The Sword and the Chain Read online

  The Sword

  and the Chain

  The Guardians of the Flame

  Book II

  Joel Rosenberg

  A Baen Books Original

  Copyright 1984

  ISBN: 0-7434-3589-3

  Cover art by Monty Moore

  CONTENT

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Dramatis Personae

  Quote

  Introduction

  Part One: Metreyll

  Chapter One Profession

  Chapter Two "That Isn't Much, Is It?"

  Chapter Three Metreyll

  Chapter Four On the Aeryk Road

  Chapter Five The War Begins

  Part Two: The Valley

  Chapter Six Settling In

  Chapter Seven Moving On

  Part Three: The Middle Lands

  Chapter Eight Ahrmin

  Chapter Nine Baron Furnael

  Part Four: Melawei

  Chapter Ten To Ehvenor

  Chapter Eleven Ehvenor

  Chapter Twelve The Guardians of the Sword

  Chapter Thirteen The Scourge

  Chapter Fourteen The Cave of Writings

  Chapter Fifteen The Sword

  Chapter Sixteen Blood Price

  Part Five: Home

  Chapter Seventeen Jason

  Chapter Eighteen The Flickering Candle

  Chapter Nineteen The Hunter

  Dedication

  For Harry Leonard who, thankfully, still doesn't know when to stop haranguing me.

  Acknowledgments

  I'd like to thank the people who helped me through this one: Kevin O'Donnell, Jr., who insists that I think it through before I write it; Mary Kittredge, who demands that I get the words written, and then worry about whether or not they're the right ones; Mark J. McGarry, who swears that both of them are leading me astray; Jim Drury, who makes me feel that I know what I'm doing; Robert Lee Thurston and Judy Heald, whose support is always invaluable; Bob Adams, whose timely advice on blacksmithing was not nearly so important to me as his friendship; Darrell Sweet, cover artist extraordinaire; Susan Bissett, who, for the second time, has turned my barely legible scribblings into a fine map; my editor, Sheila Gilbert, who has the good grace to trust me; and Cherry Weiner, my agent for this work, who asked for more of Ellegon.

  And, most particularly, I'd like to thank my wife, Felicia Herman, who not only gets more beautiful every year, but knows how to separate what's important from what isn't.

  Dramatis Personae

  Karl Cullinane: warrior

  Andrea Andropolous: novice wizard

  Ellegon: a young dragon

  Walter Slovotsky: journeyman thief

  Ahira Bandylegs: dwarf warrior

  Louis Riccetti: ex-wizard/engineer

  Rheden Monsterhunter: hunter

  Teerhnus: blacksmith

  Ch'akresarkandyn ip Katharhdn: warrior, soldier of fortune

  Orhmyst: master slaver

  Kirah: freed slave

  Aeia Eriksen: freed slave

  Tennetty: freed slave, apprentice warrior

  Chton: freed slave, farmer

  Ihryk: freed slave, farmer

  Fialt: freed slave, farmer, sailor, apprentice warrior

  Ahrmin: slaver

  Wenthall: master wizard

  Zherr, Baron Furnael

  Sammis: master wizard

  Hivar: man-at-arms

  Enna: fealty-servant

  Rahff Furnael: heir to barony Furnael, apprentice warrior

  Thomen Furnael

  Beralyn, Lady Furnael

  Bren Adahan: heir to barony Adahan

  Avair Ganness: captain and owner of the Warthog

  Thyren: journeyman wizard

  Jheral, Hynryd, Haykh, Lensius, Finka: journeyman slavers

  Seigar Wohtansen: Clan Wohtan wizard and warleader

  Estalli, Olyla: Seigar Wohtansen's wives

  Peill: elf warrior

  Jason Cullinane

  Quote

  I find that the great thing in this world is not so much where we stand as in what direction we are moving. To reach the port of heaven, we must sail sometimes with the wind and sometimes against it, but we must sail, and not drift, nor lie at anchor.

  —Oliver Wendell Holmes

  Introduction

  It started as a game. Just a quiet, pleasant evening for seven college students.

  Karl Cullinane, Jason Parker, James Michael Finnegan, Doria Perlstein, Walter Slovotsky, Andrea Andropolous, and Lou Riccetti sat down for an evening of fantasy gaming. It was going to be fun. That's all it was supposed to be.

  But then gamemaster Professor Arthur Deighton somehow transferred them to the Other Side. Without warning, they found themselves in the world they thought existed only in their imaginations, in the bodies of the characters they had been pretending to be. Short, skinny Karl Cullinane became a tall, well-muscled warrior; crippled James Michael Finnegan became a powerful dwarf, Ahira Bandylegs. All seven of them changed into different people with unusual talents.

  Suddenly it wasn't a game anymore.

  Jason Parker was the first to die. He spent the last few moments of his life kicking on the end of a spear.

  The others survived, but now they weren't playing, they were fighting to stay alive, to escape the wrath and weapons of warriors and wizards, slavers and lords.

  They had to find the Gate Between Worlds and return home.

  They had to, and they did—but in the doing, they lost far too much. Ahira died at the Gate. Doria went catatonic. Nothing could be done about that at home. But, back on the Other Side, the Matriarch of the Healing Hand Society could bring Ahira back to life, could cure Doria's shattered mind.

  So they returned to the Other Side. And, yes, the Matriarch was willing to help them, just this once.

  But nothing is ever free. There were prices to pay, and promises to make. Promises that would be kept.

  No matter what the cost.

  Part One:

  Metreyll

  Chapter One

  Profession

  "Where we do go from here?" Karl Cullinane asked, sitting next to Andrea Andropolous on the largest of the flat stones surrounding the ashes of supper's campfire. He squinted at the setting sun as he sipped his coffee.

  Andy-Andy smiled. Karl always liked that smile; it brightened up what had been an already bright day. "Do you mean that metaphorically?" she asked, tossing her head to clear the wisps of hair from her face. Extending a slim, tanned forefinger, she stroked his thigh. "Or are you asking where the two of us can slip off to, to get some privacy?" She looked up at him, her head cocked to one side. "I would have thought that last night would have been enough for a while. Let's wait until dark, shall we?"

  He laughed. "That wasn't what I meant—I was talking about how long we're going to stay here on the preserve. The Hand Society isn't going to let us live here forever." And I was also wondering how the hell we're going to keep our promise to the Matriarch. "But . . ." He took her hand. "As long as you've brought the subject up, I wouldn't mind—"

  A firm, reedy voice sounded in Karl's head: *This is ridiculous.*

  Lying on the grass twenty yards away, Ellegon opened his eyes. Then, raising his head from his crossed forelegs, the dragon glared at the two of them. *Can't you think about anything but sexual intercourse? I know you're only humans, but must you always be in heat?*

  Curling and uncurling his leathery wings, he rose to all fours, sending a flock of birds fleeing from their perches in a nearby elm and into chittering flight. Ellegon was small, as dragons go: He measured barely the length of a Greyhound bus from the grayish-green tip of his pointed tail to the saucer-sized n
ostrils of his saurian snout.

  His cavernous mouth closed, then opened, releasing wisps of smoke and steam. *I would think that people who were recently college students could have other subjects on their minds. Now and then, at least.*

  Ellegon, Karl thought. You're not being reasonable. I—

  *No, never mind. Pay no attention. Don't bother with me. I'm only a dragon, after all.* The dragon turned and lumbered away.

  "Ellegon," Karl called out. "Come back here."

  The dragon didn't seem to hear.

  Karl shrugged. "I wish he'd be a bit less—"

  "—of a pain in the butt," Walter Slovotsky finished, as he walked up. "But it's your own fault, you know." He was a big man, although not quite as tall, broad-shouldered, or well muscled as Karl. Here, at least. Back home, Walter had been half a foot taller than Karl, and much stronger. But Karl had been changed in the transfer between worlds, receiving added height and muscle, as well as skills that he hadn't possessed at home.

  There had been changes, but not everything had changed; Walter still could figure things out faster than Karl could, most of the time. And that still rankled.

  "What do you mean?" Karl asked, irritated.

  "Tell you in a moment; I need some coffee." Picking up a rag to protect his hand from the heat of the battered coffeepot's handle, Slovotsky poured himself a cupful. He seemed oblivious to the chilly wind that blew across the meadow, despite the fact that he was shirtless, as usual, dressed only in blousy white pantaloons and sandals, a tangle of knives and straps at his hip.

  With his free hand, Slovotsky rubbed at the corners of his eyes. Their slight epicanthic folds gave him a vaguely oriental appearance, although his features were clearly Slavic, and his black hair was slightly curly. "You're just asking for a hard time, Karl. There's no reason for it. He's jealous, that's all."

  "Jealous?" Andy-Andy arched an eyebrow. "Of me? Why? I wouldn't think—"

  *True.*

  "—that dragons would get jealous," she finished, as if she hadn't been interrupted. Perhaps she hadn't been; Ellegon could easily have tuned her out.

  Karl turned to see the tip of Ellegon's tail vanish as the dragon disappeared into a stand of trees on the far side of the meadow.

  Don't eavesdrop. You want to join the conversation? Fine. Come on back and chat. Otherwise, keep out of it.

  No answer.

  Walter shrugged, the corners of his mouth turning upward in an amused grin. "It's just a matter of attention from Karl. Which you're getting, and he's not."

  He jerked a thumb toward Lou Riccetti, who sat propped against the base of a tall elm, his arms crossed over his blue workshirt, lost in thought. "Slovotsky's Law Number Thirty-seven: Some people need less attention than others." He shrugged. "Some want more. It all depends on—"

  "Ohgod." Perched in a high branch of a dying oak, Ahira the dwarf shook his head. "Everyone, get your weapons; Lou, you take my crossbow. Karl, on your horse. Move. There's a bunch of riders galloping toward the preserve—I think we're about to be attacked."

  As he spoke, Ahira was already climbing clumsily but quickly down the tree, supporting himself by the pressure of his blunt fingers against the rough bark, not bothering to look for branches to hold on to.

  Karl dropped his cup as he jumped to his feet. With a quick, reflexive pat at his swordhilt, he ran across the meadow to where his chestnut mare stood, idly grazing in the ankle-high grasses.

  Unless Ahira was jumping at shadows, there probably wasn't time to saddle her. He took the bridle down from the branch where it hung and quickly slid the bit between her teeth as he slipped the crownpiece over her poll and tightened it behind her ears. Reins in his left hand, he grasped her rough mane in his right and eased himself to her back, swinging his right leg over and seating himself firmly.

  He flicked the reins and dug in his heels. What the hell is going on? he thought.

  *I can see it a bit better, and—*

  Make it quick. We're about to be attacked.

  *No, we are not. This is what is going on.* Ellegon opened his mind.

  * * *

  Craning his long neck to see over a rocky outcropping, Ellegon stared out over the Waste of Elrood. Off in the distance, five shapes moved quickly across its cracked, dusty surface.

  He concentrated on them; they zoomed into view. All five were filthy humans, mounted on horses. Quite possibly tasty horses.

  Three of the humans rode together as they pursued a fourth, a half-naked, skinny one, wearing a metal collar with a dangling length of chain. The fifth rider, dressed like the other pursuers in matching green tunic and leggings, galloped in toward the quarry from a different direction.

  * * *

  Thanks, Ellegon, Karl thought. The fifth one probably took a different route than his friends; he's trying to cut the slave off before he reaches the tabernacle grounds.

  *He will. His horse is much fresher than the other four.*

  "Andrea!" Ahira shouted. "Get up to the bluff. Hide in the bushes, and when they get close enough, hit as many as you can with your sleep spell. We'll sort it out later. Right now, I just want to—"

  "No," Karl said, reining in his horse next to the dwarf. "They're not after us. It's four soldiers, chasing an escaped slave. They're not going to come close to the clearing. Andy, how far can you reach with your sleep spell?"

  She waved her hands helplessly. "Two, three hundred feet. At best."

  Ellegon, do any of them have bows? You didn't notice before, and I couldn't tell.

  *Two of them do. Karl, we've got to talk about—*

  Save it for later. He turned to Andrea. "No good. They'd cut you down before you got in range. Ellegon and I'll take care of it." Get airborne, and give me a hand. Karl had the only horse among the five of them; depending on how far away the hunters and their quarry were, he might have to hold the fort all by himself for several minutes before the others could arrive.

  Karl had a great respect for his own fighting skills, but a single man successfully taking on four or more was a long shot, no matter how handy that one man was with a sword. But with Ellegon overhead, there probably wouldn't be a fight at all; few people would risk being roasted in dragonfire.

  *No.*

  What?

  *I thought I made that clear. No, I will not get airborne. They have bows. I'm scared.*

  That was bizarre. Ellegon's scales were as hard as fine steel; he was almost immune to any nonmagical threat.

  But there was no time to discuss that. "Ellegon's out—I'll slow them up. Catch up with me as soon as you can."

  Andrea reached out and grabbed at his leggings. "Wait. I've got a—"

  "No time, didn't you hear me?"

  "They are chasing an escaped slave. Stay out of it; I don't want to have to worry about your getting hurt." He jerked his leggings out of her grasp.

  Ignoring Ahira's shouts from behind, he kicked his horse into a canter. Galloping her down the incline to the edge of the Waste was tempting, but Karl wasn't used to riding bareback; best to ensure arriving rather than take the chance of being bounced off his horse's back.

  He cantered down the slope toward a break in the trees. Beyond it, touched with the red light of the setting sun, the Waste of Elrood lay in harsh, bright flatness. Long ago, what now was the Waste had been covered with lush greenery like the wooded sanctuary surrounding the tabernacle of the Healing Hand. A thousand years ago, a death duel between two wizards had ended that; now a vast ocean of sun-cracked earth spread across the horizon.

  A quarter of a mile ahead, a dustcloud roiled. At its head the lone rider, keeping a bare hundred-yard lead on three others, dodged his horse to avoid the fourth rider coming from the side.

  Four on one. I hate four on one. But that was the way it had to be, at least for a while; it would take Walter, Ahira, and Riccetti a good five minutes to catch up. Karl would be hard pressed to hold off four warriors for that length of time. A five-minute swordfight would be an eternity.
/>   *Then again,* the dragon's voice sounded dimly in Karl's head, *you might just be able to talk to them.*

  Bets? He dug in his heels.

  As he neared the quarry, the man swerved his horse away. A half-naked, skinny wretch with a badly scarred face, rivulets of sweat running down his dust-caked chest, he jerked on the reins with his cuffed hands, the dangling links of chain tinkling in bizarre merriment.

  "N'var!" Karl called out in Erendra. Don't run. "T'rar ammalli." I'm a friend.

  No good. The man obviously figured that Karl was with the others; his clothing was similar to theirs. To him, it must have looked like a trap, as though yet another horseman had appeared to cut him off just a few hundred yards away from the sanctuary of the tabernacle grounds. A low moan escaped his lips as he cut perpendicularly across Karl's path.

  As though he had waited for just this chance, the fourth pursuer let fly a whirling leather strap, weighted at both ends. Twisting through the air, it spun across the intervening yards and tangled itself in the rear legs of the quarry's horse. Whinnying in pain and fear, the horse tumbled to the ground, sending the rider flying. He tumbled head over heels on the rough ground, and then fell silent.

  There wasn't time to see to the fallen man. If he was dead, there wasn't anything to do. Injured, he probably could keep for a while; Slovotsky, Ahira, and Riccetti would be along with the bottle of healing draughts.

  Reaching across his waist, Karl drew his saber. "Easy, now," he whispered to his horse, while he settled the reins in his left fist. "Just stand easy." He waited for the four soldiers.

  As their horses pranced to a panting halt, he took a quick inventory of their weapons. All four were swordsmen, wearing the wide-bladed shortsword popular in the Eren regions. Karl could probably handle that, on horseback. His ruddy mare was a large and powerful animal; likely he could dance her around that tired assortment of lathering geldings while his saber's greater reach took its toll.

  But the two at the rear of the group had crossbows strapped to their saddles. That could be bad.