The Fighters: Master of Chains

by Jess Lebow

  Guess I underestimated this entrance, thought Ryder.

  Though it was a clear night, a slight breeze blew through the openings in the wall. Turning away from the courtyard, Ryder scanned the space around him. Up here, where the chains ran through the stone, there was a narrow room. Only a small amount of light came in through the slits from the courtyard below, but it was enough for Ryder to see a ladder leading through the floor.

  Better than taking the chain, he thought.

  Placing his foot on the top rung, Ryder lowered himself one foot at a time into the shaft.

  The ladder ended maybe fifty rungs below and left off hanging in midair above a stone floor. Ryder stopped on the second to last rung, keeping himself entirely con­cealed inside the shaft. Below he could see only a small square of the stone floor, lit by a sickly orange-yellow glow. From the ladder he couldn't tell what, or who, might be down there.

  Closing his eyes, Ryder tried to listen. The wind coming in through the passage above him whistled lightly as it came through the rungs, making it impos­sible for him to hear anything.

  Knowing that he didn't have any other choice, Ryder let go of the ladder and dropped into the passage below, grabbing the end of his enchanted chain as he came down in a crouch on the flagstones.

  "Who goes there? Show yourself—"

  Ryder's falling from the ceiling had startled an unarmed man wearing an apron. He was holding a large wheel of cheese in both arms. He cast his gaze back and forth in Ryder's general direction, but it was clear the man didn't see him.

  Creeping quietly to his left, Ryder pulled his chain off his hip. The scared servant paced sideways, turning his head this way and that trying to follow the sounds.

  "Show yourself," the man shouted again.

  It was dark in the passage. The walls were lined with wooden shelves stacked high with mold-covered cheese and big slabs of salted beef.

  Stepping behind the confused servant, Ryder flipped his wrist, flinging the end of his chain. The links of the enchanted weapon wrapped around the man's legs, and Ryder yanked it back just as he turned visible again.

  The apron-wearing man yowled in surprise and tumbled flat onto his chest, the wheel of cheese break­ing his fall.

  Ryder took a step forward, and with the slack in the chain he hurled the handle of the weapon at the man's head. The enchanted links slammed into the downed servant's skull, knocking him out cold.

  "Sorry about that," said Ryder, frowning. He looked down at the growing red lump on the man's head. "Nothing a little rest won't fix."

  Unhitching his chain from the man's leg, Ryder scanned the hallway. Lit by two small torches, the stone passage led off in both directions. This was likely a ser­vice corridor, used by servants to travel across the Hold without getting in the way of the guards.

  Ryder listened down both ways, hoping that no one heard the yelp the man had let out. Then, convinced as he could be that he hadn't abandoned his stealth, he turned to his left, grabbed a torch from a sconce in the wall, and set off down the hall.

  The passage led down and around the corner. There were no windows or doors, only long, narrow brick walls lined with foodstuffs and old pots. Ryder traveled on for some time, encountering no one on his way.

  Eventually he came to a set of wooden stairs, leading down into a wider, well-lit hallway. From up above, it looked like the floor was covered in a fancy, woven rug.

  He'd found his way in.

  Extinguishing the torch, Ryder quietly made his way down the stairs. This hallway was much larger than the one he'd just come from. The walls were covered with oil-painting portraits of preposterously dressed men and women. Each one was illuminated by a softly glowing mage-lit stone that cast a warm glow over the rather stark, uninterested faces of those in the pictures.

  On his left, a wooden rail guarded the edge of the floor that dropped off into darkness below. Ryder moved over to look three flights down into what appeared to be an entry hall. There were empty suits of armor, artwork, and statues all over the place. Above him there were two more floors.

  Turning away from the edge, Ryder quietly made his way down the deserted hall and around the corner to a set of stairs leading up to the next level.

  "If I were a baron, I'd live on the top floor," he said, and he headed up.

  Chapter 24

  At the top of the final flight of stairs, Ryder encountered a set of double doors. The dark wood was polished to a high shine, and the ornate brass doorknobs sparkled dimly in the low magelight. A pair of halberd-toting guards stood at atten­tion beside them, one on each side.

  It had taken him the better part of the night to sneak through Zerith Hold to this point. Other than one oblivious random patrol, there had been no sign of guards on any of the doors. Whatever was behind that door was more important than anything in the other rooms. Ryder was betting it was the baron.

  Gripping the end of his chain, Ryder readied himself, then charged out of the shadows. The spikes of his chain lit up as he brought it down around one of the surprised guards' hands.

  Pulling the chain tight, Ryder ripped the halberd from the soldier's grip and sent it clattering down the stairs.

  The guard's eyes went wide, and he started fishing around on his belt for his sword. The other guard managed to get his halberd pointed at Ryder, but that was all. The spiked chain slammed into the soldier's face, discharging its electrical fire and sending a tremendous jolt through the man's body. Before the man could recover, Ryder was on him again. He pulled the guard's legs out from under him and smashed the other end of the chain into his chest. The soldier's body jumped from the impact. He let out a muffled cry and slumped back.

  Ryder turned his attention back to the disarmed guard. He was visibly frightened, trying to get his blade out of its sheath but having a hard time because his hands were shaking.

  "Intruder!" shouted the man, his voice wobbling.

  The end of Ryder's spiked chain clocked the man in the head and wrapped itself around his neck. With a quick flick of Ryder's wrist, the guard was pulled from his feet and sent tumbling down the stairs.

  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. Naz
eem 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.