She went out of the room on silent feet, wrapping herself in a windcrafted veil that should keep her unseen to anyone beyond the reach of her sword-a potent advantage if she decided to attack, but not an overwhelming one. A skilled enough metalcrafter would not need his eyes to know where her sword was, and the Vord didn’t seem to have kept anyone alive who was not at least wielding the skill of a Legion Knight at his given talents.
There were several collared Alerans in the main room of the inn, apparently off duty. Three were watching one of Brencis’s whisper-girls dance to music no one but she could hear. Another trio played listlessly at cards, and a silent pair were deep in their cups, drinking with grim, methodical determination. Amara went through the room with every ounce of stealth she could muster, wary of her own balance under the befuddling aftereffects of both collars’ euphoric bonding process. She managed to pass by them without attracting attention, and glided into the Slave Market.
She headed straight for the stone box-cages that held the captured windcrafters.
The cages didn’t have locks, thank goodness, and were held closed by simple bolts. In her current condition, she wasn’t sure how quickly she would have been able to open a more complex mechanism, even though she still had her tools in a pocket on the trouser leg that had survived. Snoring came from some of the cages.
Brencis had to have been slipping them the drugs in their water. She would just have to hope that some of the Alerans inside had been aware and determined enough to refuse it, hoping for their chance at escape.
Amara and Bernard were about to give it to them.
Or at least, she desperately hoped Bernard was.
“Can you hear me?” Amara hissed into one of the slots just under the top lip of the first cage.
It took a moment for someone to answer, “Who is there?”
“I’m a Cursor,” Amara whispered. “And keep your crowbegotten voice down.”
Confused murmurs came from the cage, sleepy voices speaking in blurred words. They were immediately shushed by other voices, which probably made more noise than all of the confused murmurs together.
“Quiet,” Amara hissed, looking around, certain that someone was going to notice the muted commotion any second. “We’re going to get you out of here, but we’re going to get as many people out as we possibly can. Stay alert. Everyone who can fly in a straight line needs to be ready.”
“Open the cage!” someone rasped.
“Be ready,” Amara responded. “I’ll be back.” Then she slipped over to the next cage, and repeated the conversation. And the next. And the next.
The Vord discovered her as she reached the fifth.
She had just shushed the final stone cage filled with captives when one of the lizard-form Vord twenty yards away raised its head, whuffling in through its nose, and let out a shriek that vibrated from the stones of the courtyard.
It must have smelled the blood still on me, she thought. Most animals would react strongly to the scent of bleeding prey. She should have taken a moment to clean herself better-but it was too late for that.
Speed was everything now.
Amara dropped the veil to call upon Cirrus for speed, and slammed open the bolts to the cage before hurling herself back down the line to the next cage and repeating the process.
“Alerans!” she cried, the words oddly elongated to her altered perceptions. “Alerans, to arms!”
She slammed open the bolts to the last cage as a chorus of Vord shrieks arose around them. The captive windcrafters began shoving their way out of the cages in their wake, screaming cries of their own.
“Alera!”
“Fight, you miserable bastards!”
Only Amara’s heightened senses allowed her to see the flicker in the air above her, where the Citizens were caged under multiple layers of counters to their furycraft. There was a small explosion of sparks, where steel had met steel-and another burst of sparks, where a second arrow had struck another of the hinges on the hanging cage with impossible force and precision, and a dozen Citizens were abruptly dropped fifteen feet to the wet stones of the courtyard floor.
Sparks exploded from the second cage of hanging Citizens, and more cries went up.
“To me!” Amara cried, leaping up onto the nearest cage. “Alerans, to me!”
“Cursor, look out!” screamed someone in the darkness.
Amara whirled, sword in hand, to find the Vord that had first raised the alarm bounding toward her. She waited until it was in the air to lean far to one side, striking with Brencis’s sword, and felt the blade crunch through the Vord’s chitinous armor. She had misjudged her balance, though, crows take those bloody collars, and she fell to the stones with the Vord, bleeding vile, dark fluid, scrambling to find her.
There was a crack like a miniature thunderbolt and the creature dropped as still and dead as if crushed by an enormous hammer. One of Bernard’s arrows protruded from the base of its skull, sunk all the way to the green-and-brown fletching.
Amara looked up to see her husband leap from a low rooftop to the back of a wagon, bow in hand, and from there to the courtyard beside her. He strode to the nearest wooden cage, presumably filled with metalcrafters, and ran his hand along the top. It immediately groaned and warped and fell to pieces, freeing the prisoners inside.
“Are you all right?” Bernard asked, extending his hand to her, his eyes wide with fear. “Are you hurt?”
She took it, and he hauled her to her feet. “I’ll… yes, all things considered. I mean, I’m fine. The blood isn’t mine. It’s Brencis’s.”
“Oh,” Bernard breathed, his face sagging in nearly comic relief. “Good.”
Pleasure washed through her from the collar bound about her thigh at his approval. “Oh,” she breathed. “Love, please. Be careful of your words.”
Bernard blinked at her, then seemed to understand. His face clouded and he stepped in close to her, setting his bow aside. He growled in his throat, seized the steel collar about her throat and snapped it clear of her neck with his bare hands. “I never found the key to the first one,” he told her, kneeling. The collar about her thigh was rather a tighter fit, and his fingers felt warm and rough, sliding beneath it. “Hold still. It could cut you.”
She saw him pause for a heartbeat, and she had a wild thought that he was being tempted. He didn’t have to take the collar off her, did he? No one could except for him, after all. What if he simply left it on her? The collar pulsed with pure bliss again at the very thought, and Amara swayed on her feet, struggling to remember why that would be a bad thing-
And then there was another sound of snapping metal, and her thoughts were abruptly clear again.
“Foul thing,” Bernard spat, rising with the broken steel circlet in his hand.
“Vord!” screamed one of the prisoners still trapped inside a wooden cage.
One of the lizard-forms had swarmed over a nearby wall and leapt down onto one of the water-drenched cages holding the miserable firecrafters, raking at them with its talons.
Bernard spun, lifted the steel circlet, and threw it with fury-born strength. The metal struck the Vord in midlimb and ripped through it like paper. The Vord fell, shrieking and spraying filthy-looking blood all over the courtyard around it.
Amara tossed her sword to one of the freed metalcrafters as more Vord swarmed over the walls. She pointed at the other cages, and snapped, “Free them!”
“Yes, my lady!” shouted the man. He spun to the nearest suspended cage of earthcrafters and slashed it open with the fine steel blade, the bars parting in a shower of sparks, before he moved on to the one beside it.
Bernard had taken up his bow again, and Amara watched as he calmly shot a pair of oncoming Vord from the walls. “We can’t hold them,” he said. “Get the windcrafters and get them out of here.”