Master of Chains (20 page)

The undead giants went silent, turning away from the now-ruined statue they had just pummeled.

Nazeem ducked into the shadows, crouching down and loading a stone into his sling. Ryder pulled himself up close to the carved giant, trying to stay out of sight.

The giants came up to the loose statue, circling around as they had with each of the others. The largest of the group came around to the front, dragging its club. The other two swung around, moving behind the statue, right in front of Nazeem.

This close, Ryder could smell the creatures’ rotting flesh. It turned his stomach, and a quick wave of nausea flushed through him. Steeling himself, Ryder fought back the impulse to toss up whatever was in his stomach.

Eying the statue, the big giant lifted its club into the air.

Ryder dashed out of his hiding place and behind the biggest giant. When he ran out of chain, he yanked as hard as he could. The statue shifted and teetered.

Confused, the undead giant shifted his gaze between Ryder and the statue, ready to smash one or the other with his club.

That’s what Ryder had been hoping for, and he leaned back, putting his legs into his pull. The stone made a terrific grinding sound as its cracked base gave way. It slipped, and the statue toppled toward the undead giant. The creature let out a roar and swung its club at the falling carving. The heavy maul collided with the stone, smashing the statue’s head as it fell. Despite the accurate blow of his club, the lumbering undead monster wasn’t fast enough to get out of the way.

The statue smashed into the giant’s chest and left shoulder, the head of the stone spear sinking into its rubbery flesh and shattering as it tore through. The undead giant’s left arm was torn from its body and the flesh made a soft splashing sound as it hit the paving stones and splattered into a viscous puddle. The rock it had been holding in its left hand bounced once, sending up a puff of dry dust, then lay motionless on the ground.

The giant’s torn shoulder wept a runny black fluid. The undead creature stared down at the stump. Then it growled and turned its gaze down on Ryder, standing at its feet.

The statue rolled a bit as it settled into its new place on the ground, making a sound not unlike that of the giants talking. Ryder tried to unhitch his chain as the statue came to a rest, but it was wrapped firmly under the statue’s heavy arm. The undead giant in front of him reeked of rotten flesh, and Ryder breathed through his mouth to avoid gagging on the smell. The stench was so foul, he swore he could taste it.

On the opposite side of the plinth, the other two giants let out grinding growls, then shuffled toward Ryder.

The one-armed leader swung its club. The swing was slow but mighty. Ryder ducked, dodging a blow that would have caved in his skull. He could feel the wind behind it ruffle his hair as the head of the weapon slipped past. The giant’s heavy club slammed into the fallen statue, and the stone giant exploded into dozens of sharp fragments—releasing Ryder’s chain.

Ryder stood up and darted to his right, coming at the giant from its armless side. Then he swung his chain at the undead giant. The cuff slapped against the creature’s calf, tearing a large chunk out and sending the rotting flesh flying off into the night. The giant growled and swung its club again. Ryder stumbled, just barely able to get out of the way before the club smashed into the ground right where he had been standing.

Dropping to one knee, Ryder used the ground to steady himself, and he hurled the end of his shackles at the giant. The cuff wrapped around one leg, hitching itself on the links of the chain—not what he had been trying to do.

With the chain wrapped around the giant’s leg, he had little choice but to try to pull the brute off its feet. He leaned back and put his back into it. The leg didn’t budge. The giant was just too strong.

The giant brought his club down toward the kneeling human. Not letting go of his chain, Ryder dropped to his belly and rolled to his right. Dust flew as the creature’s weapon slammed into the dirt.

Getting to his feet, Ryder pulled the chain again. It still didn’t move, and he cursed, wishing he had a sword instead of his rusting, ruined set of shackles.

The other two giants finally made their way over to their leader. They encircled Ryder, surrounding him with their bulk, their clubs raised and ready.

“I could use a little help here,” said Ryder through gritted teeth. He gave the chain one last hard yank. It drew taut, but the giant attached to the other end held firm.

The two new giants swung down on him at the same time. Ryder had nowhere to go, and he didn’t even have time to get out of the way. He flinched back, reacting on instinct.

The two clubs crossed in midair, just missing their target and slamming into the chain instead. Alone, Ryder had not been strong enough to pull the undead giant leader from his feet, but with the help of the other two

The chain slammed to the ground under the tremendous blow. Ryder was thrown forward, his chest flying into the crossed clubs, knocking the wind from his lungs and his chain from his hand. On the other end of the chain, the giant’s leg was yanked out from under it, and the creature toppled backward. With a great roar, the beast fell back onto the jagged stone fragments of the shattered statue, and the giant was impaled a dozen times on the pointy shards.

The creature tried to regain its feet, but the heavy stones through its back held it pinned down, and it thrashed against its gruesome imprisonment. The violent movement shifted the broken boulder-sized stones back and forth inside its body, tearing the rancid flesh from the creature’s bones.

The monster struggled for a moment more and let out one last grinding noise. Then its body went limp, and it slipped into death once again.

One moment, Ryder lay atop a pair of clubs, looking up at the two remaining undead giants. The next, he was flying through the air, hurled toward the broken gate of Fairhaven. His arms and legs flailed as he fell through empty space. Then he came crashing down, tumbling as he landed. The back of his skull slammed into the base of another statue just a few steps from the painted wall of the palace.

Ryder saw stars, and his head exploded in pain. His eyes teared up, and he could hardly open them. It hurt too much to focus on anything, and when he tried to stand up, his stomach would pitch and yaw.

Ryder managed to get to his knees, and he placed his forehead in the cool dirt. “Dear Ilmater, make it stop.”

The sound of lumbering footsteps forced Ryder to open his eyes again. Though his head felt as if it might split open, his vision had cleared enough for him to see the giants closing in. Through sheer force of will, he managed to get to his feet.

Unarmed, wounded, nearly blind, and with a pair of undead giants charging down on him, Ryder teetered on uneasy legs. To his left was the entrance to Fairhaven. Giselle and the Broken Spear waited there for the first giant to pass through. If he could only make it to that gate, he’d have a chance.

Ryder turned and started to run toward the opening, but the ground seemed to shift, and his legs felt as if they were made of warm candle wax. His knees buckled, and he had to put his hand down to keep from falling again. Though he was no longer nauseous, he was still in bad shape.

The undead giants reached him in just a few steps, and Ryder made one last attempt to dart away. His feet crossed, and he got tangled. With tremendous effort, he remained upright, but he was once again standing under the glowering glares of two undead giants.

There was a flash of light and suddenly a figure appeared next to Ryder. He shied back, not sure what he was seeing. The fighter from Duhlnarim blinked and did a double take. There, standing beside Ryder was … another Ryder? He rubbed his eyes. Was he really seeing this?

The second Ryder saluted the first then drew a sword from a scabbard on his belt. He ran right up to the two remaining undead giants, waving his sword, and shouted, “Over here, you big louts!”

The giants swung their clubs at him, but the sword-wielding Ryder managed to dodge out of the way.

“That the best you can do?” he taunted. Then he ran around behind the two lumbering monstrosities.

The undead giants turned to face the new Ryder.

“Psst. Ryder,” came a voice from above.

Ryder looked up. He could just make out Curtis’s head sticking out over the edge of the palace wall.

“Ryder,” he called. “Hurry through the gate. The illusion won’t last forever.”

Ryder looked back at the giants and the illusionary version of himself. Guess the skinny man knew more than a few parlor tricks.

Ryder turned and ran unsteadily through the broken gate to Fairhaven. He was attacked the moment his foot crossed the threshold, and he landed on the ground, chest first.

“Hold,” whispered Giselle. “It’s only Ryder.”

A pair of Broken Spear warriors got up off the downed fighter.

“Thanks,” said Ryder as he got back to his feet, “you really go the extra step to make a person feel welcome.”

Giselle stepped right into his face. “So much for the plan.”

Ryder dusted himself off. “We had no choice. They were going to find us, so we improvised.”

“And where’s Nazeem?”

Ryder spun around to look out on to the path leading away from the gate. “Hells. He’s still out there.”

“We’ll be riding out a communique for Baron Purdun to King Korox of Erlkazar,” explained Captain Beetlestone. “The road will be treacherous, and we expect resistance either from the Awl—”

Liam squirmed a little when he said this.

“—or from another source.”

“Sir?” One of the other soldiers stood up from his chair.

“Yes, Buckwald?” acknowledged Beetlestone.

“Another source?”

The captain took a deep breath, looking at each of the soldiers around the table. All of them belonged to the unit that reported directly to Beetlestone. He was going to be leading this mission, and none of the other troops in the baron’s army would accompany them.

He nodded. “There have been an alarming number of scouting reports recently about an incursion of the walking dead in the region surrounding Duhlnarim, particularly in the areas near Dajaan and along Shalane Lake.”

Though no one spoke, Liam could feel the room tense. They would no doubt be headed to Klarsamryn, the king’s stronghold in Llorbauth. The road to the capital ran parallel to Shalane Lake almost the entire way.

“If there are no other questions,” said Beetlestone, “then we will mount up and head out immediately.” The captain placed his hands behind his back, waiting.

The room remained silent.

“Very well, then,” he said. “To the stables.”

The soldiers all stood and filed out of the briefing room. Outside, the sun was just coming up.

The stables had been a late addition to the north end of Zerith Hold. It was attached to a special holding cell used to deal with large groups of prisoners. The dungeon in the Hold wasn’t very large, so long-term criminals were moved to other facilities. Or so Liam was told.

The stable boy brought the soldiers’ horses into the courtyard. The young man approached Liam and handed him the reins of a beautiful brown mare.

“This one’s yours,” said the youth.

Liam took the reins. “Thank you.” He’d never had a horse of his own. And this one was magnificent. Tall and lean, it was a young horse in its prime. It had been well cared for, and its eyes were bright and clear.

“Hello, there,” he said, running his hand along the horse’s mane.

The horse let out a whiny.

“Liam,” shouted Captain Beetlestone.

Liam looked up from the horse to see that all the other soldiers were already mounted and ready to ride.

“Do you know how to ride, son?” asked the captain.

Liam placed his left foot in the stirrup and swung himself up onto the horse’s back in a single fluid motion. Once he was situated, he turned and saluted the captain. “Yes, Captain.”

Beetlestone smirked. “Very good.” He turned his horse and headed toward the gate out of Zerith Hold. “Let’s ride.”

The gate opened, and the soldiers filed out of the courtyard. They fell into line, two abreast, and headed down the cobbled path, the horses’ hooves clanking on the stone.

Liam rode beside a gray-haired man. Though he didn’t appear to be too old, his skin was beginning to wrinkle on his forehead and below his eyes. He had an easy confidence about him that put Liam at ease. The man smiled when he saw Liam looking at him.

“The name’s Knoblauch.” The veteran soldier touched his helm in a familiar greeting, one Liam had seen other soldiers use with each other.

“Liam,” he replied, repeating the gesture.

The older man nodded. “I know who you are.”

Liam shrugged. He didn’t know how the old man was going to react to him. Judging from the way Captain Phinneous had responded, he didn’t want to make any assumptions. So he kept his mouth shut.

Knoblauch must have sensed Liam’s reservations. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I hold no grudges.”

“That’s good to know,” replied Liam.

“In fact,” the veteran leaned in his saddle closer to Liam, lowering his voice, “Captain paired me with you as a precaution. Asked me to look after you, make sure none of the other men got any wrong ideas.”

“Oh,” said Liam, “aren’t you the martyr.”

“Well,” said Knoblauch, sitting up as he rode, “if you’re going to be like that about it.”

Liam sighed. “I apologize. It’s just that things have been pretty rough for me the past few months.”

Knoblauch gave Liam a knowing nod. “I’ll bet.”

The two men rode on quietly into late morning. In the silence, Liam mulled over all the thoughts Knoblauch could be having about him. What if their roles were reversed?

“Hey, Knoblauch,” Liam said after some time, “can I ask you a question?”

The veteran nodded. “Yeah.”

“Did you ever fight the Crimson Awl?”

Knoblauch squirmed a bit in his saddle. Then he nodded. “Yes.”

Liam felt a chill run down his spine and a knot formed in his stomach. He steeled himself then asked his next question. “Did you ever kill any?”