Warlords Rising by Honor Raconteur Page A

Trev’nor had ever seen. “You live worse than an animal would, Orba,” he
said quietly. “If you’re willing to keep living like this, it means that means
you’re already dead. Your body just hasn’t stopped moving yet.”
    Trev’nor met Becca’s eyes for a moment, feeling a shiver go
up his spine as he realized that Nolan might be more right than not. Fighting,
no matter the outcome, was better than just sitting here.
    For the first time in ten days, Trev’nor walked out of the
cell like a free man. It was a liberating feeling. Becca eyed the door with
mixed emotions, trepidation and eagerness at war on her face. “How do we do
this? It’s, what, a few hours after dinner now?”
    “We don’t know how many are in the guardroom,” Trev’nor
started.
    “Four,” Nolan instantly replied. At their looks of surprise,
he grinned. “My magic is shut off, not dead. From here, I can tell at least
that much.”
    “Four in the immediate vicinity.” Trev’nor wished he had more
information about the guards’ schedules, but all he knew was what he could see,
and they always locked them away in this room after dinner. The little he did
know was what they did in the daylight hours. “We know what the guardroom looks
like. Should we fight as far as there and then decide?”
    “If we can fight and escape the city completely, I vote we
do so,” Nolan confirmed, stretching his arms high over his head. Even from
here, Trev’nor could hear his joints pop. “Ow. Hunching over like that is not
good for the back.”
    “Tell me about it,” Becca grumbled, also stretching,
although she focused on her waist. “If we can’t escape the city completely,
what then? Find a defensible position and hold until the amulets drop off?”
    “Sounds like a plan to me.” Trev’nor grabbed iron bars so
that he had one for each hand. Tearing off his vest, he ripped it in half, then
tied off cloth on both ends before grabbing a lantern and soaking it with oil
and igniting them.
    “Nice,” Becca approved, holding chains in both hands. “We
ready?”
    “I am,” Nolan replied, stepping to join their sides. “Are we
taking prisoners?”
    Trev’nor snarled the word, “No.”
    “Good.” Nolan strode forward, stakes in hands, then paused.
“Come to think of it, Becca, you’re going to have the most reach with those
chains. You’d better go first.”
    “Gladly.” She didn’t have an ounce of hesitation in her as
she entered the short tunnel.
    “—hearing some strange noises,” one of the guards ahead was
saying.
    “They’re in cages or weighted down with amulets, you kabat ,
what do you think they can do?”
    “Quite a bit,” Trev’nor responded conversationally.
    Becca breached the door like a whirlwind, spinning on her
toes in a never-ending pirouette that sent cast iron slicing through the air
and connecting to anything and everything around her. One cuff on the edge of
the chain found the jaw of a guard as he jumped to his feet in alarm. The other
solidly hit someone else in the head with a meaty thunk , sending him
instantly to the ground.
    She didn’t stop until she ran out of room, almost at the
wall, and then she put her back to it, changing her grip on the chains so that
she could whirl them vertically instead of horizontally.
    Her pause gave Trev’nor and Nolan the time they needed to
come inside. The guardroom wasn’t much—a single square with four men on duty—and
slaves had never revolted, so they were ill-prepared to face three armed and
very upset teenagers. Trev’nor tackled one guard with his flaming bars, Nolan
the other with his stakes, and the guardroom went completely still within
minutes.
    Nolan put his stakes down and looted a sword from one guard.
He eyed it critically and made a face. “Not the best quality or condition. But
better than what I had, I suppose.”
    Trev’nor made the same evaluation and declared, “I think I
like my bars better.”
    “I would. If there had been more