Guardians Of The Flame - The Sleeping Dragon Part 21

Ahira sat back in the flickering light of the overhead oil lamp, ignoring the fire in his shoulders. The chains' mounting had been designed for security, not the comfort of its victims; hours of keeping his arms over his head had left his shoulder joints painfully inflamed.

We wait.

It couldn't be helped. Even if they could break out of their chains earlier, retrieve the weapons, and charge outside, the odds were just too heavily against them. Ohlmin was probably their best warrior, and almost certainly the rest weren't anything near as good as Karl or Ahira, but it was still fifteen to twoa"Hakim wasn't very good in a fight; he'd be needed to find and try to free Aristobulus.

And if he can do that, maybe we have a chance.

But there had to be some time for the slavers to drop their guard. Just a bit. And the screams from the wagon ahead of them? Ignore them, or try to, at least. This wasn't the time for a gesture; it had to work.

So we wait.

But not until dawn; Hakim's skills weren't nearly as useful in daylight. In the day, bowmen could spot them easily, fill them all full of arrows before they were halfway out the door.

In the day, a dwarf's darksight was superfluous.

So we wait. But not long, now.

In the game, going berserk would have been a simple procedure. "I'm going to try to go berserk," you'd announce, rolling a four-sided die. If it came up with a zero, one, or two, the attempt would fail. You'd try again, next turn, if you wanted to.

And if it came up with a three, it would still be simple: Your Strength would double, going well past the maximum possible for a mortal, under normal circ.u.mstances. Intelligence and Wisdom would drop drastically, as would Manual Dexterity and Weapons Proficiency. Speed would be unaffected, as would Charismaa"but your Endurance level would rise to the point where only a deathblow could slow you down.

There'd be a penalty to pay later, of course. For many turns after you had slipped out of your berserk state, you would be weak as a kitten.

But until you slipped out of it, you'd destroy, and break, and smash.

Or die trying.

Ahira fondled the thick chains. Possibly he couldn't break them, even berserk.

Never mind. It's ha"it's our only chance.

He raised his head. "Karl. It's time."

"Right." Cullinane nodded slowly. "Try to remember to break us loose, too."

"I will. But one thing: While I'm out of it, you're in charge. Make sure you get everyone away you can. But don't worry about me; I'lla""

"No."

"Don't argue with me." This wasn't a game anymore. Amateur heroics were fine for around a mahogany table at the Student Union. But not here. "Once I set myself off, you won't be able to reason with me. I won't run. I won't be able to run."

Cullinane chuckled thinly. "I thought you said that once you're out of it. I'm in charge."

Ahira sighed. "Hakim, reason with him."

The thief shook his head. "I won't have to. Once he's got your responsibilities, he'll see it for himself. Which is why you picked him to take over, instead of me. Eh. m'friend?"

"Sure." Ahira leaned back against the rough surface of the wall. "It's time; we've waited long enough. Take care."

There was only one way to do it. Reach deep inside, find a core of hot anger, of raging fury...

And let it burn.

Special cla.s.sesa"that's what they called them. As though being a feeb were some sort of prize. Special cla.s.ses, exceptional childrena"didn't that sound just dandy?

Mrs. Hennessya"that was her name. A short, pinch-faced redhead, always dressing just a little too well, oozing the slimy unction that the best special ed courses could teach. But the courses had never been able to purge from her n.o.ble head the reflexive notion that a bent body must hold a crippled mind.

She raised her head from the desk next to him, where she'd been patiently explaining to little Jacqueline Minelli, probably for the thirtieth time, that the little purple block indeed went into the little purple hole. "What is it, Jimmy?"

He always hated that nickname. Even his parents had started calling him James Michael when he began First grade. And that was six years ago.

But you didn't call a r.e.t.a.r.d by his proper name. A nickname, preferably one that ended in a vowela"that was the protocol. And if the r.e.t.a.r.d happened to be a mentally normal boy with muscular dystrophy? Didn't that call for a different protocol?

No, of course not. "I'm done with this nonsense." With the heels of his clumsy hands, he pushed at the math problem, sending the papers fluttering to the floor.

She stalked over and wearily began collecting the scattered sheets. "Jim-my, that was a bad thing to do."

"My name is James Michael. And I've been solving simple G.o.ddam algebra problems since I was ten years old."

"That isn't a nice word toa""

"And I'm G.o.ddam tired of being treated like I was half a person. f.u.c.k you. b.i.t.c.h."

She slapped him.

And, of course, clapped her hand to her mouth in self-disgust, then spent the rest of the school day apologizing.

On reflection, that slap was the nicest thing a teacher had ever done for him.

Ahira tugged lightly at the chains. Then harder, and harder. No, not yet.

There was a shout out in the dorm hallway, "Hey! Anybody want to go out for a beer?"

His roommate-slash-keeper had already tucked him into bed, then headed out to the library. Granted, he could ask someone to help him out of bed again and dress him, but James Michael had invested many uncomfortable hours in the common room downstairs, putting up with corner-of-the-eye stares and hidden shudders until some of them had started to see past the crumpled body in the wheelchair.

But his roommate was gone. And if he went out for a beer with the rest, he'd have two choices when they came back. Either ask someone to carry him to the toilet three, maybe four times until the beer worked its way through his system, or...

Or spend the next few hours lying in his own urine.

Not yet. Try harder. Get through the wall of fire, and into the core.

Doria dropped into a chair, visibly considered the possibility that it would seem to him to be too far away, took a half-second to fight her own fear of James Michael Finnegan, and compromised by wiggling herself a scant inch closer.

d.a.m.n it, Doria, can't you treat me like a person?

Nothing. He tugged at the chains. Not even a dwarfs normal strength could break them, and he couldn't go berserk, he couldn't do it.

Here I am, just as helpless now as I've been all my lifea"

Just his heart pounded, a beat like a ba.s.s drum as helpless a red film descended over his eyes, a fire in his head as I've been his skin tingled with a rush of blood, his tendons sang a hymn of power all my life.

he went berserk.

There was an annoyance about his wrists. Ahira wanted to bring them down, to rip, to tear, to smash. But something restrained his hands.

It was an annoyance he didn't have to bear. Not bothering to clench his fists, he brought his arms down.

Metal squealed and shattered, and his arms were free. Free. He bent and ripped his ankle chains from the floor.

Two humans were chained on the bench next to him. Why didn't they free themselves? Didn't they want to smash, to break, to destroy? Maybe they were just too stupid. He reached up, grabbed the arm chains of the nearest, and pulled. Metal squealed and snapped.

Why were his hands so wet and sticky? It doesn't mattera"pull, and again, and again.

Sounds came from their mouths, but they didn't make any sense.

"Waltera"take some knives, and go find Ari. He's probably in the wizard's wagon, whichever one that is. I'll get the others."

"You'll need help. I'd bettera""

"Move, dammit, move."

One of the humans picked something from the corner and bolted out the door. As though in retaliation, three others lumbered in.

"Ahiraa"take them. I've got to get Andy, Doria."

Words, they were just words. Didn't mean anything.

But the biggest of the three new humans was pulling a sword. That was something he could understand.

Ahira clutched the dangling end of his wrist chains and whipped the loop of chain across the face of the swordsman. The unshaven face shattered: bits of tooth and bone rattled against the wall, blood bathed Ahira in salty fountain.

He shoved the falling body out of the way. Two of the enemy to face. Just two humans, with swords thrusting for him.

He batted the swords out of the way with his loop of chain, then released the end of the chain from his hands. That was the trouble with the chain: It wasn't satisfying enough. And there were two left.

A few moments later, that wasn't true: There weren't any humans, just pieces of them, scattering the room. Ahira staggered out into the night, spitting out a warm gobbet of flesh.

There must be more to smash. There had to be.

Easy, Karla"you've got one chance at this, and you had better make it good. The hilt of Walter's scimitar felt odd in his hand; the balance of the curved sword was all wrong.

So don't try anything fancy. It was easy to tell which of the four boxlike wagons held Doria and Andy-Andy; the drunken laughter and m.u.f.fled whimpers called him.

He sprinted across the broken ground. Three long strides brought him to the back door of the slowly rolling wagon. From behind him came the clatter of steel, the screams of the injured, and a constant, deep growl.

Never mind. Ahira can handle them. He jerked the door open and dived in.

And was blinded by the bright lanternlight. So go by touch. His questing fingers nested in a beard; he gripped it tightly and pulled it down while bringing his knee up, the man's jaw crumbling like a fleshy bagful of gla.s.s. Don't go for the kill. A quick disable, then on to the next. He threw the body behind him, out of the wagon.

Karl's eyes cleared, faster than he would have thought possible. Three left; two men rising slowly from the bruised naked bodies ofa"

Save it. There's one coming at you with a knife. Karl dodged to one side and chopped down with his sword, rewarded by the unmistakable feel of steel cleaving flesh, and a thump as the knife-wielder hit the ground outside.

Two more, drunkenly fumbling for their swords. He dropped the scimitar and grabbed the two men by their hair. Karl brought his hands together swiftly; two skulls shattered, as if they had been eggsh.e.l.ls.

He seized Andy-Andy and flipped her onto her belly as though she was weightless.

Not now, his Barak-self said. Take out the driver, first.

No, not a second more. For either of them. His hands trembled too badly for him to deal with the knots. He searched the floor, found a sheathed knife, and slashed the leather straps that bound her hands behind her back. A moment later, Doria was free, too.

No time for the gags, best to let them handle that themsela"wait!

He slipped the knife between Andy-Andy's gag straps and her cheek, and twisted the knife's edge out. "Your sleep spell. Use it on the driver, then go invisible, and use this on him," he said, pressing the hilt into her hands.

Wild eyes looked back at him, out of a bruised face. Her left cheek was so purply inflamed that he could barely see that eye.

No answer.

"Doria." No, Doria was worse; either unconscious, or pretending to be. He turned back to Andy-Andy. "I can't waita"just do it." He shook her. "Do it."

She bit her lip so hard that blood began to flow. And then nodded.

He couldn't wait. There just wasn't any time. He had to find Walter and Aristobulus, and then get them all in one wagon. That was ita"they'd take this wagon. Easier than moving Doria.

Doria's robes lay crumpled in a heap on the floor. He picked them up and wrapped them around his left arm before retrieving the scimitar.

"I'll be back," Walter and Ari first, then, if he coulda"

He dived out of the wagon, and hit the ground rolling!

Crus.h.i.+ng a human's face with the outspread fingers of one hand, Ahira stumbled in front of an open wagon. The two mules reared up, hooves striking out.

He batted the hooves away with the limp form of the dead human, using the body like a flail. Ahira moved in on the driver, letting the other fall in a crumpled heap. The slim blond man raised a crossbow, pulled back the string with shaking fingers, and dropped a quarrel into the bow's groove.

Ahira laughed. And bounded to the seat of the wagon, his hands reaching for the driver's throat.

The bowstring sang.

Time, Karl thought, time was the problem. Surprise was on their side. It hadn't been more than a couple of minutes since Ahira had freed them. The enemy would be disorganized, startled. But that wouldn't last long. The drill was obvious: Find Walter and Ari, load them into the wagon with the two women, and vanish into the night.

But where the h.e.l.l were they?

He ran toward the forward wagon, but stopped short. Sixa"no, seven men were hurriedly dismounting from the wagon's back door, swords in hand. No time to wastea"Walter and the wizard weren't there.

He turned and ran, past the wagon carrying Doria and Andy-Andy, its sleeping driver lolling on the seat. The next wagon was just creaking along; no sign of any activity. He kept running.

"Greetings, Karl Cullinane," Ohlmin's voice rasped from behind him.