Page 10 of Chained Knight

Most of the chains fell free, hitting the cobbles and spreading with strange liquid twitches. A single layer remained, wrapping around his armor; iron links moved uneasily, as if something underneath bulged and flexed, attempting to break free.

He had a proud nose, an almost-lantern jaw, and he lookedseriouslypissed. She had doodled those eyes in the margins of her textbooks and lecture notes, drawn the face over and over while her mind was elsewhere, as if attempting to exorcise the image.

Which never worked.

It’s the dream. Oh, God, it’s him. The only mercy was that it wasn’t her husband’s face. Still, the familiarity was a fist to the gut, or a quick shot to her kidneys as if Mike was only moderately displeased; he didn’t believe in face-hitting.

At least, not often.

Ariadne kept backing up. It seemed the wisest course. The armored man wearing a face from her old nightmares froze, a final layer of blackened iron ropes dripping from his arms and crisscrossing his torso, clothing both legs. Segmented armor boots clasped his feet, spurs clung to his heels, and if an artist had charcoal they would be able to capture the shades but perhaps not the sharp angles. Maybe they would have to work in ink, with quick hard strokes.

The chained man’s long exhale ended, those terrible burning eyes half-lidding as the sigh turned into words. “Many thanks, my lady.”

Oh, don’t mention it. I’ll just be going now. “That’s all r-right,” she stammered, as he took an experimental step. Metal chimed, the sound now soft and almost sweet, music in movement.

“Merciful as ever.” The sword made another of those whisper-slicing sounds as its blade swung into place and halted, held point-down and slanted away. He handled the chunk of sharp metal like it weighed less than paper. “Do you recognize me now?”

Oh, God, please. I know I am a murderer but please, I didn’t mean it, it wasn’t my fault.“N-no.” Would he hear the lie in her tone, as Mike always claimed he could?

If this kept up her heart would burst from sheer terror. Maybe it wasn’t Purgatory after all, but her own personalized hell.

“Very well.” One chain-draped shoulder lifted, dropped. Strengthening light played over every individual link. “Stay here, I would not have you see this.”

What?Ari’s throat closed to a pinhole. She nodded, trying to look accommodating, obedient, and harmless all at once.

The leftover mass of segmented metal snakes finished twitching, freezing into a shape very much like a burst cocoon. He stepped from the pile gracefully, and as soon as his booted foot touched down, the clanging and chiming from the cables still draped upon him stopped.

As if hewantedit to. As if he could have moved silently at any moment, and had just chosen now.

He paused, staring at her. What would that big, sharp, heavy sword do to flesh? How much did stabbing hurt? She knew she could take a punch, but this was an entirely different ball of wax.

So to speak.

The castle’s hum intensified. Now footsteps were clearly audible, plus distorted, mechanical noises babbling withexcitement. The sky was a grey lens, a ruddy tinge creeping in and shadows developing edges nearly keen as the sword’s.

“Stay here,” he repeated, in that weird rolling language. “This will not take long.”

Please don’t hurt me. Please don’t recognize me, either. Ari nodded again, hoping her face was a mask.

He turned, and strode across the cobbles. His spurs struck more bright, colorless sparks, but made no noise. Silent as a hunting shark he glided toward the doors, and when he reached the largest one in the center the sword lifted, flashing once. Its gleam, oddly reddish, lingered as the blade swept down. Wood shattered, cringing aside.

He continued, unhurried, into the dark archway revealed by violence.

Ariadne spun, and pelted for the drawbridge.

9

HOOFBEATS, VOICES

She barely noticedthe fog had reached the castle’s wall, or that the flat featureless plain now held ranks of spindly saplings visibly stretching upward in fits and starts, fan-leaves springing free, growing with likewise jerks and small creaking sounds.

Ari was simply grateful for any cover as she fled, boots slapping huge, irregular stones fitted together so closely barely a whisper could slip between them. The mist was flushing crimson in one quadrant of the sky, and she supposed that was east—not that it mattered.

Nothing did, save escape.

She ran, and was also deeply, cringingly glad she wasn’t filthy anymore. The dirt was gone; her jeans, T-shirt, flannel button-up, and everything else felt freshly laundered with only a tinge of that strange spicemusk scent clinging as each step jolted in her hips, her shoulders, her bobbing head.

Racing as she hadn’t since grade school, fists pumping and hair lifting on the breeze, lungs laboring and heart threatening to pop as it pounded, ignoring the jolting and the hammering until her feet tangled together and she almost fell, weaving tothe left side of the road, finally reeling to a stop. The saplings were taller here, pausing to thicken before each fresh burst of lengthening, and the soft creaking and cracking all around was the sound of their incredible fast-forward growth.

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