Master of Chains (13 page)

The big man lunged, eating up two of Ryder’s backward paces with one of his own. He came on with his heavy cleaver, swinging it as effortlessly as though it were nothing more than an extension of his own hand.

Ryder jumped back and brought his arm around reflexively. The chain swung slowly through the air, and the taskmaster bashed it aside with a quick blow. The chain clanked back, jerking Ryder’s arm with it, and he stumbled sideways.

The taskmaster retaliated with his whip, catching Ryder on the chest and shoulder. The strike burned his skin and tore his gray tunic. But more than anything, it infuriated Ryder. The last time the taskmaster hit him with his whip, Ryder had been bound, unable to fight back. This time, things were different. Ryder was free to take control of his own destiny, and he intended to do just that. Gritting his teeth and forcing the pain from his mind, Ryder spun around, accelerating as he went. The chain rose into the air, carried by his body’s momentum. At the end of the spin, a bit disoriented, he raised his arm and lunged toward Cobblepot’s head. The heavy cuff slammed against the taskmaster’s ear, dropping the big man to one knee.

Cobblepot let out a yell, dropped his cleaver, and lifted his hand to the side of his head. When he pulled it away, it too, just like the rest of his body, was covered with blood. This time, however, it was his own.

Ryder fell back, trying to catch his balance, keeping the bare-chested man in front of him.

Cobblepot looked up from his place on one knee. “I’ll get you for that.”

Standing up, he cracked his whip, snapping it forward and back. Pop, pop, pop, pop. The whip sang through the air. The taskmaster began to advance.

Ryder swung the chain, the whistling sound of air rushing through the links growing with each circle it made over his head. He held his ground as the big man charged.

The whip snapped as it came for his face. Ryder dodged to the left and ducked. The whip caught him on the top of his head, making a painful crack as it connected. But it didn’t stop Ryder’s advance. He lunged forward, sending the chain out at Cobblepot’s ankles. The cuff wrapped around the big man’s leg and the chain made a full loop, flopping over and tangling itself on its own links—just as Ryder had hoped it would.

Dropping to his knees, Ryder leaned back with all his weight, pulling the chain toward him with every last ounce of strength he had left.

The move caught the taskmaster off guard, and Ryder managed to pull the man’s legs out from under him. Cobblepot swung his arms in wide circles, trying to stay upright, but all that did was prolong his fall. The taskmaster landed on his back, sending up a huge plume of dust from the dry plain. Ryder immediately jumped to his feet, the chain on his arm still entangled around the taskmaster’s leg. Turning a quick circle to give himself as much slack as he could, Ryder lifted his foot in the air and came down on Cobblepot’s head with the heel of his boot.

The big man let out a howl, his whole body convulsing from the blow, and he pulled his hands to his face. The chain around his leg pulled taut, yanking Ryder back. He stumbled to his knees, but the sight of his torturer lying there on the ground drove him on. He leaped to his feet and came at the man again.

Ryder brought his foot up, this time stomping harder. His heel landed against Cobblepot’s hands, smashing them into his face. Blood poured out from behind his fingers, and the taskmaster shook, his body twitching. Ryder repeated his attack, nearly losing his balance with the momentum of his foot.

His boot connected with a loud snap, and the front of Cobblepot’s face collapsed. Ryder’s boot heel sank deeper than he had expected it to, and a jolt of fear and exhilaration ran up his spine. The taskmaster screamed and started to thrash. Ryder was thrown to the ground.

The chain, still tangled around Cobblepot’s leg, pulled at Ryder’s arm, yanking him around like a dog on a leash. He tried to get closer, to loosen the slack, but the big man was thrashing so hard, there just weren’t enough links in the chain. Struggling to his feet, Ryder changed his approach. Risking being pummeled to death by Cobblepot’s flailing boots, he looped his arm forward and around, trying to shake the chain free.

Cobblepot sat up and lunged forward, pulling both hands away from his face to grab at Ryder. The piggish man had been ugly before, but now he was downright hideous. His nose had been completely caved in. Instead of a protruding ridge, there was a deep recess. Blood flowed from the wound, spraying out in speckled drops with each labored breath.

The rest of the taskmaster’s face had shifted, filling in the gap where his nose had been. Where before the cartilage had held the skin taut, it had now gone slack. Large wrinkles of flesh gathered across his cheeks and forehead. It looked to Ryder as if the man’s face was now longer, thinner. His eye sockets were closer together, and his gaze seemed to wander, his eyeballs shaking as they tried to focus.

Ryder easily pulled away from Cobblepot’s grasping hands. The man reached, then reached again, as if trying to catch an elusive butterfly. His clumsiness was only accentuated by the agility of his prey. For a moment, Ryder felt pity for the man. Sitting there, bathed in his own blood, the onetime tormentor of men looked like a newborn baby, unable to defend himself against the dangers of the world.

With his arms in the air, the taskmaster’s legs had momentarily stilled, and Ryder took advantage of it. Untangling the shackles from the big man’s leg, he took several steps back and breathed. He was tired, perhaps more so than he’d ever been in his entire life. Turning around, he looked out to see the rest of the battle.

Huge dust clouds rose off the plain. The bandits’ horses kicked the dirt into the air as they rode circles around the surrounded guardsmen. There were screams and the other telltale sounds of battle, and Ryder couldn’t get a good sense of what was happening.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of something moving in on him. Leaping back without knowing for certain what was coming, Ryder threw himself to the dirt.

He didn’t see much more.

“Now it’s my turn.” The taskmaster grabbed him by the throat, lifting Ryder from the ground.

Ryder was shocked at how fast the big man had gotten to his feet. He clawed at Cobblepot’s hands and kicked at the ground with the tips of his toes as he dangled from the big man’s grasp.

“I’m going to break your neck.” The taskmaster began to squeeze Ryder’s throat.

Ryder struggled as best he could, but there was little he could do. Cobblepot was much stronger, and even beating on the big man’s hands had little effect. Ryder’s vision blurred and blood filled his head. The pressure built until it felt as though the whole thing would pop off.

Into his field of view came the form of a man. His arms were bare and his chest was covered with gray cloth. Over his head he carried what appeared to be a large rock. The man closed on the taskmaster, and Ryder caught sight of his face—and the tattoo on his forehead.

Nazeem’s feet came off the ground as he hit the taskmaster in the head. Ryder could feel the shock of the blow course through Cobblepot’s grip around his neck. The big man jerked, then seemed to relax.

Ryder pulled free of Cobblepot’s chokehold and fell gasping to the ground.

The taskmaster staggered a step, his upper body swaying. He put his hand on the back of his head and turned around to look at Nazeem. As he did, Ryder could see the oozing wound the rock had made. Both the front and the back of his skull were caved in. Blood ran freely down his chest and back. He took one more step toward Nazeem, then collapsed to the ground in a puff of dust.

“Are you all right?” Nazeem came to Ryder’s side, grabbed hold of his arm, and helped him to his feet.

Ryder shook his head to clear it. “I’ll be fine.” He looked the tattooed man in the eye. “Thank you.”

Nazeem smiled, bowing his head. “I am sure you would do the same for me.”

A loud hoot came from behind both men, and they spun toward the sound. Ryder grabbed hold of the chain on his wrist and dropped into a crouch, prepared to start swinging.

As the dust settled, Ryder could see men strewn all over the ground. Some of them wore gray tunics. Others wore the dusky robes of the sand bandits. But most of them Ryder recognized as Purdun’s men.

The fight was over. The bandits had won. They stood on top of the carriage, holding up handfuls of gold and bolts of silk cloth. Others sat on their horses shaking their clubs, swords, and crossbows in the air. Many of the freed prisoners joined them in the revelry.

Nazeem put his hand on Ryder’s shoulder. “I think you can relax.”

Ryder straightened, still gripping the chain. “Can I?”

The young man who had freed Ryder from his bonds stood on the back of a horse, shaking his fist in the air. He put his fingers to his lips and let out a shrill, rolling whistle. All of the bandits immediately stopped their celebrating.

“This has been a fine victory for the Broken Spear,” he said in his high, adolescent voice.

The bandits let out a joyous cheer.

“And we have liberated many from their oppressive bonds!”

This got a cheer out of many of the freed prisoners.

Ryder, however, kept his mouth shut.

“Gather all you can carry; we make for Fairhaven.”

The bandits went to work immediately, packing up the riches from the looted carriage and picking through the belongings of the fallen guardsmen.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” said Ryder.

“You feel bad about being freed?”

Ryder shook his head. “No, it is good to be free.” He looked at the tattooed man. “I just don’t know if we should trust these men. Perhaps we should just slip away and head back to Duhlnarim.”

Nazeem shrugged. “They did not want us in Duhlnarim.”

Ryder shrugged. “I have family there. We would be safe among people we could trust. We’d have time to take some rest.” He leaned in close to Nazeem’s ear. “Come back with me. You could become one of the Crimson Awl. Help us overthrow Purdun.”

“The revolutionary spirit lives strong in you.” Nazeem smiled. “But we are thirty days’ march from your home. We have no food or water. And you are covered from head to toe in bruises.” He looked out at the bandits as they prepared to leave. “As much as I would like to get my revenge on the dog Purdun for placing me in chains, I think we need time to recover our strength.”

Ryder looked around. None of the bandits were paying any attention to him. He could easily just turn and walk toward home.

“There will be plenty of time to achieve your revolution after you have healed. Purdun will still be there when you return. And if he is not, then so much the better.”

The bandits were nearly ready to leave. They had packed their horses and were gathering up the freed prisoners. The young man who apparently led the bandits looked right at Nazeem and Ryder.

He raised his hands to his mouth and shouted, “Come, it is time to leave. We have food and shelter for you in our camp, just east of here. You will be safe with us in the Giant’s Run Mountains.”

Ryder looked again at the road that led back to Duhlnarim. He felt Nazeem’s hand on his shoulder.

“My friend, you will never make it,” said the tattooed man. “A wise revolutionary is one who lives to fight another day. Better to delay your return than to never return at all. I do not think it would be wise for you to go back to Duhlnarim just yet. But if you are going to go, you must do so now.”

Samira was down that road, waiting for him. It pained Ryder to think about what she must be going through. Every moment he delayed his return would only extend that agony.

“Only a few more days,” he said softly. Then he turned around and headed with Nazeem toward the waiting bandits.

“I know you might think me cruel, but I do the things I do for the safety of the barony,” explained Lord Purdun. “Sometimes they might seem harsh, but there are things at stake here greater than personal freedom.”

Liam was seated on one of the many couches in the baron’s sitting room. He laughed. “Spoken like a true dictator.”

“I apologize for having you followed like that,” said the baron, standing up from one of the plush upholstered chairs. “But I’m sure you would agree, all is fair in these sorts of situations.”

Liam spat in Purdun’s face.

Purdun slowly wiped the gob off his cheek.

Liam smirked. “All’s fair, right?”

Baron Purdun lifted a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and wiped the mucus off his hand. “You don’t have any idea what sort of forces you are dealing with.”

“I know enough of how you’ve treated my family and the villagers of Duhlnarim,” said Liam. “I know enough to want you out of power. And, yes, I have a real good idea of what you and your men are capable of. I’ve witnessed it firsthand.”

Purdun shook his head. “I’m not talking about my elite guard, and I’m not talking about the Crimson Awl.”

Liam wrinkled his forehead. “What are you babbling about, Purdun? I’m getting tired of your games.”

The baron clenched his teeth, visibly trying to maintain his patience. “Listen, Liam. The members of the Crimson Awl aren’t what they seem.”

“Why should I believe you? Why should I believe anything you say to me? You used me. You picked me up and brought me here to try to discredit me. You used me as bait to get at the Awl. You put my family in jeopardy, and you destroyed my life.”

“I understand you’re angry,” said Purdun, “But you should be thankful I didn’t throw you in the dungeon for ambushing my carriage.”

This didn’t make Liam feel any better about the situation.

The baron continued. “Think about the meeting at Dowmore Glen. Were there any new people there? Anyone who wasn’t already part of the Awl?”

Liam thought back on the group of hooded strangers he’d seen watching the proceedings. “No,” he lied.

Purdun shook his head. “Come now. Think hard. Did no one seem out of place?”

Liam narrowed his eyes. “What are you getting at?”

“The Awl is being manipulated by an outside power.” Purdun said, slightly exasperated. “Someone who has reason to see me removed from power.”