When they reached the middle of the courtyard, the mounted guard captain shouted, 'Halt.'
The taskmaster stopped beating the drums, and the prisoners came to a stop. The guardsmen moved their horses into positions beside them. Holding loaded crossbows in one hand and the reigns to their horses in the other, they surrounded the prisoners.
The captain lifted his arm in the air then let it fall. 'Forward.'
Another set of doors opened up across the courtyard, and the drumbeat began again.
The sun was going down on the horizon, turning the sky a deep orange.
Ryder stepped forward, then stepped forward again. 'I will not go down easy,' he said under his breath.
The tattooed man turned to look at him. Ryder thought he might say something, but all he did was nod.
The taskmaster picked up the pace, and they marched out of Zerith Hold toward the setting sun. The carriage rolled out behind them, taking up the rear.
Boom, boom, boom, boom…
Captain Beetlestone pulled the knob on the door leading into Lord Purdun's private study and entered the room.
He bowed before the baron. 'You sent for me, my lord.'
Lord Purdun turned away from the windows looking out over the harbor. The sun had gone down. The only light that could be seen was the reflection of the moon off the lightly rippling water.
'You've been with me a long time,' he said. 'I trust your judgment.'
'Thank you, my lord,' replied Beetlestone, standing up straighter.
The baron took deep breath. 'Tell me honestly. Do you think this is the right thing?' asked Purdun. 'Do you think Liam is the right choice?'
The captain nodded. 'I was there when they attacked the carriage, my lord. I saw him with my own eyes. He's definitely the one.'
'What about his brother?'
Beetlestone shook his head. 'He would never give in. Liam is the one we want. He has the skills and the good sense to keep himself in one piece.'
Lord Purdun nodded. 'All right,' he said. 'Then we will proceed.' He turned back toward the window.
'Yes, my lord.' Captain Beetlestone turned and, closing the door behind him, exited the room.
Chapter 6
Liam woke up with a start. He was in his own bed. He was warm and comfortable. He touched the pillow, then his own face.
'Dear Tymora, please let that have been a dream.'
Then the images of Ryder came back to him. The aching in his chest, the crushing anguish, and the guilt rolled back in, and Liam was certain that it was no dream. That moment of obscurity, between asleep and awake, was a small taste of bliss. But now the realities of Liam's life had come crashing back into his consciousness, and he would have to deal with it.
Swinging his legs out from under his blanket, he put his feet on the floor and lifted himself out of bed. The sun hadn't come up yet. All the better. Darkness suited his mood.
Slipping his clothes on, he grabbed a hoe from a rack on the wall and headed out the door. Down the path, he turned and headed east. He didn't need the sun's guidance to find his way. He'd walked the path so many times that he sometimes felt he could find his way completely asleep.
All of the farmers in Duhlnarim shared the same set of fields. Nobody owned them, of course. They were all the property of Baron Purdun and his wife, the Princess Dijara, who was also the king's younger sister. Each family was allotted an amount of land to work as they saw fit, but every season, the tax collector came around, collecting for the baron. Every year the taxes got higher. It got so a family could barely make a living anymore.
Liam and his folks would break their backs working the land, tilling the soil, planting the crops, then harvesting them, only to have most of what they reaped taken away.
Despite how early he'd arrived, Liam wasn't the first in the fields of Furrowsrich village. It was better to get an early start so one could finish the hard work before the sun got too high in the sky. Already the sound of sharpened metal tilling the hard-packed dirt had reached a steady rhythm. There were at least a dozen other men working here, including Liam's father, Douglas. But none of them spoke, not in the morning.
Liam wasn't sure why the silence was part of the farmers' morning ritual, but right now he was thankful for it. He just wanted to go straight to work-wanted to push himself, to feel something other than the anguish that had ruled his life for the past two tendays.
Crossing over several planted rows, Liam came to the spot where he'd left off the day before. He raised the hoe and brought it down in a quick chop. His first strike was offbeat. Raising it again, he brought it down a little faster. The blood flowed through his veins, and soon he had a good sweat going. His down strokes kept rhythm with the other farmers.
By midday, he'd completed two full rows. As he began work on the third, Douglas grabbed him by the shoulder.
'It is time for a break,' said the old man.
Liam looked up but didn't stop his swing. 'I'm fine.'
His father just nodded. 'Well, if you won't take a break for yourself, perhaps you'll come help me fix the cart.' He hitched his thumb over his shoulder. 'The wheel is stuck, and I need someone to hold it while I pound out the axle.'
Liam shrugged and followed his father to the small shed situated beside the field. All the farmers built these structures next to the land they worked. It was a way for them to claim a small amount of ownership in a system that allowed them no control over anything. Inside the rickety wooden walls, a farmer could do whatever he wished. The land the building sat upon didn't belong to him, but the space inside did.
Next to the shed, Liam's father's cart was turned over, the wheel in the air.
The old man went into the shed and returned with a heavy stone hammer and a steel awl.
'Grab hold of the wheel there,' Douglas instructed, 'and I'll knock the axle loose.'
Liam did as his father instructed, bending over the cart and grabbing it with both hands.
'All right, hold it still now.'
They worked in silence, the hot afternoon sun beating down on them. This was how it had always been between the two of them, father and son. Liam had never really related to his father all that much. They didn't talk, except when Douglas needed help with something. And Liam never felt the need to get more out of the old man. Liam didn't like to think that he hated his father. He preferred to think that they just didn't have anything in common. They had a duty to each other because they were family, and that was the extent of their relationship.
With one final blow, the axle on the cart came loose, and the wheel slipped off.
'Good,' said the old man. 'Now take it around to the other side of the shed. I'll put the new axle on it.'
Liam lifted the wheel and carried it around the building. As he came around the shed, he caught sight of Samira. She carried a heavy-looking bucket over her right arm, and she braced it with her left. Every day she mercifully brought fresh water to the fields to quench the farmers' parched throats. She waved at Liam as she approached.
Samira was tired. Liam could tell by the way she carried herself that the past two tendays had taken their toll. It pained him to know how much she was mourning the loss of his brother. Something so beautiful shouldn't have to feel such an ugly emotion.
The other farmers saw her approaching with the bucket, and they flocked over to the shed to get a dipper full of the clean fresh well water. Liam put the wheel down and turned to be the first in line.
'Hello Samira,' he said, taking off his cap.
