guard. He threw it low so the wire curled around behind the jailer’s knees, and when the bit of tin came back around, Corin caught it in his other hand. With one end of the wire in each hand, he planted his feet, gripped tight, and dove away from the cell’s door.
He twisted as he flew, trying to see how Bryer had reacted. The hardened guard had not wasted a moment on panic. He’d drawn the bow, and when he saw Corin’s flashing arm, he fired.
But he hadn’t anticipated Corin’s backward dive. Corin watched the heavy bolt flash past his nose and smash to pieces on the wall above his cot. Bryer bent immediately to load another bolt, but Corin couldn’t watch. The wire jerked taut, digging into Corin’s callused palms, but it transferred the full force of Corin’s dive into the backs of the jailer’s knees. Already rushing at full tilt, the sudden tug upended him, and he fell in a clatter of armor and sword that ended with a noisy crash against the bars of Corin’s cell.
Corin dropped the wire and rolled away from where it had fallen. A moment later, another crossbow bolt ricocheted off the stone floor and clanged between the bars and into Kellen’s cell. The yeoman had the sense to duck. He cowered in one corner, as far from the fight as he could get, but Avery was on his feet, leaning against the bars of his cage with a fire in his eyes. The gentleman rogue stared down the hall at old man Bryer.
And in his right hand, he held Kellen’s knife.
Corin shouted, “No!” but not in time. Avery’s arm extended with a fluid grace, sharp-edged steel flashed by torchlight, and the heavy knife buried itself to the hilt in Bryer’s gut. It was a perfect toss, with all the cool precision of a dedicated enthusiast, demonstrating relentless hours spent in the practice yard attacking training dummies.
It was also a violation of a Nimble Fingers law: never kill a hired guard. Avery himself had set that law, though clearly that had come with later experience. A closer look told Corin that his hero had broken another law with that throw as well: if you must kill at all, kill fast and clean. Black blood stained the warden’s belt and leggings, but it was not a gush, and he was still moving.
Corin cursed and scrabbled over to the younger jailer, unconscious in a heap against his door. The pirate kicked the warden’s sword away, then heaved him up to tear the keys from his belt. Behind him, Avery let loose a sickened cry.
Corin looked over at Bryer again, but the old warden was slumped against the wall. His arm twitched, and Corin realized with a start that, even with a palm’s length of steel in his gut, Bryer was readying another shot.
Corin wasted just one try before he found the key to open his door. The lock gave a noisy clank as it turned, and across the narrow hall, Maurelle let out a muted cheer. But Corin had no time to celebrate. He shoved the door and the fallen jailer aside with a mighty heave, then he dashed across the gap. He dropped into a slide as Bryer raised the crossbow, then snapped a kick that tore the weapon from his hands even as Bryer pulled the trigger.
The bolt buzzed past Corin’s ear. His own weight bowled him into the bleeding guard, and Corin rolled, springing up top of him. Then the pirate did with two vicious blows what Avery’s well-thrown knife had not accomplished.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Panting, lungs and throat both burning, Corin found his feet. He moved with practiced efficiency, checking pulses, searching for weapons, and sliding the bodies out of sight. The crossbow lay in pieces where it had smashed against the wall, but Corin stole the younger soldier’s rapier and scooped up Kellen’s from where Ephitel had dropped it.
The younger jailer was still breathing, though he showed no signs of waking soon. Corin dragged him to the farthest cell and bound him with the shackles he removed from Maurelle’s wrists. Then he locked the door, recovered his lockpicks and other effects from the table in the corner, and turned his attention to the other men.
Avery still leaned against the bars, where he had been when he threw the knife. But he had fallen to his knees, and he was trembling. The fancy gentleman had gone all pale, and he was gibbering beneath