There was a clanging of keys and squealing of the rusty lock, then the door swung open and a grinning sec man walked inside.
“Ah, he’s asleep.”
“So wake him up,” another said, chortling.
Kinnison tried not to move as a bucket of sea-water splashed on him. The salt sizzled in his open sores, the pain beyond description, but Baron Kinnison moved from an instinct of raw will and slashed open the throat of the first guard even as the man reached for his blaster. He stumbled away, spraying his life onto the dirty stone walls.
With a curse, the second guard tried to shove the door closed and Kinnison fired the revolver three times, the big-bore .45 punching into the door and driving it back, cracking the wrist of the sec man holding the latch. The guard could only stare in shock at the bones jutting from his skin when Kinnison charged. He hit the portal at a run, his five hundred pounds forcing it open all the way and crushing the guard between the door and wall.
Pinned helpless, barely able to breathe, the guard tried to draw his blaster and fire a shot to summon help. But Kinnison savagely sliced along the length of the exposed arm, from wrist to elbow, severing tendons and arteries. The guard cried out in pain, dropping the weapon, and the baron kicked it away for later. Now the urge for revenge filled Kinnison with blind rage, and he pulled the door away, only to slam it on the man several more times, bones cracking and blood gushing until he was fully satisfied the traitor was aced. Then he dragged the corpse into the cell and looted both guards for more shot, powder and extra knives.
Pausing in the corridor, Kinnison brushed back his wet hair and listened for any response to the fight. There was nothing to hear but the excited murmurs of the other prisoners. They knew something unusual had just occurred and were terrified it would happen to them next.
Lifting the dead guard’s oil lantern, Kinnison went to the nearest door and turned up the wick to let the prisoner inside clearly see his bandaged face.
“B-baron?” the woman gasped through the tangles of her long gray hair. She backed into the corner and began to whimper.
“Hello, dear sister,” he said, unlocking the door. “There has been a revolt and I have been deposed. But fight with me to reclaim the throne, and you will be set free. Free!”
But there was no response as the man undid the shackles around her wrists. Still shaking, the Lady Dana Kinnison simply stood there rubbing the thick calluses on her wrists.
Kinnison handed her the ring of keys and a bloody knife. “Free the rest, sister, and head for the armory. Together, we’ll fight to the dock and get off this hellhole.”
Lady Kinnison stood confused, her arms still partially raised from the years of confinement, the endless rapes and beatings having stolen the will to act from her weakened mind.
“Well?” he insisted. “Decide, woman!”
The woman looked at him with the dull eyes of an animal, and Kinnison sighed in disappointment, then slit her throat with a backhand slash. Reclaiming the items from her scrawny body, he went to the next cell and made a similar offer to a cousin. The baron went to every cell, family and friends, continuing down both sides of the dank corridor until he had an army of thirty, and ten more corpses.
“Give me a blaster,” one of the men demanded, his face hidden by twenty years of hair. “You got three.”
Kinnison knew this was a turning point, so he placed the loaded flintlock into the prisoner’s bony hands, then helped the weak man to place the barrel against his own throat. The man’s eyes went wide in shock, then gleamed in bestial pleasure.
“This is your chance,” the baron said, pushing back the hammer until it clicked into place. “Pull the trigger and everything done to you will be avenged.”
“Or,” he added quickly, “you can use that powder on the next sec man you see and earn yourself a place in the council once more.” Kinnison almost choked on the next words, but he got them out and tried to sound sincere. “I was a fool to mistrust loyal men and have paid the price. Join me in my fight and command troops once more. Or fire that blaster and warn the guards. They may even let you live and go back to your cell. Twenty more years of chains and torture—isn’t that worth the single moment of satisfaction you would get chilling me?”