the open space, Ryder brought the chain around in a long loop, letting it pick up momentum. At a full run, he skipped twice and brought the flailing spiked chain over his head as he closed on the first undead giant.
The chain whistled as it whipped through the air, and it lit up with crackling purplish energy. Ryder brought it down on the giant’s back, and it sizzled as it struck, discharging the built up energy into the undead creature. The beast’s hide lit up with arcane energy, and the spiked chain tore a huge gash across its back.
The giant let out a tremendous roar, stomping its foot and shaking the ground. It spun around and slapped at the crackling energy that played across its body. As it did, Ryder could see Giselle and two of her Broken Spear warriors with their backs against the wall.
Giselle stood bravely before the other two warriors, holding them back with one arm and menacing the giant with her long sword.
Then Ryder heard Curtis’s voice. “Excuse me.”
Ryder felt something brush by him, and a string of footprints appeared in the dusty ground accompanied by the sound of running. The prints led right up to the cornered trio then they stopped.
Ryder heard Curtis’s voice once more. “Visi indisi vaso.” And right before his eyes, Giselle and the Broken Spear warriors disappeared.
The giant looked down, then to both sides, obviously confused.
“Psst,” whispered Curtis. His voice sounded as if it were coming from somewhere in the middle of the courtyard. “Ryder. Draw them away.”
Ryder nodded, not knowing where Curtis was, but assuming the illusionist could see him.
Taking two large steps backward, Ryder twirled his spiked chain over his head. It lit up again, and when he brought it down on the ground the energy dissipated across the stones and through the dirt.
“Hey,” he shouted. “Over here.”
Both undead giants turned and
took a step toward the master of chains. And Ryder in response took ten large steps back. As he hoped, the giants followed. Their legs were larger than his, and they covered more ground. Eventually, he was going to run out of room.
“All right,” he said to himself, “now what?”
Nazeem lowered himself down and dropped from the end of the last stair. Turning around, he bumped right into the returning Broken Spear raiding party.
“Where do you think you’re going?” said a tall, robed warrior.
Nazeem looked out over nearly three dozen Broken Spear.
“Fairhaven is under attack,” he blurted, pointing back up the steps. “Giants. Undead giants. Giselle and the others are in terrible danger. We must hurry, there isn’t much time.”
The warrior nodded then looked back over his shoulder. “To Giselle,” he shouted. In a single bound he leaped to the top of the first stair and turned around to offer Nazeem his hand. “Come, it’s faster this way.”
Nazeem looked once at the path that led away from the stairs to the Giant’s Plain. Then he nodded and grabbed hold of the hand. The man pulled, and Nazeem climbed up the edge of the stair with ease.
The others followed suit, headed up the steep path toward Fairhaven.
Ryder scrambled up the ladder that led up the steps to the top of the wall. The undead giants followed close behind him. They had an advantage. The steps in Fairhaven had been made for creatures of their size. For every four steps Ryder took, the giants took one, and they gained on him as he climbed.
At the top of the stairs he bolted down the walkway. He didn’t know where he was going to go, only that he wanted to draw the creatures away from Giselle and the others. But now that he’d done that, he had no more plans, no more surprises or easy escapes.
On the flat ground, Ryder tried to put some room between him and his pursuers. But on top of the wall he quickly ran out of room. His path was blocked by a pile of rocks—debris from the top of the crenellations being smashed in. Ryder tried to climb up it and over to the other side, but as he put a foot on the pile, it shifted and tumbled into the courtyard far below, bouncing off a large dead tree and nearly taking him with it.
Jumping back to avoid falling off the edge, Ryder turned to face the oncoming giants. With his back against the wall, he had no choice but to try to fight them. And judging from his last encounter, this wasn’t a fight he could win.
Whipping the enchanted spiked chain over his head, Ryder steeled himself for the fight. The giants closed the distance quickly and bore down on him.
“Forgive me, Samira,” he said as he prepared to strike at an oncoming giant. “I did not mean to leave you like this.”
The first giant hefted the bolder it had been carrying and hurled it at the cornered fighter. Ryder expected to have to deal with the creature’s club, but not this, and his reaction to the flying stone was slow. He jumped to his right, away from the projectile and off into the thin air above the courtyard.
Behind him, the bolder connected with the defensive structures on top of the wall and shattered in a shower of sharp stones. In front of him, the darkness of the courtyard opened up, and the ground rushed toward him. Flailing as he fell, Ryder didn’t think, he reacted. Flinging the chain out, it wrapped around the narrow trunk of the same dead tree the stones had bounced off.
Catching on itself, the chain pulled tight, and Ryder’s arm was nearly yanked out of its socket as he held on for dear life. He swung out and around the tree, circling the trunk. It wasn’t the most graceful move, but it saved his life, and Ryder thanked the gods that it had been a chain Jase had given him rather than a sword.
As he came to rest against the tree, Ryder grabbed hold of the trunk with his legs, dislodged the chain, and slid all the way to the ground. The moment his feet landed on the paving stones, he felt someone touch his shoulder, and he spun, prepared to fight another undead giant.
Instead he turned to see Nazeem smiling at him. “That was a pretty good trick,” he said, pointing to the tree.
“Nazeem, you’re alive.”
The Chultan nodded. “I am a very hard man to kill,” he said. He hitched his thumb over his shoulder. “Look what I found.”
Through the gate came what looked like the rest of the Broken Spear.
They sprinted into the center of the courtyard, many of them with bows in hand. Dropping to one knee, they nocked arrows and let them fly at the top of the wall.
“Look out,” Nazeem grabbed Ryder by the arm and yanked him away from the dead tree.
A heartbeat later, the first of the two remaining undead giants fell from above, landing atop the skinny tree and crushing it utterly. The second followed shortly thereafter.
With the immediate threats gone, Ryder slumped to the ground.
“I need a bath,” he said.
Nazeem sniffed the air. “You aren’t kidding.”
CHAPTER 17
The Royal Herald of Erlkazar opened the double doors with a practiced flair. In the center of the throne room, he dropped to one knee, bending at the waist to perform an elaborate bow in the middle of the huge, woven Zakaharn rug. Standing again, he cleared his throat and looked up at the dais and the throne where King Korox of Erlkazar sat.
“My lord, King of all five baronies and the kingdom of Erlkazar,” said the herald, “I present to you Master Montauk of Ahlarkham.”
The double doors swung open again, and Montauk stepped into the throne room.
As he expected, it was an opulent affair. The circular room was broken into two discrete sections by a ring of pillars halfway between the wall and the center of the room. They created a reception area in the center and a long, curved walkway on the outside edge.
On the other side of the pillars was an open area. High above, on a huge ceiling dome, was an elaborate painted representation of the Black Days of Eleint. It depicted the secession of Elestam and the slaying of the counts and barons who conspired with the Duchy of Dusk to overthrown the Morkann family—a reminder of how Erlkazar came to be an independent country, separate and autonomous from Tethyr.
On the outside of the pillars were the king’s dais and throne and more than two dozen heavily armed guardsmen. The pillars served to keep the soldiers hidden from the view of visiting dignitaries—present but unobtrusive was the king’s policy. In addition to the bodyguards, the outer ring also held the king’s personal art collection. Paintings and sculptures from all over Faerûn were displayed in recessed alcoves along the curved wall. King Korox’s collection was thought to be one of the best and most valuable collections in all Faerûn. The king’s favorite story to tell foreign monarchs was about several well-known historical texts in Cormyr. Each of them included descriptions of the destruction and loss of a particular statue of Ondeth Obarskyr that was now in the king’s own possession. He would say even the sands of time couldn’t detract from his collection.
Montauk admired the room as he strode through. Someday, he thought, the Twisted Rune would hold a meeting here. When the country fell to civil war, the capitol would be easy pickings.
He smiled and bowed as he approached the throne. “My lord.”
The king sat atop his gilded throne, a goblet of wine in one hand and an ornate pearl-hilted dagger in the other. He regarded the bowed man with heavy eyes.
“Rise, my subject,” said the king, lifting his goblet off his knee to take a drink of the blood-red wine inside.
Montauk got to his feet, placed his hands together, and bowed his head once more. “Thank you, my lord.”
The king took a large breath, his chest heaving inside his golden breastplate. “You have petitioned my council for what you have called a grave and urgent matter regarding Ahlarkham.”
“That is correct, my lord.” Montauk kept his head slightly bowed, never making eye contact with the monarch.
“Well, out with it, man,” said the king, leaning forward in his throne. “For I much desire to hear news from the realm of my sister, Princess Dijara.�
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“The people, my lord,” replied Montauk, “the good farmers, merchants, and fishermen of Ahlarkham are up in arms.”
This got the king’s full attention. “Up in arms? Over what?”
“Over unnecessary taxation, my lord.”
The king waved his hand. “Bah. Taxation is never popular, but it is a necessity. The people will grumble, but they will never revolt over it.”
Montauk raised his eyes. “You don’t think so?”
The king shook his head. “They know that without the baron and the taxes they pay to him they would not have the protection of his army. They would be forced to defend themselves against the dangers that run wild in the countryside.” He waved the pearl-hilted dagger in his hand. “The trolls, goblins, and drow are far worse than any tax. The people know this.”
“This is precisely my point,” said Montauk. He took a step closer to the throne.
The king bristled a little at the move, but he allowed Montauk to stay where he was.
“The people know what it is they are supposed to get for their taxes,” Montauk said. “But they aren’t getting it.”
“Baron Purdun employs a full-time army. He has some of the best soldiers and equipment in all of Erlkazar.” King Korox turned sideways in his throne, shifting his weight onto his hip. “Besides, if he were having trouble keeping the peace he would have sent a message to me or one of the other barons.” He took another sip of his wine. “I have heard of no such communications.”
Montauk took another step forward. “My lord, the vampires have returned.”
The king sat up straight. “The vampires?”
Montauk wrinkled his brow. “Yes, my lord. They have returned, and the people fear for their lives.”
“Why have I not heard of this before?”
“Pride, my lord,” said Montauk. “Perhaps Lord Purdun doesn’t want his king to think he cannot handle this problem.”
The king shook his head. “Purdun is not that sort of man. It’s been only a handful of years since the old kingdom fell. He knows the stories. He was there—he was a Crusader, for gods’ sake.”
