Striking Chains Read online

  Striking Chains

  by Kris Schnee

  Copyright © 2019

  Kris M. Schnee

  All rights reserved.

  Cover art by Yuriko Matsuoka (https://www.deviantart.com/sicarius8)

  Ratings and reviews are important to independent authors. Please consider rating this book so others can find it!

  For Fred Patten (1940-2018): an editor and founder of several fandoms, who was a too-rare voice for tolerance and creative freedom.

  Contents

  1. The Weave

  2. Seaflower

  3. The Throne By the Sea

  4. Justice

  5. Mission Of Inspection

  6. An Unforgivable Act

  7. Edge of the Forest

  8. Shirker's Noose

  9. To the Western Front

  10. Bells In the Night

  11. Traitor

  12. Fire of the Sun

  13. Awakened To Valor

  14. To Gather With Diligence

  15. Upwelling

  16. A Prince Seeking Justice

  17. Souls Bargained For

  18. Saints and Monsters

  19. Battle At the Shore

  20. Striking the Root

  21. Striking Chains

  22. End State

  Author's Note

  About the Author/Other Works

  1. The Weave

  "I need volunteers to scout over the hill," said Citizen Antoine. "We can resolve this before any Servants arrive."

  A boy named Dominic stepped forward from the lines of the Bound. He immediately felt exposed and alone on the hot, windy hillside. Three righteous villages' worth of men were behind him, and terrible bandits were lurking somewhere just over the ridge. He looked up at the Citizen who owned him and many of his fellow Bound. He said, "Here, sir. I'll go, if you want."

  From horseback, Antoine appraised him and the older, stronger troops who hadn't moved from behind him. The triple-triangle brand seared into Antoine's forehead stood out on his sunburnt face. He said, "Crawl over there unarmed, and don't stand until you're well past the top. Look for weapons, suspiciously cleared ground, anything abnormal, and then return. Good man."

  Dominic smiled at the compliment. The older field hands only called him "boy", and Antoine and other Citizens rarely noticed him at all. Dominic bowed to his master, set down his spear and wooden shield, then got down on his belly. The parched grass tickled his dirty red hair.

  He didn't understand why he was crawling until he'd gone over the hill and down beyond the crest, out of sight of his own people. The Citizen was clever! Any villains would be looking for the figures of men atop the hill, not someone lurking a little closer.

  When the call came for the villages to arm and march, Dominic had looked forward to an adventure. He imagined that the rebels' valley would have a storm-shrouded fortress of skulls and spikes. Anything was possible, this far from home! Really, what lay in the distance was just a cluster of a few dozen huts and longhouses amid grain fields. Very like his own village, but hit harder by this summer's drought. Even the manor-house where the local Citizens lived resembled his own village's. There were men and women tending scraggly gardens beside their houses, that looked better off than the dry fields they were supposed to be working on.

  His heart thumped against the dry earth beneath him. He scurried a little farther on his belly. Now that he looked closer, there was some sort of mist that swirled around an open square in the middle of the village. Fog, on such a hot day? It had a green tinge.

  Something moved a few paces to his right. Dominic turned to look, and gasped. A saddled, tan mare scuffed at the ground; it had snuck up on him. Some scout he was! And where was the rider? Dominic climbed up to one knee and raised his fists. "Who's there?" he murmured, trying to sound brave.

  "Identify yourself, boy, if you please," said a voice that sounded as if it came from the bottom of a well. Three sharp sticks flew through the air, heading toward Dominic's face, then paused in midair. Each rode inside a tiny cloud of green light.

  He froze. "Dominic, Village Nineteen, Region Six. I belong to Citizen Antoine. If you're a bandit you won't get away with it!"

  The darts flew backward and a gloved hand reached up from the grass to catch them. "Then I, your humble Servant, will escort you to your Citizen. Where?"

  "Waiting behind us." Dominic shivered despite the heat. A Servant! What was one of his kind doing here? "Sir, the bandits will see your horse."

  "Let them see. I'm here to help." A figure in a deep green tunic rose from the grass, wearing a brass mask that caught the sunlight. A slash across the eyes and a smaller one for a mouth were all he had for a face.

  A Servant in the village was always special. Dominic had seen these faceless, interchangeable agents of the Holy State before. They came to gather information, collect taxes, and lead the few Citizens and their many Bound in prayer. Each visiting Servant would use his magic to heal the sick and entertain children. Or to pray with a condemned man -- Dominic saw this once -- and then drive arrows through his heart and screaming throat.

  This magic was different, though. Dominic kept low and looked up at the man, saying, "Why do your darts glow this time?"

  The Servant hesitated. "Describe."

  "Sir, the darts seemed to trail and drip with light. There's a strange fog in the village below, too. It looks the same."

  The Servant stared downhill. "You're right. Keen eyes." He turned his mask toward Dominic, a little too far, like an owl. "You've not noticed such things before?"

  "No, sir."

  "You see magic, boy. Not just the spell's effect, but its cause."

  The unclean force! It was fine to watch what spells did, but the power to see magic itself was uncommon and unsafe. Few of the Bound ever spoke of it, and Dominic had always assumed he was safely blind to it. He imagined that the Servant would pin him to a wall, through his lungs. "I... I didn't mean to!"

  "Speak no more of this for now. There's work to do."

  The Servant mounted his horse and Dominic followed him back uphill to the Citizens. Antoine spotted them and scowled.

  Dominic said, "Sir, I didn't see people preparing for a fight. Just dry fields." He would've mentioned the fog, but feared the masked man beside him.

  Antoine relaxed a little. "It's only a few troublemakers, then. It's been a hard year. They'll be ready to pay their taxes once we insist."

  The Servant examined Antoine. "Which ship did you serve on before being assigned to your village, Citizen? Perhaps the same one as the rebels down there? Because that would be an oversight on another Servant's part. Sloppy clustering. Do you know these people, enough that you might put friendship ahead of your duty to the law?"

  Antoine's hand tensed on his horse's reins. "No."

  "Then I will observe as you provide your services to the misled Bound. Watch for magical traps. I suspect they've prepared a surprise."

  Dominic retrieved his spear and shield and joined the other Bound spearmen in their mighty line of over two hundred men. Behind them rode all the Citizen men who supervised their three villages, over a dozen branded foreheads in all. They followed the Bound, with crossbows at the ready. The exception was Antoine, who rode in front of the whole procession. Dominic felt swept along as the army crested the hill to dispense justice.

  A bell rang in the town below. The bandits swarmed out from their houses and fields to take up arms, while women and children fled. They were bandits, stealing tax money from the Holy State, but Dominic had imagined hardened killers.

  Antoine watched the rooftops, then pulled an amulet from under his shirt and held it near his mouth. When he spoke it was with a voice like a gale, louder than Dominic had ever heard from him, and wisps o
f the same green light flashed by for a moment. "Citizens, come out and talk! There's still time to resolve this."

  That same spell-tinged mist Dominic had sensed, still teased the corners of his vision. Now that he could stand and watch the place openly, the little town seemed even more like a copy of his home. Maybe one day his children would be assigned to be raised here, just as he'd been transferred to Village Nineteen away from his own parents.

  An old man hobbled into view with a walking stick, and approached to within earshot. He wasn't branded as a Citizen or masked like a Servant, so he was just a Bound. "Outsiders! Please listen. The harvest was bad and we barely have enough for ourselves. If you're from anywhere nearby, surely you know this year's been dry. Please, leave us be for just one season. Maybe our gardens..." He waved vaguely around at the struggling vegetable crops near the bachelors' longhouse and the other huts.

  Antoine said, "Your Citizens. Bring them out to talk."

  "Please, sir, in the State's name! They wanted me to go ask you for mercy, first."

  "Cowards," said Antoine. "Most of them. They should be willing to face me."

  The masked Servant scoffed. Dominic glanced at him, then noticed something else behind him and went wide-eyed, pointing. "Look out!"

  A man with a crossbow hid atop one of the outlying houses. Antoine spurred his horse forward. An iron bolt whipped through the air and plowed into the dirt right where he'd been. The frightened mare reared up and Antoine dropped and rolled to safety.

  The local villagers backed away to face the invaders, trying to use the longhouses for cover. Dominic held up his shield and hoped Antoine and the Servant could still fix things. The prospect of actually facing the bandits' spears felt less appealing, now that he saw them pointed at him.

  The Servant rode off to one side as though fleeing, and he raised his left hand. Beneath the bandit crossbowman the thatch roof collapsed, opening like a mouth to drop him through. Then the Servant wheeled around and gestured toward another nearby house. Its roof collapsed too, and a hidden shooter yelped and fell the same way.

  Antoine had recovered his wits and weapons. "Surrender for mercy, Bound! Your Citizens are cowards and you're outnumbered. You're not to blame." No one else came out to negotiate, and even the old man was hurrying away from the invaders.

  "Your duty," said the Servant.

  Antoine grimaced. "Yes." He remounted, patted his mare's neck, then raised his hand. "Advance!"

  All around Dominic muscles uncoiled and spears rattled, carrying him along in a sweep of power. The air itself felt tense, sweaty. He was in the second row, instinctively cringing as crossbow bolts whizzed over his head from behind. He saw only fragments of what was happening ahead and below, glimpsed between shields: bolts ramming against bandits' shields and sometimes cracking them, or finding a gap. Someone screamed. No one was shooting back now; crossbows were normally Citizen weapons. The rest of the locals fell back and Antoine's side pursued. Dominic hurried forward, surrounded by the rattle of spears.

  "Move!" shouted one of the Citizens behind him. "Kill the bastards!" The noise drove Dominic's forces forward even as the rebels feinted and fell back. The Servant was saying something, but nobody could tell what.

  The wind carried the smell of blood. Now Dominic's side had reached the village square and could do as it pleased. What did one do with bandits, if the Bound really weren't guilty?

  The Servant was off to one side. Dominic could barely see him through the crowd, but he was slicing his hands through the air and making someone scream. The Servant said, "To your right! Get away from the center!"

  The village bell rang once more. The ground shuddered and gave way under Dominic. Earthquake! He and dozens of others crashed down on each other into a pit. Worse yet, he saw several of the Citizens' horses plummeting toward them. He tried to twist and roll away like Antoine had done. Bodies crashed around him and something heavy thudded down near his face. The hole was full of horrible shouting and struggle -- and now, someone was shooting down at them too!

  Dominic held his shield over his head and found a corner of the pit. The villagers had dug it around twice his height down, maybe by magic. Someone kicked his left knee out from under him and he fell. Dominic yelped and landed under his shield, just in time to feel a crossbow bolt thud far enough through it to gash his arm. Where was everyone else? They couldn't all be down here. The pained, kicking horses were a bigger danger than the shooters above.

  "You there! Help me up!" one of the farmhands called to Dominic. Dominic had learned threshing from him. He ran over and crouched to offer a boost, just in time to dodge a bolt that went instead into the man's chest. Dominic yelped and leaped back. Someone had stabbed the horses to end their kicking, and soon the crossbow fire stopped. That was an improvement. It just left him in an open grave surrounded by angry, hungry bandits.

  A stray root stuck out of the pit. Dominic used that, a corpse he didn't want to think about, and some kicks into the hard soil to claw his way back toward the surface. He reached the top, rose to a crouch, then turned around to offer his hands to one of the other men who were scrambling up.

  A battle scream came from behind him, just outside the pit. Dominic whirled. There was a spear, a face contorted with hate, a muscular arm. Dominic's hands went up to shield himself, to try to grab the weapon and yank it away in that last second.

  The spear tore itself from the man's grasp and spun around, stirring a breeze. The attacker ran into the sharp end. What happened next seemed as slow as a prayer chant. Green light bloomed from the enemy's chest, like a swirl of vines spreading through the air. The blood that flew after it followed the same winding paths until, for a moment, a sculpture of grass and fire seemed to hang between them. The impaled spearman's bright green eyes stared in disbelief as the life left them. Then the ribbons of color shredded.

  The Servant strode into view with several Bound at his sides. These men with him seemed strengthened just by being near him, wreaking havoc with casual thrusts. Dozens of people had collapsed around the village, some screaming and others forever silent.

  The Servant lashed the area with his booming voice, similar to what Antoine had done but without needing a prop. Maybe the mask did that for him. "Surrender, if you please! Your Citizens aren't helping you and your trick wasn't clever enough. Your only hope" -- a thrown spear flew at him but deflected as though not daring to hurt him -- "is to put your weapons down."

  Antoine meanwhile was at the pit's far edge, hauling people up. The loyal troops regrouped to face a diminished crowd of rebels. Dominic began to relax, but that vision of the green haunted him. He'd killed a man! The whole town stank of fear and blood now, and people moaned and twitched on the ground. He could do nothing to help. Instead Dominic took up the first spear and shield he found, ready to join in the fight if it continued. He held the spear far away as though afraid it would turn on him, and pushed away the thought of the swirling blood. He couldn't be a coward while there were still people who needed him. Even though there might be more danger at any moment he yawned, suddenly feeling like he could collapse. He forced himself to stay upright.

  "Are there any local Citizens left?" asked the Servant, loudly enough to be heard by hundreds as the skirmish died down. "Come out from wherever you're cowering. The State is rather upset with this village right now." He flicked his hands downward and drops of blood fled from his robe.

  The locals looked around at the invading force that still greatly outnumbered theirs, and at their town. The ground was gouged by their own trap and the huts' roofs were shredded, their walls cracked. Then someone snapped, pointing frantically at the women's quarters. Other local villagers broke from the group to go there. They hauled a few battered, bleeding Citizen men and women out of hiding, then shoved them in front with many apologies. The bandit Citizens' eyes were wide under their brands, and they searched in vain for an escape route.

  The Servant said to the Bound, "If you wish for mercy, kill your Citiz
ens."

  "Sir," said Citizen Antoine. "There's no need. These people will pay their taxes and scrape through the season. Besides, there are fewer mouths to feed now." The other loyal Citizens, the ones who'd come to smite the bandits, wisely kept their mouths shut.

  The Servant said, "The law requires us to see justice done. These men drew the blood of loyal Bound and Citizens. Will you do your duty, or shall I assist you?"

  Dominic watched his master. Antoine sighed and told the bandits, "Your village has been declared outlaws, enemies of the Holy State. If you were only following orders from your Citizens, then you are blameless. Your actions were only caused by your proper loyalty to improper leaders. Kill them now, and their blood will absolve you of your sins."

  The outnumbered peasants wavered, some obviously wanting to fight on. One little Citizen man whimpered and ran away, staggering across the dry earth. Dominic caught a glimpse of the runner's eyes; it was the Servant's blank mask he'd been looking at.

  The Servant pointed at one of the mounted, loyal Citizens. "Perhaps you should catch him."

  The Citizen kicked his horse and dashed forward. Dominic watched the horseman catch the fleeing man, club him, and drag him back whimpering.

  Then one of the bandits jabbed a Citizen man, the fattest of the lot, just hard enough to make him yelp. The little spear-thrust seemed to give the other rebels courage to stab too, harder, until the whole bunch of rebel Citizens fell screaming and dying to the dirt. One of the killers looked up at Antoine and the Servant in mid-strike as if to ask, Is this enough? Can we stop?

  Somehow it was worse to watch than the battle itself, when more men had died.

  Antoine turned away in disgust. "We're done here."

  "Are we?" the Servant asked, as though this had been a festival visit. He addressed the local Bound: "Your Citizens failed you. We Servants failed them in turn by not providing proper oversight. New Citizens will be assigned to you. I apologize for the disruption and will help you to tend the wounded. You can expect a follow-up Servant to check on your reconstruction progress, and a resumption of merchant visits. Bring forth your most wounded."