The clatter of keys jolted him awake. Mira stood at the bars, face pale but determined.
"They'll move you tomorrow," she whispered. "Deeper into the dungeons. I won't let them."
Before Aric could protest, Edran appeared, cloak hiding his staff. With a single word, the runes on the chains dimmed. They snapped free with a hiss of smoke.
"Quiet now," Edran muttered. "If we're caught, not even the gods will save us."
They slipped through tunnels beneath the Hall. Guards' voices echoed in the distance, but Mira knew the streets like a fox through fields. At last they emerged into the night air of Caelthorn's lower districts, where lanterns burned dim and the stench of fish markets masked their trail.
Aric gasped the first free breath in days. Yet his relief was short-lived. For in the shadows ahead, cloaked figures waited—dozens of them, with eyes glowing faintly red.
"The Serpent," Edran growled.