Jaleigh Johnson - Unbroken Chain

“There was a fire here,” Ashok said.

The buildings, even those that had been repaired, were little more than hovels propped up against the greater towers. Ashok noted the dark scars where fire had touched the towers, though that damage was not nearly as severe as that where the flames had raked the lower city.

“It happened before our time,” Skagi said.

“Before you were born?” Ashok asked.

“Before any of us,” Skagi said.

“Caravan approaching!” called another voice.

It was the Sworn’s voice that rang out over the wall. The woman raised her arms. In her left hand she held a black-hilted longsword. She made a gesture with her right hand, and the blade burst into purple flame.

“A warning?” Ashok asked.

“To any who would threaten the caravan or the city while the portal is open,” Cree said. “It’s under the witch’s protection now.”

Ashok watched the portcullis go up and the doors slowly begin to open. Beyond them, a rutted path ran for a hundred feet or so and abruptly ended at a cavern wall. A raised stone arch was set into the wall, and on the keystone was the carved sword of Tempus, its blade pointed down toward the ground.

The witch’s sword flashed, and the stone arch glowed in answer. As they watched, a line of horse-drawn wagons rumbled through the active portal and approached the city. Their drivers shouted greetings to the guards on the wall.

Ashok’s heartbeat sped up. Though it was suicide to make a run for the gate, his body trembled with the need to act. He’d been contained too long. The time to escape was while the witch was watching the caravan, when all their attention was focused on that portal.

“And no one is watching the wall,” he said.

The brothers turned as one, but Ashok whipped his chain above his head and vanished, his wild laugh echoing in the air.

He teleported to the top of the wall, reappearing in his wraith form, half walking, half flying. The wall was eight feet thick at its widest point, just before the gate. Beyond lay the portal to the Shadowfell and freedom.

For a breath, Ashok’s ghostly presence went unnoticed by the guards, whose attention was fixed on the caravan.

As substance returned to his flesh, Ashok began to run along the wall. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Cree and Skagi appear simultaneously behind him. The hunt was on, and he reveled in the danger.

“Alarm, alarm!” Skagi cried. “The wall is breached!”

Instantly, the warriors on the wall fell into formation, a single line of impenetrable shadows facing Ashok that were bow and spearmen, sword bearers and scouts, led by the bald witch with the flaming sword. She turned with a furious expression to see who had dared breach her line.

The witch’s gaze fell on Ashok. Her lips pulled back over her teeth in a wicked smile as she pointed the flaming sword at him. He thought he could feel the arcane heat.

“Take him,” she said, a command that carried up and down the line.

The warriors nearest Ashok surrounded him in a half circle, giving him no room to run except back into the city. Ashok struck out with his chain, tangling it with a warrior’s blade. He jerked the man forward and punched him in the face. The warrior went down on his knees, exposed, but Ashok had no interest in killing him. He was focused on the hole the man had left behind. Other warriors tried to close the gap, but Ashok freed his chain and whipped again-two quick attacks that slashed across armor, ringing sparks and distracting them just enough for Ashok to plunge through the gap.

He had nowhere to go but the open air.

Behind him, one of the warriors grabbed the loose end of his chain, intending to snap him back, Ashok thought, like an animal on a tether. He dropped his end of the chain, drew his curved dagger, and jumped. He teleported in midair, aiming for the caravan and its horses.

Ashok landed beside one of the wagons. He had only a few breaths before his wraith form solidified. At that point, he could expect arrows to rain down from the wall and pin his corpse to the ground. If he could get to a horse first, use it as cover, or find a hostage …

A scream tore through the air. The sound, at once deep and shrill, the scream of a dying warrior, pierced the veil that held Ashok’s spirit form. His ears rang, and a wave of terror rolled across him. The cry froze Ashok, scattering his thoughts like ashes.

He pivoted to stare at an iron cage tied to the lead wagon. Behind the bars a black, equine shape towered over him, its hooves striking bronze sparks against the metal. But there were no shoes on the beast to make the fire. Its flame came from within.

The nightmare swiveled its head in the confined space to stare at Ashok through slitted, crimson lights-eyes that had no whites, no room for emotion. But its presence, the aura of terror that bled from the creature conveyed enough. Steam clouds rose from its nostrils, and within the dark cage, fire ran up thick strands of mane, turning them to gold, the horse hair swallowed by embers.

Ashok, caught by the crimson-eyed menace, didn’t realize that his form had solidified. He raised his hands, his fingers flexing, when he realized the truth. He looked up at the wall. The shadar-kai archers had their bows trained on him, as he’d expected. But they didn’t fire. The witch was among them, coldly furious, but she held a hand in the air, staying the attack.

Skagi and Cree appeared in front of him. Insubstantial, they caged him with the nightmare at his back. Ashok backed up a step and halted, aware of the nightmare’s presence like a blade out of reach. Steam kissed the tender flesh between his shoulder blades.

“You won’t kill me,” he said to their spirit forms. He could hardly believe it himself as he looked up at the line of death on the wall, the witch with her flaming sword and barely contained wrath, ready to send the fire down and smite him. He thrilled to the moment, how close he’d driven them to the kill, and his heart pounded with exhilaration. “You’ve been ordered not to kill me-by Uwan,” he realized. “Why?”

The wraiths became flesh, and Skagi raised his falchion. “You don’t know what you’re doing, little Blite. Come with us now, if you don’t want-”

“It to hurt?” Ashok said as he opened his arms and stared down the warriors. “Come ahead. Come ahead!”

Cree was on him from the side. Ashok dodged the first katar and looked for the second, but it wasn’t in Cree’s hand. Ashok twisted, trying to find an opening to get around the man, but Skagi darted in from the left and grabbed him by the throat. With his empty hand, Cree got him by the right forearm. Together they drove him back against the cage bars.

Iron bit into Ashok’s flesh, sending numbing waves down his spine. His skull sang with pain, and cloying ash filled his nostrils. The nightmare whinnied its terrible shriek again, but Skagi and Cree did nothing more than wince. Ashok let his knees buckle as the dark horse reared, striking its hooves against the cage bars inches from Ashok’s head.

“No you don’t,” Skagi said, not loosening his grip. “It’ll take more screams than that to break you, I’ll bet any sum.”

Cree grabbed Ashok’s shoulder, and with Skagi’s hand still at his throat they turned him to face the nightmare.

Blood crusted its withers, and the fetlocks kicked up ash when the creature stamped its feet. Forced to face the menace, Ashok clicked his tongue, as he might to a riding horse.

“Well met, slave,” he said, his lips cracking in the dry, hot air. “They caught you too, eh?”

Steam hissed, making his eyes water. Sound rumbled in the nightmare’s chest. It paced forward, bones clanging against iron, and Ashok was lost in the crimson radiance of its eyes. The light fed the fires in its mane, burning but never destroying.