Jess Lebow: Master of Chains

"I'll take those," said Ryder, grabbing the keys to unlock his chains.

"Help," shouted Phinneous. "Guards!"

Without letting up on Phinneous, Ryder released the locks on his right arm. Leaning forward, he spoke directly into the captain's ear.

"Time to pay for your crimes, Phinneous."

He unwrapped the chain from the captain's arm and looped it around the man's neck. Pulling it tight, he locked it down, leaving the guardsman gasping for air and standing on his tiptoes to keep the chain from strangling him.

Captain Phinneous's eyes grew wide, and he clawed at his neck, trying to get his fingers between his flesh and the steel of the chain. The more he struggled, the more panicked he looked. His face grew red, and every few breaths he let out a high-pitched whistling sound.

Ryder finished unlocking himself from the other chains and stepped up to stare into the face of the slowly suffocating Captain Phinneous.

"I'd love to hang around with you, Phinneous," said Ryder, "but I've still got to kill your boss."

Putting both of his hands on the captain's chest, Ryder shoved the man. Phinneous struggled to keep his footing, but his boots slipped on the slick stone floor. As the chain grew short, Ryder continued to push. Captain Phinneous kicked, but it was no use. He was lifted off the ground, hanging from his neck.

Ryder gave one last hard shove, and Phinneous swung once. When he came back down, his feet touched the ground. His head listed sideways on his shoulder, his neck broken and limp.

Turning away from the two dead men in his cell, Ryder crossed to a table near the windows where a large pile of chains and locks sat.

A pair of guards came running through the door and skidded to a stop. They took one look at the slowly swaying frame of Captain Phinneous and the bloodied guard at his feet and turned their attention to Ryder.

"Looking for me?" Ryder calmly selected a length of chain from the table. Turning, he walked toward the two stunned guardsmen. As he moved, he shook the chain, making the links rattle.

The guards looked at each other then back at Ryder, fear apparent in their eyes.

"That's right," he said, shaking the chains again. "I'm going to do to you what I did to them."

Both men turned and bolted back out the door.

Ryder sneered. "That's what I thought."

In her glamoured disguise as Montauk, Shyressa stood before the Crimson Awl. She didn't maintain her enchantment for their benefit. It wouldn't have mattered to any of them. They all knew what she was. They all belonged to her now-every last one.

There were some things about her work that she truly enjoyed. Turning an entire band of gung-ho revolutionaries into her able-bodied spawn was one of them. Another was watching one of her long-term plans finally come to fruition. Today just happened to allow her the pleasure of both.

Behind the Awl, the rest of Shyressa's vampires and spawn waited for her orders. Tonight would be one of the largest blood baths in the history of Ahlarkham. The peasants would suffer. The royalty would suffer. The only ones who wouldn't suffer would be the vampires as they swooped in from the southern shores of the Deepwash.

When King Korox and his Magistrates arrived, the countryside would be crawling with undead. So too would Zerith Hold. But the king wouldn't see that part. All he would see would be Shyressa, appearing to be Montauk helping his majesty clean up the mess. Then he would be forced to put her in charge of the barony, and phase one would be complete.

Sure, some of her minions were going to be destroyed by the king's men. A paltry price. After she had control of Ahlarkham, she would put the next part of her plan into action. It wouldn't be long before she controlled all of Erlkazar.

She smiled. The thought of turning the King's Magistrates into her own personal spawn sounded absolutely delicious. She might have to make it last for a few days. No sense in shortening her fun. She could have them all locked up-and could feed on their iron-rich blood at her leisure.

Shyressa licked her lips.

Shaking herself out of her daydream, she looked out at her little army. With a wave of her arm, her older spawn took off into the night, spreading out to ravage Duhlnarim and the surrounding areas.

The converted Crimson Awl, however, stayed put. They were all from local stock, and their appearance wouldn't immediately give them away as outsiders or undead. That was the way Shyressa wanted it. There was still some value in this game for deception.

"To Zerith Hold," she said in Montauk's voice. "Time to pay Lord Purdun a visit."

"There is an entrance to the back of Zerith Hold that does not have the same protections as the front gate," explained Giselle. "But that does not mean that it is an easier way in." She looked out at the brave men and women of the Broken Spear. She had stories about each of them, many of them tales of heroics that had helped save her own life. "There will be at least a host of guardsmen, and perhaps more. We will without a doubt be outnumbered."

"That's never stopped us before," said a warrior in the back of the tightly grouped Broken Spear.

Everyone nodded.

Giselle smiled. "These are trained soldiers," continued the leader. "And the potential exists that many of us may not be coming back."

The Broken Spear nodded at this as well.

"I'm not going to lie to you," she said. "We're not doing this just for riches or glory. This time it's personal." She took a deep breath. "I'm not ordering you to do anything. I'm asking you, as a favor to me, to help me go in there and get Ryder back out. But if any one of you decide that you don't want to go, then…" Her voice trailed off. "Then you are free to go your own way," she said finally. "There will be no shame, no ill will." She looked up at the people she had thought of as her family for the past several years. "You all know what this means. If we break up, it will be the end. The Broken Spear will be no more." She paused a moment to let what she had just said sink in. "All I ask is that if you want to go, that you go now. I do not want to part with any of you, in this life or in death, but if I must, please be merciful and make it swift."

Giselle stood silently, her speech given and her plea finished.

No one moved.

"This is your last chance," Giselle warned.

Jase stood up, glancing to his left and right, seeming to take in all of the members of the Broken Spear.

Giselle looked at the young man, sadness in her heart. She smiled and offered him her hand. "May the world treat you well," she said. "No matter where your travels take you."

But Jase waved her off. "We're going with you," he said. "All of us. So you can save your speeches for after the battle has been won."

Giselle pulled her hand back. "Fair enough." She scanned the group for a particular face. "Curtis," she called.

The skinny man's face popped up between a pair of warriors. "Yes? That's me."

"You think you can get us up to the gates without being seen?"

The illusionist put his hand to his face, grabbing hold of his chin and scanning the sky. He changed hands, continuing to think. He seemed to be looking for something among the stars.

Giselle looked up, following his gaze. She didn't see anything but the early evening sky.

Finally Curtis nodded. "Yes. I think I have just the thing," he said, taking his hand from his chin and putting it inside his shirt. When his hand came out again it clutched a wrinkled, folded piece of paper. "Might hurt a bit," he said. He reached up and grabbed hold of his eyelid. Yanking out several of his eyelashes, he squinted, his eye watering. "But it'll work."

Giselle cringed. "Well then," she said, addressing the whole group. "You all know I'm not much for long drawn-out plans. If the guards open the doors for any reason, we hit them hard and fast. Agreed?"