Master of Chains (14 page)

Liam shrugged. “Then perhaps I should meet them. Sounds like my kind of person.”

Purdun turned around, pacing between the chairs, holding his chin in contemplation. “If you met this one, you’d think differently.”

“Anyone who wants to see you out of power is a friend of mine.”

Purdun stopped his pacing and turned to face Liam. “This person is a very powerful, ancient undead spell-caster. A vampire by the name of Shyressa.”

A chill ran down Liam’s spine, just hearing her name.

“And I can assure you, she doesn’t have your best interest at heart,” explained the baron.

A vampire? Liam thought back on the clearing, on the strange group of robed figures followed by a group of wolves. He’d heard legends of vampires and their spawn having the ability to turn into wolves. Maybe what Purdun was saying was true. How could he have known about the strangers at the meeting? None of this made any sense.

Liam shook his head. “You’re making this up.”

“I wish I were.” Purdun rubbed the back of his neck, looking as if he were quite stressed. “But I’m not. Shyressa has it out for me, and she’s using the Awl as a way to destabilize Ahlarkham.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Purdun walked across the room to stand in front of Liam. “Because I want you to understand why I did what I did. I want you to see that I had to have you followed so that I could try to get to Shyressa before she gets to me. It was nothing personal. I ordered my men to do everything in their power to ensure your safety.”

Liam was confused. “You ordered them to protect me?”

Purdun nodded.

“Why would you do that? I’m not on your side.”

Purdun took a deep breath. “Because, despite what you think of me, I am not an evil man. I don’t want to see you or any of the citizens of Duhlnarim harmed.” The baron sat back down in the chair he had started in.

“And I know you’re not on my side, but I want you to be. I want you to join my elite guard.”

“Again with the elite guard.” Liam didn’t understand any of this. “Why are you doing this to me? What is so special about me?”

“You have passion. You genuinely believe in what you are doing, and you care about the well-being of the citizens of Ahlarkham. I could use a man like that.”

“How?”

“Well, for one thing, if you were to join us it would add a lot of legitimacy to the guard that is currently lacking. You and the Awl have done a pretty good job convincing the people of Duhlnarim that we’re a no-good bunch of despots.”

Liam couldn’t help but feel a small amount of pride swelling in his chest. To hear from the baron’s own mouth that his work had made some impact was a heartwarming thing.

“And you want me to switch sides and tell my friends and family that I was wrong all this time. Is that it?”

Purdun nodded. “The people listen to you. If they see you—a man they look to for leadership, a man they trust—put his own faith in me and the elite guard, then I believe they will follow suit.”

“Well,” responded Liam, “thanks to you, they no longer believe I’m on their side.”

“Your reputation has been called into question with the compromised leadership of the Crimson Awl, not with the people at large.”

“You stand here and tell me incredible stories about a vampire who wants you out of power, saying that I don’t understand the forces at work. But it is you who don’t understand.” Liam shook his head. “The Crimson Awl is the people at large. This isn’t some bought-and-paid-for group of thugs or mercenaries. The members of the Awl are the people who suffer daily under your heavy-handed taxation and your brutal guardsmen. They are one and the same.”

“Fine, say what you will. There are other reasons I want you to join the elite guard.”

“Like?”

“Of all the members of the Awl I could approach, you are the only one I am completely convinced is not in cahoots with Shyressa.”

“What makes you so sure?” Liam shot back. “Your story is starting to come apart. If the Awl really are being manipulated, why would you think you could trust me?”

“Simply put, it’s because no man fights as hard as you do unless he truly believes he’s right. If you were in the vampire’s employ, you wouldn’t carry so much conviction.”

Liam stood up. “I fight you as hard as I do because I find you despicable.”

“Calm down.” The baron made a gesture with his hands like he was pushing a cloud toward the floor. “Don’t you see a compliment when it’s given to you?”

“Your words are poison. No matter what you say, you will never convince me that you are a good man.”

Purdun threw his hands in the air. “Why won’t you listen to reason?”

“Because I refuse to believe that the man who killed my brother can be reasonable.”

Purdun’s face turned very serious. “It was not my blade that killed your brother.”

“It might as well have been,” Liam raised his voice. “It was your fault we were out there that morning. It was your order that put those men inside the carriage. And it was your money that paid for the steel that cut him through the gut. You are as guilty as any one of your murderous guards.”

Purdun stood up. His fair skin was flushed red. His fists were clenched so tight they shook, and the skin on his knuckles had turned white.

“Your brother attacked one of my carriages. He killed five of my men. Men who had families. Men whose lives were at least as precious as his own.” Purdun glared at Liam. “In my opinion, your brother got what he deserved.”

Liam lunged at Purdun. This was the second time he’d tried to attack the feudal lord inside his own private chambers. It was also the second time he found himself dangling from his tunic, held off the ground by one of the baron’s half-giant bodyguards.

Purdun shook his head as he looked up at Liam. Then he turned toward the door and shouted, “Captain Beetlestone.”

The doors flew open, and the guard captain came into the room. “Yes, my lord.”

“Take this man to the dungeon.” He glared one last time at Liam, then turned and walked toward the door on the other side of the room. “Maybe the rats can talk some sense into him.”

Ryder marched up the steep-walled canyon that lead into the Giant’s Run Mountains, limping the entire way. Every step seemed another lesson in agony. They were escorted by the bandits on horseback, none of whom talked during the trip. The carriage that Purdun’s guard had been protecting was packed full of the wounded and the freed prisoners who simply couldn’t walk any farther.

Beside Ryder, just as when they had marched from Duhlnarim, walked the tattooed Nazeem. There were no chains binding them together, but they traveled side by side nonetheless.

As they walked, Ryder tried to think about things other than the pain that sank through his flesh and seeped into his bones. If he focused too much on the bruises and wounds, they became unbearable, so he thought about his home and his family. He longed to be back there with his lovely wife. He could see her long dark hair and those beautiful blue eyes. It pained him to think of her alone. He knew that Liam would look after her, and there was a small consolation in that. He vowed as he traveled that as soon as he was able, he would find a way to get home.

“Ryder.” Nazeem’s voice brought him out of his daydreaming and back to the painful reality of climbing up the mountain pass.

“Yes.”

“Why do you think the guards were carrying so much treasure?”

Ryder hadn’t thought about it until the tattooed man pointed it out. “I’m not sure. Perhaps they intended to trade for something in Westgate.”

Nazeem nodded. “Yes, but they had all of us to trade. Had we made it there, they could have easily auctioned us for several thousand gold apiece.”

“So, they could have gotten a lot of money for us,” said Ryder, tugging at his torn pants, trying to make his journey just a little more comfortable. “Maybe they wanted something even more valuable than slaves.”

Nazeem shook his head. “In the Pirate Isles, few things are more valuable. The merchants in Westgate know this. It’s just a short trip out to the islands from their port. No, with that kind of money, Purdun could have purchased the fastest warship in the Shining Sea.” Nazeem chuckled. “In some places, he could have bought himself a small castle—or an army of mercenaries.”

Ryder looked at his companion. “How do you know all this?”

Nazeem smiled. “I am a criminal,” he said pointing at the tattoo on his forehead. “I know this sort of thing.”

Ryder pointed to his own forehead. “What does this mean?”

Nazeem rubbed the blue triangle with his index finger. “This is the mark they give you in Mezro when you break the law.”

“Mezro? You are Chultan then?”

Nazeem nodded. “Born and bred.”

“What were you doing all the way out in Erlkazar?”

Nazeem smiled. “I have told you this already. I was a smuggler.”

Ryder chuckled. “Yes, I know. But why did you leave Chult? Why go so far from home?”

“Mezro is a peaceful city. No one there even carries a weapon. If the undying Chosen of Ubtao catch you breaking the law, they brand you with this tattoo and throw you out of the city.” Nazeem’s smile faded. “I had to leave the Chultan peninsula in order to survive. No one will deal with you if you have been shamed by this mark. So I decided to go someplace where nobody knew or cared what it meant.”

The two men walked on for a while in silence. Then Ryder spoke up. “Nazeem?”

“Yes?”

“What was your crime?”

Nazeem seemed to think about the question for a moment. Then, “I killed a man.”

Ryder thought back on all of Lord Purdun’s guards he’d faced in hand to hand combat. Many of them had died by his hand. “Did he deserve it?”

Nazeem only nodded.

More or less, Nazeem’s story was the same as Ryder’s. He’d been thrown out of his home for committing what the baron considered to be a crime. Ryder didn’t see his actions as criminal. They were necessary. They were the means of a revolutionary. If his oppressor was going to slowly kill the citizens by taking their food and taxing their wages, then he would respond by killing them back.

The caravan came to a U-shaped bend in the road. The path led up north, farther into the mountains. The south side of the curve was defined by a forest of tall, prickly trees, each standing thirty or more feet tall. A pair of Broken Spear warriors stood in front of the trees, holding back the branches and ushering people single file through to the other side.

Nazeem went first. Ryder ducked his head and followed him through the foliage. There were several rows of these trees, and their branches were covered with long, needle-sharp thorns. At each new row of trees, another pair of Broken Spear warriors stood holding back the branches. The treacherous tunnel was difficult to navigate, made doubly so by Ryder’s limp, beaten body. More than once he felt his flesh tear as it caught on the thorns.

As Ryder finally came out of the trees to stand next to Nazeem, he straightened his back and found himself looking up at a huge multitiered stone palace, seemingly carved right into the side of the mountain.

“Gods,” said Ryder under his breath.

“Giants,” corrected a voice.

Ryder turned to see the young robed bandit leader standing beside him and Nazeem.

“Welcome to Fairhaven.” The robed leader pulled down the mask that covered his head, revealing long dark hair, mocha skin, and a smooth, hairless face. The leader of the bandits wasn’t a boy. “I’m Giselle.”

She extended her hand in greeting.

Ryder looked at Nazeem, then back at the lithe woman standing before him. There were women in the Crimson Awl. He’d fought beside them on many occasions. But none of them looked like Giselle. She was beautiful, and her eyes had a keen sharpness to them. It made Ryder feel as if she could anticipate his thoughts. The combination of these two things was so powerful that Ryder was at a loss for words.

She cocked her head to one side, looking from one man to the other. “Are you unfamiliar with this custom?” She reached out and took Ryder’s hand in hers, shaking it up and down. “Taking a proffered hand is a show of greetings and friendship.”

“Uh, yes, of course,” said Ryder, stuttering a bit. “I’m Ryder.”

Giselle smiled. “Nice to meet you, Ryder.” She let go of his hand and offered hers to Nazeem.

The Chultan took it and bowed his head. “They call me Nazeem.”

“A pleasure,” said Giselle. She turned to face the huge spiraling stone stairs that led up into the palace in front of them. “This used to be the home of a powerful stone giant clan. But it’s abandoned now, so the Broken Spear call it home.” She turned and headed for the huge, four-foot-tall steps.

Giselle put her fingers to her lips and let out a rolling whistle, as Ryder had seen her do after the battle on the plain. From high above came a response—a similar whistle but much lower pitched. A rope appeared from the second level of the palace, with something dangling from it. As it came closer to the ground, Ryder realized that the something was actually a pair of small ladders.

Giselle stepped forward and took them off the rope, then gave it a quick tug. The rope shot back up into the sky.

“Come,” she said, waving for them to follow. “It’s not much farther.” Placing the first ladder against the stone, she climbed to the next step.

Liam drifted in and out of consciousness. The only hint that time was passing in the dark, foul-smelling dungeon was the slow drip of water, the occasional exploratory scratching of the rodents, and the rumbling of his empty stomach. He’d been down in the dungeon for what must have been several days. To Liam, it felt like more than a month. His arms and legs were chained to the wall, and though he had enough slack to move around, there was nowhere for him to go. Even if there were, the room was in complete darkness.

So Liam had taken to sitting on the floor against the wall, trying to sleep just to pass the time. With no light and consumed by absolute boredom, it wasn’t hard to drift off into blissful nothingness. But it was difficult to stay there.

The hard stone was cold and it dug into his flesh. He would wake up what seemed like every few moments with a new pain in his neck or side or back. And he would shiver.