Edward Bolme - Bound by Iron

Pomindras screamed and staggered, unable to move the injured foot.

“Oops,” said Cimozjen with a glower.

He yanked the spear to the side, pulling Pomindras’s leg to the side before the blade plowed through the flesh between the tarsal bones, slicing Pomindras’s foot lengthwise.

Pomindras fell, scraping down the walls as he scrabbled for traction, gasping in pain.

Seeing an opening, Cimozjen thrust with his spear at Pomindras’s unprotected torso. Pomindras cried out, shock and pain taking command of his every action. Cimozjen plunged his spear again and again, until he was certain that the son of Deneith would scream no more.

The Quiet Touch of Death

Wir, the 4th day of Aryth, 998

That is a lot of weapons,” said Four.

Cimozjen shrugged. “It’s an armory for House Deneith. I’m not too surprised.” He scratched his head and began to poke around. “I wonder where the boy stashed my longcoat. I hope they kept it rather than sell it. I paid a lot of coin for that thing.”

“Cimmer! You’re alive!” Minrah bounded into the room and leaped into his arms. She snuggled into him, squeezing him as tightly as her small arms would allow.

Cimozjen hugged her back, laughing with relief, but also very aware of every nuance of her proximity, including the way her delicate fingers shifted their position on his back. She sighed contentedly, and the sound was as soft and beautiful as a summer brook.

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” she murmured, burrowing her head into his sweaty tunic.

“I would not let myself be defeated, not here,” he said.

“So how’d you like my plan?” she asked brightly, looking up at him with open, vulnerable, delighted eyes. “That was my idea. Pretty clever, huh?”

Cimozjen half-shrugged. “I guessed at it pretty quickly.”

“Guessed?” asked Minrah. She backed up, affronted, hands on hips. “He was supposed to whisper it to you! Why didn’t you tell him, Four?”

Cimozjen intervened. “It was so loud in the ring,” he said. “We could hardly talk to each other. But the ‘SI’ tattoo on his ear was a good idea, and Four dropped a few pretty good hints, as good as he could while shouting. But just to be safe, I jabbed him right here.” He rapped a knuckle on Four’s hammered-iron chest piece, which showed a new scratch across it. “I had to make sure it was no trick, and I figured if it was Four in disguise, I’d scratch his armor. If not, I’d draw blood.”

“That was a dangerous maneuver,” said Four. “I reacted on reflex. It was too similar to the other times I spent … out there. For a moment, I was engaged to kill you, but then I remembered your face in the tavern, and how I diverted my axe-”

“Let’s not travel any further down that road, shall we?” said Cimozjen. “We both survived, and Minrah brought Aurala’s army at the right time.”

“We timed it.”

“You did?”

“Yes,” said Four. “I saw the signal and told you it was time to end the fight.”

“My companions,” said Cimozjen with a gracious bow, “I am impressed.”

“So what’s this?” asked Minrah, reaching for the ebon shield that leaned against a stool next to Cimozjen. A spark flashed brightly, and she yanked her hand back. “Ow! Filth! What’s that evil trick?” she snapped, clutching her arm to her breast.

Cimozjen looked over his shoulder at the shield slung there. “A farewell gift to me from the late unlamented Pomindras, erstwhile commander of the Silver Cygnet .” He picked it up and held it by the straps with the inside facing Minrah. “Observe. On this side, a more or less normal wooden shield with arm straps. But on the other”-he turned it around-“a fiendishly clever device. The gold ring around the edge emits a potent electric shock. And the center … it’s just not there.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s nonexistent. Try to touch it. Go on, I’ve done it myself. So long as you avoid the ring, you’ll come to no harm.”

Minrah reached out tentatively with her other arm. She brushed her fingers at the black boss. “That’s odd,” she said. She reached closer. Closer. “There’s …”

“Nothing,” said Cimozjen, peering over the rim of the shield. “And from my perspective it looks as though your hand is reaching into the shield up to your wrist.”

Minrah yanked her hand out, studied her fingers, then leaned forward carefully and reached in again, well past her elbow. “How far does it go?”

“I’ve no idea at all,” said Cimozjen. “It may well go forever. It swallowed my sword, and I doubt I’ll ever get it back. Unless you want to crawl in and try to find it for me …”

“Buy yourself a new one,” said Minrah, pulling her arm out.

“I’ll make sure I’m armed before you drag me through another one of your wild plans,” he said with a chuckle.

“I’m sorry if it was hard on you, but we didn’t have much time left.”

“What do you mean?” asked Cimozjen.

Minrah pulled out an envelope from her bag. “Take a look at this. Two days ago Rophis delivered an invitation for me to come see him at the Deneith enclave tomorrow. It even includes a guarantee of safe passage, notarized by House Sivis.”

“Why would he want to meet with you?” asked Cimozjen. He took the paper.

“I don’t know,” said Minrah, “but I figured that boded ill for you. I got it the day after I confronted him and demanded your release.”

Cimozjen handed the paper back to Minrah. “Hold for a moment,” he said, espying an Aundairian officer walk toward the trio.

“Excuse me, Minrah Penwright?” said the officer as he closed. He nodded to Cimozjen and Four in turn. “Pardon the intrusion, my good men. Minrah, I thought you should know that we have completed our search of the premises.”

“And …?”

“While we have found several caged beasts, we have not uncovered any direct evidence of enslavement. Certainly nothing that would withstand the Code of Galifar. Yet … that is, perhaps you should accompany me.”

“Captain,” said Minrah, “this is Cimozjen Hellekanus, the man whose saga I told to you. He was held against his will. And this is Four, whom they enslaved from the time he was created until a week or two ago when we freed him.”

The captain glanced at them again. “Pleased to make your acquaintances. You should accompany us as well.”

Cimozjen and Four grabbed their gear. The captain led them through the chambers and hallways beneath the arena until they came to a long corridor with a dozen open archways all along one wall.

The captain gestured them forward. “This is what we found,” he said.

Cimozjen moved down the hall, peering into the open doors. “Yes, this is the sort of room I was kept in. Pallet bed, buckets for food and slop … but I see no manacles. How could they …” His words drifted off as he became aware of the weight of the shield upon his back. Manacles could easily have been unlocked from their footing and dumped into the shield, or into something like it, never to be seen again. He sighed heavily.

He inspected the door, and noted the lack of an interior latch. “There was such a door on my room, but it led not into the hallway, but almost straight into the arena.”

“That’s impossible,” said the captain. “We’ve checked every exit from the arena. They all lead to hallways or common rooms.”

“Magic,” said Minrah. She was standing in a doorway, running her hands up and down the frame. “Runes carved into the frame, but every frame has been marred. I’ll wager that a mage could ensorcel these, connecting them to the arena. That way, the only places prisoners could go would be straight from their pen to the arena and back.”