Master of Chains (4 page)

Ryder spun around, knowing his little brother had been hit. “Liam!”

Liam pulled his arm in toward his side, trying to minimize the pain, but in doing so, opened up his back. Two of the guardsmen lunged at the same time, taking advantage of his exposed body. Liam swung down with his right hand, trying to parry, but his wounded arm slowed him down.

Both blades came in, slipping past his defense.

Liam tightened his gut, preparing for pain. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Ryder’s sword. It came out of nowhere, a silvery flash that caught one guardsman across the forearm and slapped aside the other’s blade. With his off hand, Ryder shoved Liam out of the circle.

Liam stumbled forward, crashing into the guard he’d already injured. The two of them fell to the ground. Liam tucked his sword up tight against his body as they tumbled across the dirt. When they came to a stop, he rolled forward with all of his might, pushing away from the soldier. He somersaulted twice then leaped to his feet, twenty paces from where he had begun. The guard’s heavier armor had weighed him down, and he struggled to get up from his back like an upside-down turtle.

“Run, Liam!”

Liam looked back at his brother. Ryder was surrounded by four guards with no one watching his back. He turned a quick circle, brandishing his blade to keep the guardsmen at bay.

Liam took two steps toward his brother.

“Watch out,” shouted Ryder.

Liam looked down just in time to see the injured guardsman on the ground swing at his ankles. He leaped into the air, jumping over the blade. Coming down on the prone soldier, he drove the tip of his long sword through the man’s helm, pinning his head to the ground.

Putting his boot on the fallen soldier’s shoulder, Liam pulled his weapon from the ruined skull then turned to help his brother. Ryder lunged at one guard just as another lunged at him. His blade hit its mark, driving deep into the soldier’s neck. But the guardsman’s blade also struck home, slicing Ryder across the belly.

“Ryder!” Liam broke into a run.

Ryder dropped to one knee, his left arm holding his stomach, his hand covered in blood. He gazed down at the wound in his belly then up at Liam. He looked so sad, so scared, like a lost child. Liam had never seen his brother like that, and it sent a shiver down his spine.

Liam skidded to a stop.

“Run, Liam,” said Ryder, his voice raspy and strained. He pointed away from the carriage with his chin. “Go.” Then he turned his attention back to Lord Purdun’s elite guardsmen.

Liam was frozen in place, unable to move. He just stood there, watching his brother’s blood spill to the ground.

Ryder couldn’t stand, but he held the remaining three guardsmen at bay from his knees. He swung his long sword in a wide arc, then jabbed at them with the sharp tip. Each strike was accompanied by another splash of Ryder’s blood. The ground was painted with the stuff.

The guards took a large step back, and Ryder turned to look at Liam.

“Look after Samira. Tell her I love her.”

With Ryder’s attention turned away, the biggest of the three guardsmen charged forward.

The blood in Liam’s veins ran cold. “Ryder, look out!”

“Run, Liam.” Ryder turned and brought his blade up into the guard’s gut.

The big man let out a screech as he impaled himself. Ryder held the hilt of his sword as best as he could, but the guardsman in all his armor was just too heavy, and the soldier fell forward, smothering Ryder.

For a moment, every inch of Liam’s body tingled. It was as if he were trying to fight against the forward movement of time, and it tore at his skin. This was the moment in which he would lose his brother. This was the moment of his greatest failure, and he desperately wanted to go back, to stop everything before this instant, to replay the moments of his life over and over again, always stopping before he reached this part.

Four more soldiers came around the back of the carriage.

Liam stood there stunned, the fibers of his body struggling to keep him rooted in time—but it was no use. This was a fight he could not win.

The other guards wasted no time, charging in, stabbing at Ryder’s prone body. Liam winced, the wounds of his brother stinging doubly for Liam. He wished desperately that it could be him lying there on the ground. He wished he could trade places with his brother, take his place under the killing blows of the guardsmen.

His face grew hot, and he began to see red. This trap was yet further proof of the treachery of Lord Purdun.

Liam’s lip curled up into a sneer. His body was steeled by the hatred and pain now coursing through his body. The baron would pay for this. But first, his guardsmen would all be sent to Hell. Liam lifted his sword.

“Liam…” came a strangled voice.

It was Kharl. The young man was still alive, but he was bleeding from a large wound in his side.

“Liam, please help me.”

Liam looked back at Ryder. His brother had stopped moving. He lay on the ground, his torso bent back over his heels and his hand still clutching the hilt of his sword. The big guardsman lay on top of him, impaled on the tip of his blade. The fury that had momentarily taken hold of Liam suddenly fled. His hatred turned to sadness, and his arms felt tired and weak.

“I’ll tell her,” he said. “I’ll make sure she knows.”

With what little strength remained in his body, Liam turned away from his brother and helped Kharl up from the ground. With the young man’s arm over his shoulder, Liam took off into the forest, leaving the carriage and the bodies of the other six men behind.

Kharl groaned as his weight settled against a large tree. He was bleeding from a jagged cut down the right side of his ribcage and a puncture wound in his thigh.

Liam peered out around the tree, watching for Lord Purdun’s guardsmen, but the only things behind them were more trees and the memories of what had just happened.

“Who else?”

Liam looked down at Kharl. “What?”

“Who else escaped?”

Liam shook his head. “Just us.”

Kharl lowered his head, his chin touching his chest, and sobbed. “I knew it. I knew this was a bad idea.”

Liam shook his head. “Someone set us up. They knew about our plans.”

Kharl ignored him. “What were we thinking? How can we ever beat Purdun? All this revolution, all this freedom for the people of Duhlnarim, is just going to get us killed.” Kharl slid down the tree to the ground, his chest quivering and his sobs cutting off his words. “Damn … Purdun… Damn… Ryder… Damn… you Liam…”

Liam dropped into a crouch, grabbing Kharl by the shoulders and looking him in the eyes. “Pull yourself together.” He shook the young man. “I know you’re scared, but pull yourself together. Ryder is dead, all right. Do you hear me? Dead!” He let go of Kharl. “And I won’t have you damning him now.”

Kharl lowered his eyes, covering his face with his hands as he continued to cry. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I just want this to be over.”

Liam wanted to comfort the young man, but the image of his brother collapsing under the falling guardsman played over in his mind. The heavy pang of guilt that he felt over not being able to save him pushed to the surface. The pain inside welled up and began to boil, a deep ache that grew from the very center of his chest and spread out to squeeze his stomach, arms, and throat. It threatened to strangle him, and for a moment, Liam wished it would.

He stood up, shouting at Kharl. “You knew what you were getting into. You knew the consequences.”

The young man looked shocked. He stopped crying, stunned at Liam’s quick turn.

“Ryder knew it too. He knew this could happen, and he chose to go through with it anyway.”

Kharl looked to the ground, remaining quiet.

Liam stared down at the young man for a long time, not saying a word. Then, finally, “What you do with the rest of your life is up to you. But I’ll continue to fight Purdun until they pry my sword from my cold, dead hand.” He turned away from Kharl and headed through Furrowsrich village toward his brother’s house. “I will not let Ryder’s sacrifice be in vain.”

Liam knocked on the heavy wooden door. He didn’t know what he was going to say. He didn’t know how to make the news any easier. Hells, he was in shock himself. Not long ago he’d left his brother’s dead body lying under a dying guardsman.

Samira opened the door. She smiled, looking relieved. “Liam.” She wrapped her arms around him in a warm hug. “Thank the gods you made it back safely.”

Liam felt his heart sink into his belly. Nothing could have made what he had to say any harder.

Except that.

He tried to raise his arms to return the embrace, but they rebelled against him. Nothing would work the way it was supposed to. He stood motionless, stiff as a board, with his brother’s wife’s arms around him.

Samira must have felt it because she pushed herself away in a hurry. “Where’s Ryder?”

Tears welled up in his eyes.

“Liam,” she said, the high pitch of desperation entering her voice, “where is Ryder?”

“He’s gone.” Liam began to sob just like Kharl had sitting under the tree. “He fell trying to give me a chance to escape.”

“No.” Her voice pleaded with him. “No. No. No. He’s not gone. He can’t be gone.” She gripped his arms and shook him. “Tell me where he is. Tell me he’s coming back.”

Liam stared at the dirt in front of the doorway. He couldn’t look Samira in the eye. Instead, he watched his tears as they fell to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He gathered the courage to look up at his brother’s widow. She was trying to hold herself together, but her face was dark, streaked with the lines of pain that he felt deep inside. “Ryder is dead.”

Liam watched as her last bit of strength fled. Samira’s anguish overtook her entire face, and her knees went weak. Liam caught her before she hit the ground, and she collapsed into him, her head falling to his shoulder.

Liam held her up, squeezing her sobbing body against his. She was so soft, so clean, and so without fault. He felt dirty and ruined, as if the events of the day had somehow changed him, made him less of an honest man and more of an evil one. Her pain only served to amplify his own. It was his fault his brother had been killed. It was his fault Samira was now alone.

He stood there in the doorway for a moment longer, trying to let the wave of sorrow and guilt wash over and pass.

It never did.

Liam took Samira inside, closing the door behind him.

“What happened?”

Liam looked up from his load. “Mother? What are you doing here?”

The gray-haired woman stood up from the kitchen table where she had been sitting. “I came to talk to Samira about Ryder’s birthday,” she said in a huff, crossing the room to lay her hand on Samira’s forehead. “What happened? And where’s Ryder?”

Liam carried Samira across the room and placed her on the bed. She clung to his neck, continuing to sob.

His mother grabbed him by the arm. “Liam, answer me. What happened?”

Liam disentangled himself from his brother’s widow and turned to look down on his aging mother. He remembered what she had looked like when he was a child. Her curly locks had been a beautiful auburn. Her skin had been smooth and tan. Now, though, her bushel of hair was a salt-and-pepper gray, and her skin had bunched up in folds and wrinkles, transforming into a soft, pale whiteness.

“Liam.” She shook him. “Liam. What’s wrong with you?”

Liam looked her in the eyes. The same sadness that had consumed him upon seeing Samira at the door welled up again.

“Ryder’s gone.”

“I know that,” she said, miffed. “But when is he going to be back?”

Liam put his arms around her. “He’s not coming back, mother. Ryder is dead.”

“What? Dead?” His mother shook her head. “What are you talking about? He can’t be dead. Where is he?” She squeezed his arm tighter. “Stop fooling around and tell me what’s going on here.”

Liam took a deep breath. “Ryder and I ambushed a carriage today … a carriage from Zerith Hold.” Liam stuttered a bit, not really wanting to recount the story. He already knew his mother’s reaction. “It was… it was one of Lord Purdun’s carriages. We were only after a letter, a treaty that was to be signed by High Watcher Laxaella Bronshield, the Baroness of Tanistan. But the carriage was a setup. We were attacked by more than a dozen of Purdun’s elite guards.”

“But why?” His mother held her hands to her face.

“Ryder and I are… were part of the local resistance.”

His mother let go of his arms. “The Crimson Awl? All those stories about bandits robbing Lord Purdun’s coaches and mercenaries roaming around attacking his guardsmen … that was you? Liam, why?”

“Because we had to,” said Liam. “Lord Purdun is an evil, evil man. He takes our crops, taxes our livelihoods, and imposes unfair laws.” Liam had endured arguments with his mother on the topic before. They had never seen eye to eye. “But more importantly, he was in the process of putting together a treaty that could have ruined everything we’ve worked for, perhaps irrevocably.” Liam took a breath, holding up his hand to keep his place, making sure his mother didn’t butt in, as she was wont to do.

“The Awl is not a large organization,” he continued. “We are all farmers or craftsmen. We don’t have the means to fight a large-scale war. We’ve made progress against Baron Purdun and his guardsmen. Their numbers dwindle, and they have trouble recruiting new members. The people of Ahlarkham believe in what we are fighting for, and they refuse to help Purdun keep us down. But if Tanistan sent men as well, all of the work we have done would be lost. All our sacrifices would have been in vain.”

“And what about Ryder’s sacrifice? Did he know about all of this?” his mother demanded.

Liam nodded. “Ryder was our leader. The organizer. He planned most of the raids, and I helped him.”

His mother suddenly got angry. “What has Lord Purdun ever done to you?” She hit him across the chest. “You and your foolish notions of right and wrong. How many times has your father told you to keep your nose out of the baron’s business? Now look at what you’ve gone and done. You’ve gotten your brother killed, haven’t you? And we’ll never get him back.” She began to cry. “This is all your fault, Liam. All your fault.”