The door to James’s cell opened. He could tell from the footsteps that two Red Shields had entered, and he didn’t spend any strength to look. The Palace interrogator preferred working after dark, and the guards often came for James at this hour, the second watch of the night.
“It’s a dangerous line they’re walking, bringing him in so often when they want to keep him alive,” said one.
“Our job is to obey orders, not ask questions. He asleep?”
The first guard put a hand under James’s chin and lifted. James returned his gaze with half-closed eyes.
“Naw, he’s awake. But we might have to carry him.” They spoke with a careless air. As the once famed leader of the Assassins Guild had sickened like any other prisoner, the guards gradually lost their caution around him. James did his best to encourage this. It made what he had to do just a little easier.
James slumped against the chains, letting his body fall heavy. He flexed his fingers just slightly, feeling for the strength in his arms, and then did the same for his torso and legs. He didn’t have much left in him. It would have to be quick.
The guard’s key clicked to unlock the shackles around one of his wrists, and then the other. James crumpled to the ground and landed on his knees, bending so that his body blocked his right arm from the guards’ view. The faint outline of the blade was visible beneath the top layer of bandages. He coughed and used the spasms to hide his movements as he ripped those layers loose. A small blade with no handle dropped into his hand, and James gripped it, careful not to cut himself on the satisfyingly sharp edge. The guard swore and hauled James to his feet.
Now.
James brought the blade up, threading it between the guard’s arms and slicing it across his neck. He didn’t stop to check his work but turned to the other guard, who stumbled back in alarm. James closed the distance between them, thrust his elbow into the guard’s ribs, and slit the man’s throat as he fell forward. The whole thing happened in the span of two heartbeats. Neither guard had made a sound.
He stumbled then, and reached for the wall as a wave of nausea overtook him. That burst of speed had cost him. When he could move again, he examined the two guards on the ground. One man was much bigger than he, but the other had a similar build to James. He knelt and removed this guard’s tunic. It was slick with blood, but thankfully, Red Shield livery was crimson, and it was dark. He also took the guard’s sword and dagger.
He caught two other guards unawares on the ground floor of the dungeon. He’d hoped to walk right past them, but the prison guard force was small, and they knew each other by name. Another of Malikel’s precautions, most likely. The first guard, he dispatched cleanly. The second called for help and opened a gash in James’s thigh before James was able to drive a dagger through his stomach. As the man fell to the ground, James heard answering shouts. The door at the end of the corridor flew open, and two Red Shields appeared. James pivoted to run but stopped when another guard came up the stairs at the opposite end. They had him hemmed in.
James put his back against the wall and turned so he could see the men coming at him from either side. His initial flood of energy from the escape was ebbing away. Still, better to die fighting than wasting away under the interrogator’s care. He eyed the lone guard between him and the stairs and willed one last bit of strength.