Screaming woke him.
Korath's eyes snapped open. For a confused second, he thought he was back in the mines—then reality crashed in with the smell of blood and sound of steel on flesh.
"Bandits!" Daven's voice roared. "Everyone up!"
Korath rolled to his feet, grabbing his pickaxe. The cave was chaos. Dark shapes moved against the dying firelight—armed men with blades and rough leather armor. Not soldiers. Worse. Bandits who lived in these forests, preying on travelers.
They'd found easier prey than usual.
A bandit lunged at Korath. The man was missing teeth, his breath reeking of old alcohol. His sword came down in a clumsy chop.
Korath blocked with the pickaxe. Metal rang on metal. The impact sent shocks up his arms.
The bandit grinned. "Fresh meat—"
Sera's whip cracked across his face. He screamed, dropping his sword. She kicked him in the chest, sending him sprawling out of the cave.
"Outside!" she yelled. "Don't let them trap us!"
They burst from the cave into gray dawn light. Six bandits waited, weapons drawn. But they hesitated when they saw the escaped slaves—bloodied, desperate, with nothing left to lose.
"Just give us your supplies," the bandit leader called. He was a scarred man with one eye and a voice like gravel. "Don't have to make this hard."
"We have nothing," Daven spat.
"Sure you do. Those sacks. Your tools. And..." The leader's one eye fixed on Tam, who cowered behind Brick. "Young ones fetch good prices in the right markets."
Rage flooded Korath. He'd just escaped slavery. He'd be damned if he let someone else take the boy.
"No," he said clearly.
The leader laughed. "No? You think you got a choice, slave? I can see the marks on you. The mine dust in your hair. You're runaway property. We could turn you in for the bounty—"
"Try it," Brick rumbled. The big man stepped forward, making himself a wall between the bandits and the others. "See what happens."
The standoff stretched. Six bandits against eight exhausted slaves. The odds weren't great for either side.
Then one of the bandits broke first. He charged at Brick with a yell, sword raised high.
Bad mistake.
Brick caught the blade with his bare hand. The sword bit deep into his palm, but the big man didn't even flinch. He ripped it from the bandit's grip and snapped it over his knee like kindling.
The bandit's eyes widened. "What—"
Brick's fist caught him in the face. The man flew backward, landing in a boneless heap.
Chaos erupted.
The other bandits charged. Slaves scattered, weapons clashing in the dawn light. Korath found himself facing two opponents—a woman with a spear and a boy barely older than himself with twin knives.
The spear thrust at his chest. Korath twisted, feeling the point graze his ribs. Pain flared. The knife-wielder came in from the side, blades flashing.
Too fast. Korath couldn't block both—
The knife-wielder stumbled, his leg buckling. Tam was there, having thrown a rock that caught the boy's knee. The distraction was all Korath needed.
He swung his pickaxe in a wide arc. The point caught the knife-wielder in the shoulder, burying deep. The boy screamed. Blood sprayed hot across Korath's face.
He yanked the pickaxe free. The boy collapsed, clutching his wound.
The spear-woman hesitated, looking at her fallen companion. That hesitation cost her. Sera's whip wrapped around the spear shaft and tore it from her grip. Daven was there a second later, tackling her to the ground.
Around them, the other bandits were falling or fleeing. The bandit leader took one look at his scattered crew and cursed.
"Not worth it," he spat. He turned and ran into the forest, two surviving bandits following.
Silence fell, broken only by gasping breaths and moans of the wounded.
"Everyone alive?" Brick called.
Shaky confirmations came back. Miraculously, none of the slaves were seriously hurt—just cuts and bruises. But three bandits lay dead or dying on the ground.
Korath stared at the knife-wielder he'd hit. The boy was still alive, breathing in ragged gasps, his blood pooling in the dirt.
"Finish him," Sera said quietly.
"What?"
"He's dying anyway. Make it quick."
Korath looked at the pickaxe in his hands. It was slick with blood—human blood. He'd done this. Put that hole in another person.
The boy's eyes found his. They were glazed with pain and fear. So young. Maybe fifteen.
"Please," the boy whispered. "Don't... don't leave me..."
Korath's hands shook. He'd killed the overseer in heat of rage. But this was different. This was looking someone in the eye while they bled out.
"I can't," Korath breathed.
"Then I will." Sera raised her stolen sword.
"Wait." Korath grabbed her arm. "Maybe... maybe we can help him. Bandage the wound—"
"With what? And why would we?" Sera pulled free. "He tried to kill us. To sell the boy into slavery. You want to save him after that?"
Korath looked at the dying boy again. No, he didn't want to save him. But he didn't want to become someone who could kill in cold blood either.
"Move aside," Brick said quietly. He knelt by the boy. "Close your eyes, kid."
The boy whimpered. Brick's massive hand closed around his throat.
It was over in seconds.
Korath turned away, stomach churning. Behind him, he heard Sera moving among the other fallen bandits, making sure they were dead.
"Take their weapons," Daven ordered. "Their boots too, if they fit. We need everything we can get."
They stripped the bodies efficiently, like they'd done it before. Maybe they had, in the mines. Death was so common there, you stopped seeing bodies as people.
Korath took a sword from one of the dead men. It was poorly made, rust spots on the blade, but it was better than a pickaxe. He tied the sheath to his belt with trembling hands.
"We need to move," Sera said. "Those who ran will bring more. Or tell the hunters from Ashkarn about us."
"Agreed." Daven shouldered his pack. "Everyone ready?"
They set off into the forest, leaving the bodies behind for the scavengers. The sun was rising, painting the sky in shades of gold and red. Beautiful, in a way that made Korath's chest ache.
He'd seen more death in one night than in five years in the mines.
Is this freedom? he wondered. Killing to survive? Running forever?
But when he looked at Tam—alive, walking on his own feet—he thought maybe it was worth it.
Maybe.