Montauk bowed again. "As you wish, my lady."
She stepped down off the dais, coming up behind one of the spawn feasting on the remains of Lord Tammsel. "Let's bring a little gift for Lord Purdun." She reached down and stroked the hair of the undead man before her.
The minion looked up at his mistress, blood covering his face.
"You'd like to be reacquainted with your old friend, wouldn't you, Menrick?"
The vampire spawn dropped the bone he'd been gnawing on and turned to hug Lady Shyressa's legs.
"That's right," she said, enjoying the adoration from her beloved follower. "I thought you'd like that."
Chapter 4
"Wake up, you pig-slopping bastard!"
A wave of water hit Ryder in the face, and he sat bolt upright.
"Wha… Where am I?"
"Shut up, you," came the same voice.
Ryder wiped the water out of his eyes with the back of his hand. He was sitting on a soldier's cot in a cold, dank stone cell. A pair of weak torches, one on each side of a single door, lit the room. Four men-all but one wearing the jade green and royal blue uniforms of Lord Purdun's elite guard-surrounded him. The fourth held an empty bucket.
Unlike the others, this one sported a dirty white shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and a worn leather vest over the top. His head, face, and exposed forearms, all completely hairless, shined in the dim torchlight. A handful of scars crisscrossed the man's cheeks and forearms. Ryder recognized him immediately-Captain Phinneous. He was notorious among the Crimson Awl. Ryder had heard some of the older members tell stories about Phinneous around the campfire. Ryder never believed them. No man could be that cruel. Ryder's lips curled up into a grimace. Guess now he'd know for sure if the tales were true.
Ryder looked down at himself. His shirt was torn and bloodied, but the gash in his stomach was no longer there. He grabbed his gut, running his fingers along the fresh scar where the soldier's blade had cut him.
"I'm not dead."
The guardsmen laughed.
"Not yet," said the captain.
Ryder swung his feet around and planted them on the floor. He gripped the edge of the cot with both hands. "What is it you want from me?"
Captain Phinneous spun the bucket upside down, slapped it to the ground, put one foot atop it, and leaned down into Ryder's face. "We want you to tell us all you know about the Crimson Awl."
Ryder looked at the floor and shook his head. "Afraid I can't do that."
A sharp thud filled the small room, and the wooden bucket flew off the floor, hitting Ryder. The lights in the dungeon room flashed brighter as the heavy wood hit him in the face and his head flew backward, slamming against the stone wall. He could feel blood dripping from a new wound on his cheek, and his head began to thump with pain.
"That was uncalled for."
Captain Phinneous's fist connected with Ryder's jaw, and the lights flashed again.
"And that?" inquired the captain. "I suppose that wasn't needed either?"
Ryder gripped his jaw, jiggling it a little. It felt as though it might come unhinged. "Yeah, that too."
Four hands grabbed Ryder by his torn shirt and lifted him to his feet.
"I want you to know," said the captain, his voice even, "that I don't intend to play these games with you."
Ryder, held like a rag doll between the burly guards, looked up at Phinneous. "Is that what this is? A game? You boys really need to get out and have more fun. Now horseshoes, that's a good game. This, this is…"
Phinneous smashed him in the gut with another fist. A dull pain flooded his abdomen and ran up his spine. When it reached the back of his head, it grew sharper and spread out, like a handful of skeletal fingers. The clawing bones scratched at his skull, and Ryder had to close his eyes simply to hold himself together.
"You're right," said Phinneous. "We do need to have more fun."
Ryder pried his eyes open to see the captain cross the tiny dungeon cell and lift one of the torches out of its sconce.
"If you don't like that game, maybe you'll like this one better." Phinneous's face broke into a huge grin as he came back. His upper lip curled, pulled awkwardly to one side by old scar tissue. "I call it 'burn the rebel.'" He lowered the torch next to Ryder's face. "It's one of my favorites."
Liam sat in the same spot he had for the past two days, looking into the fire. The flames grew quickly, then fell back again. Rising and falling, rising and falling. It was as if they were trying to leap off the log and fly up the stone chimney to escape. But there was no escape. They were chained to the source of their life, stuck to the burning log until it was completely consumed and they were extinguished.
A heavy knock came at the door.
"They've come," said Angeline.
Liam jumped to his feet, grabbing his sword from the table.
"Calm down," soothed Samira. "It's probably just the neighbors." She glared at the older woman as she crossed to the door.
Liam lowered his blade but didn't put it down.
Samira slid aside the wooden slat in the door and peered through. "Yes?" she said. "What do you want?"
"Ma'am, my name is Captain Beetlestone," came the voice through the door. "I'm here for Liam of Duhlnarim."
Samira turned to look back at Liam.
Liam shook his head. He'd been so stupid. That door was the only way in or out of this house.
Samira nodded and turned back to the door. "He's not-"
"We know he's in there," said Captain Beetlestone. "Don't make this any harder on yourself than it has to be. Let us in, or we'll be forced to break down the door."
"Now you listen here," said Samira, leaning closer to the slat. "You can't just come to my house, pound on the door, and call me a liar."
Liam could see her body stiffen as she wound up to tell the captain off.
"I pay the overblown taxes the baron levies like every other good citizen, and in return I expect to get some respect from his thugs." She slammed the slat shut. As she backed away, she placed both hands on the heavy crossbeam and gave it a little shove, checking to make sure it was closed tight. The thick wood didn't budge. It was closed as far as it would go.
Samira spun around, a smirk on her face. "Let's see them try to break through that."
As if in response, something heavy crashed against the wood. The door groaned and some dust floated out from between the seams, but it held.
Liam had helped Ryder install the extra-heavy crossbeam not long after the two of them had joined the Crimson Awl. Ryder had wanted it as an extra precaution. "For Samira's sake," he had said.
Back then, Liam never imagined it would be his life the heavy wood would protect.
"Get over here, away from the door." Liam grabbed Samira by the shoulder and pulled her back toward the other side of the house, next to his mother. He put himself between the two women and the door.
Again something smashed the door, but this time it sounded heavier. If the first sound had been a boot heel, this had been a warhammer or a heavy maul. The crashing sounds grew in frequency, landing on the door too fast for them to be made by just one man.
Liam looked back at Samira. "How many of them are out there?"
Samira shrugged. "Through the slat, I only saw three… no, four guardsmen."
Three he could maybe take. Four was pushing it, and if there were any others, he'd be far too outnumbered to have any chance. Liam started to look around the house. There were no windows, and the only other access to the outside world was through the chimney. For a heartbeat, Liam thought perhaps he could squeeze himself up and out onto the roof. But the fire had been burning all morning and afternoon. Even if he put it out, the bricks would be far too hot for him to touch.