Master of Chains (9 page)

Swinging his legs out from under his blanket, he put his feet on the floor and lifted himself out of bed. The sun hadn’t come up yet. All the better. Darkness suited his mood.

Slipping his clothes on, he grabbed a hoe from a rack on the wall and headed out the door. Down the path, he turned and headed east. He didn’t need the sun’s guidance to find his way. He’d walked the path so many times that he sometimes felt he could find his way completely asleep.

All of the farmers in Duhlnarim shared the same set of fields. Nobody owned them, of course. They were all the property of Baron Purdun and his wife, the Princess Dijara, who was also the king’s younger sister. Each family was allotted an amount of land to work as they saw fit, but every season, the tax collector came around, collecting for the baron. Every year the taxes got higher. It got so a family could barely make a living anymore.

Liam and his folks would break their backs working the land, tilling the soil, planting the crops, then harvesting them, only to have most of what they reaped taken away.

Despite how early he’d arrived, Liam wasn’t the first in the fields of Furrowsrich village. It was better to get an early start so one could finish the hard work before the sun got too high in the sky. Already the sound of sharpened metal tilling the hard-packed dirt had reached a steady rhythm. There were at least a dozen other men working here, including Liam’s father, Douglas. But none of them spoke, not in the morning.

Liam wasn’t sure why the silence was part of the farmers’ morning ritual, but right now he was thankful for it. He just wanted to go straight to work—wanted to push himself, to feel something other than the anguish that had ruled his life for the past two tendays.

Crossing over several planted rows, Liam came to the spot where he’d left off the day before. He raised the hoe and brought it down in a quick chop. His first strike was offbeat. Raising it again, he brought it down a little faster. The blood flowed through his veins, and soon he had a good sweat going. His down strokes kept rhythm with the other farmers.

By midday, he’d completed two full rows. As he began work on the third, Douglas grabbed him by the shoulder.

“It is time for a break,” said the old man.

Liam looked up but didn’t stop his swing. “I’m fine.”

His father just nodded. “Well, if you won’t take a break for yourself, perhaps you’ll come help me fix the cart.” He hitched his thumb over his shoulder. “The wheel is stuck, and I need someone to hold it while I pound out the axle.”

Liam shrugged and followed his father to the small shed situated beside the field. All the farmers built these structures next to the land they worked. It was a way for them to claim a small amount of ownership in a system that allowed them no control over anything. Inside the rickety wooden walls, a farmer could do whatever he wished. The land the building sat upon didn’t belong to him, but the space inside did.

Next to the shed, Liam’s father’s cart was turned over, the wheel in the air.

The old man went into the shed and returned with a heavy stone hammer and a steel awl.

“Grab hold of the wheel there,” Douglas instructed, “and I’ll knock the axle loose.”

Liam did as his father instructed, bending over the cart and grabbing it with both hands.

“All right, hold it still now.”

They worked in silence, the hot afternoon sun beating down on them. This was how it had always been between the two of them, father and son. Liam had never really related to his father all that much. They didn’t talk, except when Douglas needed help with something. And Liam never felt the need to get more out of the old man. Liam didn’t like to think that he hated his father. He preferred to think that they just didn’t have anything in common. They had a duty to each other because they were family, and that was the extent of their relationship.

With one final blow, the axle on the cart came loose, and the wheel slipped off.

“Good,” said the old man. “Now take it around to the other side of the shed. I’ll put the new axle on it.”

Liam lifted the wheel and carried it around the building. As he came around the shed, he caught sight of Samira. She carried a heavy-looking bucket over her right arm, and she braced it with her left. Every day she mercifully brought fresh water to the fields to quench the farmers’ parched throats. She waved at Liam as she approached.

Samira was tired. Liam could tell by the way she carried herself that the past two tendays had taken their toll. It pained him to know how much she was mourning the loss of his brother. Something so beautiful shouldn’t have to feel such an ugly emotion.

The other farmers saw her approaching with the bucket, and they flocked over to the shed to get a dipper full of the clean fresh well water. Liam put the wheel down and turned to be the first in line.

“Hello Samira,” he said, taking off his cap.

“Afternoon, Liam.” She smiled, worry lines creasing her face. “You look thirsty. Care for a drink?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Samira lifted the dipper out of the bucket and handed it to Liam. Covered in dust, standing out in the hot sun, the cool fresh water tasted better than any water he’d ever had. Though he knew this was the same water from the same well that he’d been drinking from since he was young, somehow, it always tasted better after a long day’s work.

He finished the water in one long slurp, then handed the dipper back. As he did, he made eye contact with Samira. There was sadness there. Sadness and pain. Her eyes seemed as if they were carrying a heavy weight all by themselves, holding back the emotions Samira was too brave to show off here among the other farmers. It was as if all of her anguish over losing Ryder had been packed away behind those two beautiful blue eyes. They struggled to hold it all back. But somehow, while Liam looked on, they softened. For a moment, the burden they carried was lifted, and a wave of happy relief swept over them.

“Come on, son, don’t hold up the line.” The farmer behind him gave a light shove, and Liam looked away from Samira as he stepped aside and out of line.

Liam went back and lifted the wheel he and his father had been working on. Standing up, he found himself face to face with Captain Beetlestone. The veteran was backed by four other soldiers.

“Well, well,” said Beetlestone as he doffed his helm. “Back hard at work, are we?”

Liam shifted his grip on the wheel. “What do you want?”

“Don’t you know?”

Farmers in Furrowsrich village were a notoriously nosey bunch, and a crowd began to form behind Liam, watching the interchange.

“No, Beetlestone, I don’t.”

The guard captain smirked. “It’s been two tendays. Lord Purdun wants to know if you’ve thought about his offer to join his elite guard.”

Liam looked back at the group of farmers. Everyone was silent, pretending to mind their own business, but he could tell they were hanging on every word.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Well—” the captain said, taking a step closer to Liam— “let me give you a piece of advice. If I were you, I’d take him up on it.” He stepped back, examining in the entire crowd in one long, slow glance. “Someone like you doesn’t get too many opportunities. Could change your life.”

Liam blinked.

The farmers began to murmur. Beetlestone wasn’t lying. Many of these people would give all they had to see their son or daughter taken into the baron’s elite guard.

Life in Furrowsrich was hard. No money, long days in the fields, barely enough to get by. Taking this position would mean an easier life for him and his family. But that was exactly why he couldn’t take it. It was Purdun who created this situation, and if Liam let himself be bought, then who would look after the interests of these other folks? If every revolutionary in the Crimson Awl could be bought, then Purdun would win. At least if Liam held out, there was a chance, albeit a small chance, of the Awl overthrowing the baron and changing everyone’s lives at the same time.

Beetlestone put his helm back on his head. “Well, think about it. Think real hard about it.” He turned to the rest of his men. “Let’s go.” The guard captain walked away, his men falling into step behind him.

Liam took the wheel into the shed. Though it was hot, the shade was a merciful relief from the sun beating down on his head and the farmers’ staring eyes on his back.

His father followed him in. “What was that about?”

Liam shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? Sounded like something to me,” said Douglas, raising his voice and moving closer to his son.

Liam flinched. Ever since he was a little boy, his father would use his superior size to gain the advantage in an argument. Despite the fact that Liam was no longer five years old, and he was now taller than his father, Douglas was still well-muscled from his time in the fields, and his father’s commanding tone intimidated him.

“I told you already, Lord Purdun asked me some questions.”

“Captain Beetlestone said something about an offer.” Douglas moved in even closer, his chin nearly touching Liam’s cheek. “What offer is he talking about, Liam?”

Liam squirmed. “All right,” he said as he took a step away from the older man. “Purdun offered me a spot on his elite guard.”

“And you didn’t take it? What kind of fool are you?”

Liam’s anger rose at his father’s goading. It replaced his sorrow and gave him strength. He squared his shoulders and glared down at Douglas. “Not the kind of old fool who waits around, toiling his whole life just so that fat pig Purdun can get rich off my hard work.” He shoved his father.

Douglas lost his balance and had to take a step back. It wasn’t that the shove was so hard that it actually overpowered the old man, but the action surprised both father and son.

Liam’s heart pounded. He was tired of being muscled around, and now he’d done what he’d never before had the courage to do. The feeling thrilled him. But there would be consequences, and that also terrified him.

Douglas came back with both fists balled up, ready for a fight. “You prepared to back that up, boy?”

Liam instinctively reached for his belt, but he hadn’t brought a sword. Glancing around the room, he looked for something to defend himself with. It was too late to talk his way out of this; he’d seen that look in his father’s eyes too many times. Their arguments had often ended this way over the years. But this one was different. This time, Liam had made contact, and the old man wasn’t going to let that go unpunished.

Liam remembered back to a time when he was only ten years old. They had been out in these very fields, and he and Ryder had been practicing their sword fighting with a couple of hoes. Douglas had stepped between their little game, and Liam had feigned a blow to the old man’s head. His father had grabbed him by the arm and lifted him clean off the ground.

Looking Liam in the eyes, Douglas had said, “If you hit me, you’d better make sure I don’t get back up. Because if I do, you’ll be sorry.”

Liam had never forgotten those words. They had been burned into his permanent memory, and since that day, he’d never laid a finger on the old man.

Until now.

Liam caught sight of a broken pickaxe leaning against the wall of the shed, and he made a lunge for it. Douglas saw him move, and swung down with his powerful fist. But Liam was too fast, and he spun away, grabbing the pick and avoiding the blow as he sidestepped the slower, burly old man.

The move had saved Liam from a painful sock in the gut, but it had humiliated his father, adding insult to injury.

Douglas’s face was now red, and he sneered at his son, his tremendous frame heaving with exertion as it blocked the path to the open door. “You’re gonna get it, boy.”

Liam lifted the broken tool.

“What’s going on in here?” Samira appeared in the doorway. Her face was obscured by the sunlight behind her. Liam could only see the silhouette of her hand placed firmly on her slim hip. Her hair was tied on top of her head, exposing the long smooth curve of her neck, backlit by the sun’s rays.

“Oof.” Liam staggered back, slamming into the wall as his father’s fist collided with his chin. He slid down the wall to the ground.

“Stop it!” shouted Samira. “Stop it right now.” She pushed past Douglas to get to Liam’s side.

“This doesn’t concern you,” said the old man, rubbing his knuckles.

Samira bent down and touched Liam’s cheek. “You’re bleeding.”

Liam put his hand to his face. His father’s punch had split his parched lip.

Douglas shuffled his feet. “Leave the little sissy be. He got what he deserves.”

Samira spun on the old man. “Don’t you have work to do?” she said. “You’ve done enough here already.”

“Bah.” Douglas sneered at Liam then turned and walked out the door. The opening no longer blocked, the sun beamed in from outside.

Liam pushed himself up on one arm and started to get up off the ground.

Samira grabbed him by the shoulder and helped him up. “Oh, be careful.”

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” He waved her off as he got to his feet. “I had it coming.”

“What happened?” She tore off a piece of her skirt and dabbed at the blood on his face. “And what was all that with Captain Beetlestone?”

Liam touched his chin. It was sore and probably would be for a while. “That discussion is what got me this fat lip.”

“Ah,” Samira nodded. “A little fatherly advice.”

Liam smirked. Ryder had started courting Samira when they were still just teenagers, but she had known their family for much longer. Though she had been kind and friendly toward Douglas, Liam had always thought she disapproved of the way he related to the rest of the family.

The doorway went dark again. “Liam of Duhlnarim,” came a voice. Three men shuffled into the shed. All of them wore hardened leather armor, and each of them carried a long sword. “You have some explaining to do.”

The speaker stepped forward, out of the backlit doorway and into the shadows where Liam could see him. He was tall with long black hair tied back in a ponytail. There were dark circles under his eyes and his skin was pale, making his face look sickly in the strange light of the shack.