Warlords Rising by Honor Raconteur

tomorrow. We won’t let you eat or rest until
they’re done.”
    With that said, he turned on a
heel and left as abruptly as he’d come in.
    Trev’nor watched him go, an
uncomfortable tightness in his chest. Moving to Trexler would not be good. 
    Nolan moved, jarring Becca out of her comfortable spot, and
stood. It was the first time in days he had fully stood up instead of just
crab-walking to one side or another of the pen. It drew Trev’nor’s attention
completely and he stared up at him in surprise.
    Nolan lifted his chin, projecting an aura of confidence that
no one in these abysmal pits had. In spite of the dirty clothes, the grime on
his skin, the oily hair hanging around his face, he looked like the prince he
was. “It’s time.”
    Trev’nor and Becca both looked at him blankly, not
understanding at all what he meant by that statement.
    “It’s time to go, don’t you think?” the Prince of Chahir
clarified.
    Becca frowned up at him, words coming out uncertainly. “We
don’t have an accurate count of the guards right now. I thought we needed to do
that before we moved.”
    “I’d normally agree and wait a little longer but if we don’t
move now—”
    “—we get separated,” she finished, chewing on her bottom
lip. “We’ll have to do this by the seat of our pants if we go now, but you’re
right, that’s better than possibly being separated tomorrow.”
    “I agree, but we have a slight problem, remember?” Trev’nor
objected. He pointed to the five amulets still hanging about his chest. “What
about these?”
    Nolan smirked. On his grit-streaked face, the expression was
more macabre than he probably intended. “We are students of Riicshaden, the
best soldier Chahir has ever seen. We can’t use our magic. So what. I look
around me and you know what I see?” He splayed his hands to gesture in every
direction. “Weapons for the taking.”
    Trev’nor looked around as well but didn’t see what his
friend meant. At first. Then the lessons that Shad had taught him, the methods
of fighting that didn’t have anything to do with a proper staff or sword in
hand, but in using everything in their environment to fight came to mind. They
came slowly, through a fog of half-remembrance, but they came. The second time
he looked around him he saw slave chains hanging on hooks, iron food trays,
stakes for nailing the chains to the floor, and oil lamps that were already on
fire. He saw weapons.
    “I can tell from your face,” Nolan
said softly, triumphantly. “Now you see it too.”
    Well, if he was serious, and
Trev’nor was inclined to agree they needed to go now…. Shrugging, he deftly
pulled out two slender picks made from granite and pulled them free from his
braid. Reaching around, he put them both into the lock and wiggled them a
little, springing the lock free.
    “Now when did you get those?” Becca
demanded.
    “I made them a few days ago,” he answered absently, his mind
debating on what would make the better weapon. “While I was working on the
wall, I slipped a little granite away and crafted them before they put the
fifth amulet on.”
    “If you had those, then why
haven’t you used them earlier? Or mentioned them? I’ve been racking my brains
for days trying to figure out how to get out of this thrice-cursed cage!”
Becca’s voice rose uncontrollably at the end.
    “I was waiting for the right timing,” he defended himself.
    “We will have a long talk about your sad communication
skills later, don’t think we won’t,” she muttered, aggravated. Becca cracked
her knuckles against each hand, then her neck to either side. “I call chains.”
    “That’s the spirit.”  
    Nolan went for the nearest stack of stakes on the ground,
arming himself the way he would have two daggers.
    Orba grabbed him by the arm, dragging him to a halt.
“Don’t,” he pleaded. “You’ll be killed. We’ll be killed.”
    Nolan looked down at him with one of the saddest, gentlest
smiles