Chainers Torment

CHAPTER 1

The sun was setting by the time Chainer returned to the salt flats outside the city. He welcomed the sight of his home but did not relax.

A small armed party stood on the path between Chainer and the city gates. Chainer recognized one of the shapes as human and another as an aven bird warrior, but the other two were indistinct. All Chainer could tell from a distance was that one was tall and the other was short or crouching. The human and the aven were dressed in the brilliant white robes of the Order. Chainer slowed his pace but did not stop. The Order were a passel of militant moral fanatics who sought to impose their rules on all the citizens of Otaria. They considered all Cabalists criminals and the Cabal itself to be a blight on society, despite the fact that it thrived all across the continent. Civilized Otarians everywhere did business with the Cabal. They willingly and repeatedly attended Cabal spectacles, borrowed Cabal money, and begged for Cabal protection. As far as Chainer was concerned, the Order only offered the possibility of a nebulous spiritual reward, and even that was contingent upon obedience to their childish concept of justice. The Cabal was far more concrete and pragmatic. It provided food, shelter, and education for anyone willing to work for it.

Chainer resumed his pace, quickly eliminating the distance between himself and the Order party. If he turned or otherwise tried to avoid them, they would surely follow. Best to confront them now.

"Greetings, traveler," the human soldier called. "On your way to the city?" Judging by the wrap of the Order members' robes and the insignias on their shoulders, Chainer made the aven as an officer and the human as a foot soldier. Beside the officer squatted an ugly, even more birdlike creature with a long neck, jagged beak, and vicious sharp talons. The other, taller figure kept its back to Chainer, but he could see that it was one of the Nantuko, a tribe of intelligent mantislike creatures from the Krosan forest. Chainer was uneasy. The bug-men rarely came this close to the Cabal's city. "1. live there," Chainer said, "and I'm on my way home." "Have you seen the light of justice, my friend?" Chainer was now close enough, so they could speak without shouting. "I have. I found it wanting. Let me pass."

"At ease, trooper," the aven officer said quietly. His voice was surprisingly human, but his beak clacked together at the end of each sentence. "This one is Cabal. Look at his eyes. They have that feral, vermin look about them."

"Let me pass," Chainer repeated.

The officer stepped forward. "I'm right, aren't I? You are Cabal. And according to the truce between your patriarch and our commander, we have the right to inspect any and all travelers on the road between here and the Krosan forest."

"Bosh," Chainer snarled and gestured angrily. "The First never agreed to that." "Take it easy, son. Trooper Baankis?" The foot soldier drew his sword and stood at attention. To Chainer, the officer said, "We just need to search you to make sure you haven't smuggled anything out of the forest preserve."

Trooper Baankis stepped forward, and Chainer looked over his shoulder at the city. If he could get past them, he knew he could outrun the man and the aven, at least until he was safe inside the gates. He wasn't sure about the ugly little bird, though. Or the Nantuko.

Chainer waited until the trooper was right in front of him. When the trooper reached out to take Chainer's dagger, Chainer dropped down and kicked the man's feet out from under him with a wide sweep of his leg. He drew his dagger and fell across the trooper's neck and shoulders, the point of his blade poised over the trooper's eye. He stared defiantly at the officer.

"Get stuffed. You're not touching me."

The officer opened his beak in a cruel aven smiled. "You're hostile, even for a criminal. And now that you've attacked us, we have every right to take you down. Luckily, I think you're young enough to be successfully rehabilitated." He drew his own sword, and the bird at his feet croaked ominously.

Chainer knew that when members of the Order spoke of rehabilitation they really meant brainwashing. As he prepared to fight and run, Chainer reached down to check the satchel at his side. As soon as his fingers made contact through the tough leather, the Nantuko suddenly exploded into violent motion. The mantis rose up and shrieked a trilling, high-pitched alarm. It flailed its forelimbs wildly as it tried to strike at Chainer, and it accidentally knocked the officer into the bird.

Chainer nimbly dove over the mantis's sharp- hooked appendage and rolled onto his feet. He began to run, but the mantis sprang into the air and landed well ahead of him on the path. It was still chit-tering and swinging wildly.

Chainer had never fought a Nantuko before and wasn't sure where he should aim his chain. He hesitated, and in that moment noticed that the mantis wasn't trying to strike him any more. In fact, it seemed to be trying its level best to avoid touching him at all, while putting on a loud display to drive Chainer away from the city. Was the enormous bug actually afraid of him?

On a hunch, Chainer took his satchel from his waist and held it out at the mantis. The Nantuko keened and fell back, seemingly terrified of the satchel's contents. Chainer lunged forward, and the Nantuko sprang away.

Chainer didn't waste the opportunity. He sprinted away from the Order party at top speed. He heard the officer ordering trooper Baankis to pursue and the frantic trilling of the Nantuko. He risked one last glance over his shoulder and saw the bug had turned and was calling into a small, swampy, wooded area of the salt flats. From within the stunted glade, something roared in reply. Chainer felt the ground nimble beneath his running feet and heard the ear- splitting crack of live timber being splintered as something very large came forward to answer the Nantuko's call.

Chainer fixed his eyes back on the city and concentrated on running as fast as he could.

Roup's tavern was on a lonely side street well off the main road that led to the city center and the Cabal seat of power. Chainer thought the term "tavern" was actually too generous. Roup's was a single room with a single door and a single foul-tasting grog on the menu.

It was a welcome sight to Chainer, however. People didn't come to Roup's for the fare or the decor or the atmosphere. They came to be seen and heard at the very edge of the Cabal's web of influence. Or, as in Chainer's case, to escape from the Cabal's enemies.

"The Cabal is here," Chainer greeted Roup through gritted teeth.

"And everywhere," Roup replied.

"I need your help, big brother."

"Ask, little brother, and I shall answer."

Chainer struggled to remain patient. Roup was technically his superior, but there was a clingy desperation to his manner that made Chainer's knife hand itch. He was flabby and slow, and Chainer thought he dressed like a molting parrot dunked in bile. Roup also tried to make every conversation last as long as possible, which made Chainer and everyone else try to cut them short. It was the general opinion of Cabalists everywhere that Roup deserved to be forgotten at the edge of the city. But the Cabal was, in fact, everywhere, and Roup was the Cabal's man in this sector. He also had the only means of direct communication to the organization's headquarters in the heart of the city.

"I need to use the grapevine," Chainer said. "It's important."

Roup laughed jovially and poured himself a half- goblet of noxious green liquid. "It's always important with you young ones. 'Oh, I've lost the message I was supposed to deliver. Oh, a mean elder stole my package. Woe is me, I stubbed my toe.' Relax, little brother. You'll live longer."

Chainer patted the satchel at his side. "I have a delivery for the First. I need you to contact-"

"The First is only twelve blocks away," Roup smirked. "Did you forget the way? Go out the front door, turn left…" Roup trailed off, waiting for Chainer to join him in a smirk.

"I know where the manor is," Chainer said. "The problem isn't the path, it's-"

"Now that you mention it," Roup went on, "I'll bet you a silver marker that if you stood on my doorstep and shouted, the First would hear-"

"Big brother," Chainer snapped. "The Order is waiting outside."

"You led them here?" "I had no choice. 'Here' is directly between the First and where they tried to grab me." "How many are there?" "Two. Plus-" Roup sipped thoughtfully. "Only two? 1 would have thought a clever and-" he gestured with his goblet at Chainer's belt- "well armed little brother like yourself could handle a meager pair of toy soldiers." He slid the decanter of green liquid toward Chainer. "Drink?" Chainer ignored the decanter and stared fixedly at Roup. "No thank you, big brother. And the toy soldiers are also armed. Heavily. They have one of those bug-boys with them as well, and I think something big from Krosan. They met me coming into the city and tried to arrest me. They chased me here, and they're waiting for me now, out there. I need an escort to reach the First."

Roup chuckled. "An escort, little brother? We're very important all of a sudden, aren't we? Why don't I get on the grapevine and order the First himself to come here and save you the trip?" He snorted an ugly little laugh at his own cleverness.

"All I want," Chainer said evenly, "is to deliver this package to the First. To do that, I need to get in touch with my mentor. His name is Skellum." Chainer watched Roup digest this new bit of information. Master Skellum's name carried some weight, even here. "Well, little brother," Roup said finally, "if this package for the First is so important, why don't you just leave it with me? I can have an armed escort here by sunrise, and then I'll take it to him myself when I deliver my tally tomorrow. In the meantime, you can hide in my cellar and stay out of my way."

"It cannot wait for tomorrow," Chainer said stiffly. "And I will not surrender it to anyone but the First."

Roup raised an eyebrow, obviously slighted. "Present the package, little brother. I will decide who gives it to the First."

Reluctantly, Chainer took the satchel off his belt. Slowly, mechanically, he extended it out to arm's length and placed it in the center of the table. He kept his eyes fixed and his arm extended as Roup leaned forward. When Roup's hand touched the drawstring, Chainer struck. He whipped his dagger out of its shoulder sheath and slammed the point deep into the table, through the sleeve of Roup's garish robe. Without pausing, he looped his chain under Roup's chin and sprang up, flipping his body over Roup's head and rolling down the tavern keeper's back like a hedgehog down a hill. Chainer's full weight pulled the chain close around Roup's throat, and as the young man came to his feet, he twisted the chain even tighter. With the same whispered spell he had used in the ruined mansion, he linked the chain to itself, creating a choking collar that didn't kill Roup outright but did make it difficult for the old windbag to breathe.

Roup struggled feebly and clawed at his throat with his free hand.

"Big brother," Chainer hissed in his ear, "I am going to show you the package now. I want us to be completely clear on one point, however-it is mine to deliver. Mine. I found it. I fought for it, and I will kill anyone who tries to keep me from giving it to the First with my own hands."

Roup gagged and choked, and the sleeve of his robe began to tear.

"Are we clear, big brother?"

Roup's head jerked up and down. He banged his chin on the table, spilling both the goblet and the decanter. Chainer touched the link that was keeping the collar tight.

"Break," he whispered, and it shimmered away into nothing. He allowed Roup enough slack to gasp and cough, but he kept the chain firmly around the tavern keeper's neck. Roup was the only one who could use the grapevine from this location, so Chainer needed him alive and conscious.

"With your free hand," Chainer said, "open the package. But don't touch what's inside. Clear?"

Roup sucked in a few more wheezing gulps of air and shot Chainer a murderous look over his shoulder. Chainer could see the dire threats of retribution forming in Roup's mind, but the chatty old bore was smart enough not to challenge Chainer's advantage. Chainer suspected that Roup had often been held hostage and was probably used to it by now. Besides, his natural greed and curiosity were piqued. Slowly, carefully, he undid the drawstring.

For several long minutes there was no sound other than Roup's ragged breathing as he stared at Chainer's sphere. Chainer himself waited patiently, resting just enough weight on Roup's back to keep him still and just enough tension on his throat to keep him obedient.

Roup's voice was a hoarse, painful whisper. "You win, little brother. What do you need?"

"Get on the grapevine," Chainer said immediately. "Contact the proving grounds and inform Skellum that his pupil Chainer is waiting for him here. Tell him it's an emergency. Tell him to come now."

Chainer released Roup's throat and spun lightly around the table. As he passed Roup's pinned sleeve, Chainer retrieved his dagger.

"And tell him to come heavy."

Less than an hour later, Chainer walked out of Roup's tavern. Skellum said he would meet Chainer outside, and that Chainer was to distract the Order's bully boys until he arrived.

The sun had recently set, and the night was dark, cold, and clear. Oil-burning street lamps flickered. His enemies were waiting for him in the street.

The two Order soldiers stood rigid and humorless, watching Roup's doorway. The small bird-thing squatted beside the aven officer, and it croaked unpleasantly as Chainer came out. There was no sign of the mantis or its beast. There was likewise no sign of Skellum.

"That's far enough," the officer called. "This is fair warning, boy.

If you run again, we will be forced to injure you. If you retreat back into that den of filth, we will burn it down."

Chainer glared at him, but did not speak. "Distract them," Skellum had said, but the mere sight of these fake do-gooders in their gleaming white robes galled Chainer like an abscess. He had fought many Order soldiers, both on the streets and in the Cabal's fighting pits, and he was always eager to take on another. He wondered if Skellum would consider crippling stab wounds enough of a distraction.

"I am Major Teroh," the aven said. "In the name of the Order, I hereby claim you and that satchel at your waist. If you come with us now, you will not be harmed. You'll spend a night as a guest on a warm, safe bedroll. You might even get a hot meal out of it.

"We don't want to hurt you. Quite the opposite, in fact. But whatever it is you're carrying," he paused, searching for the right words, "belongs with us. It's simply too dangerous for the likes of you."

Chainer made no effort to hide his disgust. "You don't even know what you're talking about, do you?"

"Not as such," Teroh bristled at Chainer's scorn. "But if I saw a book of spells written in a foreign language, I still wouldn't let a child read from it."

"Go find a child with a book, then," Chainer said. "I'm on Cabal business. I don't need an Order librarian wasting my time."

Major Teroh scowled. "I won't ask you again."

"Suits me. Then I won't have to ignore you again."

"Trooper Baankis," the major said loudly, and the foot soldier snapped to an even more rigid state of attention.

"Yes, Major!"

"Relieve this willful young man of his burden. If he resists… subdue him. No permanent damage."

"Yes, sir!" Baankis started forward, and Chainer drew his knuckle dagger. He held it expertly out in front of him in his left hand. His right hand was balled into a fist at his side, and he stood lightly on his toes with his weight evenly balanced.

"At ease, trooper." Baankis halted. The major scowled again, and shook his head in frustration. He called out to Chainer, "You're going to make this difficult, aren't you?" When Chainer didn't reply, Teroh shook his head. "Baankis, stand down."

"Sir!"

Teroh jerked the bird-thing's leash, and it spread its wings and shook itself. The major turned to Baankis and said, "Stand by to collect one bad- mannered boy and one mysterious satchel."

"Yes, sir!"

Major Teroh dropped the bird's leash and pointed at Chainer. "Subdue," he said, and the bird took flight.

Chainer watched it bearing down on him, its wingspan as wide as he was tall. It swerved so as to avoid the dagger clutched tight in his left hand. Chainer knew that with its speed and its long neck it could disarm him, knock him over, or pin him down before his blade could even touch it. Grimly, he waited.

When the bird was ten feet away, Chainer lashed out with his right hand. The length of chain he had been concealing snapped out, screaming directly toward the oncoming bird. Chainer's aim was excellent. The sharpened weight at the end of the chain smashed clean through the bird's skull, killing it instantly. Chainer caught the still-twitching corpse as it crashed into his chest and let it drop heavily to the ground.

"Callda!" Major Teroh shouted.

Chainer held onto the chain, now threaded through the ruined skull of the bird, and sneered at Teroh. "Callda, was it? Friend of yours, Major, or a distant cousin? Don't worry, it didn't die in vain." Chainer scornfully nudged the carcass. "I'll light a candle for it when I get home." He put his knuckle dagger back into the quick-release sheath on his shoulder.

"Baankis," Teroh growled and drew his sword. "Advance. If this murderous little worm survives, he is going to spend the next three years in a rehabilitation work camp."

Baankis was wide-eyed but resolute. "Yes, sir." Chainer was pleased to hear that his replies were no longer so crisp and regimental.

"Hold on, Major," Chainer said. "If you liked that, you're going to love this." Without waiting, Chainer dropped to his knees by Callda's body, clenched the end of his chain tighter, and reached out to the corpse with his mind as Master Skellum had taught him.

The bird's heart had only recently stopped beating. Robbed of any vital impetus, its blood gave in to gravity and began to pool in its torso. Its muscles drained and deflated, its body temperature dropped, and its joints started to stiffen. Chainer took hold of the energy being released by the bird's transition from life to death and channeled it up and into his chain.

"The Cabal is here," he whispered, and then he cried out as a jolting rush of energy leaped up the chain and into his own body. He felt his consciousness expand, he felt his arms and legs grow stronger and more responsive, he felt his thoughts clarify. He stood and jerked the chain free from Callda's skull. He began to twirl it around his head, letting out more and more of it as it spun. Chainer was ferocious in his joy. This was going better than he could have imagined. Perhaps he wouldn't need Skellum's help after all.

"Keep your distance, Bunkus," he said to the foot soldier, and he could hear the confidence in his voice as it echoed off the street's paving stones. Charged by the death of Callda, Chainer was flush with the arcane darkness that was the source of the Cabal's power. He felt immovable, invincible. With the barest thought, he magically added another six feet to his chain and created another sharpened weight for the end in his hand. Soon he had two lethal missiles dancing a complicated minuet around every inch of his body. The chain automatically increased or decreased in length as it flew, according to its master's will. Young as he was, Chainer was an expert with the long chain, and he even dared to mock Teroh from the safety of its whirling radius.

"Your move, Major," he called. "There's a hot meal and a safe bed waiting for me at the Cabal, too. If you let me pass, maybe we'll both sleep well tonight."

Teroh's eyes were wild, and his voice was tight in his throat. With a visible effort of will, he swallowed his fury and barked, "Reseda!"

Chainer heard a buzz and saw a blur. A sudden impact on his chest knocked him backward so hard that Roup's door rattled on its hinges. His chain snarled and tangled around him clumsily, and one of the weighted ends gashed painfully into his shin. Dazed, he looked up.

The mantis-man stood over him, chittering in its incomprehensible insect language. It jammed one of its pointed forelimbs into the solid stone beside Chainer's head and hissed at him. There was another buzz, another blur, and the mantis disappeared back into the alley behind Major Teroh.

"Reseda hates this city," Teroh said, "but he hates that thing in your satchel even more."

Chainer coughed and tasted blood. He had bitten his tongue and split his lip. His ears were still ringing, and his vision was tilted sideways. At least his ribs weren't broken, he thought. He could still breathe, albeit painfully.

"Now then, Cabalist," Teroh continued, spitting the last word out like poison. "You will surrender. Trooper Baankis and I are going to bind your hands. If you behave, we will even bind your wounds. Then you will accompany us back to our citadel where you will offer apologies and make restitution for Callda. And then, you will be rehabilitated."

Chainer grunted. "Die first. And haunt you forever."

"I don't think so." Teroh waved his hand in front of him, whispering, and the razor edges of both his and Baankis's swords began to glow brightly. "Baankis?"

"Sir!" Trooper Baankis had regained his gusto.

"Forward." The two soldiers advanced in step with their swords drawn and radiant. Chainer struggled to get to his feet but slumped back against the door of the tavern.

"My goodness," came a silky, sinuous voice. "Now this is simply unacceptable. Chainer, what have you been up to?"

The speaker stepped out from around the corner of the building into the light. He was a small, neat man, elegant in his manner and graceful in his movements. He was dressed in form-fitting snakeskin died midnight black, and he wore a waterproof cape with a bright red collar and black fur lining. His head was completely concealed by a bell-shaped hat made of grayish paper stretched tight between stiff wire ribs. The hat hung loosely from a hook that sprouted up from a wire rig attached to his shoulders. It had gaps between every second panel that allowed him to see, but each gap was only a few inches wide.

One of the gaps was now positioned directly in front of his face. He had clear blue eyes, an elegant beard, and a neat mustache. Beside him stood a huge black dog whose head was as big as a pony's. The dog's shoulder came up to the man's elbow, and she clearly outweighed him. Her eyes glowed dusky red in the shadow of her brow.

"My name is Skellum, and I wear a silly hat." The newcomer spoke brightly, as if introducing himself to a dinner party full of children. "Is there a problem, officer?"