Jess Lebow - Master of Chains

Ryder saw stars, and his head exploded in pain. His eyes teared up, and he could hardly open them. It hurt too much to focus on anything, and when he tried to stand up, his stomach would pitch and yaw.

Ryder managed to get to his knees, and he placed his forehead in the cool dirt. "Dear Ilmater, make it stop."

The sound of lumbering footsteps forced Ryder to open his eyes again. Though his head felt as if it might split open, his vision had cleared enough for him to see the giants closing in. Through sheer force of will, he managed to get to his feet.

Unarmed, wounded, nearly blind, and with a pair of undead giants charging down on him, Ryder teetered on uneasy legs. To his left was the entrance to Fairhaven. Giselle and the Broken Spear waited there for the first giant to pass through. If he could only make it to that gate, he'd have a chance.

Ryder turned and started to run toward the opening, but the ground seemed to shift, and his legs felt as if they were made of warm candle wax. His knees buckled, and he had to put his hand down to keep from falling again. Though he was no longer nauseous, he was still in bad shape.

The undead giants reached him in just a few steps, and Ryder made one last attempt to dart away. His feet crossed, and he got tangled. With tremendous effort, he remained upright, but he was once again standing under the glowering glares of two undead giants.

There was a flash of light and suddenly a figure appeared next to Ryder. He shied back, not sure what he was seeing. The fighter from Duhlnarim blinked and did a double take. There, standing beside Ryder was… another Ryder? He rubbed his eyes. Was he really seeing this?

The second Ryder saluted the first then drew a sword from a scabbard on his belt. He ran right up to the two remaining undead giants, waving his sword, and shouted, "Over here, you big louts!"

The giants swung their clubs at him, but the sword-wielding Ryder managed to dodge out of the way.

"That the best you can do?" he taunted. Then he ran around behind the two lumbering monstrosities.

The undead giants turned to face the new Ryder.

"Psst. Ryder," came a voice from above.

Ryder looked up. He could just make out Curtis's head sticking out over the edge of the palace wall.

"Ryder," he called. "Hurry through the gate. The illusion won't last forever."

Ryder looked back at the giants and the illusionary version of himself. Guess the skinny man knew more than a few parlor tricks.

Ryder turned and ran unsteadily through the broken gate to Fairhaven. He was attacked the moment his foot crossed the threshold, and he landed on the ground, chest first.

"Hold," whispered Giselle. "It's only Ryder."

A pair of Broken Spear warriors got up off the downed fighter.

"Thanks," said Ryder as he got back to his feet, "you really go the extra step to make a person feel welcome."

Giselle stepped right into his face. "So much for the plan."

Ryder dusted himself off. "We had no choice. They were going to find us, so we improvised."

"And where's Nazeem?"

Ryder spun around to look out on to the path leading away from the gate. "Hells. He's still out there."

"We'll be riding out a communique for Baron Purdun to King Korox of Erlkazar," explained Captain Beetlestone. "The road will be treacherous, and we expect resistance either from the Awl-"

Liam squirmed a little when he said this.

"— or from another source."

"Sir?" One of the other soldiers stood up from his chair.

"Yes, Buckwald?" acknowledged Beetlestone.

"Another source?"

The captain took a deep breath, looking at each of the soldiers around the table. All of them belonged to the unit that reported directly to Beetlestone. He was going to be leading this mission, and none of the other troops in the baron's army would accompany them.

He nodded. "There have been an alarming number of scouting reports recently about an incursion of the walking dead in the region surrounding Duhlnarim, particularly in the areas near Dajaan and along Shalane Lake."

Though no one spoke, Liam could feel the room tense. They would no doubt be headed to Klarsamryn, the king's stronghold in Llorbauth. The road to the capital ran parallel to Shalane Lake almost the entire way.

"If there are no other questions," said Beetlestone, "then we will mount up and head out immediately." The captain placed his hands behind his back, waiting.

The room remained silent.

"Very well, then," he said. "To the stables."

The soldiers all stood and filed out of the briefing room. Outside, the sun was just coming up.

The stables had been a late addition to the north end of Zerith Hold. It was attached to a special holding cell used to deal with large groups of prisoners. The dungeon in the Hold wasn't very large, so long-term criminals were moved to other facilities. Or so Liam was told.

The stable boy brought the soldiers' horses into the courtyard. The young man approached Liam and handed him the reins of a beautiful brown mare.

"This one's yours," said the youth.

Liam took the reins. "Thank you." He'd never had a horse of his own. And this one was magnificent. Tall and lean, it was a young horse in its prime. It had been well cared for, and its eyes were bright and clear.

"Hello, there," he said, running his hand along the horse's mane.

The horse let out a whiny.

"Liam," shouted Captain Beetlestone.

Liam looked up from the horse to see that all the other soldiers were already mounted and ready to ride.

"Do you know how to ride, son?" asked the captain.

Liam placed his left foot in the stirrup and swung himself up onto the horse's back in a single fluid motion. Once he was situated, he turned and saluted the captain. "Yes, Captain."

Beetlestone smirked. "Very good." He turned his horse and headed toward the gate out of Zerith Hold. "Let's ride."

The gate opened, and the soldiers filed out of the courtyard. They fell into line, two abreast, and headed down the cobbled path, the horses' hooves clanking on the stone.

Liam rode beside a gray-haired man. Though he didn't appear to be too old, his skin was beginning to wrinkle on his forehead and below his eyes. He had an easy confidence about him that put Liam at ease. The man smiled when he saw Liam looking at him.

"The name's Knoblauch." The veteran soldier touched his helm in a familiar greeting, one Liam had seen other soldiers use with each other.

"Liam," he replied, repeating the gesture.

The older man nodded. "I know who you are."

Liam shrugged. He didn't know how the old man was going to react to him. Judging from the way Captain Phinneous had responded, he didn't want to make any assumptions. So he kept his mouth shut.

Knoblauch must have sensed Liam's reservations. "Don't worry," he said. "I hold no grudges."

"That's good to know," replied Liam.

"In fact," the veteran leaned in his saddle closer to Liam, lowering his voice, "Captain paired me with you as a precaution. Asked me to look after you, make sure none of the other men got any wrong ideas."

"Oh," said Liam, "aren't you the martyr."

"Well," said Knoblauch, sitting up as he rode, "if you're going to be like that about it."

Liam sighed. "I apologize. It's just that things have been pretty rough for me the past few months."

Knoblauch gave Liam a knowing nod. "I'll bet."

The two men rode on quietly into late morning. In the silence, Liam mulled over all the thoughts Knoblauch could be having about him. What if their roles were reversed?

"Hey, Knoblauch," Liam said after some time, "can I ask you a question?"

The veteran nodded. "Yeah."

"Did you ever fight the Crimson Awl?"

Knoblauch squirmed a bit in his saddle. Then he nodded. "Yes."