He may not have his rapier, but he still had more than a few tricks up his sleeves. And a lot of knives.

Not that he could use them without destroying the whole point of him going along peaceably in the first place…

Thankfully, Goran hadn’t searched him properly. That made things much easier. He even still had his armor. Just because he didn’t plan on killing anyone didn’t mean they’d show him the same courtesy.

Especially those loyal to Chamberlain Davison.

He lay down on the cold, stone floor and pressed his ear to the ground. His potion wouldn’t have long left before it ran out. He might as well make use of it.

He closed his eyes and focused all his attention on hearing and feeling the earth beneath him. His senses expanded even further than before… too bad he could never shut out everything else like this in the middle of a fight.

Well… not if he wanted to live anyway.

Rats scurried in the walls, and something dripped from a pipe not too far away. Heavy footsteps thumped along the hallways in regular patrol patterns, and much further down the hallway prisoners spoke in hushed tones.

He sighed. The guards and the prisoners were both far too alert for his tastes. The guards, in particular, must have just recently started their shift.

Attempting an escape now would be asking to get caught. He’d have to wait for them to grow tired and relaxed.

He memorized the patrol patterns, and which areas he heard the most prisoners from.

He combined what he sensed with his memory of the times he’d spent here before. Though, he’d never thought he would be on the other side of the bars…

The smallest mistake could get him caught or killed. He had to be perfect.

It wasn’t much longer before the effects of the potion wore off, and he was back to his normal senses. Which, while still sharp by human standards, were far less useful.

He sighed and sat back on the straw bed. There wasn’t much he could do with his normal senses.

He clasped his hands together and rested his chin on them.

Goran would no doubt be blamed for his escape, but how could he just sit here and hope for the best?

He needed to take action. He needed to get Victor back, and once he did, they could clean up the entire mess. Goran should be safe until then…

He counted the seconds… the minutes… the hours. How was it possible for time to move so slowly? Victor could be out there needing his help… he could be dying!

He let out a deep breath. He wouldn’t be much good to anyone if he got flustered.

One hour took another, and the guards’ patrols became slower and less frequent as they grew tired and lax.

His eyes sprang open. It was finally time.

The cell was dark with only the soft light of the torches in the passage outside to provide any illumination, but his eyes had adjusted in the long hours he’d been down here.

He reached under his cloak and felt along the hem of his shirt with his fingertips. He found a stiffer portion of fabric and pushed out the thin slivers of metal he kept there where nobody thought to search.

He smiled with his lockpicks in hand. They weren’t nearly as good as his normal ones, but they should do the job on an old cell door like this one. Davison was a fool if he thought any cell would hold him so easily.

Always be prepared, one of Victor’s first lessons.

Connor waited for a patrol to pass by his cell and crouched down. He slipped his picks into the lock, and in mere seconds it opened with a satisfying click.

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After picking magical locks, picking normal mechanical ones felt almost like cheating.

He slipped his picks back into the hem of his collar. He didn’t want them in his pockets in case he was caught and searched properly.

He eased open the door to his cell. The rusty hinges squeaked and groaned like the ravenous undead.

He winced and slipped out. He closed it behind him, and it squealed again like a stuck pig.

He paused then and listened. Had the guards heard that racket?

No footsteps charged toward him. Just the occasional fluttering of torch flames along the walls. From what he could tell anyway…how he missed his potions…

He headed down the passage on the left. It would bring him closer to one of the guard rooms, but he’d heard fewer voices from this direction. Hopefully, that meant fewer prisoners.

If they raised a commotion, he was sure to be found.

He crept along the passage, his footsteps almost completely silent. His shadow danced along the walls.

He snuck by rows of cell doors and prayed the occupants were all asleep. He’d waited long enough, but all it took was one insomniac to ruin everything.

A rat jumped out at him, squeaked loudly and ran between his legs.

He sheathed the throwing knife he’d pulled out instinctively. Damn rats.

“Is someone there?” asked a male voice from inside the cell to his left.

Connor froze and held his breath.

“Hello?” the man called out again, “I know someone is out there.”

All his perfect silence and stealth ruined by a stupid rat!

“Hey!” shouted the man.

Dammit! He couldn’t let him raise the alarm! The guards were just down the passage and around the corner…

Connor shifted his posture and spoke from his gut, imitating the guards as best he could. “Silence, maggot,” he said.

“You’re not one of the guards, are you? They thump around and I didn’t even hear you… who are you? Tell me, or I’ll scream bloody murder,” said the prisoner.

Why couldn’t anything ever go according to plan? “Yeah, fine, I’m not a guard,” Connor whispered.

The man in the cell chuckled like a madman. “Knew it, knew you weren’t one of them,” he said.

“So what do you want?” Connor asked.

“I want what anyone in my circumstances would want,” said the prisoner, “I want to be free.”

“I can’t free you,” Connor said.

“Ooh come now you must have had some way to get out of your cell. I doubt you’re just a tourist. However you managed to get out, you’ll have to help me too, or I’ll scream. Wanna see? GUAR—”

“Okay!” hissed Connor, “you’ve made your point, but if I’m caught then I can’t free you and when I escape again… I’ll kill you on the way out.”

“Death would be a welcome release from these four walls,” said the prisoner, “your threats mean nothing to me. Now free me, or I’ll take my chances.”

Connor sighed and looked down the passageway. He was lucky the guards hadn’t already descended on him.

Maybe he should make a break for it?

It wasn’t that much further, but there were locked doors he would have to pass through. Picking the locks with guards hot on his heels was something he’d rather avoid…

“Well? What’s it gonna be?” said the prisoner, “I’m going to scream in 3, 2, 1—”

“Okay,” Connor whispered, “I’ll get you out if I can, but I swear by the gods if you get me caught… I will kill you.”

“Yeah, whatever. Open my cell,” said the prisoner.

Connor knelt down at the door of the cell and removed his picks from the hem of his shirt.

He hesitated at the lock. Just who was he about to free? The palace rarely imprisoned innocent people… yet his own escape was too important to abort. No matter who this man was.

“What’s going on? Why are you taking so long? Free me,” said the prisoner.

Connor gritted his teeth. “Be quiet you fool. This takes time,” he said.

He slipped his picks inside the lock, taking it slow to give himself time to think.

Perhaps he could help the guards lock this lunatic back up…

The lock clicked open, and he held onto his picks this time. It took precious seconds to retrieve them. Time he might not have after he went past the guardroom.

Especially with this idiot following him.

He eased the door open as quietly as he could. Even so, the rusty hinges screamed, and he cringed.

Once it was open far enough, he saw the prisoner for the first time. The man was middle-aged with a scraggly beard and a disheveled mane of hair with streaks of grey.

Connor glared at the filthy man. “If you make any noise. If you get me caught. If you try to betray me or do anything to piss me off. I’ll kill you,” he said, “do you understand?”

The man’s eyes widened, and he nodded his head vehemently.

It was one thing to threaten Connor and act brashly when there was an iron door between them, and quite another without it.

“What’s your name?” Connor asked.

The man blinked. “Dael,” he said.

“Okay, Dael,” Connor said, “let's get a move on. Keep low, keep quiet, and do exactly as I say.”

Dael raised his hands above his head in a show of surrender, and Connor gave him one last withering glare before he continued on.

The back of his neck prickled. He hated having people behind him.

At least he still had his leather armor and several knives. If this idiot tried anything… it’d be the last thing he ever did.

Still… killing another prisoner wouldn’t look good. Better to get this over with, and find a way to trap the man here.

Thankfully, Dael moved quietly, and the two crept ever closer to the exit… and the guardroom they’d have to pass to reach it.

Roaring laughter cut through the tense quiet and the two crept around the corner. Bright light shone out from under the guardroom door to their left.

They slunk past the door. A meaty scent filled the air, plates clattered, and the guards laughed even louder.

Lunch break for the night shift? Perfect timing.