The next cell lock was easier, and Logash emerged to give Aven a massive slap on the back.

  “You look better than I’d expect a dead man,” the ogre said with a laugh.

  Aven recovered from the joyful smiting and straightened the thin sheet of cloth he’d knotted around him as a makeshift tunic. Leftover sacks were all that prisoners were given for blankets, and this one had a few holes that made it less-than-ideal as clothing, but better by a fair margin than continuing to afflict the world with his nudity.

  Next were the manacles. The lock mechanism was simple, a pin-and-spring locking system through an open eye of the manacle. The keys were all of universal design, little more than levers to pull back the springs and allow the pin to slide free. Threading his voidhand through was equally effective. It also was a thoroughly bizarre sensation, like shrinking his fingers into the threads and spooling them inside the metal. All the sensations of the voidhand echoed back into his body even more strongly than before, as if there was no difference between his flesh and the voidmist constructs. Maybe there wasn’t at this point.

  Now for Janaya’s cell. The woman waited eagerly at the cell, staring at him with burning eyes and a wild grin.

  “Well?” Janaya demanded.

  “Oh, I’ll let you out,” Aven said. “However...I’d like to make a request first.”

  Janaya’s eyebrows shot up as she waited for the request.

  “Could you wait to kill me until after this is over?”

  Janaya bared her teeth, “I’ll make sure your death comes at a proper time.”

  That would have to be good enough for now.

  Janaya stepped outside the cell warily, as if disbelieving that solid ground could exist outside its confines. The look on her face, though, was nothing short of elation, the pure, unrestrained joy of a madwoman who had broken free from her cage. A laugh burst from her, not the death rattle of laughter she usually gave, but a genuine laughter of joy, half-choked by tears. If her shouts before had not given signal, then certainly any idea of stealth was gone now. Yet no guards had appeared.

  The instant Aven removed her manacles, Janaya’s whole body burst aflame.

  “The hour of judgement is nigh!” Janaya howled. “They will all burn.”

  “Could you calm the judgement a little, dear?” Esharah asked.

  Janaya looked quite put out, but the flames retreated into her body.

  “Liberation first,” Aven said. “Then judgement.”

  * * *

  The prisoners on the next floor were already awake, many of them murmuring amongst themselves, wondering what in the hells was going on. When Aven emerged onto the landing, his entrance brought a wave of gasps and cheers.

  “You died!” a prisoner gaped at him.

  “I told you it wouldn’t stick!” Ko’jan roared. “I told you he’d crawl back out of that pit too! Ha!”

  “I’m honored by your faith in me,” Aven unlocked the beastkin’s chains and was rewarded with a smelly, smothering embrace.

  “And now we start the trouble?” Rani’s gnarled hand twitched as if eager to wrap around someone’s throat.

  “Patience,” Aven reiterated the plan. “We free as many as possible. Esharah leads a group to raid Yvris’ study and get the book. Ko’jan and Logash go to bar the doors. Ouron takes a group to get weapons. We kill Yvris, we take the Keep.”

  “We’re all going to die!” Rani said cheerfully.

  “But not before judgement burns through Hellfrost,” Janaya declared.

  Rani slapped Janaya on the shoulder, “Oh, I like you! Stick with ol’ Rani! We’re gonna have fun together!”

  Some of the prisoners shrank back into their cells, refusing to go along with them, declaring the cause in vain and echoing Shani’s sentiment that they were all going to die. That was fine. The crowd continued to swell. And still no sign of the guards.

  * * *

  Gerta cursed every god she’d heard of and saved some curses for those she hadn’t. She especially cursed that damn minari. Getting sick from the slop the old hag served wasn’t new, but this was a damned bad time to be sick. The New Moon festival was still ongoing out in the town. She’d had fun before taking her guard shift back at Hellfrost. Zadrine had planned to bring along some wine, maybe grab a few choice prisoners and make a night of it. Instead, Gerta was stuck in the godsdamned privy.

  She retched, emptying up the meal from the festival. She had to switch positions quickly as the assault came from both ends.

  “Are you still in there?” Zadrine called out. “Gods, what in hells happened to you? I can smell it from out here.”

  Gerta groaned.

  “You’re missing out,” Zadrine said, a laugh in her voice. “I brought the wine. Roshar’s going to get the prisoners. You told him which one you wanted to try, right?”

  At the moment, prisoners were the last thing Gerta could think about.

  Zadrine gave a long, exaggerated sigh. “Should have told him to get that soldier. What’s his name? Ouron? A married man should be some fun-”

  The boss’ words caught off as shouts of alarm rang out. Zadrine’s rambling turned to incoherent cursing. The sound of rushing flames and screams.

  The smell of smoke. Sulfur. What on hells was going on out there?

  Gerta yanked up her pants and glanced around. Shit. She’d left her spear outside.

  The door burst open. A prisoner was standing there. The ogre...Jad? Whatever his name, they’d used him a few weeks back. Zadrine hadn’t been impressed, so they’d ignored him since.

  He was holding her spear.

  “What the hells are you doing?!” Gerta shouted in panic. “Back off or I’ll-”

  When Gerta raised her head, the ogre flinched and back away. That’s right. Even escaped, these prisoners were nothing. If this was some kind of revolt, they’d put it down just like all the others. They’d give these criminals, these rebels the punishment they deserved.

  Someone shoved the ogre aside and snatched the spear from him.

  The hellfire prisoner. Janaya. She was there. The spear burst into white flames, laced with deeper black.

  The spear pierced through Gerta’s chest. She gaped in shock. Her mouth opened. Closed. She stared down at the bloodied point. It hurt like hell. Blood trickled down her chin as her legs went numb. She fell back, just as another wave of nausea brought more blood than bile to her mouth. She was choking. It burned. Oh, gods, it burned.

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  “Gerta of Hellfrost!” the mad prisoner ripped the spear free. “Your sins are judged.”

  * * *

  Zadrine screamed as she sent another burst of flame blasting into the prisoners. Where in the hells were the rest of the guards?!

  “Back in your cells, you bastards!” She shrieked. “I’ll burn you alive.”

  Another filthy, screaming prisoner rushed at her. She reached deeper into the pool of power, fueling it with her hatred, her disgust for these disgusting, wretched creatures. These rabid vermin defying the empire. Flames erupted around the man, searing through his clothes, scalding flesh, boiling blood and bone. He fell back screaming, but another was there.

  Zadrine ran, back to the front gates. The guards were outside, on the walls and in the town for the festival. If she could just make it out of Hellfrost proper and out to the town...

  She skidded to a stop just outside the doors. Prisoners were already there in the courtyard, shutting and barring the gates. Trapping her inside.

  Rage rose up even stronger. Her fire would purge these wretched creatures. She was a vis, not a scared little girl running from rats. Creatures like this kneeled before her.

  The flame surged around her. She let loose her wrath. A wave of fire surged forward.

  A figure burst from the crowd, right into her flames. The prisoner Janaya stood there, smiling as if just drenched in warm bath water, rather than a vis’ fire.

  “I’ve sworn a thousand times that you would burn,” the madwoman held out her arms and the scent of sulfur suffused the air as hellfire ignited. “Your sins are judged, Zadrine of Hellfrost!”

  Zadrine ran. She had to make it to Yvris, with the book, he’d solve all of this. He’d bring this riot under control, bring these vermin to their knees where they belonged. The cells would run red with their blood.

  The madwoman howled with laughter and chased after her, and Zadrine felt the fires of hell on her heels.

  * * *

  Tanya hummed to herself while enjoying a cup of tea in the kitchens. Quite the commotion outside. Rowdy as a festival should be.

  She smiled as the prisoners burst through the door. Esharah at the lead, Logash and several others with them.

  “Hello, dears,” Tanya raised the cup in greeting.

  “Tanya! You need to leave,” Esharah told her. “There’s going to be a riot!”

  “Oh, of course,” Tanya set the tea down. Such a sweet child to be concerned for her. But surely without the manacles she could feel that Tanya didn’t need to be protected.

  Oh, right. Of course. Tanya relaxed her mind just enough for Esharah’s empathic senses to get a glimpse of her calm and peace. The lovely dezar blinked in surprise and frowned.

  “Don’t worry,” Tanya said. “I won’t get in your way at all.” She gestured over to the wall, “My keys are on the wall there, I think you’ll be needing those. Oh, and Logash dear, I saved your plates in that cupboard.”

  The ogre strode over to the cupboard and opened it up. There were the plates and bowls, runes marked in black blood. Incomplete, but Tanya had taken the liberty of drilling little holes and passing strings through them into a makeshift armor. Hardly a hero’s armor, but, well, this was hardly hero’s work.

  Logash reverently touched the armor, then turned to Tanya . There, finally looking at her. Big folk were often a bit slow to really look at folk like her.

  “Hellfrost could use a change,” Tanya took another sip of tea and gave the prisoner a wink. “Yvris and his friends don’t treat people very well, now, do they? We all have our own ways to fight. Best of luck, dears.”

  Logash clasped her hands in his own, carefully given the lug was about five times Tanya’s size. “The fallen will sing songs of your heroism. You have the heart of a true warrior. May the stars shine bright on you, friend.” He brought his head down to kiss her hand.

  Oh my.

  “Oh, away with you, you charmer,” Tanya fought off a blush and waved the absolute mountain of a snow ogre away. “And don’t forget your dishes.”

  Tanya finished her tea while the prisoners raided her cabinets for tools to use as weapons. Hopefully, some of those pans would make it back in one piece. If not, well, Tanya could take comfort that they were being used well.

  * * *

  Jakin woke to hear the guard pounding on the door to the kennels. Nightclaw whined, and Jakin rubbed her neck, scratching behind the pup’s ears. The other hounds stirred as well, agitated by something more than the knocking.

  “It’s all right, girl,” Jakin whispered, patting the pup’s coat, once snow-white and now turning black from the voidspawn blood and meat they fed her.

  “Open the godsdamned door!” A voice roared from outside. The beastkin guard Roshar. One of the worst guards. The one who’d stood by and laughed when Zadrine burned Grogan. What had he called Grogan? A fat hog for roasting?

  Jakin’s fists tightened until his tiny claws drew blood from his palms, only noticing when Nightclaw whined and licked his hand.

  The knocking became more frantic.

  Jakin moved to the door, “Hello? Can I help you?”

  “Hurry and unlock the damn door! The prisoners are loose! Get the dogs on them!” Roshar demanded. “Move or I’ll flay your godsdamned hide!”

  Jakin clenched his fists, small claws digging into his palm. Beside him, Nightclaw growled. Anger rose again, the rage that had been smoldering since they killed Grogan. Every time, that voice spoke when the anger hit. The same stupid words, over and over.

  Not yet.

  He hated those words. He knew they were right, but he still hated them.

  This time, those words didn’t come. The anger rose higher.

  A new message came in that same whisper.

  It’s time.

  Jakin opened his eyes and wordlessly unlocked the door. Roshar burst in, shoving Jakin aside and kicking at Nightclaw when she snapped at his legs.

  “Damned mutt,” Roshar headed for the leashes.

  Stupid man. He didn’t notice that Jakin had left the dogs unchained.

  Jakin shut the door. He let out a sharp, commanding whistle.

  Roshar barely had time to scream before the dogs got to him.

  “For Grogan, you bastard,” Jakin hissed.

  The dogs would have better meat than voidspawn tonight.

  * * *

  It’s time.

  Esharah spread the message to every mind she touched, sending it out as a psychic shout. She felt their reactions. Excitement, confusion, anger. Fear. Hideous, dangerous emotions. The emotions that might turn a revolt into a massacre. She felt the panic and fear as well, and she pushed back with the conviction and determination she felt in Aven’s mind. That unwavering conviction of his, that sense of justice. That anger, that hatred for the wretches that kept them in these cells. The hope. Aven believed in this mad, impossible scheme. His conviction that the plan would succeed was enough to shake even Esharah’s own fears. The unyielding belief that even if they failed, even if they died, dying fighting was better than living in chains.

  The message spread as the prisoners did, sweeping through Hellfrost. Even the hesitant ones slowly joined in the rush. There were a few dissenters who hid themselves away in the recesses of their cell, clinging to their belief that obedience would keep them alive.

  Esharah knew it was too much to ask that everyone would follow. They weren’t fighters. They weren’t ready. The idea of a revolt, of escaping their chains was simply too much. Too much fear. Those that refused the call, Esharah cut off, instead echoing the determination of those who fought.

  The fight was spreading, a fire of defiance spreading across Hellfrost’s Keep.

  There was fighting at the gates, guards rushing to try to batter the gate down. The guards on the wall were rushing to aid their fellows. Horns sounded outside the prison. They needed to end this quickly. If it turned to a siege, they’d all be wiped out. Once the element of surprise was gone, they were only a hundred-odd prisoners against three hundred trained legionaries. The prisoners didn’t stand a chance. Yvris needed to be stopped.

  She headed straight for the study. Locked, of course, but she had Tanya’s housekeeper’s key. A master key to unlock any door in Hellfrost.

  The door clicked, and Esharah stepped into Yvris’ study. Her nose curled as she entered. It smelled like Yvris and like blood, like ink and old paper. Somehow, her empathic senses picked up echoes his presence here, like ghosts left behind of twisted ambition and self-serving justifications of every atrocity he’d committed. His arrogance was a palpable aura in the room. The arrogance of someone who believed himself above every law, every ideal, every god.

  A new emotion rose as well. Surprise.

  Esharah turned to see Etrani in the corner, chained to a side desk. She looked terrible, even just after two weeks. Eyes shadowed, cheeks sunken. Uninjured except for the bandage still on her hand where her blood had been taken for the mark in the Book of Sins, but even without wounds, the marks on her psyche were obvious as any physical scars.

  “You,” she stared in confusion. “What...are you doing?”

  “We’re overthrowing Yvris,” Esharah said.

  Etrani took a while to process this. Understandably. She was still a publicar of the Empire. A publicar’s job was to support the Empire. To help enforce its rules. Even if she was disgusted by what had been done here, to help them would be betraying the Empire.

  The publicar’s shoulders slumped, and Esharah felt relief. “Good.”

  “What did he...?” Esharah trailed off. As pitiable as Etrani was, she didn’t have time to comfort the woman. Healers could help her when all this was over.

  “This is Yvris’ idea of poetic...penance,” Etrani explained as Esharah began to search. “Living chained to the desk. All my work supervised by him.”

  The desk was a disaster of papers and ledgers. All the paperwork that Yvris kept meticulously. Esharah shoved them off the desk, searching. Nothing.

  “The Book of Sins,” Esharah said frantically. “Is it not here?”

  “Oh,” Etrani’s eyes went wide. “Oh no. He...doesn’t keep it here anymore. Ever since he started keeping me in here.”

  Horror arose in Esharah.

  “He keeps it in his chambers or on his person at all times,” Etrani finished.

  That horror deepened when Esharah felt a hideously familiar presence on the edge of her mind. Pain stabbed into her, not the pain of the Thorn but the burning in her soul from the Book of Sins. As Esharah fell to her knees, she saw Yvris standing in the doorway, clawed hand on the Book.

  “The time for penance is behind us,” Yvris said, stepping over to her. At the other end of the room, Etrani whimpered and clutched at her own arms, eyes shut tight. “Now is the time for judgement.”

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

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