Nazeem looked to Ryder. "Do you know of these men?"
Ryder nodded. "I've heard of them. My father used to tell us stories about them when we were little. I thought they were a myth, something he had made up to scare us into being good."
"Perhaps your father is not as much of a liar as you thought," replied the tattooed man.
The two dismounted bandits reached the last row of prisoners. Both of them were relatively short, and Ryder lost sight of them behind taller men.
"Please don't hurt me," screamed someone in the back, followed by the sound of metal crashing against metal.
A chill ran up Ryder's spine. This was not the way he wanted to die. Trapped like a hunter's quarry, unable to fight back.
"Be quiet, you coward," yelled the young bandit. "Now go fight your oppressors."
There was more pounding, and the sound of metal bending then giving in. Out of the corner of his eye, Ryder watched several prisoners, their sleeveless gray tunics stained with sweat, running toward the taskmaster, large rocks in their hands.
There was a lot of commotion. The men behind Ryder were shoving. The men in front were craning their necks to see what was going on. The sounds of men fighting and dying floated on the wind, surpassed only by the crack of the taskmaster's whip.
There was another loud metallic snap behind Ryder, then the bandits were standing beside him.
"Hold out your hands," ordered the young one.
Ryder did as he was told.
The man produced a pickaxe and a glass vial. He poured a thin, clear liquid on the two chains that connected Ryder to Nazeem and the skinny man. It seemed to smoke, and the metal touching Ryder's skin grew terribly cold.
The other bandit stepped up and grabbed hold of the chains. This one was much larger than the young one. Ryder could feel the man's strength through the shackles as he pulled them taut.
"Hold your hands as far apart as you can," ordered the muscular bandit.
Ryder nodded.
The younger one reeled back and slammed the pickaxe against the chains on Ryder's wrists-right where he'd poured the liquid. The pointed weapon sparked as it struck, but the chain remained intact.
"Damn," shouted the young one. He hit it again, and again the chain didn't budge.
The muscular bandit let go of the chains. "Try the lock."
The young one nodded and held out the vial of liquid. "Don't move," he said, "or you might lose your hand."
Ryder looked into the man's brown eyes. He had the purposeful look of someone with an agenda-an inner demon that drove him to do great things, perhaps despite himself. Ryder had seen that look before in the eyes of the men of the Crimson Awl. They had a reason to live for, something so dear that they would risk everything to protect it.
Just looking into his eyes, Ryder knew this man was the same.
"You understand?" The bandit poured the liquid directly on the cuff holding Ryder's left hand. The locking mechanism smoked just as the chains had.
Ryder nodded.
"Speak up, man," shouted the bandit. "Do you understand?"
"Yes." It felt strange to speak. The only words he'd spoken in the past several days had nearly gotten him killed.
"Good." The bandit raised the pickaxe.
Ryder held his arms as still as he could and braced himself.
The head of the weapon came down. Clank.
A buzzing pain ran up his arm, and Ryder looked down at his wrist. The shackle hung open, the lock broken, and with a quick shake it dropped away. The chain dragged on the ground, about five feet of it still attached to the cuff on Ryder's right arm.
"That did it," said the muscular bandit.
The younger grunted his acknowledgment and went to work on the other chains. They came away with much less effort, leaving only single links attached to the cuffs on each ankle.
"You are not truly free," said the young one, "until we all escape these oppressors." He slapped Ryder on the shoulder. "Now go. Fight back against the men who would make you into a beast."
Chapter 8
Liam followed Montauk and his men to the woods just outside Duhlnarim.
"Stop right here," said Montauk. He pulled from a pouch a long thin strip of fabric. Holding it up, he pushed it toward Liam's face.
Liam pulled away. "What do you think you're doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing?" replied Montauk. "I'm blindfolding you."
"Montauk, what's with you? I've been a loyal member of the Awl since its inception. You know this. You were there."
Montauk nodded to the other men. Each grabbed one of Liam's arms.
"Yes, Liam, I know how long you've been around. Frankly, that's what surprises me so much about your betrayal."
Liam struggled only slightly as the other men held him in place. "Betrayal? What betrayal?"
"That's what we're going to find out," replied Montauk. "Now play along, or I'll be forced to hurt you." He held up the blindfold again.
His arms pinned to his sides, Liam let Montauk place the fabric against his skin. He felt the knot press against the back of his head, grabbing at his hair as it cinched tight. The two men pulled his arms behind his back. Liam heard the heavy clanging of a chain, then he felt the familiar sensation of manacle cuffs closing over his wrists.
"Am I a prisoner?" Liam tested the shackles. There wasn't much play in the chain.
"Of a sort," replied Montauk. "You never can be too careful."
A hand on Liam's back urged him forward.
They walked on in silence for a long while, the regular crunch of dried pine needles underfoot keeping time as they went. Liam counted his steps, trying to distract himself from the uncertainty of what was to become of him. Ever since the morning Ryder died, his life seemed to be spinning out of control. The world moved by in front of him. He tried to reach out, to grab hold of something. But it was no use. He was powerless to affect the sights and sounds running before his own eyes. It was as if he were watching a play. The story would work its way to its final conclusion, regardless of whether he was in the audience or not.
Eventually, Liam's mind wandered. He lost track of the number of steps. He lost track of the forest and the men. He thought back on the days not so long ago when he and Ryder would come out into the woods to play hide-and-seek. Ryder would blindfold him like this and spin him in circles. When he fell down from dizziness, Ryder would run off to hide.
Liam had always hated the sensation of being dizzy. It made him sick to his stomach, and the feeling wouldn't go away for some time afterward. Still, Liam had enjoyed these games with his older brother. By this time, both of them had different sets of friends. Liam was still in school, and Ryder had taken to helping their father in the fields full time. The brothers didn't get to spend much time together anymore. So when they did, Liam did whatever his brother wanted. It didn't matter. Somehow, just playing games like they had when they were both younger felt right. Ryder had been the one person Liam could count on to understand him. He had been the one person who would always be there to back him up when things got tough. Liam couldn't say that about his father, or even his mother for that matter. Ryder had been the anchor for Liam.
"I wish you were here right now," whispered Liam.
"What?" said Montauk. "Speak up."
Liam shook his head. "It was nothing."
"Well, you'd better have something to say. You have plenty of explaining to do."
Someone jerked Liam to a stop. Without unlocking his shackles, Montauk pulled down the blindfold and left it dangling from Liam's neck.
They had brought Liam to a clearing. It looked to be the old, abandoned druid's circle-Dowmore Glen. Liam had never met any of the mythical druids who were reputed to live in the forests outside Duhlnarim. No one had seen them. Still, the stories of their existence and of the rituals they carried out deep in the woods were generally taken for truth by the farmers of Duhlnarim. Everyone had heard the hunters' stories of this place.