Cut me loose, son. Do it quick.

It was the gaunt man, arms out-thrust. Gerin hesitated an instant, then fastened the bolt cutters on the man s manacles. He heaved and twisted, forearms aching from the effort. For one sickening moment, he thought the cutters would not work. Then the manacle bent, and split, and tore.

That s it, that s it, the gaunt man almost crooning. Guild-level iron, my arse. Look at that shit. Fucking skimp-shift Etterkal smiths.

The second manacle went almost as easily, and then the gaunt man had snatched the bolt cutters from Gerin s sweat-slick grip. He hefted them like a weapon. Gerin felt his mouth dry up.

Come on, the man snapped. Hold em out.

It was like his father speaking Gerin obeyed in a daze. The gaunt man set the bolt cutters to his manacles, snapped each one open in turn with a powerful doubled crimping action. He did Gerin s feet almost as fast, then his own. He tore off the broken cuffs, straightened up and laughed a sudden, fierce burst of joy that had something animal about it. He clapped Gerin on the shoulder, almost flooring him again with the force of the blow.

Fucking amazing, son. Never seen anything like that.

Elsewhere, other men had laid hands on the other two march-masters bolt cutters and were now about the squabbling uncertain task of trying to free themselves or one another in the dark. The scar-faced Rajal veteran rose up, like something summoned, from the corpse of the man he d killed. He tugged his chains loose from the red-raw gape of the march-master s burst throat and offered them up. Gerin felt a shudder run up his spine at the sight. The veteran shook the chain impatiently.