Master of Chains - Jess Lebow [36]
The entire chain gang got up off the ground and began to move, but the riders were much faster and overtook them. Ryder craned his head to see what was happening. As they approached, two of the bandits dropped down off their horses, leaped to the ground without slowing, and landed on their feet at a full run.
"Hold still," shouted the first one. "We're the Broken Spear. We're not going to hurt you." His voice was high, like that of a boy not quite fully a man.
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.