Chainers Torment mgc-2

  Chainers Torment

  ( Magic:The Gathering:Odyssey Cycle - 2 )

  Scott Mcgough

  Chainer's Torment

  Scott McGough

  PROLOGUE

  Just outside the walls of Cabal City, far from the crushing waves of people and the ringing shouts in the marketplace, the young man pressed on. He called himself Chainer, and for the first time in a long, busy day he was unscheduled. He picked his way through the dwindling foot traffic, moving against the flow of people headed into the city. As he navigated around the last pedestrians in his path, he relished the rare gifts of free time and solitude. Without a training exercise to complete, an incantation to memorize, or a schedule to keep, Chainer was determined not to be found. He was a member of the Cabal by choice, ritual, and oath, and the Cabal demanded much from its initiates. His superiors would pounce on an idle boy proclaiming, "Nothing to do? I can fix that." Chainer hated being rewarded for good work with more work. Rather than waiting for that inevitable hammer to fall, Chainer ducked down an alley when no one was looking and headed for the gates.

  His pace slowed once he was clear of the city. It had been so long since he'd had any time to himself that he had all but forgotten how to enjoy it. He wondered what other people did when they weren't serving their own masters. More to the point, what did they do when they weren't trying their best simply to stay alive?

  As he wandered and pondered, Chainer walked through the squatters' shacks outside the city and into the salt flats toward the sparse, dying forest beyond. He ignored the sullen glares from the squatters themselves. If his membership in the Cabal didn't protect him from starving civilians, his own skills could. He was more alert for any of the dangerous wild beasts that lurked on the edges of this and every other settlement. Large predators were rare this close to the well-lit city gates and its armed guards, but the first thing the Cabal taught its members was to be careful with the Cabal's equipment, which included their own bodies.

  He altered his course and scanned the path through the marshy flats. Chainer moved along by choosing which parts of the muddy path to avoid rather than which ones he wanted to take. He grew lost in the rhythm and the repetition of trekking through the flats, unaware and unconcerned about how far he had traveled. He hiked until his shadow grew long before him, until a soft, insistent whisper broke through his reverie.

  It wasn't a voice, but it called directly to him. It wasn't a song, but the melody gave him chills. It wasn't an alarm, but it commanded his attention with an urgency that was soft but undeniable. He cupped a hand around his ear to help pinpoint the sound. The remains of a residential district sat to the southeast, and the sound was coming from there.

  Chainer listened for a moment, then started off toward the largest house on the ruined block. Its immediate neighbors had been bombed and burned flat. The ruined mansion with the caved-in roof and exposed frame stood tall, a broken but defiant veteran of a barely remembered war.

  Chainer paused at the bottom of the front porch steps. Except for the beckoning sound, the mansion was completely silent and still. Chainer expertly drew his knuckle dagger, clenched it blade-down and ready at his hip, and went carefully up the rickety porch. He doubted there was any live danger inside the mansion, but then again, he didn't want the Cabal's equipment to be damaged either.

  The interior of the mansion was in worse shape than the exterior. The main floor was more hole than floor, with the basement level clearly visible from the front doorway. An ornate metal banister led up to the second floor, but the staircase itself was gone, a pile of broken wood and carpet scraps in the basement below. Chainer looked closer and saw what appeared to be bones among the wreckage of the staircase. At least three complete humans, one of whom was very small.

  Chainer took one tentative step onto the threadbare floor, but before he could put his full weight down the ancient boards split and fell away. He stepped back onto the porch, which shuddered and swayed beneath him. Chainer grunted and scouted the entire first floor for a safe route down into the basement.

  Finding none, he sheathed his knuckle dagger and took his weapon and tool of choice-a ten-foot length of black metal chain-from his belt. He looped the hard, polished chain around the broken base of a statue that guarded the front doorway, and with the simplest spell he knew, connected the chain to itself.

  "Link," he whispered, and the spot he was staring at shimmered, then coalesced into a new link that was indistinguishable from the rest of the chain. Chainer leaned backward to cinch up the metal noose and test its strength. Then he lowered himself down into the still, musty debris.

  It was incredibly dark, the kind of darkness that caused him to wonder if his eyes were still open. He listened for any other movement and waited in vain for his eyes to adjust. The sound continued to call him, growing higher and more excited as he got closer. Methodically, he made his way across the basement toward the sound, testing the stone floor before putting any weight on it.

  By a pile of moth-eaten fabric and random junk, he lit one of his flare candles and immediately noticed the sphere. In a small bubble of bright light, Chainer stared in naked wonder at the treasure, hovering a clear foot off the ground, that had called to him across the salt flats.

  The smooth, flawless black ball somehow seemed to radiate darkness like fire radiates light. Chainer's flare only showed it in relief, for the sphere defined itself with its own anti-light. The edges of the sphere's dark field crackled and sparked as they rippled and undulated outward.

  Half-hypnotized by the black light and the triumphant crescendo of sound, Chainer had a vision of his future. The world around him dropped away, and in a flash of black light and silence he saw, felt, and knew the triumphant course his destiny would take. He would be a man of importance, of success, honored and obeyed as one of the true masters of the world. People and monsters alike would bow down before him, and at his pleasure they would live or die. He would be the Cabal's champion, its ambassador, its paragon, and he would spread its influence over the entire world.

  The light from Chainer's flare began to sputter and die. He could still hear the sphere's call, still feel its power vibrating in his skull. His course was clear. It was the most important thing in the world and as such fit only for the most important person in the world.

  "For the First," Chainer whispered. He firmly grabbed the glowing-black sphere, dropped it into his satchel, and pulled the leather drawstring tight.

  The First was undisputed lord and master of the entire Cabal, patriarch and protector of its members, supreme controller of its political and magical power. He managed the Cabal and all its assets from his manor inside the city walls, and he needed to see the treasure Chainer had uncovered right away. He alone deserved it.

  Chainer's eyes narrowed as he considered the trip back to Cabal City. It was one thing to walk without fear when one's pack was empty. Now that he had something worth stealing, opportunist vermin would swarm around it like maggots around a corpse. The shame and sin of losing the sphere before he had a chance to present it to the First would be unbearable.

  Chainer's flare went out, and he stood for a moment in the darkness. He quickly retraced his steps across the basement and found his chain where it still hung from above. He patted the precious cargo at his hip, smiled, and began to go hand-over-hand up the chain.

  Soon he would be back inside the city. He would petition for an audience with the First. And when the First laid hands on the black sphere, he would know what Chainer knew: that Chainer wanted nothing more than for his fate and his fortune to be forever tied to that of the Cabal. PART ONE: Cabalist

  CHAPTER 1

  The sun was setting by the time Chainer returned to the salt flat
s 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 an
d 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.