Master of Chains (35 page)

Once he had taken his turn, Liam grabbed hold of Samira’s arm and the two of them began walking back toward the village.

Someone put a hand on Liam’s shoulder.

“Excuse me,” said a young woman.

Liam turned around to look into the beautiful brown eyes of the woman who had accompanied Ryder, the same woman who had mortally wounded Shyressa only two nights before.

“Your name is Liam, right?” she asked.

Liam nodded. “Yes.”

The young woman smiled sadly. “My name is Giselle.” She offered Liam her hand.

“You’re Ryder’s friend ” said Samira.

Giselle nodded. “Was.” She looked as if she might cry.

Liam pulled a handkerchief out of his pants and handed it to Giselle, but she shook her head.

“No, thank you,” she said. “I’ll be fine.” She lifted her chin, gritted her teeth, and cleared the tears from her eyes. She smiled again. “But there is something you could do for me.”

Liam looked at Samira, then back at Giselle. “Any friend of Ryder’s is a friend of mine,” he said. “What can I help you with?”

“I was thinking that I might like to stay around here, in Duhlnarim,” explained Giselle. “And I thought maybe you could put in a good word for me with the baron. Thought maybe I could join up with the elite guard.”

“What about your friends?” asked Samira. “The ones who came with you to our home?”

Giselle smiled. “They have their path, and I have mine,” she said. “Most of them have returned north, to the Giant’s Plain. Some will no doubt find trouble in other parts.”

Liam put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure the baron would be happy to have you,” he said. “Come. I’ll introduce you to him right now.”

In the dark of the night, a lone figure walked into the graveyard outside of Furrowsrich. It didn’t have a torch or a lantern. It didn’t need one. All it carried was a length of rope and a shovel as it walked through the rows of tombstones, looking at each of the names.

The figure stopped over a fresh grave. This one didn’t have a tombstone. It hadn’t been placed yet. All there was to mark the location was a plank of wood with the name “Ryder” burned into it.

The figure smiled and dropped the rope on the ground. Then, placing the head of the shovel into the fresh dirt, the figure began to dig.

The figure stopping digging when it reached the wood of the casket. When it found the edges, it got down into the grave and finished the job with its bare hands, carefully removing the dirt little by little, uncovering the casket as if it were a priceless artifact.

Grabbing the rope, the figure attached it to the handles on the edge of the casket and climbed out of the hole. Then, with the free end, it began to pull, slowly, carefully dragging the coffin to the surface.

At the top, the figure lifted the lid and peered inside.

“Rise, child,” the figure said in a hollow, wispy voice. “Your master awaits you.”

Inside the coffin, Ryder’s body sat up straight. He lifted himself to his feet. “Where am I to meet her?”

“In the tombs outside Dajaan. Near the Deepwash,” said the figure. “Do not keep Shyressa waiting, or you will find that there are far worse things in this world than death.”

*

In the far corner of the graveyard another man, this one invisible, turned and walked toward Zerith Hold. “Yes. Just as I thought,” said Curtis to himself. “Yes, yes. This might be a problem.”