Loran’s stomach grumbles, the all-too familiar feeling of hunger back to bite at him. He shifts slightly and hears the clink of chains. The manacles weigh heavily on his wrists, and the chain connecting to the collar on his neck limits his movements considerably. At least he is capable of sleep while leaning against something instead of lying down – it’s not a pleasure to need to return to such habits. Even as a slave, he’s almost always had some sort of bed to lie on, if only a straw-stuffed pallet on the floor. Better off as a slave than free? Look where I am now.

  Though he can’t exactly blame his master for his current poor conditions – everyone has enemies. If anything, it’s my own fault for not putting my foot down more strongly and refusing to play translator for the others. Then we wouldn’t have been captured, he thinks remorsefully. He can’t help a little bit of resentment from creeping in too – if the gods-damned lizard-people hadn’t been so insistent, they would never have left the estate grounds. Or would the kidnappers have struck even then?

  Loran estimates that it’s been at least two days since they were captured, maybe three. He’s been fed and watered twice since then, and considering how much his belly has tried to eat itself in between times, he reckons the rations came a day apart. Hunger – something else I’ve got used to not feeling so much. Times were that he’d go without food for days on end when begging and thieving wasn’t enough to feed himself as well as his siblings. These days, even a slave is almost guaranteed a daily meal, and usually has more.

  But that they’re being kept alive is an indication they have some value to someone. And some powerful – and restricted – Skills must have been used to get them away, meaning there’s some sort of big player here. But Loran saw enough in his time with the gang to know that that doesn’t necessarily mean anything good for them.

  Best-case scenario – they’re hostages. That’s the only option which sees them getting out of this mostly intact – as long as their master complies with whatever demands are sent to him. But Loran finds it hard to believe they’re important enough to the Heir to be used in that way. Worst-case, they’ll be butchered – alive – in a ritual aimed at their master. Or they might be sold on the black market – that isn’t much better: anyone buying on the black market has something they want to hide.

  Panic swells again in Loran and he starts employing the method of calming himself down that he’s found has had at least some effect: cursing loudly. It might come out muffled by the gag in his mouth, but that just means he can put more feeling into it without fearing that he’ll disturb someone. It’s more satisfying than breathing slowly which is his other go-to for stressful situations.

  Will you stop that? Smith’s mental voice comes over the Bond which links Loran to the rest of the group. Well. Apart from them. Though he doesn’t take full responsibility for them being disturbed – he can feel enough of the others to know that they’re just as worried as he is.

  Leave him alone, Smith, Reducer’s weary tones answer before Loran can. If you could speak, you’d be doing the same.

  To be fair, the lizard-folk are even worse off than Loran. Their hands and ankles are manacled together with no chain between, forcing them into a folded position. After days without relief, they must be incredibly uncomfortable. And they stink. Not that Loran is fragrant himself, but at least he doesn’t have to sit in his waste like them until they’re shifted. Also unlike him, their gags haven’t been removed once since they were taken – perhaps their sharp teeth are more threatening than Loran’s blunt ones. No food; no water. A healer has stopped by a couple of times, but no magic can fix gnawing hunger. Their tails already look noticeably thinner.

  At least the rest of their companions are slightly better off – they’ve all been trapped individually in cages rather than being tied up. If Artemis and Pride are anything to go by, the cages have been warded to prevent them from using any abilities, but at least they can still stand and sit at will. The six beasts are being treated better than the humanoids – they each have a bowl of water in their cages and are fed with meat once a day. Perhaps they’re considered less of a flight risk. Loran feels the frustration emanating from them – even if he didn’t, he can see it in their restless movements. But they seem to be as helpless as the rest of the group, despite their increased amount of ‘freedom’.

  What are their captors intending on doing with them? How long are they expected to stay here? It will only take a few days of this treatment to leave them weak. Already, Loran’s head and stomach ache. He can deal with that, but the implications worry him. If they are going to save themselves, they need to do it sooner rather than later, because every day that passes saps their resources.

  Markus will come to save us. Loran must have thought too hard – either that or Reducer has come to know him rather too well over the last period.

  When? he can’t help demanding. Reducer seems to have this infallible belief in their master. Loran isn’t so sure. Considering the Skills Loran knows must have been used, won’t it be too much effort to find them? Even if the ultimate aim of their captors is to use them in a ritual against their master, surely it’s easier for Markus to just cut the Bonds. If they aren’t connected to him, they can’t be used against him – simple, right?

  But that means there’s no real reason for Markus to put the effort into searching for them. That Reducer doesn’t have a proper answer for his question doesn’t help Loran’s confidence either.

  As soon as he can, she replies soothingly, as she has every time he’s asked the same question. I’m sure he’s trying to do it now.

  Loran scoffs through the gag, having given up on trying to keep his reaction concealed. The gag does well enough at muffling his voice that he can pretend it's a non-committal agreement instead. Though since Reducer can probably feel his scepticism through their Bond, trying to conceal it is a hopeless task.

  Better that we save ourselves and go to find him, he responds to Reducer firmly. Maybe he’ll be less angry like that.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  He won’t be angry at us for getting captured, Reducer assures him, though the hesitation afterwards undermines her certainty. Though I’m not sure how he’ll feel about our trips to the village, everything taken into account. That was exactly what Loran was worried about – especially how their master might have two different standards for those he brought with him as opposed to the slave he’s taken from this world.

  It hadn’t occurred to Loran at first but with him being the only native here, he might be held responsible for any mistakes in judgement, with the justification that he should know the dangers better than the newcomers. If their master even needs a justification to hurt Loran, which he doesn’t.

  The slave shakes the thoughts out of his head, sending the chain binding him to the post in the centre of the room clinking again. He shifts around and looks around the room for what feels like the umpteenth time since they were shoved into it, still groggy and only half-conscious from their journey here.

  Nothing has changed since the last time he looked. It’s a large, dark room that’s cool and damp – probably a basement. There’s a single magical lantern fixed high up on Loran’s pole – far too high for him to reach. Its light is dim but allows him to see that they’re surrounded by a circle of wooden crates piled high – there’s only one small opening.

  None of the captives are close enough to touch each other except the samurans, and they’re unable to do more than shift slightly. Nothing else is within reach, making it impossible to damage their bindings.

  Loran himself is chained in place to the pillar in the centre of the circle, the chain from his collar allowing him to stand if he remains half bent down, or kneel, or sit with his back to the pillar. And with his hands bound in front of him, his range of movement is even more limited. There are no nails nearby, and the cold flagstones are unforgiving to both fingers and buttocks alike. If he were a Classer, he might manage to break the wooden pillar; as it is, he’s more likely to be able to gnaw through it like a rous. He tried hitting his manacles with the chain attached to them, and slamming them into the pillar, but nothing changed. Well, he started bleeding a bit as the edges dug into his flesh, but nothing useful.

  He pulls at the chain around his neck as if something might have changed in the perhaps quarter-mark since he last tried it – all that happens is he further irritates his neck. The collar is state-issue and designed to be resistant to any attempt to remove it; the chain is strong, as are both locks involved in the binding. If he had his old tools, he’d be able to jimmy one lock open; as it is, his captors managed to find even the homemade kit he’d sewn into the hems of his clothes – habit more than recent need driving his desire to be equipped at all times.

  Footsteps sound on the floorboards above his head and Loran freezes. He strains his hearing. As if all of the same mind, the rest of the group all still too.

  Someone’s coming, Artemis warns, her hearing the sharpest of all of them. Sure enough, a flame later, there’s the creak of the door.

  Footsteps walk lightly down a set of wooden stairs; light as they are, the stairs creak nonetheless. If they manage to escape, they’ll need to be aware that anyone at the top will be able to hear them come no matter how stealthily they try to move.

  His stomach rumbles again expectantly – visitors either mean the healer or food and he’s selfishly hoping for the latter. The figure who rounds the corner of the boxes from the other side of the cellar, however, is neither the healer nor the burly man who has been bringing them food.

  The figure is far slighter, though the lantern the person is carrying makes it hard to see more than a silhouette. That’s enough to see that the figure isn’t holding any food so, unless they have an Inventory or enchanted storage device, this isn’t a visit to bring supper. Or lunch, or whatever it is. Loran’s heart sinks in disappointment, his hunger pressing at him even more strongly for a moment before it subsides.

  The figure heads directly over to the cage containing Pride, the closest to the entrance on the right. When the lantern moves around, Loran is able to identify the figure as female. He frowns a little – that shape is familiar….

  She seems to pore over the bars of the cage, using a device that glows gold to scan over them. She isn’t so involved in her studies that she isn’t keeping an eye on the occupant, though – when Pride strikes at her with his sharp-toothed mouth, she jumps back and out of reach.

  A moment later, she makes a movement and Pride shrieks. Loran flinches back against the pole as he feels second-hand pain from the large sail-backed lizard.

  “I don’ know if ye can understand me,” the woman says, her voice slightly shaky, but clearly trying to stay firm, “but I don’ wanna hurt ye. Just let me do me job, and I won’.”

  The voice is familiar too. Loran is sure he’s heard it before, though he can’t place where. He strains harder for the memory – maybe it can help them?

  The woman finishes Pride’s cage and then heads over to the next – Artemis’.

  Should I attack? the predator asks, her presence as solid as a rock in their group of Bonds. Loran doesn’t doubt that if the group deems it to be a good idea to attempt to attack, Artemis will do so, regardless of how much pain it causes her.

  Do you think you can catch the human? Pull it close? Catches-leaves asks bluntly. Artemis takes a moment to study the woman, now inspecting her own cage.

  Possibly. But my claws are better for rending than catching.

  Perhaps one of the raptorcats should attempt it, then. Don’t attack now, Artemis or Orion – lull her into a sense of security. Trouble, Blaze, Spot, is one of you willing to attack, and to take on the consequences if you are unsuccessful in securing her? Catches-leaves continues.

  The three larnatis-like beasts – raptorcats, as they’re called by this group – take a moment to think about it, but then, predictably, Trouble volunteers. Since he’s the cage after Orion, that works out well – if he fails, there are still two chances. Though if Trouble fails, in reality, the woman will most likely be too wary to be caught by either of the two others.

  Loran inspects the woman closely, his focus shifting to her and away from Catches-leaves’ instructions to Trouble over what to do if he manages to hook the woman – namely, not to kill her. Loran absently agrees – a hostage will be far more useful than a dead body. She might even have a key on her.

  He knows this woman. He’s absolutely sure of it. He recognises her movements too. They’re smooth, practised, suited to someone used to sneaking. Loran had movements much like she does, once upon a time. He can still call on those skills if needed – and not likely to make him look automatically guilty and in need of punishment from his master.

  However, it’s only when she turns to head from Artemis’ cage to Orion’s that the lantern catches her face at the right angle for him to recognise her. Memories stream back like he’s just been hit by lightning.

  “Alyna!” he cries, or tries to – the muffling gag in his mouth prevents him from forming the word. It doesn’t stop him making a noise, though, and he sees Alyna turn her head towards him. I know her! he cries down his Bond to the others. Maybe there’s another option here! “Alyna! It’s me!” he shouts into the gag.

  here!

  here!

  here!

  here