From where he worked, White Cloud had no idea of the time of day or what was happening on the surface. The slavers had thrown him into one of the deepest, darkest cells of the lot, as if they thought him too precious to lose to the Elani. He picked away at the lock with half a broken old dagger he'd reached through the bars to get, sweat beading on his forehead despite the coolness of the cell.

He worked furiously, fearful he'd been left to die in that place, and after what seemed like an age, he was rewarded by the sound of the lock clicking open.

He pushed the cell door and it swung open with a creak. He blinked against a shaft of light that filtered into the room outside his cell and looked around properly for the first time in amazement.

It was an armoury. Though he guessed it was no longer used. Broken bits of metal were strewn across small wooden tables here and there and even a few tools lay abandoned on anvils where they had last been worked upon.

He walked around the room, brushing his hand along a thick layer of dust on one of the worktops. A cold shiver ran down his back and his skin prickled.

"Farmer..."

He turned and stared. In the doorway, stood Slavemaster Noan. The Lamya looked murderous with his sword held ready and a deep cut across his face that seeped blood.

White Cloud took a step back. "Noan! I am unarmed!"

Noan laughed and admired his blood–soaked sword in the light. "I have had enough of Elani. And I have had enough of you." He smirked. "It's time for you to die at last, farmer."

White Cloud was not a fighter by nature, nor was he as skilled as Noan, but he was determined and there was no way he was going to die now without seeing his son. He inched towards where a very rusty and half-rotted old sword hung from the wall and grabbed it.

Slavemaster Noan juggled his sword from hand to hand as he slowly approached, then, without warning and with no sound at all, Noan rushed him and swung his blade hard.

White Cloud blocked the attack but there was no clang, as of metal on metal, but a thwack sound then a thud as his broken sword fell to the ground, leaving him holding the handle.

Noan stopped and laughed. "That weapon was ancient, farmer! Did you think you could beat me with it?"

White Cloud tried one last attempt to reach through to any compassion the Slavemaster might have had and he held up his hands in desperation. "I would see my son before I die, Noan, grant me that wish and I am yours." Then, as Noan still looked murderous he said, "Then put down your sword and fight me in unarmed combat. You can see I have no weapon to fight you!"

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"No," said a voice from behind Noan. "But I have!"

Noan half-turned from White Cloud, angry at the interruption, and peered into the shadows at the far end of the room. An Elani girl stepped forward brandishing a very elegant Lamya sword.

Saoirse. Noan turned and ignored him completely.

"Saoirse! Get away from here!" he cried.

But Saoirse didn't move. She smiled grimly at Noan and nodded in satisfaction as he turned his full attention upon her and held his sword ready.

The two opponents ran towards each other and met with a clash of metal in the middle of the room, Saoirse was not quite ready for the power that Noan had, he knocked her backwards, and she clipped her leg on a table corner.

As she instinctively put a hand down to her leg, Noan rushed her again, bullying her backwards so she was forced to parry with him to defend herself. Saoirse ducked down and spun away so that she was now behind Noan.

The Slavemaster turned and smiled at his enemy. "A nice move. Very neat! We'll see how neat you are with no limbs." Noan moved quickly then and came at Saoirse with a side swipe at her legs.

She gasped as the sword sliced through her thigh and she fell heavily against a table, staring in wide-eyed horror at White Cloud.

He couldn't watch any longer and with an angry yell, he rushed Noan, charging into him so fast that there was no time for the Lamya to react.

Noan slammed against the solid stone wall but quickly recovered himself and brought his elbow up hard to White Cloud's chin.

White Cloud grunted in pain, tasted blood in his mouth, and when he turned back Noan had raised his sword ready to strike him dead.

He flinched and half–closed his eyes but the blow he was expecting didn't come. Noan swayed for a moment or two and then fell forward, transfixed by an arrow in his back.

White Cloud looked to Saoirse, but she still leaned against the table, both hands around her wound as dark blood oozed between her fingers. He jumped in surprise and stepped back as from out of the open doorway came yet another Lamya.

The man stepped down into the room and prodded the body with his foot just to make sure the hated Slavemaster was dead. Then he looked up at White Cloud.

"Sloane," Saoirse said. "Where on Earth did you come from?"

The Lamya shrugged and said, "Followed 'im down 'ere, didn't I. He ran away from me when we were fightin' above ground. I was the one who gave 'im that cut across 'is face, wanted to finish the job properly but lost sight of 'im in the tunnels. I 'eard all the commotion in 'ere and saw my chance."

White Cloud looked at the arrow protruding from the Slavemaster's back and then nodded at Sloane. "I don't see your bow," he said.

Sloane scoffed. "What do I need a bow for? Can fling an arrow as good as a blade and anyway, I wanted to save my sword for his head."

"His... head?" White Cloud gulped as Sloane drew his sword and quickly retreated to Saoirse's side.

Sloane grinned wickedly. "That's right. His head. The slavers'll stop fighting when they see their master dead and I ain't draggin' 'is body up to the surface for them to see, so I'm taking 'em his head."

"Wait!" White Cloud cried as Sloane raised his sword high above his head. "Uh, just wait for us to leave first?"

Sloane shrugged. "Suit yerself."

White Cloud turned, and helping Saoirse as best he could he hurried away, past Sloane and on towards the surface and sunlight once more.