Murut opened his eyes and groaned when he was met with bright white light. He wasn't back in his cell - no his cell was dark. Too dark. He closed his eyes against the stabbing pain from above.
He thought back, trying to remember what came before the bliss of unconsciousness. He had been brought to Bailey's interrogation room for the who knew how many times now, he had been his usual determinedly disobedient self, despite the searing pain in his shattered hands, and this time he had been given a spark of hope…
Had he reached it? Had he finally wrapped his fingers around the soothing metal of his precious flute once more? Had the familiar smooth curves of black steel touched his lips before he could be stopped? Was that enough?
Murut fought to open his eyes again, cringing against the blinding light but refusing to drift away again until he knew his situation.
He was met with a small black nose mere inches from his nose.
The rodent's whiskers wriggled, and Murut's dry lips smiled a genuine smile for the first time in seventeen years.
"Hey, buddy." He rasped.
The rat gave a squeal of joy, hopping onto its hind legs to thrash its head in some form of victory.
A chorus of matching squeals exploded around him.
The sound was a fully welcome stab of pain to his ears, and though he could have sworn his ears were literally bleeding, Murut didn't want it to stop.
He was light-headed, feeling as if he might slip back into the darkness of sleep at any moment, but he was more happy than he could ever remember being.
As the rodent's cheer died down, two rats scurried forward, nosing a familiar of sleek black cylinder before them.
"My… my flute." Murut coughed, reaching weakly for the beloved instrument.
The rats rolled the flute into his waiting palm, and he let it rest there, too exhausted to even try and curl his busted fingers around it.
Several of the fuzzy grey vermin scuttled forward with worried expressions, sniffing Murut up and down, one concentrating on his hands and giving him a look of pained sympathy.
"I know." He whispered too them, as dozens upon dozens of small eyes focused on him with similar expressions. "I am wounded. But, I am free. It… it is better now."
There was a squeak from behind him, and a sharp pain cut through his haze, centered at the base of his neck.
Squeaks piped up all around him, a small collection at the back of his head shushing them with a demanding cry, and two rats hopped onto Murut's shoulder to give an announcement.
"What… what is it?" Murut asked.
The larger of the rats perched on the edge of his shoulder gave several, important-sounding squeals.
"I… yeah, do that."
But several of the rodents on the edge of the crowd had already run to obey before he seconded the order.
"B-Bailey." Murut said. "Is… is he dead? Are we certain we… we are safe?"
The rodents all exchanged determining looks, and one stepped forward to deliver the desired huff of explanation.
Murut gave into a deep sigh. "Good."
But the rat wasn't finished with his report - Murut's eyes grew wider with each squeak of the report, and it wasn't until another of the rodents nudged his forehead with its small, wet nose that he remembered to breathe.
"Wh-what? How? Who?"
The crowd erupted again, each rat trying to explain from his or her own perspective, and not a word of it actually being heard by anyone.
"ENOUGH!" Murut bellowed, his own ears howling in protest, his head flaming as he let it fall the two inches back to the tile. "One… at… a time." He panted.
They obeyed, the smaller rat on Murut's shoulder taking over the story, in more detail this time.
"And…" Murut said when they were done. "How close are they?"
As if on cue every rat in the room's ears perked, and a hushed murmur of distressed squeaks rippled through the room.
Rodents scattered from Murut's path as he drew himself to a sitting position with trembling arms, dragging himself painfully to lean against the far wall, facing the double steel doors across the room.
He fought flaming pain as he curled his shattered fingers around his instrument, black spots dancing in his eyes as he panted, watching those doors, waiting for them to open.
Give us strength, my lord! Came the resounding hum as the rodents all turned to face the doors with aggressive stances. Give us the power to kill!
No. Murut replied, weak in physical but not mental power. We do not yet understand what they want. They could prove useful.
Give us strength, my lord! The mental cries continued despite. Give us the power to kill!