Master of Chains - Jess Lebow [26]
A pounding on the door caused the taskmaster to stop his display.
"Prepare the prisoners," yelled a voice from the other side of the door. "The mounted guard is ready to leave."
The taskmaster was visibly deflated by this. He bowed his head then hung the cleaver back on the wall. "All right scum," he said after a long sigh, "that's your cue." He wound his whip around his right hand, making his fist look like a giant's. With his other hand, he grabbed hold of the length of chain on the floor that connected to the first set of three prisoners.
Giving it a rough tug, he shouted, "Get up."
All thirty-six prisoners stood up.
"To your left." He gave the chain another tug. "Move."
Ryder, being on the farthest left side, sidestepped as far as he could. There was enough chain between the shackles on his ankles for him to take a full stride. But the chain between him and the bald man on his right was not as long, and the two of them got momentarily tangled. Ryder came to an abrupt stop, almost toppling over. The bald man reached out and caught Ryder by the wrist, righting the falling revolutionary.
Ryder looked at the man. He had a gruff, surly countenance. His forehead sported a vivid blue tattoo shaped like a triangle. His left ear had a long tear in it, covered with a fresh scab-likely an ornament recently removed by force. His nose was bright red, a telltale sign of one who's consumed a lifetime's worth of mead in much less than a lifetime, and his face was covered with deep pockmarks. Despite his outward appearance, his eyes had a kindness to them, and the man nodded when they made eye contact.
Ryder nodded back, acknowledging the man's help, and continued to shuffle to his left. With several quick steps and a hop to avoid tripping over the chain again, he managed to move far enough for him, the bald man, and the third prisoner in his row to get out from behind the bench.
Once the entire group of prisoners was ready, the taskmaster gave them a once-over and nodded. Clipping the lead chain onto a hook on his belt, he turned around and hefted the drum harness onto his shoulders.
"All right, you worthless pile of dragon dung, this isn't difficult." He pounded one of the drums with his fist. It made a deep boom. "Listen to the beat and move your feet. If I stop beating the drum, you stop moving your feet. If I turn left, you turn left. If I turn right, you turn right. Got it?"
No one said a word.
The taskmaster looked back over his shoulder, shouting this time. "Got it?"
"Yes, sir," said several of the prisoners.
"First beat," he shouted over the drums, "you step with your left foot. Second beat, you step with your right foot. Anyone who can't keep up or keep the beat will force me to stop beating the drum, and if I'm not beating the drum I'll be beating you." He slammed his fist against the first drum.
Ryder stepped his left foot forward. The tattooed man did as well. The skinny man at the end of their row, however, was caught off-guard. He was yanked forward by his shackles, only catching his balance at the last instant. The prisoners in the next row bumped into the skinny man's back, nearly causing a pileup.
"Second beat," shouted the taskmaster. He brought his other fist down against the drum.
Ryder stepped forward with his right foot. This time the skinny man caught the beat, and he moved in unison with the rest of the group. As the prisoners shuffled forward, the chains rattled, sounding like some sort of angry spirit.
"First beat!"
Ryder stepped again. The bruises from the beating Captain Phinneous had given him burned from the strain.
"Second beat!"
Ryder looked up at the taskmaster. The taskmaster beat the drum again, this time without any verbal instruction. Ryder's lip curled with the disdain he now felt toward the