Master of Chains (33 page)

Then a terrible chill ran up his spine. He did know this creature—this man. He was a farmer who had lived in Furrowsrich. He was a member of the Crimson Awl. As Ryder watched, the man opened his mouth, revealing long sharp fangs, and he tried to bite down on Liam.

What was happening here? This wasn’t right.

Liam had been telling the truth—the Awl had been infiltrated, or worse, sucked dry and turned into vampires. His brother had tried to tell him, but Ryder had been blinded by his jealousy and rage.

Sorrow filled Ryder’s chest. He had let these people in here, had let the vampires into Zerith Hold. Many men were going to die because of this, including his brother.

Truly, that was what Ryder had wanted when he escaped his bonds. He had stepped out of the dungeon with every intention of ending Liam’s life.

But he’d felt that way before, when they were children. He would get so mad at his younger brother that the urge to kill would well up inside him. It was the only power a younger brother had over his older sibling—the power to push him to the point of blinding rage faster than any other human could.

But every time, that rage passed. Ryder would always forgive Liam. This time was no exception. Liam was his younger brother, and if he was in trouble, it was Ryder who was going to get him out of it.

Gritting his teeth, Ryder charged forward, launching himself at Liam. With the vampire attached to his back, he crashed into his younger brother and the creature trying to bite his neck. Everyone tumbled, and for the next few instants, Liam, Ryder, and the two vampires were nothing more than a spinning pile of elbows, fangs, and chains.

When they came to a stop, Ryder leaped to his feet, grabbed Liam by the arm, and lifted him as well.

Liam had lost his long sword in the tumble, and he pulled a shorter blade from his belt and pointed it at his brother.

Ryder held up his hands. “I’m sorry, Liam,” he said. “I don’t want to kill you.”

Liam grimaced. “Great,” he said, pointing over Ryder’s shoulder. “Because if you still did, the line forms over there.”

Ryder turned around to see more than a dozen vampires charging at the two of them. “Just like back in the old days,” he said as he slapped away the first attack with a chain. He could feel Liam’s back against his. “I’m afraid this is where we left off last time.”

The Crimson Awl surrounded Ryder and Liam, hissing as they closed the circle.

Captain Beetlestone spurred his horse on. It wasn’t far from the back entrance to the front gate of Zerith Hold, but the ride seemed to take an eternity.

Behind him, he heard the alarm bell toll. Under other circumstances, he would have turned back. But right now, there was nothing he could do to help those men. His baron was in jeopardy.

“Onward,” he shouted, pointing toward the front gate just to make sure the rest of his men knew his intentions. He didn’t look back. They would follow. They always did.

Reaching the northeast corner of the Hold, they made the turn around to the front of the fortress.

The Crimson Awl was nowhere to be seen.

Beetlestone relaxed. That’s right, he thought.

They fled before the arrows of the elite guards on the wall. He looked up to salute the archers who regularly guarded the entrance to Zerith Hold.

They were nowhere to be seen.

Now it was time to panic. If the guards had abandoned their posts, it could mean only one thing.

The Awl was already inside.

Kicking his horse again, Beetlestone tried to make his mount run faster. He wasn’t going to lose the baron, not this way. Reaching the drawbridge, he could see that the portcullis and the heavy wooden doors behind it were only partially open—just wide enough for them to sneak in single file. Pulling up on the reins, Beetlestone leaped from his horse.

“Dismount,” he shouted. “We go in on foot.”

The others soldiers in his unit followed his lead, unsheathing their swords as they hit the ground.

“That’ll be far enough,” came a voice.

Captain Beetlestone turned to look up at King Korox sitting on a magnificent black steed.

“Drop your weapons and give up your allegiance to Lord Purdun, and the Magistrates will go easy on you,” demanded the king.

Beetlestone stood firm, torn between his obligations to his baron and his king. Beside him, his men stood their ground, waiting for his order.

“I will not tell you again,” shouted the king. “Drop your weapons and bow before your king, or we will use force.”

Captain Beetlestone lowered his head in a simple bow. His hands were shaking. “I apologize, my liege,” he said. He could feel his palm sweat against the hilt of his sword as he thought on what he was about to do. “But I cannot abandon my baron in his time of need.” Then he turned and ran toward the portcullis.

The twang of crossbow strings sang through the night air, and the drawbridge before him suddenly sprouted bolts. Beetlestone froze in place, turning to face King Korox. He dropped his sword then dropped to one knee.

His men did the same.

“My king,” he said, looking up into the eyes of King Korox, “please forgive my rash actions, but the baron’s life is in mortal danger.”

Giselle led the Broken Spear through the winding hallways of Zerith Hold. Neither she nor any of the men with her had ever been inside the building. They had no idea where they were going and even less of an idea where Ryder would be.

They had dealt quickly with the guards at the rear entrance. There were surprisingly few of them there, and Curtis’s invisibility spell had given the Spear an advantage.

But as they worked their way through the stone corridors, Giselle began to grow nervous. This wasn’t right. They hadn’t encountered anyone. The halls were empty. The rooms were empty. There was no one home.

“This feels like a trap,” she said to no one in particular.

“I don’t think so,” replied Curtis. “No. I really don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“Well,” said the illusionist, “they didn’t know we were coming. How could they set a trap, if they didn’t know we were coming?”

Giselle thought about this as they continued to run through the halls of the second floor. “Maybe they did,” she said finally. “We don’t know what Nazeem told them. He might have tipped them off about us.”

“I doubt it,” replied Curtis.

“How can you be so sure?” asked Giselle.

“I can’t,” replied the illusionist.

Giselle threw up her hands. “If this isn’t a trap, then where is everyone?”

“Outside,” said Curtis.

“What?” Giselle stopped running and looked the skinny man in the face.

Curtis smiled and pointed at the window in the far wall.

Giselle sprinted over to the edge and looked down through the warped glass at the huge battle raging below.

“When did you know they were out there?”

Curtis shrugged. “The first time we passed a window.” He thought about it. “Yes, on the first floor, after we passed through the dining hall.”

Giselle turned and took off toward the stairs. “Then why didn’t you say something?”

“No one asked me,” said Curtis.

“Come on,” she growled at the rest of the Broken Spear. Then she bolted down the stairs.

Two flights later, Giselle found the entrance hall and the open front door that led out into the courtyard. She couldn’t make heads or tails of any of it. Pockets of fighting were scattered all over the place. The bodies of dead men lay on the ground, their blood staining the flagstones. And though he looked far different than he had the last time they had been together, in the middle of the swirling madness, Giselle spotted what she was looking for.

“Ryder,” she said, smiling. “He’s alive.” Lifting her sword high in the air, she shouted the Broken Spear’s ululating war cry. “Yie, yie, yie, yie, yie!”

The other warriors behind her did the same, filling the entire courtyard with the bouncing sound.

Then they charged into the fray.

Ryder stood facing Montauk, a chain swinging in each hand. Behind him, Liam held off the vampires coming from the other direction.

“I never did like you,” said the master of chains.

Montauk smiled. “That’s funny,” he said. “I thought I’d had you killed.”

Ryder nodded. “I’ll hand it to you. I never would have guessed it was you.”

Ryder’s chain lashed out, wrapping around Montauk’s sword arm. He pulled, attempting to disarm the man before caving his head in. But Montauk proved to be much stronger than Ryder, and he pulled back on the chain with the force of an elephant. Ryder was jerked forward and sent sprawling onto his belly at Montauk’s feet.

“How could you have guessed?” taunted Montauk. “You with your miserably short lifespan.”

Ryder tried to get to his feet, but Montauk stepped on his back, holding him to the ground with one foot.

“But I suppose I should be thanking you for opening the gate.” Montauk laughed. “Then again—” He stepped down hard, crushing Ryder’s ribs against the flagstones— “It’s far more enjoyable to kill you again.”

Ryder struggled to get free, but Montauk was just too strong. His chest felt as if it were going to collapse, and his ears were ringing. The muscles along his ribcage burned from being stretched. The harder Montauk pushed, the louder the noise in Ryder’s ears grew. The sounds of battle that had moments ago filled the courtyard were swallowed up by the whining.

Then his vision began to narrow. It was just at the periphery at first, but then the center began to go blank. He lost track of Liam. The world was disappearing. Soon it would all be gone.

Ryder turned his head, looking out over the courtyard. With his last sliver of vision, he could just make out a robed woman stepping up beside him. From what sounded like a great distance, he could barely make out her voice.

“Let go. He’s mine,” she said. Then she slashed down with a curved blade on something outside Ryder’s limited vision.

Montauk’s foot came off Ryder’s back, and the world flooded back to him. The ringing in his ears was replaced by the thumping of his heart. His vision cleared, and he could breathe again.

Rolling to one side, Ryder struggled to his feet. Giselle had slashed a large wound in Montauk’s neck, and the man held his bleeding throat with both hands.

Giselle pressed in with her attack, coming down—her scimitar in both hands—on Montauk’s face.

“Enough,” shouted Montauk, and he raised a bloody hand, catching Giselle’s blade with his open palm.

He tore the blade from her grip. Not bothering to turn it around, he slammed the hilt into Giselle’s chest, knocking the leader of the Broken Spear back into Ryder.

“I’m done toying with you,” said Montauk, his voice gravelly and hoarse. He tossed Giselle’s blade aside. As he did, Ryder could see the slashed flesh on his palm knitting itself back together, healing as if he’d just consumed a magic potion.

Stepping forward, Montauk grabbed both Ryder and Giselle by their throats. “Now you will die.” He began to squeeze.

Ryder grabbed Montauk’s hand with both of his own. He scratched and clawed, but he couldn’t pry the man’s fingers loose from his neck. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Giselle trying to do the same thing. Her skin flushed, and there was panic on her face.

Then, as he watched, the leader of the Broken Spear stopped struggling. Her body didn’t go limp, she just seemed to relax. Her eyes were still open, and hatred burned in them. Giselle hadn’t given up, and she hadn’t resigned herself to death. That was maybe the only thing this woman wasn’t capable of.

Ryder felt Montauk flinch. The grip around his neck tightened, then dropped away, and Ryder was free. Behind Montauk, something shimmered into existence. It was a person. In the next moment, Curtis came into view. He had his hand up against Montauk. Gripping a dagger in his hands, he held the blade buried in the man’s back.

Montauk let out an inhuman shriek. He was pinned like a bug by Curtis’s dagger, and he thrashed about, trying desperately to get off the illusionist’s blade. Then his skin began to stretch and melt. It wobbled and drooped, looking as if it would simply fall from his face and body.

Ryder got to his feet. Stumbling back, he grabbed hold of Giselle’s shoulder, pulling her away from Montauk.

The new head of the Crimson Awl flailed for a moment longer. A scowl grew on his disfigured lips, and he stood up straight, shaking his fists in a triumphant gesture. There was a soft popping sound, and Montauk’s melting flesh simply vanished, leaving in its place an ancient and withered visage. The creature that stood where Montauk had been seemed vaguely female. She had long, graying hair, an ornate dress, and fangs.

The creature raised her arms, and a deep shadow filled the courtyard. All fighting inside Zerith Hold came to a complete stop, and the air was filled with a collective hiss from the Crimson Awl.

“Submit now. Bow down before Shyressa,” said the woman, her words echoing across the entire courtyard. With a casual flick of her wrist, she swatted Curtis away with as much effort as she would pay to a buzzing insect.

The skinny illusionist went flying, and his dagger clattered to the ground.

Ryder felt a chill wind blow in, and he shivered against it. He felt Giselle grip his arm. She was shaking. If these were to be their last moments, he was glad she was there with him.

A huge boom filled Zerith Hold as the heavy wooden doors and portcullis of the front gate exploded inward. Splinters of wood and shards of metal flew everywhere, and a huge cloud of dust and smoke erupted into the night sky.

Then a black horse and its rider appeared out of the swirling debris, trailing tendrils of smoke behind him as he rode into the courtyard, his sword drawn and raised over his head. Though Ryder had never seen him in the flesh before, he recognized the man from Erlkazar’s golden coin—this was the Crusader King, King Korox.

“To the baron!” King Korox shouted.

More riders emerged from the smoke. They poured in, appearing as if by magic out of the mists. To Ryder it looked like an entire army—and then some.