The door burst open again and two men with covered faces ran in. Two glints of metal flew through the air, and James flattened himself against the wall. There was a thud, a clink of metal on stone, and a gurgling gasp. The Red Shield closest to the door pitched forward, a knife buried in his back. His comrade pressed one hand firmly to his side as he turned to face the new threat, only to be run through as he raised his blade.
As the third Red Shield struggled to make sense of the scene, James attacked. He feinted to the left, then stepped in to close the distance. Pain lanced through his leg—he’d forgotten about that. As he collapsed, a knife flew over his head and grazed the Red Shield’s arm. The soldier grunted, and James brought his knife up into the man’s gut. The man fell. James heard footsteps behind him and turned just as one of the masked men came up close. A carrot-colored lock of hair had escaped the man’s mask.
James smiled.
Rand peeled off his mask and offered James a hand up, which he accepted with a muffled groan. Bacchus, also unmasked now, looked James up and down. They were standing close to a torch, and its light was bright enough to illuminate James’s many cuts and bruises.
Bacchus shrugged. “You were always too fond of that pretty face of yours.”
Rand spat on the ground. “Never mind his face. We’ve got to bind that leg.”
Bacchus was already cutting strips from a Red Shield’s livery. As he wrapped it around James’s wound, James noticed that Bacchus favored his left arm. “You’re wounded,” he said.
“So are you,” Bacchus retorted.
James looked at Rand. “And you?”
“A few scratches and bruises,” said Rand as he retrieved the daggers he and Bacchus had thrown. “We couldn’t get past the guards all quiet like your thief lass, so we’d best get out soon.” He wiped off his dagger and tucked it into his belt. James noticed that both Rand and Bacchus had swords as well, though they hadn’t drawn them in the cramped corridor. He didn’t bother to ask whether any others from the Guild had come. Loyalties didn’t run very deep in an organization like his, not when the Guildleader’s position seemed so close to opening up again.
Bacchus pulled back to inspect James’s newly bound leg. “You able to put weight on it?”
“I’ll live.”
Rand pulled James’s arm over his shoulder, and they made for the exit.
Once outside, they ran. Or tried to. James’s time in the prison had taken its toll, and his injured leg threatened to give way. Shouts came from the direction of the prison, followed by more shouts and the ringing of bells. Bacchus gestured toward a building that was partially sheltered by bushes, and they ducked into its shadow. Rand leaned against the wall, alert but breathing heavily. Bacchus held his blade at the ready and peered around the corner, back toward the prison.
“You’re trailing blood,” he said to James when he turned back. “Hard to see in the dark, but someone will spot it soon enough.”
Rand tore a strip from his tunic and handed it to James, who pressed it firmly to his leg. They all went still as three Red Shields ran down the path in front of them. At first it seemed they would pass without noticing what hid in the shadows, but then the last soldier slowed and squinted in their direction. “Wait,” he called to his comrades. “I think there’s someone—”
The soldier’s words choked off as Bacchus’s dagger buried itself in his stomach. Before the man hit the ground, Bacchus and Rand had drawn their swords and charged. James moved to follow and bit back a curse as he fell against the wall. When he looked up again, the two remaining Red Shields lay on the ground. Wordlessly, Rand and Bacchus dragged the bodies into the bushes. There was a fresh cut across Rand’s chest.
“It in’t deep,” said Rand when he saw James looking at it. “Stings like a banshee’s scream though.”
“You shouldn’t have come to break me out,” said James calmly. The three ducked farther out of sight.
Bacchus snorted. “And let the wallhuggers win? Not while I draw breath.” Nobody mentioned that, at this point, it wasn’t very clear how much longer any of them would be drawing breath.