Ari Marmell - The Warlord_s legacy

It was a simple enough spell. A shimmer passed over his left leg, so faint and so swift that even Cerris himself, who was not only watching for it but causing it, barely noticed. He shifted his posture, standing rigidly, feet together, keeping his real-and now invisible-leg outside the phantom image. Not a comfortable stance, but better that than to have the guard bump a knuckle into something that wasn't supposed to be there.

The guard approached-yawning as he knelt-clasped the manacle around a length of absolutely nothing that looked and felt an awful lot like a human ankle, and continued on his way.

Cerris continued his whispering, new syllables replacing the old. He saw the manacle fall to the dust, but to everyone else, it was invisible, appearing instead to be firmly locked around the equally illusory leg. It was enough to fool the second guard, who passed his length of chain through the nonexistent ring without so much as a heartbeat's hesitation.

Struggling to conceal his smile, Cerris knelt briefly as though massaging a sore foot and slipped the real manacle around his arm so as not to leave any evidence behind. Then, matching his shuffling step to the prisoners who actually were chained together, he allowed himself to be led away.

Not far from the road crouched a simple wooden hall of slipshod construction. Thrown together by Cephiran soldiers, it served as bunk for the road workers, far more convenient than herding them back through the city gates every night. Cerris wrinkled his nose as he passed through the wooden doors, the miasma of sweat and fear, waste and watery stew an open-handed slap to the face. It had long since soaked into the wooden walls and the cheap woolen blankets on which the exhausted prisoners slept away their fitful nights. Bowls of that stew, which contained as much gristle as meat, already awaited, one bowl per blanket. Foul as it was, nobody hesitated to down their portion in rapid gulps. While their companions watched from the doorway, two guards moved through the hall, one collecting bowls, the other fastening the end of the long chain to a post that punched through the wooden floor and deep into the unyielding earth. Thus secured, the prisoners could shuffle around the room-clanking and clattering the chain like a chorus of angry ghosts, more than loud enough to be heard from outside-but even if they could somehow force open the door, they wouldn't have sufficient slack to pass through.

It was a simple arrangement, but an efficient one… assuming, of course, that the prisoners were actually fastened to the chain.

Cerris lay back on his blanket and waited, though he yearned to be up and moving. In a matter of moments, the snores, grunts, and moans of exhausted sleep rose from all around him. He found himself halfway tempted to join them-the accommodations were hardly comfortable, but damn, he was tired!-and it was only sheer force of will that kept him from drifting off.

After what he judged to be about an hour and a half, Cerris was certain that every man in the hall was deep in slumber. Sitting up, he glanced around to confirm, and then rose, wincing at the faint popping of joints that were, despite his fervent demands to the contrary, growing older. Hefting the manacle in one fist, he stepped over the length of chain and crept on silent feet toward the door.

It was slow going indeed, for the room's only illumination was the occasional flicker of the campfires outside, slithering in through tiny gaps in the wood or the handful of six-inch windows that prevented the air within from growing too stale. More than once, Cerris stumbled, and though reflexes born of a violent life kept him upright and silent, he still cursed his own clumsiness.

'Getting decrepit, old boy. Slow and clumsy. Even just a few years ago, you'd never have…'

Then he was at the door, the time for bemoaning over, and Cerris gleefully shoved that voice back into its burrow in the depths of his mind. He knew that the door boasted no lock, but was held shut by a heavy wooden bar in an iron bracket. More than secure enough, since even if a prisoner could slip his chain, he had no tools at hand with which to lift that bar.

Except, of course, for the manacle that was supposed to be linking Cerris to the others.

For long moments, he listened, struggling to judge the number of guards by the occasional shifting of mail or bored sigh. Possibly only the one, he decided eventually, certainly no more than two. He contemplated a spell to cast his sight out beyond the door, but even after several years of practice, he found clairvoyance disorienting and difficult. He might learn what he needed to know, only to find himself in no shape to take advantage of it.

Ah, well. He'd faced worse odds, in his day.

'Yeah, but you always had help facing those odds, didn't you, "Cerris"? You never were worth half a damn on your own.'

He frowned briefly, pressing his lips tight, forcing himself not to respond. It had been years since he'd banished the vile thing that had once shared his thoughts, yet still he swore he heard that mocking, malevolent voice in his head. And all the more often, these past few months. He must finally be losing his mind.

'Not that you ever had much of one to lose…'

"Shut up!" he hissed, even though he knew, he knew he was berating himself. He forced himself to relax with a steadying breath, then opened the manacle and began working the rod-a length of iron nearly six inches long, and almost as thick around as his thumb-through the gap in the door.

And thank the gods the Cephirans had been in such a hurry to throw this place together! It was tight going, but the narrow rod indeed fit. Cerris slid it upward, slowly, wary of allowing it to screech or grate against the wood. Inch by inch, carefully, carefully…

The rod touched the bar with the faintest of thumps. Cerris held his breath, waiting to see if the guard-guards?-had heard. Only when a full minute had passed was he confident enough to continue.

Here we go. All I have to do is lift a heavy wooden bar, with no leverage to speak of, toss it aside, throw the door open, and take out a guard or two before they have time to react. Nothing to it.

He allowed himself another moment to bask, almost to revel, in the insanity of what he was attempting. Then Cerris whispered a few more words of magic, one spell to alleviate a modicum of his exhaustion, another to cast an illusory pall of silence that might grant a few precious seconds. Then, squeezing both hands around the tiny length of metal, he tensed his back, his arms, his legs, and heaved with everything he had.

For a few terrifying, pounding heartbeats, he knew he'd failed. The bar had to weigh close to a hundred pounds, and trying to raise it with a few inches of iron felt very much like trying to lift a house by the doorknob. His hands ached where the metal bit into flesh, sweat masked his face, and a gasp escaped his lungs and lips despite his best efforts toward silence.

And then, praise be to the ever-fickle Panare Luck-Bringer, his problem was solved for him. Something of his struggle-a breath, a twitch, a shiver in the wood-passed through both the door and his phantom shroud of silence. Uncertain of what (if anything) he'd actually heard, unwilling to look the fool in front of his comrades, and thoroughly convinced that the prisoners remained securely chained within, the soldier standing beyond did not signal for help. He did not raise an alarm.

He lifted the bar himself and pulled the door open a scant few inches, just to take a look and reassure himself that all was well.

The iron weight of the manacle-the cuff itself, not the fastening rod-made for a poor weapon, but better than none. Gripping the inner curve of the U, Cerris punched. The prong that broke teeth and tore up the back of the soldier's throat might have left him capable of screaming, if inarticulately. So might the other, even as it crushed an eye to jelly against the back of its socket. But the both together proved too much, and the guard fell with a sodden thump, unconscious if not dead from shock alone.