by Jess Lebow
With stealth no longer an option, Ryder grabbed hold of the knob and shoved his shoulder against the door. It opened, and the master of chains stepped though to the other side.
Even lit as dimly as it was, Ryder could tell right away that he’d come to the right place. The room was opulently decorated. Bookshelves lined the walls, and the center of the room was dominated by little clusters of chairs, couches, and tables. It looked like the kind of place a baron would count his money and plot how he was going to get more.
On the far side were a series of medium windows that looked out on the harbor and the Deepwash. In the low light, Ryder could just make out two figures standing beside a closed door on the other side of the room—more guards. They already had their swords drawn, no doubt alerted by the shouting outside.
Ryder swung his chain at his side. It glowed purple and blue, painting everything in the room the color of bruised flesh.
The guards split up, swinging around to try to flank Ryder.
“Drop your weapon and stay still, or we will use deadly force,” said one of the men.
“I wish I could give you the same option,” said Ryder, “but in the name of the Crimson Awl, your lives are forfeit.” Taking two steps, he lunged at the guard closest to him, extending his crackling chain to its full length and reaching over a couch to strike at the man’s helmet.
The guard’s blade intercepted the chain, batting it harmlessly to one side. “Dear Ilmater,” said the man. “Ryder. Is that you?”
The low mage stones in the room flared, banishing the shadows and bringing the guards into stark view.
Ryder felt the pit of his stomach drop to the floor. “Liam.”
Liam stared across the room at his dead brother. “I watched you die,” he said, not lowering his sword. “You’re dead. I saw it with my own eyes.”
“Liam, what are you doing here? Are you lying in wait for Purdun?” He pointed at Knoblauch. “Is this man also with the Awl?”
Liam took a deep breath. “Not exactly.” Behind Ryder he could see Knoblauch still creeping around to flank his brother. “What …? How …?” He didn’t even know what questions to ask.
Images flashed through his head. The day of the ambush. His meetings with Purdun. The events that had lead him to the moment where he stood on guard against his own brother.
“Liam,” said Ryder, keeping one eye on Knoblauch, “I’m here to assassinate Purdun. Help me get in, and let’s get out of here.”
Knoblauch launched himself over a chair at Ryder’s back. But the master of chains was fast. Dodging the oncoming blade, Ryder brought his chain up in time to catch the guardsman on the back of his leg, tearing several of the metal plates out of his splint mail and sending the veteran sprawling against the couch.
“Stop!” shouted Liam. “Just stop, everyone.” He needed a moment to get everything clear in his head.
Ryder took a step back, his eyes darting back and forth between Knoblauch and Liam. “What’s going on here?” he glared at his brother. “Liam! It’s me, Ryder. Your brother.”
“This is your brother?” said Knoblauch as he got to his feet.
Liam nodded, holding his hand up to stay Knoblauch while he got everything straight in his head. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Yes.”
“Liam, we don’t have much time. There will be guardsmen here any moment.”
Liam lowered his sword. “There are guardsmen here already.”
Ryder looked at Knoblauch. “But there are two of us. Surely we can take this one.”
Liam shook his head. “I’m also in Purdun’s elite guard.”
Ryder’s face dropped. “What?”
“I am an elite guard,” repeated Liam, not able to look at his brother.
Ryder’s eyes narrowed. “You sold out?” He shook his head. “How could you?”
“It’s not what you think,” pleaded Liam. But even as he said it, the words felt hollow on his tongue.
“No?” said Ryder, making a show out of looking around the room. “So you’re working both sides?” He made a move toward Knoblauch, launching his spiked chain at the veteran.
“Stop,” shouted Liam, reacting to his brother attacking his friend.
Knoblauch batted it aside with seemingly little effort. But Liam could tell by the look on Ryder’s face that his brother hadn’t really tried to hit the veteran. It had been a test—just like when they were young.
Ryder glared at Liam. “How could you do this? The moment I’m gone, you go running to the baron.”
Liam felt his face get red. “It didn’t happen that way.”
“Oh no?” Ryder stepped sideways, pacing around Liam like a threatening snake, gathering his chain to him. With a smooth overhand motion, he brought it over his shoulder, striking at Liam.
Liam jerked back, but he was too slow. Ryder’s chain caught his long sword on the hand guard. Liam tried to keep hold of it, but Ryder was stronger, and sword went tumbling to the floor.
Liam sidestepped away from Ryder, shaking his tingling hand. He matched his brother’s steps, and the two men circled, facing each other. If this were another man—any other man—Liam would already have his short sword in hand.
“I suppose you’ve betrayed the rest of the family as well,” spat Ryder, his face growing angrier.
The center of Liam’s stomach grew a heavy lump—Samira.
“Ryder, I’m sorry.” He held his empty hands up in front of him. “I thought you were dead.”
“That’s no excuse.”
Liam averted his eyes, his chest nearly caving in on itself with guilt. “I know.”
“I was counting on you.”
He nodded again, almost able to feel Samira’s touch on his skin. “I know.”
“You should have continued where I left off,” chided Ryder.
“What?” The images in Liam’s head scattered, and he finally looked up at his brother.
“You should have led the Awl—not abandoned them.” Ryder glared. “If you really thought I was dead, then you should have taken my place.”
“What happened that day, Ryder?” blurted Liam. “I watched you fall. I went back to tell our family that you died. But you didn’t. And you didn’t let us know. What were we supposed to think?” Liam could feel the guilt in his stomach being replaced with righteous anger. “If you didn’t die, why didn’t you come back?”
“Because he’d been sent to Westgate,” came a voice from the double doors.
Ryder spun around.
Captain Phinneous, backed by what appeared to be his entire unit, stepped through the doors. “Welcome back, Ryder,” said the captain. “I see you’ve grown accustomed to your chains.”
“We wait for his signal,” said Giselle. The Broken Spear had been waiting in the wooded plain outside Zerith Hold for a full day. The sun was setting, and soon it would grow dark again. Still no signal.
“There is no use waiting,” said Nazeem. “He has been captured.”
“Then we go in and get him out,” replied the leader of the Broken Spear.
Nazeem just shook his head. “I have seen the inside. There is no way we will get in, or him back out.”
Giselle looked again at the tattoos on Nazeem’s forehead. Up until now she’d taken the Chultan at his word. He was Ryder’s friend, and that was good enough for her. But something about this didn’t smell right.
“If you thought Ryder’s plan wouldn’t work, then why didn’t you say so before he went in?”
“He is a grown man,” said Nazeem without skipping a beat. “He makes his own choices, his own mistakes.” The Chultan uncrossed his legs and stood up from the ground. “We should learn from his error and move on.” He turned and walked out of the clearing deeper into the forest.
Giselle watched him disappear amidst the trees. What was it Ryder saw in this man to put so much trust in him? Whatever it was, she didn’t see it.
She grabbed Jase by the arm, startling the young man. “Come on,” she
said as she headed into the woods.
“Where are we going?” asked the Broken Spear warrior, hurrying to catch up.
“We’re going to follow this Chultan and find out once and for all if he can be trusted.”
The two of them slipped quietly into the woods, close on Nazeem’s heels.
Giselle had to stop several times to find the Chultan’s trail. He was being very careful. Twice he had changed direction, climbing on top of fallen logs to try to mask his footsteps. But both times, Giselle found his trail again. The tattooed man was heading out to the main road—toward Zerith Hold.
As they continued to follow, the sun dipped completely below the horizon, and the sky grew dark. Giselle and Jase skirted the edge of the forest, staying in the shadows as they followed the road. In the distance, Giselle could hear the soft splashing of waves against the shore, and Zerith Hold came into view.
“There he is,” whispered Giselle, dropping into a crouch and pointing.
Jase followed suit, and the two of them stood in the shadows watching as Nazeem stepped out into the road and into the light. As they watched, a pair of soldiers on horseback came riding up to the Chultan.
“He’s going to give us away,” said Jase.
“Not if you do it first,” said Giselle, quieting the young man.
Nazeem held up his hands, and one of the soldiers lowered himself from his saddle while the other held a crossbow trained on the tattooed man.
The soldier on the ground took his helmet off as he approached, exposing a bald head and a scarred face. He spoke to the Chultan for a moment. They appeared to be having an argument. One moment, the soldier was shouting something into Nazeem’s face. In the next, he was laughing.
For his part, Nazeem seemed to be calmly negotiating, though he never took his hands down, and the other soldier never lowered his crossbow.
The bald soldier looked down the road, seeming to squint as his gaze passed over where the two Broken Spear were hiding.
“Don’t move,” said Giselle.
Then his eyes moved on, and he focused his attention back on Nazeem. He said something, laughed, and drew his sword. Nazeem turned and started to run, but he stumbled to his knees when a crossbow bolt struck him in the leg. The bald man nodded to the other soldier and turned the point of his sword toward the ground and stabbed Nazeem in the back three times.
“Come on,” whispered Giselle, backing slowly into the forest and heading toward where the rest of the Broken Spear were waiting. “Ryder’s in trouble. We gotta get him out of there.”
Jase followed. “But how are we going to get in?”
Giselle turned and glared at the young warrior. “We’re going to bust down the doors if we have to.”
Ryder hung from the ceiling.
There were chains on his arms and legs. The room was full of them. They draped down from above like long drops of metallic rain. They flooded down from the ceiling, a torrential downpour in the middle of Baron Purdun’s dungeon.
And in the middle of it stood Ryder. He could just touch the ground if he stood on the very tips of his toes. But he’d been here for the better part of a day, and he’d given up trying to stand. The effort it took made his legs shake like they were made of jelly.
Instead, he let the links hold his weight, choosing to hang from the ceiling as he thought about Liam’s betrayal.
The door to the cell creaked open.
“I won’t tell you anything,” said Ryder, not looking up.
“Not even where you’ve been?”
Ryder lifted himself to his tiptoes and raised his eyes. “Samira.” His chest constricted. He’d been dying to see her. He’d dreamed about her nightly. It had been her who had kept him going when he was imprisoned in Fairhaven.
He had desired this moment for so many months—but he had also dreaded it. Samira would know what had happened with Giselle. She would sense it. He knew the moment she laid eyes on him, he would be exposed, and he was terrified.
“I thought you died,” she said, stopping just inside the door.
He shook his head. His heart filled with both joy and guilt at seeing his beloved wife. “I didn’t.”
A tear slipped down Samira’s cheek. “I cried for days,” she said, wiping the tear off with the sleeve of her dress.
Ryder felt as if his belly had once again been sliced open. “I tried to come back sooner,” he said, adding, “I came as soon as I could.”
“Where were you? What happened?”
Ryder took a deep breath. “It’s a very long story,” he said finally, not knowing where to begin.
Samira bit down on her lower lip, nodding.
Ryder smiled, looking at his beautiful wife. Of all the times he had imagined this moment, of all the nights he had spent thinking about how it would be, never had he dreamed it could be like this. He opened his arms.
“Come to me.”
Samira looked to the ground and shook her head. “Ryder, there is something I have to tell you.”
Ryder dropped his arms. “Yes?”
Samira stood quietly for a moment, opening her mouth to start several times but never uttering anything. Finally, she took a deep breath and looked up at her husband. “I thought you were dead,” she said.
Ryder smiled. “But I’m not.”
“I know that,” said Samira, “now. But until this morning, I thought you were dead.” She took a step away from the door. “When I found out, something inside of me died right along with you. I can’t explain it, but things changed when I knew my world wouldn’t have you in it.” Samira sobbed.
Ryder wished he could reach out and comfort her, wished he could take away her pain. But he was stuck—both by the chains on his arms and the knowledge that he had caused that pain.
“For the past several months, I’ve been trying to come to grips with the fact that you were dead,” continued Samira between sobs. “For the longest time I didn’t even want to believe it was true. I hoped that someday I was just going to wake up and you’d be at home with me, and everything would be the way it used to be. I wished for that every night. And every morning I woke up alone in our bed.” She stopped and swallowed. “Then one morning I woke up, and it finally dawned on me that you weren’t coming back. That I was never going to see you again. And as much as that hurt, it was also a relief. It meant that I no longer had to torture myself over losing you. It meant that I could move on to the next part of my life. It meant that I could start living again.”
Ryder could feel his heart breaking inside his chest. “But now that I’m back, you can start living again. Both of us can. Together.”
Samira shook her head. “No, Ryder we can’t.”
Ryder frowned. “Why not?”
Samira closed her eyes. “Because,” she said, “I’m in love with another man.”
Ryder felt all of the blood in his body turn cold. “Who?”
“Your brother,” admitted Samira. “I’m in love with Liam.”
Ryder had thought he might lose Samira when she found out about Giselle. Never had he thought he would lose her to his own brother.
Ryder looked down at the floor. “I don’t know what to say.” He felt hollow and numb. It was like he was stuck in time. All that had been seemed irrelevant now. His life to this point seemed a waste. The future looked just as bleak—nothing to look forward to, nothing more for him in life. No reason to move forward.
“I’m sorry, Ryder.”
He just hung there, letting the chains hold his weight. He didn’t feel anything and he didn’t think anything. There was nothing left to feel, nothing left to think.
After a long silence he looked up. “Me too,” he said. But Samira was not there. He was alone, the door to his cell wide open.
“Good-bye,” he said. Lifting his hand to his lips, he kissed his fingers and blew it out to where his wife had been standing.
Suddenly the nothingness inside him was filled with sorrow. Samira was gone. In one beat of his heart,
he lost both his wife and his brother. No, it was worse than that. He hadn’t lost them; they had chosen to leave him. They had chosen to betray him. They had purposely taken from him everything he had and left him with nothing.
The sorrow inside his chest slowly began to boil, changing from a slow sadness into a roiling fury. This wasn’t his fault. They had done this to him. The more he thought about it the more his anger grew. It filled him to capacity, threatening to burst.
His muscles tensed, and Ryder shook the chains. He opened his mouth and let out a terrible shout—a yell at the top of his lungs, a mix of anguish and fury.
Then, when he had squeezed all the air from his lungs and his voice was hoarse, Ryder let go. He hung again from the chains, letting them hold his weight and admitting for the first time in his life that it was not him but the world around him that controlled his fate.
“Hello again, Ryder,” came a man’s voice from the door.
Ryder didn’t bother to look up or even to respond. They could do to him whatever they wanted. He didn’t care anymore.
“What?” asked the sarcastic voice, “no greeting for your old friend?”
Ryder heard footsteps, and four feet appeared on the floor below him—soldiers’ boots.
One of the men punched Ryder in the side, sending him swaying, suspended as he was by the chains. His ribs throbbed from the blow, but Ryder didn’t make a sound.
“Oh, come now,” said the voice. “This isn’t going to be any fun at all if you don’t at least talk back. Don’t you remember last time? How much fun we had?”
Ryder recognized the voice—Captain Phinneous.
Another blow landed on Ryder’s back. This time he grunted a little as the pain flooded through his body.
“That’s a start,” said Phinneous. “But I know you can do better.”
Ryder stood up. “You’re right.”
Captain Phinneous loomed before him, a huge grin on his bald, scarred face. He had only one guardsman with him.
“Such a good sport,” said the captain, winding back for another blow.
Leaping, Ryder grabbed hold of the chain high above his head and lifted himself into the air. The chains went slack. Kicking out with his right leg, he looped the extra links around the guardsman’s neck.
