The dungeon master unlocked the shackles around his wrists and let Runt crumple to the floor. The boy scrambled away, which excited Kravin further. “I’m always up for a good fight. And I always win.” He advanced.

“Stop! I’ll kill you!” It wasn’t a threat but a panicked warning.

Kravin laughed and grabbed Runt’s wrist and pulled until it gave a small pop and the boy yelled, then stopped fighting.

“Good,” Kravin crooned. “I want you to watch. It’s an art, really.”

Runt stared not at the bone scissors but at the smear of blood that led from his own arm to Kravin’s hand. Coralythe could hardly breathe. Kravin gave his wrist a shake, as though relieving a hand cramp. Then a sharp inhale followed. His eyes bulged, blinked once, and went dead as a snuffed candle.

He slumped to the side and Runt wriggled his wrist free. “I warned him,” he gasped.

“Yes, you did.” She felt a surge of pride.

“I told him to stop.”

“Men like that don’t stop. Not for anything.” Coralythe stared at Kravin’s bulbous body, relieved and exhilarated by its lack of movement. “Now go. Find Bastiaan and help him.”

“I’m getting you free first—”

“There’s no time!” The clank of militairen making their rounds preceded raised voices. “Militairen are coming!” If they walked past this cell, they would see Kravin’s body and Runt with one arm free.

The boy fumbled with Kravin’s belt, digging for the keys. He yanked the leather cord several times before the attached ring came loose. He got his shackle unlocked by the second try and then scrambled over to Coralythe’s.

“You need to leave, Runt.” It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be free, but she knew the punishment Runt would undergo if they found him escaping.

“You saved me. I’m not leaving without you.”

She tried to nudge him toward the door with her knee. “Foolish boy!”

“Stubborn too.” He dodged her attempts and tried the first key, careful to use his nonbleeding hand.

“Kravin?” a militair hollered. No concern tainted his voice. It sounded like he had a message for the dungeon master. Rotten timing.

Runt worked faster, moving on to the next key and then the next. Until he went through them all and none worked. “I . . . I must have gone through them too fast.”

Coralythe shook her head. “Go, Runt.”

He started over with the first key. She could strangle him!

The militair’s footsteps sounded mere yards away. A voice murmured. More than one. Runt moved on to the second key for the second time. The lock clicked. He shoved the key ring into Coralythe’s hand, then spun toward the doorway as two militairen peered in.