Free Silent Warrior by Lindsey Piper Page A

black so thick that the old bastard Set, Egyptian god of darkness and chaos, would’ve lit a candle.
    “You do know where we’re going?”
    “When you run all your life, you remember ways to circle back. Stairs.”
    They climbed. Wove. Dodged. And yes, it seemed as if they’d circled around. The warren was a maze. Wherever she was taking them, they would not be pursued easily. Too many nooks and cubbies and wrong turns.
    The lights flickered back to life. A small part of Hark regretted being so eager to see. The filth was overwhelming. She still clutched his hand, and they picked up speed.
    He identified the source of the blackout. Water streamed down the shoddy, makeshift walls. Leaking sinks? Toilets? The water dribbled dangerously close to wires strung along across every surface and in mazes of crisscrossed clotheslines at head height. The wrong drip on the wrong live wire . . .
    Momentary blackouts seemed the least dangerous outcome.
    They arrived at what appeared to be a basement interspersed with heavy I beams. Like the rest of the building, even those support structures seemed tired.
    A moan echoed from across the wide space—wide by comparison. The moan was not of human origin, but came instead from a Dragon King. Hark knew the difference; it radiated across different nerve endings.
    Silence strode forward. “Jawahar, time for your feeding.”
    “Bitch,” the Indranan spat.
    “Not wise to insult one’s captor.” She squatted beside him, but not near enough to risk his touch. He was chained to the wall by manacles around his ankles and wrists. “I might return you to the Kawashimas rather than take you to the Asters. At least with the Asters you’ll have a fighting chance in the Cage matches. Old Man Aster has no grudge. He just wants a proven warrior. What will happen when the Kawashimas reclaim you?”
    “Beheading.”
    “So shut up.”
    She retrieved a packet of what looked like jerky and dried fruit and flung it between his restrained legs.
    Hark met her where she stood. “What did he do?”
    “Got the jump on Shiro Kawashima.”
    “The big guy’s youngest son? That’s ballsy.”
    “Then literally tried to take him up the ass.”
    “Man, who’d have thought you’d actually be lucky to be chained to the basement wall of a warren?”
    “We’re going to borrow your powers,” Silence said, no nonsense.
    Jawahar snarled. “Like fuck you will.”
    Hark pulled the nighnor out of his satchel. “I have a perverse fondness for killing would-be rapists and guys with really foul mouths. It’s a weakness of mine. Wonder if you’d have time to scream.”
    Silence nodded. “What he said.”
    The captive Indranan sneered. “And if you bring me to the Old Man with my head smashed in? What then?”
    “You’d be dead. Won’t be your concern.”
    While Hark hefted his weapon, Silence edged forward with her shield at the ready. She tapped what looked to be a pattern against the back of Jawahar’s collar.
    “Temporary collar,” she said without prompting. “A permanent one will be affixed when the Asters’ jet arrives day after tomorrow.”
    And then she’d just . . . go back with them?
    Of course she would. This was a jaunt compared to the rest of her life. He felt his respect for her dimming like the light in the basement. Elsewhere, huddled humans created a cacophony of ordinary noises. Life encapsulated. Were they any freer than Silence in her collar?
    Was he, hounded by debts?
    Those debts had taken human form, and they hadn’t given up on finding him. Rather than navigate the warren, they began blasting through it. The ordinary sounds of people living stacked on top of one another gave way to gunfire and collapsing walls.
    “Time to make with the magic, blondie.”
    “Have you ever used telepathy in tandem?”
    Hark frowned and drew his chin back. “Oh, hell no. I hadn’t even thought of that.”
    “Too busy talking.”
    They’d shared a Pendray’s rage. No problemo . Sharing