Chains of the Heretic

by Jeff Salyards

  The captain and his retinue, however, were all gathered together near the window facing the ever-draining and refilling lake, and there was no question they were expecting me.

  Mulldoos spit out several globs of food as he said, “Well? What did the little bastard have to say? You were talking to him long enough, I was sure you were both going to end up dead. Or betrothed.”

  “He was reluctant,” I replied. “As predicted. But he was forthcoming about a few things. He wasn’t positive about Bloodsounder, but he was sure the rest of our weapons and gear are one floor below. And the Focus we are after is on this floor.”

  Braylar pushed a mottled pepper around on his plate for a moment before replying, “You said a few things. That was two. And the third?”

  “Four, really. Our horses are allegedly in the rooter pen. East of here.”

  “And the fourth?”

  I hesitated before replying, “The location of his room. Bulto’s room.”

  Soffjian said, “And why, pray tell, would we care about his room?”

  I forced myself to meet her unnerving stare. “I promised him we would bring him with us.”

  Mulldoos barked out a laugh; Vendurro gave a long, slow shake of his head, and Braylar said, “Did you?”

  “He wasn’t going to help at all. Even asked why he shouldn’t just report us. So I played the only thing that came to mind that might be compelling to him.”

  Smiling crookedly, Rudgi said, “You are betrothed.”

  Braylar was less amused. “And what makes you think he did not simply lie, or that he isn’t laying our secret plot bare to the first Deserter that will listen?”

  I resisted the urge to reply immediately, knowing I would simply flounder or make an ass of myself, and took a moment to compose my thoughts. “It is a gamble. For certain. But then we knew that. We can sit here and wait for the Deserters to potentially swoop down on us, or act on the information, hoping for the best. He seemed earnest. And I believed him. But can I swear to the veracity or accuracy? No. I can’t.”

  Braylar maintained the same opaque expression, but Mulldoos smirked and said, “You got stones, kid. Grant you that.”

  The captain lifted a finger from the plate, looked at whatever was on the tip, popped it into his mouth and said, “Anything else?”

  “No,” I replied, and then amended, “Oh, and ours should be the only doorway that has a trigger of any kind, or a trap. Presumably.”

  Braylar stood, dusting his hands off on his trousers. “Very good. So then. Assuming this information is accurate—which is quite a leap, truly, as we have no way to corroborate any of what’s been told, but let’s presume it is in fact on point—let us examine this course of action more carefully. Even if everything is golden truth, we need to coordinate our escape while it is raining or just before it is set to, as that is the only way to cover our flight.”

  “Assuming that little bit of supposition ain’t rife with errors too,” Mulldoos said. “We have no proof rain blinds. None at all.”

  “Fair point,” the captain replied. “But for the sake of this exercise, let us assume all our assumptions are without fault. So, that means our intrepid wall climbers have to make the trip across wet stones, without falling, and without raising alarm.”

  I said, “If it is raining, even a little, and we’re right about that reducing their visibility, sight, whatever we want to call it, that would at least provide cover for the climbers.”

  “Cover, yes, and a slick surface as well,” Braylar replied. “But even if not raining yet, it would need to be at night, to reduce the chances of a Deserter looking out one of a hundred windows and seeing a few humans clinging to the wall like ivy. They don’t need light, but presumably they do need sleep.

  “So, our scalers make the trek around the inside wall of the citadel into the storage room undetected. They creep down a hall. Undetected. They dispatch any guards around the Focus. Unarmed, of course. They abduct her. Without detection. And then they return here first to release us—the Focus can do this, yes, as we have surmised—and a large group of Syldoon roam the halls in the night without raising alarm and then break into our weapons larder. Which, we duly hope, has Bloodsounder in the tally.”

  Vendurro started to say something, but Braylar raised his hand. “Wait. I have not concluded. So, after breaking free from our prison and obtaining our weapons and armor once more, our still-sizable troop fights or skulks our way free of this damnable ring keep without being captured, cornered, or killed off completely, and into the rain, which has begun falling at precisely the perfect time to cover our trek to the rooter pens, where our horses have not yet been slaughtered for meat or out of fear. We then proceed to ride through the downpour, and I lead us out through the Veil, seeing as I am Bloodsounder, and reunited with my namesake.”

  Braylar looked around at his retinue and then concluded with, “Yes. A most excellent plan. What could possibly go wrong?”

  Vendurro scratched the back of his head. “Well, when you lay it out like that . . .”

  Azmorgon slapped his meaty hand on the wall. “You know my plaguing mind. I still say we act. And act some more. Better than sitting here and waiting for the axe to fall.”

  Soffjian said, “The plan is fraught with unknowns and dangers. There is no denying that. But it galls me to wait for our captors to decide our fates. I find it difficult to admit out loud, but the Ogre’s oration is compelling on one point—it is better to make a move and have it potentially end in spectacular disaster than do nothing and have the Deserters decide things for us.”

  Braylar seemed amused by that. “I know your mind, Mulldoos. What of you, Vendurro? Rudgi? Do you still feel we should proceed?”

  Vendurro pushed his bottom lip out with his tongue, thought about it for a minute and said. “It was my fool idea. Could go tits-up in a hurry, that’s for plaguing sure. But better than sitting here staring at each other until the Deserters slice our throats or husk us or lop off our limbs or whatever. I say we do it.”

  Rudgi nodded. “Aye. I’ll volunteer to make the climb. The stones have crevices, and I have small feet and hands. Grew up in the mountains. And smaller on the whole—harder on the whole—harder to spot. I’ll go.”

  Soffjian looked at the young Syldoon with what might have been respect. “I will accompany. While not small, I am far daintier than the rest of your brutes. And they did nothing to snuff out my abilities. The Deserters have some resistance to my memorycraft, but I can still take one out. And I certainly can stun one of the Foci.”

  Vendurro said, “Aye, and I’ll be going as well.”

  Mulldoos said, “What do you plaguing know about climbing walls, you dumb prick?”

  “No more nor less than anyone else here. But a lot of crevices, and I got thin fingers. And it was my plaguing idea. I’m going.”

  Azmorgon laughed. “I knew calling him Squirrel would pay off!”

  Mulldoos ignored him and stared at the younger man. “Just made Lieutenant. Real bad time to go playing hero.”

  Vendurro shrugged his shoulders. “Never a good time, really, but it ain’t like scaling a mountain. Just got to go sideways a bit and climb in a plaguing window. How hard can it be?”

  The hooded eye didn’t reveal much, but Mulldoos gave a lot away with the other one. For the first time since I met the man, he seemed truly unnerved, maybe even afraid. Then it occurred to me that with Hewspear gone, Vendurro was likely his closest Towermate, and he was in no hurry to see another one die. But it was obvious to all that he couldn’t take Vendurro’s place, and would have been a lousy choice, even before Rusejenna had struck him down and robbed him of some of his dexterity.

  “That settles it, then,” Braylar said. “Ven, Rudgi, my sister, myself.”

  Mulldoos said, “Cap, I thought we covered this. You’re—”

  “We did. And I am the only one who can find Bloodsounder. We do not know for certain where it is, but I can tell as I get closer. I go.” He glanced o
ut the window. “It’s cloudy now, but not raining. We’ll monitor as the day goes, and if it seems like rain is coming in, we’ll do it tonight. If not, tomorrow night. But we can’t afford to dally and delay. Perhaps Vrulinka is keeping her council at bay, or perhaps they simply deliberate slowly, but they could decide our fates at any moment. We go the moment the rain falls.”

  Sometimes fortune favors fools and their folly. And sometimes it acts arbitrarily and favors no one at all, or according to some design mortals are not privy to.

  While the clouds rolled in and out the remainder of that day, it was clear rain was holding off. But as dusk gave way to night, and the hours dragged on, darker, heavier cloudbanks finally moved in and laid claim to the entire sky, inking out the last of the stars. The whole company was anxious, in part dreading the arrival of the Deserters before we could see our mad plan to fruition, in part hoping the rain was going to show but not so early as to make the stones treacherously slick.

  There couldn’t have been more than two or three hours before daybreak when the rain came at last. It was hardly a deluge, but certainly enough to make the climb far more dangerous.

  The tension was a dense thing, as the captain had briefed his men on what they intended to do. While the prospect of escaping here no doubt buoyed their spirits, the equal possibility of losing half their officers in the attempt or being executed to a man if it was thwarted weighed heavy enough to sink the spirits entirely. Everyone was short, on edge, or surly—even Vendurro seemed to want to wait out the day by himself, so I did the same, recording events and then stowing my brass case under my sleeping mat again.

  While waiting might have been a large part of soldiering, this seemed different somehow, even more difficult to bear than waiting for a battle to begin. At least then I might have been able to do some small part to help, to affect the outcome. The majority of the Jackals had to resign themselves to simply waiting and hoping as well.

  Finally, with the sun long gone and the moon somewhere above us obscured by dense cloud foliage, Braylar gathered his retinue close to the window. The Deserters had been keen to leave nothing in these quarters that might be converted into a potential weapon, except one thing: the clothing we wore. Azmorgon had torn strips from several shifts and twisted them tight—Braylar, Soffjian, Vendurro, and Rudgi had the makeshift garrotes tucked into their clothing and stood before the dark, watching the rain gently fall.

  Three of the iron bars that had been in the sill were now in a pile leaning against the wall beneath, with the dust and rain turning into a paste. Azmorgon seemed entirely too pleased with himself. I’d seen him testing their strength earlier in the day, and heard him working at the bars a couple of times in earnest. He might not have been half as strong as a Deserter, but he was twice as strong as any normal man.

  I looked out the window. It was spitting rain, but wet was wet.

  Mulldoos moved back from the small puddle on the floor. “Hard to tell, on account of the Deserters not needing light to navigate at all, but ain’t seen any movement in any of the other windows for a while. Seems those huge fuckers need to sleep at least. Clear as it’s like to get.” It sounded as if he’d hoped to report a battalion of Deserters wandering the halls at night to force Braylar to call off the climb.

  The captain looked at his small crew. “We go slow. No need to end up splattered on the footpaths below due to haste. Make sure you have a good foot and handhold before moving at all. The façade is textured, as Ven pointed out, so there should be no shortage of edges to hold onto, but they are wet. Proceed cautiously. Understood?”

  They all nodded, but Rudgi added, “I hail from hills and mountains. Done a fair bit of climbing, when I was a kid. You’ve got to go slow all right, but not so slow your muscles cramp up. Make certain your grip is sure, but don’t freeze in the same spot too long. Steady, but keep moving.”

  Braylar took a deep breath. “Excellent advice. But for any of us not sired by goats like our diminutive sergeant here, if anyone should fall, the body will be discovered by morning, and they will certainly kill every Jackal left in these cells. No matter what happens, it is imperative we press on. No matter what. Is that also understood?”

  Sober nods all around. Braylar might have twitch-smiled, though the darkness made it even more difficult to tell than usual. “Very well. It is time to roll the dice, yes?”

  Rudgi was the first to start climbing over the windowsill. Vendurro reached over to steady her arms and hold her but she shook him off. “Nuh-uh. If I can’t manage to climb out a window without falling, the dice are loaded the wrong way.”

  He stepped back, and Rudgi placed her feet on the wall, then reached over to find a handhold. “Nothing to it,” she said, though it was hard to tell how much bravado there was there in the dark. “Keep your eyes on the stones in front of you and not the ones below, you’ll do all right.”

  Everyone watched her stretch, find a new hold, move slightly, and reposition herself. I can’t speak for the others, but I felt as if I might throw up. I did look down, and it was a long, long, unforgiving fall. The dark waters moved below, heading towards the drain in the center of the lake, but the trees and footpaths were directly below the windows. At that height, the water might not have been any better anyway.

  Even with a light rain, it didn’t take long for Rudgi’s shift and curly hair to get damp, then soaked. I was glad it was dark and I could barely make out her silhouette—even with lives literally hanging in the balance, I was tempted to see how the thin material clung to her and cursed myself.

  After Rudgi had moved five feet away from the edge of the window, Vendurro turned to Mulldoos. “Got no family but my Towermates. All for the best, really. Hate to have someone pining, wondering which fool way I went and got myself killed. But if falling’s the way, or getting squashed by a Deserter in the hall, make sure Gless’s widow keeps getting her coin. And mine.”

  Mulldoos grabbed his shoulder. “You trying to shirk responsibility, you little shit? Plague you. You’ll make certain of it yourself, you hear me?”

  “Aye,” Vendurro said. Mulldoos released his arm and Vendurro followed Rudgi out onto the wall. He moved more slowly than she, less certain, feeling his way by inches until he disappeared in the darkness after her.

  Braylar looked at Soffjian. “Let us hope I am better at clinging to wet stones than I was at climbing ladder trees, eh?”

  She gave him a tight-lipped smiled. “Yes. Let’s.”

  Then she watched as he made his way out. I saw him flex his hands after he was a few feet away from the window, and he moved no more quickly than Vendurro, but his silhouette slowly disappeared as well.

  Soffjian rolled her head around on her neck, stretched her arms and legs, and then stepped out on the wet wall.

  When she too was cloaked by the night and rain, Mulldoos stepped back from the window and said to no one in particular, “Dumbest plaguing plan ever.”

  Azmorgon was still leaning out, his big hairy hand a meat shelf above his eyes. “Should have plaguing said as much when you had the chance, shouldn’t you?”

  “I did, you monstrous bastard. I plaguing did, but you idiots didn’t want to hear it.”

  The huge lieutenant moved back from the window and shook the water out of his bush of a beard. “Oh, everyone heard you complaining about something, mush mouth, but nobody heard you suggesting any other real plaguing alternatives, did we?”

  Azmorgon was half a man heavier, towered over Mulldoos, and had full use of his massive limbs, but none of those facts seemed to cow the pale boar at all. “You think it’s such a great plaguing idea, why don’t you climb out and see if you can cram those ham hands of yours in those tiny holes.”

  Azmorgon laughed. “Your mother said the same plaguing thing.”

  Mulldoos’s fist shot out and slammed into the larger man’s nose, and even though he was maimed and hindered, he stepped in and landed an elbow on either side of Azmorgon’s ribs.

  Anyone else wou
ld have collapsed on the spot, but Azmorgon simply grunted and brought his giant fist down on the crown of Mulldoos’s head.

  The shorter lieutenant dropped to a knee, but as Azmorgon raised his tree trunk arm to strike him again, Mulldoos sprang up with his shoulder right into Azmorgon’s crotch.

  That did faze the Ogre—Mulldoos was smaller than him, but still thick with muscle and pride, and no man was immune to such a shot. Azmorgon grunted again and staggered back, doubled over, and Mulldoos’s body betrayed him as he lost his balance and almost fell over himself.

  I yelled, “Stop!” and then remembered it was the middle of the night and lowered my voice, trying it again as a harsh whisper. “Both of you! The captain needs us ready!”

  Mulldoos regained his footing first and came forward, his fists up. The Ogre was still hunched over but when the smaller man was nearly on him, Azmorgon’s arm swept up and he caught Mulldoos with the back of his hand, sending him sprawling towards the wet floor by the window.

  I tried to grab Azmorgon’s arm, but it was like trying to restrain a rooter. He shrugged me off and nearly sent me spilling to the stones, but I regained my balance, ran in front of him, and positioned myself between the two men as Mulldoos tried to get back to his feet and slipped, falling on his side.

  “This is madness!” I said. “When the captain and the rest make it back here—” I looked at Mulldoos. “—and they will make it back here, no matter how stupid you think the plan is—they will need every able-bodied man to fight free of this place. Do you think for a moment Captain Killcoin will be merciful to idiots who started fighting the second he was out of sight and bloodied or murdered each other? No! The answer is no.”

  I thought Azmorgon would bat me out of the way like a gnat, or worse, turn those huge fists on me before attacking Mulldoos again, but he stopped, wiping some blood off his nose and mustache. “Just a friendly scrap. Men blowing off steam is all. Ought to try it sometime. Against a sack of leaves or something.”