Loran? Loran!

  “What?” Loran murmurs, wincing even at that much. What is it? He asks Artemis, the one who had tried to get his attention.

  Lots of noise upstairs.

  Loran pauses his attempts to pick the lock on the wrist of his damaged hand to listen closely.

  I don’t hear anything, he admits. Even if his hearing hasn’t been damaged by Dexil and his thugs, it’s nowhere near as good as Artemis’.

  Lots of movement. Loud humans. She cocks her head to one side so one of her ears is pointing more towards the ceiling. Anger. Fear.

  Markus is coming to save us! River exclaims joyfully. Loran feels the hope and anticipation beat from her side of the network, intensified by similar emotions from the other samurans and Artemis. The other, newer Bonded are more uncertain; Pride is as standoffish as always. Still, Loran senses a kernel of hope coming from the prideful lizard so even he must be expecting it to be a rescue.

  Loran swallows, the movement painful, then redoubles his work on the lock – he’s not so hopeful and if there’s trouble, they need to get out of here. His own experience of the criminal underworld – and Dexil specifically – suggests that it’s just as likely an attack from a rival gang as it is a rescue. And if they fall into another gang’s hands, blokes who don’t intend to use them as hostages against their master….

  We need to get out of here.

  His right hand’s useless, but if he releases it and unlocks the chain from the pillar, he’ll be free. The manacle hanging from his left hand and the chain from the collar will then serve as weapons – thank the gods he’s ambidextrous.

  Of course, that’s assuming he can actually get out of here physically – he curses the gang deciding to attack just after he’s received such a thorough beating. It will be fine, he tells himself firmly. They didn’t break my legs. I can walk.

  He doesn’t know who he’s trying to convince.

  If you can’t walk, I’ll carry you out, Smith tells him in a rumble. Loran flinches slightly and almost drops the metal wire. He hadn’t realised he’d been projecting his thoughts. We’re not leaving you here, Loran. Not after what you’ve done for us.

  Loran painfully swallows again. Because he’s been here before – left behind when the lawmen came calling. But this time, he can feel Smith’s sincerity like it’s his own. He knows that she won’t leave him behind.

  Thank you, he murmurs, grateful for their ability to communicate mentally – he’d have struggled to say it past the lump in his throat even if he wasn’t hoarse from thirst and screaming. Then he focuses back on his task. They’re running out of time.

  He’s only unlatched his right wrist and is working on the lock holding the chain to the pillar when he hears the door to the warehouse open. He looks up alertly, but continues his work, forcing himself not to speed up his movements – haste means waste. Lockpicking requires concentration and delicacy.

  Would you tell me when whoever it is gets close? he asks his companions, receiving eager agreement – he knows that their inability to do anything right now is chafing everyone.

  It’s your female companion, Orion growls quietly after sniffing at the air.

  Alyna? Loran asks, receiving only a sense of agreement from the beast. He hesitates, not sure whether to conceal his actions or not. Just before she enters the circle of crates, he decides to err on the side of caution, replacing his right wrist into the open manacle and hiding the wire in his left hand – it could become a weapon if he needs it. He doesn’t want to use it on Alyna, but he will if she stands in his way.

  She stumbles into the circle, looking petrified.

  “Alyna? What is it?” he asks hoarsely, then coughs. His ribs send shards of agony through his side and his throat feels like it’s been scraped by broken glass.

  “Hey, shush,” she tells him, surprisingly gently, rushing to his side. Pulling a glowing green vial out of her pocket, she holds it to his lips. Loran looks at the girl suspiciously – could she be double-crossing Dexil in some way? Or maybe she’s been sent to get them ready for transport. His muscles tense – she’s close enough that even with his right hand useless, he can wrap his arm around the back of her neck and pull her in close. The metal wire won’t do much damage, but it can definitely hurt her.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  His lack of desire to do so makes him hesitate.

  “What is it?” he demands in a whisper to reduce the strain it puts on his throat.

  “A healin’ potion. Nothin’ more, I swear.” To prove it, she sips a little from the vial. Loran looks at her suspiciously, then, as no ill effects present themselves, he nods slightly and drinks from the vial. He lets her tip it back, pretending that his injuries are too serious for him to do it for himself – lifting his hands risks the open manacle revealing itself.

  Loran sighs in relief as he feels the potion go to work. His throat stops aching as the pain throughout the rest of his body reduces slightly. His wounds are too serious for a simple potion to be able to heal – all it can do is relieve his suffering a little, but that’s enough for now.

  Anyway, he’d rather his bones don’t set wrong, without a healer’s supervision. His fingers are definitely mangled right now. Will I ever be able to use that hand again? he wonders, then pushes the thought away – escape is the most important thing right now.

  Markus will heal you, River tells him confidently. And if he doesn’t, I will when we’re out of here and I make my potions.

  Loran sends her a sense of appreciation.

  “Thanks,” he says to Alyna, relieved that his throat no longerhurts. His ribs still pain him, though, so he keeps his speech short. “Why’re you here?”

  She worries her lip.

  “Some blokes’ve come. Broke down the gates with fire. Saw it from upstairs. They look like nobs. An’ they’ve got beasts with them – like those.” She nods at the raptorcats. Her eyes are full of fear. “I reckon it’s yer master come.”

  She starts wringing her hands, the empty vial falling to the floor with a clink and a splatter of the droplets that remained within. “I thought…I help ye now, an’ ye stop him killin’ me? Mebbe…mebbe he’ll even let me go? I didn’ hurt ye, an’...an’ I’ve been helpin’ ye, right? An’ ye said he’s been pretty decent to ye, right? So mebbe he’s not so bad, for a nob.” She bites her lip again, cutting off the flow of words.

  “I can ask him to show you mercy,” Loran agrees, his eyes fixed on her face. “I can’t promise what he’ll do, though.”

  She swallows, searches his eyes desperately, then dips her head in something of a nod. Loran sees her resolution – she’ll take her chances with them. Maybe she really has been regretting how their last job went.

  “Do you have any keys?” he asks her briskly, wanting to get to it. Their time is running out. His heart sinks when she shakes her head.

  “No, but I’ve got these,” she replies nervously, pulling something else out of her pouch – proper lockpicks.

  “You’ll have to use them,” Loran tells her, lifting his right hand to show her what happened to it. Alyna’s eyes go wide as the movement reveals the open manacle. Loran gives her his best approximation of his original roguish grin. His bruised face doesn’t make it easy. Then he holds up the wire in his left hand.

  Alyna breathes out, her expression a mixture between surprised and admiring. She nods.

  “I get ye out; ye help me with the others?” she offers. Loran nods.

  “It’s a plan.”

  Alyna’s efforts are far quicker than Loran’s own – with two lockpicks and two working hands. And she can attack the lock holding his chain to his collar instead of the one fixing the chain to the pillar. That takes away a potential vulnerability – if someone could just grab the chain to immobilise him.

  Loran gives a relieved sigh when the last of the locks clicks. He reaches up to unhook the chain from his collar – his wrists and neck feel far lighter without the chains. He’ll still take the manacles with him, though – it’s the only weapon he has to hand.

  “Alright, let’s get the rest open,” Loran tells the woman. Alyna nods and quickly heads over to Orion’s cage.

  Loran faces an even bigger challenge now – standing up. He takes a deep breath, then regrets it as his broken ribs send shards of pain through his chest.

  “Come on,” he tells himself. “You stood up after the whippings; you can stand up now.”

  Something soft brushes his elbow and he turns to see Orion there – apparently he’s been trying to psyche himself up long enough that Alyna has managed to free him from his cage. Once, Loran might have been startled, not to mention fearful to have his sharp teeth so close; not anymore. Moving slowly and gently, Orion shifts under the elbow of his right arm.

  “You want to help me stand?” Loran asks softly. Orion sends back a strong feeling of supportive agreement in lieu of a verbal response. “Thank you,” he tells the beast, with a rush of gratitude.

  Together, with Orion pushing him up on his right side, and his less-damaged hand using the pole chain that used to be attached to his collar, he levers himself up from a sitting position and turns so he’s on his knees. He can’t help but let out a grunt of pain – there are plenty of bruises and cuts on his legs, even if the bones are intact. But he keeps going, and so does Orion, and finally, he makes it to his feet.

  He’s panting hard, and he hasn’t even straightened yet – that takes another painful few flickers.

  “I’m not going to be much help in a fight,” he tells his companions regretfully, second-guessing his decision to take a chain with him. Even if he tries swinging it at enemies, he’s more likely to pull himself over than do damage to his target. And it’ll only take a couple of punches from an opponent to down him – he’s so weak.

  He’s almost knocked over here and now when his companions all send him words or emotions to the effect of ‘we’ll defend you’. Despite everything, a genuine smile comes to his lips. He’s never had this, not even with his family. There he was the one who defended them from everyone and everything. It’s…nice.

  “Stop standin’ there an’ help free yer beasts,” Alyna barks at him. She’s right. Loran heads over to the samurans to start unlocking their manacles.

  The locks are simple, and he’s had some practice now using just his left hand and a metal wire. As it turns out, lockpicking is something he’ll never quite forget how to do, no matter if it’s been two days or two years. They work in haste, never knowing when they’re going to be interrupted.

  In the end, they don’t even have the warning of the door opening and closing.

  “Return to your cages or face the consequences,” a voice threatens them. Even as it echoes without an obvious source, Loran recognises it. As does Alyna. They share a glance. Alyna looks petrified and Loran is almost as frozen.

  The Shadow.

  here!

  here!

  here!

  here