Free Chains of Loss by Robert Page A

to keep as a spy.  You weren’t smart enough to study your targets to the point that your lies would be convincing, and you’re not a good enough liar that a suspicious man would believe even the plausible things you lie about.  Your audacity might have gained you lenience but your incompetence has shown you unworthy.  You’re not even fit to be a supplicant.”
    The human threw himself forward; whether to beg or to assault his lord, Khevalis did not care; it was already far too late for the man, and allowing him to attempt to fight the master would only annoy Vhaes.  Instead, Khevalis intercepted him with a stiff-arm jab to the chest, then hooked his claws into the flesh at the man’s shoulders and used the leverage to fling him to the ground.  Rostok’s head bounced heavily off the bedrock floor; he twitched once and was still.  Khevalis glanced back at his master; Vhaes was smiling.
    “Nicely done.  He’s probably still alive, but he's probably outlived his entertainment value.”  The master nodded to the Nhori.  “He's yours.”
    Khevalis nodded and stepped back as the unconscious man began to float.  The rikari had seen many horrible things, but he had no wish to learn what Nhori did to those unfortunate enough to fall into their clutches.
    Vhaes removed the blindfolds from the prisoners.  Fritzer and Charmichael glared at Donner, but none of them dared to speak.
    Vhaes spoke.  “So the question now arises.  What do I do with you three?  I am not perturbed that you know that I am Vhaes.  That was never truly a secret.  What matters more is your conduct in this affair.
    “Gerald Donner.  You were threatened with torture and sold out your friends to save yourself.  You have two hours to leave the City, and three days to clear the edge of the Blight before it eats you.”
    He gestured to the next prisoner; the bonds around him snapped in a series of pops.
    “Terence Fritzer, you talked, but not under threat; you were tortured before you implicated your friends.  You may take the next week off to recover; I will see to it that you are cared for.  After that, go back to your life as a cooper.  Do not expect to be trusted with greater responsibilities.
    “Eliot Charmichael, you refused to lie, even under torture.  You, I may have use for…Favored.”
     
    ***
    Thursday, October 27, 3481.
    Time: Midday. 
    Location: Wilderness, claimed by Overarchy. South of Worldsedge.
    The wind was just cool enough to be comfortable in the shade of the trees, full of the smells of early autumn.  The leaves had not yet begun to fall, but every tree bore a splash of color.  Mycah was almost enjoying things when she first sensed orcs in the distance.  With the advance warning, they were able to evade detection, but Mycah remained on edge for most of the day and stuck to a rapid pace.  It was well past noon when they first stopped for rest. 
    Derek had been breathing heavily at the start of their run, but had quickly settled in.  He didn’t appear to be sweating, and his hair wasn’t even ruffled.  Mycah felt a stab of jealousy.  She was drenched, and her muscles burned.  She’d been living in the city for years; had she really gotten that badly out of shape? 
    She ate a trail bar as Derek repeated his bizarre actions and made a new map.  She still had difficulty grasping what he was doing.  He had tools, he’d said—but they were impossibly beyond what she’d seen back home and were comparable to elder runes in scope.  And yet they had taken nothing out of him; after making the map he showed no signs of fatigue or even minor stress. 
    The map showed them to be safe, and Mycah settled into a more sustainable pace.  About an hour later, they entered a strange, oblong clearing.  Her companion stopped short behind her. 
    His voice was low.  “These…these are ruins,” he said. 
    “What?”  She hissed back. 
    “Under the ground here.  It’s hollow about a half meter down.