Cara shuffled forward. The manacles chafed against her wrists, and the right side of her face ached from Gramok's blows.

The prison's jagged steel walls loomed overhead, and rows of impaled heads stretched out around it. Passing through the black metal gate thicker than a handspan, the plan felt rather more reckless than it had in the tannery basement.

Ten, no, eleven guards in the lobby alone, not even counting the soldiers bringing in fresh prisoners. Or the three bored clerks overseeing proceedings from behind obsidian desks raised so high that, even seated, they were a head above her.

A far cry from “lightly defended."

Vines twisted around her soul. It would be okay, it had to be. Nammu wouldn’t be right behind them if this was suicide.

They’d find Ted, rescue the prisoners. Save the day. Make it all right.

Gramok shoved her forward. She dutifully stumbled like a broken figure. At least no one was giving them a second glance. Not yet, anyway.

At the front of their line, two soldiers wrestled with a male minotaur, manacled and soaked in blood. He roared, breaking free from one's grip and headbutting the other, his helmet ringing with a clang.

A round of blows from the soldiers made Cara's insides clench, and the minotaur fall silent.

Two guards hovered nearby, watching, waiting to do as they were told.

The clerk—an orc girl a few years younger than Gramok—clutched her quill like a shield and peered down from behind her desk. “Crime?”

“Murder,” grunted one of the soldiers, struggling to maintain his grip.

The prisoner spat on the ground. “Triple murder.”

The clerk checked over her notes and made a few scribbles. “Throw him with the condemned. He can hang in the morning.”

One of the guards stepped forward and held the prisoner’s head steady. The other grabbed a slave collar from a bin full of them and snapped it around his neck.

The calming was instantaneous, like watching a Lookout ordered to stand down.

Except Lookouts had a choice. This…

Another guard stepped forward and dragged the now compliant prisoner away. The line inched forward, and business proceeded smoothly. Two recaptured slaves, sent to general cell A. An arsonist, to the condemned. Two thieves, sent for whipping and release.

Cara’s fingers itched. Her legs begged to move, her entire being urging her to make a move. To strike. To end this forsaken nightmare.

Not yet. They had to stick to the plan. Trust it. Be patient.

Another recaptured slave. A wood elf this time. Another squiggle, another dispatched to general cell A.

This was it. The front of the queue.

Gramok shoved Cara to the ground and stepped up to the desk, his helm visor still down. Even raised as the desk was, he peered down at her, exuding an air of superiority that made Cara’s skin crawl. “Another of your rebels. I’ll need a receipt, and the collar code.”

The clerk finished scribbling before she looked up at him. “Your name?”

“Sir Kadora,” he said, cramming more contempt into the words than seemed possible.

Cara stiffened up. His actual name? What in the Deep-Forest was he thinking?

The two guards hovering beside the desk glanced at each other. Like they knew the name.

The clerk merely looked down at her notes. “Ah. Yes. I see you flew in today.”

Flew in?

Gramok froze up for a fleeting moment, before settling into a stiff posture. “Be quick. The Emperor’s gold isn’t paying me to dawdle with peasants.”

The clerk straightened up. “Yes, sir. Crime?”

“Theft from the Emperor. I’m to personally deliver her to the Imperial cells.”

“Very good, sir.”

One guard placed his hand on Gramok’s shoulder and incanted a spell. The other grabbed a collar and advanced on Cara.

Her jaw clenched, and she glowered up at the guard. His face was blank, his eyes dull. Just as helpless as the rest.

No. He had a choice, he just wished he didn’t.

The metal collar clicked around her neck, and a calm settled over her. It would be okay. All she had to do was obey.

Above, the guard’s hand dropped away from Gramok. “Don’t suppose we’ll get to see your—”

“I'm not here for your amusement,” Gramok snarled, snatching the receipt out of the clerk’s hands. He grabbed Cara by the back of the neck and hauled her to her feet. “Move!”

She stumbled forward, doing as she was told. It felt good. Easy.

Simple.

The next group—Nammu’s—moved up. “Crime?”

“Rebels.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

The faint rasp of quill against parchment came instantly. “Summary execution. Emperor’s orders.”

Gramok’s grip tightened and he froze, jerking Cara to a halt. This wasn’t the plan.

Not that it mattered. The will of Emperor was to be done.

Hot breath tingled against Cara’s ear. “Eskaroth.”

Fire roared through her veins. She spun.

The two rebels disguised as soldiers that Nammu had brought froze up. Those two guards lazily drew their swords.

The plan was dead. So were they, if they didn’t do what had to be done.

Cara glanced at Gramok. Instant agreement, no discussion required.

Adrenaline surged. She yanked her daggers from Gramok’s belt and flew at the closest guard. One strike to the neck, one to the face.

He dropped. A scream came from near Gramok, the sound cut short by a gurgle. Nammu and her crew burst into a rolling tide of violence.

Cara launched herself at the next guard. Parry, strike, duck, close, blade through the jaw, move on to the next.

The guards never stood a chance. By the time they’d come to their senses, only one remained. He brandished his sword and backed away, heading for the exit.

Gramok tossed Cara her bow and an arrow. Her fingers closed around the wood and tension fled.

She drew, aimed at the gap under his helm, loosed. Ended another cog in everything that was wrong with this city.

That left the three clerks, each standing with their hands in the air.

“Please,” whimpered the clerk who’d sentenced the rebels to death. “We didn’t choose this.”

Cara’s nocked another arrow. They’d chosen this job. Chosen to do as they were told.

The rebels hesitated, looked to Nammu. Waited to be told what to do.

It was a small motion. A tiny shake of her head.

The clerk’s eyes widened. Her fist closed and fell.

Rapid Shot. The hand slowed. Cara drew her bow, raised it, aimed for the heart. Took the shot.

Direct hit. Too slow. The fist struck the desk.

An alarm blared. The other clerks screamed, briefly.

Kalkarka! Soldiers would be swarming this place soon. Real soldiers, ready for battle.

Gramok shook his head and passed Cara the rest of her gear. “Code’s Eskaroth,” he yelled, heading for the Imperial cells.

Behind them, Nammu barked out orders, and the gate screeched shut.

Cara took off after Gramok, nocking another arrow. “We did what had to be done.”

“Right.” His tone was about as convinced as she was. “Let’s get Ted and get out of here.”

They hurried deeper on, past packed cells. Past the withered, broken souls huddled at the back of their cages. Past collared slaves facing a life in chains.

This wasn’t their fight. Nammu would handle them. That’s what they’d agreed.

She was here for Ted.

They rounded the corner, straight into the path of two guards, halberds in hand. The guards charged.

Her pulse raced. She put an arrow in the left one’s gut.

He kept coming. Swung at her left side.

The bow clattered against the floor. Her dagger came up, parried his strike—

His feint.

She jumped back. Too late. Agony cut through her right forearm. It fell loose to her side.

The other guard’s sword clanged against Gramok’s armor. Gramok endured the blow, his greatsword already swinging for the neck, ending the duel in a single strike.

Cara’s opponent darted forward, lunged.

She turned, deflected, slid up the shaft.

The guard stepped back, halberd twisting into another strike.

Gramok struck the back of his neck, dropping the guard to the floor, and finished him off with a thrust.

Adrenaline faded away, and the pain flared up. Time to heal.

She cast her mind back to Jeremy's instructions, repeating the steps exactly as he'd showed her again and again. "Lunaeka."

“You okay?” Gramok asked.

She forced out a nod. "Tight quarters. Not ideal." She glanced at the headless corpse. "Not for me, anyway." What if she wasn’t enough? What if she couldn’t do this?

What if she was just going to screw everything up again?

She sheathed her daggers and nocked another arrow. “Let’s go.”

Cara snuck ahead. Behind them, screams and shouts rose. A riot in full swing. Maybe the Resistance stood a chance afterall.

Maybe.

Movement! Cara slowed and pointed at the white-robed mage leading four soldiers.

These soldiers moved with purpose, wore thicker armor, hefted around those shields like they were nothing. They had proper gorgets and everything. No easy neck shots here.

Her chest tightened. Even discounting the mage, they’d be dangerous foes. With the mage? Ouch.

Yet… they were heading away from the lobby, away from the screams.

A chill ran down Cara’s spine. There was only one thing here more important to the Empire than putting down a rebellion.

Gramok turned to her and they exchanged gestures. There wasn’t any choice. They’d have to take out that patrol.

Cara snuck up to the next corner. Damn it, she was right. They’d taken up position a hundred paces further down, outside the only one with a single inhabitant.

A lone human curled up into a ball.

Her heart stuttered. Mind on the job, Cara.

Only one way they were winning this. She drew, aimed at the mage’s head, activated Sniper Shot, let the ability build.

Thorns ripped at her insides. If they spotted her, if she missed, if she didn’t take him out—

She breathed out, and loosed.

The arrow flew true, struck his temple, buried itself in the mage's skull in spite of a flash of teal.

The mage dropped like a stone.

The soldiers turned. Teal sparked and crackled around them, their Protection magic shattering, and they charged.

Her shoulders tightened. This was it. She nocked another, firing again and again.

Gramok clanked up beside her, slung his shield down, and drew his mace.

The lead soldier’s charge faltered.

Another arrow loosed. Another glance off his breastplate.

Gramok smashed his shield into the soldier, followed by a mace to the face. The crunch dug under Cara’s skin.

She dropped her bow, drew her daggers, and dove in, parrying blows and hunting for gaps that didn't come.

“Kangrat handarn!” Gramok’s taunt echoed out, drawing their attention.

The human looked up. Ted!

Agony stabbed at Cara’s chest.

Focus! She pulled back, clutched her side, parried another blow. Even if she could land hits, their armor would turn them. She had to draw it out, give Gramok time.

Another crunch. Another face smashed in.

The two remaining soldiers backed up, formed a shield wall. Too slim to be orcs or minotaurs. Too graceful to be human. Too rigid to be wood elves. High elves, then.

Cara stood up straight. Pain seared in her side. Later. She’d feel it later. “Surrender. Fall back. Whatever. Don’t care—don’t throw hundreds of years of life away for this.”

They took a step back, the twitching of their helmets betraying frantic glances.

Gramok raised his mace and advanced. “Your choice.”

The one on the left raised his shield to cover his face. “Emperor’s Orders, sir.”

Cara sheathed her daggers and pulled on her mana. She weaved it into fire magic just as Jeremy had shown her so many times. “Enkir'girk-polak!” she hissed, and flicked the fire against the wall.

The two soldiers backed away three steps, then broke into a run.

Gramok turned to her, barely holding back a chuckle. “Fire-starter training spell?”

A smirk broke through, despite everything. “It worked," she said, stepping forward and lifting the keys off the mage's corpse.

The cell door swung open easily. Ted's head was slumped again. He didn't look up.

Cara rushed forward. "Eskaroth." She grabbed his collar and pulled.

It refused to budge.

"Eskaroth!" Still nothing.

Ted lifted his head, met her gaze with dull, dead eyes. "Leave me."

Aidan flashed in her mind. She grabbed Ted's arms and pulled him to his feet. "Not a chance."

He swayed but stayed upright, and shook his head. "Go… save yourself."

A growl forced itself out. Stupid Ted! Stupid collars! Stupid Empire! "Gramok, carry him."

Gramok shook his head. "Without his magic, we ain't getting out of here alive."

Ice flooded Cara's veins. "We don't have the Imperial command word."

A pause. Gramok hefted his greatsword over his shoulder. "Don't need one."

Cara gritted her teeth. The collar was solid metal, doubtless enchanted to the roots. Her hand fell to her dagger, and she froze.

Gramok's unyielding gauntlets pressed against her arms. She turned away, letting her push her aside.

A woosh of air. A butcher's crunch. A dull thud. A final whump.

The clanking of metal armor. The click of metal against metal.

It was done.