Sword of the Gods - Bruce R. Cordell [88]
There! Two enclosures from her own cage. The earthsoul slumped from cuffs around her wrists, and her head rolled to one side. Someone had removed her armor and her weapons. She was smeared in dirt, blindfolded, and blood stained her forehead.
Fury built and then burned away her bowel-loosening fear. They’d hurt Carmenere! Someone was going to answer for that.
Her armor, with all of its concealed daggers, lock-picking wires, and other tools of her craft, was missing. But her captors had failed to remove her gloves. Which meant she would soon be free! But she had to get Carmenere out too. She had to be careful, and make sure no one saw her get free. Where had they stored her belongings—
“Tell us what you want!” echoed through the room. The voice was … it was Demascus!
She gazed left and saw the man two cages over. His dangled directly over the swarming pit. Manacles on the deva’s wrists and ankles suspended him spread-eagle in midair inside his cell. They’d left him only his smallclothes. She saw the tattoolike designs on his arms extended up his shoulders, then plunged down the center of his back, creating a design that looked an awful lot like a sword.
His eyes were covered. Whoever had covered his eyes obviously didn’t know the significance of the Veil of Wrath and Knowledge, because they’d used the Veil as the blindfold.
She couldn’t see Chant, but she decided to assume the human was in a nearby cell. Unless his bones numbered among those on the pit’s edge …
“Murmur!” yelled Demascus. “Answer me!”
A mixture of cries, prayers, and pleas for salvation, plus a particularly loud bout of gibberish from Riltana’s cellmate, was his response. No cultists, or that awful thing that had been Leheren, were obviously present.
She debated calling out to Demascus. His voice sounded fragile, as if he were on the edge of some kind of break. Acknowledgment from her that at least one of his friends remained alive would give him something to focus on … No. It would be stupid to draw attention to herself. If she could escape her cell without any of the cultists realizing it, then she might be able to release him too, after she saved Carmenere. He’d appreciate freedom better than a friendly voice in the dark.
Riltana rubbed her finger and thumb together and concentrated on her gloves. A yellow marble swelled into her grip. The Prisoner’s Stone, as she called it, which she’d stolen from an image of the primordial Karshimis. Relief made her giddy for a moment.
She whispered the phrase that had come to her in a dream, “Neither cage, nor chains, nor prison walls shall keep me from salvation’s light.”
The manacles slipped off with hardly a jangle. The bars beneath her feet parted like water, and she dropped lightly to the dirt beneath. Free!
The maddening drone from the pit vibrated through her; its edge was only a pace away from her boot tip. She retreated from the rim until her shoulder blades brushed the cavern wall. So far, so good. Nothing had reacted to her escape, and she still couldn’t see any cultists. A fierce grin touched her lips.
She stashed the Prisoner’s Stone back in glovespace, then raced for the exit tunnel.
Belongings from recently interred prisoners might be stowed near the captives in a guard chamber, she thought. When she’d been caught three years ago by the Airspur peacemakers, they’d had one. She hoped the cultists operated similarly.
Her cellmate began to scream, “Don’t leave me, Lady! Come back for me!”
That insane turd! No time to go back and quiet him.
She ducked into the exit tunnel. Torches set in black metal wall sconces wound down around a natural curve, providing light. A side chamber gaped just a few paces down it.
Ah ha! The guard chamber, had to be.
She padded forward and peeked in. The chamber’s flickering illumination came in through several arrow slits that looked back out onto the chamber of the pit. She’d missed seeing them earlier.
Lucky no cultists were here, she thought. They would’ve probably seen