River just glared at the corpse and pulled her wings away from her.  Sure enough, her noisy singing was going to bring the whole place down on their heads.  Whatever plan the masked-man had, they would have to them out, but they would never get another chance if they didn’t make a break for it now.  The others clearly had the same thought.  They were joined by a trio of men who’d somehow fashioned their spoons into short-swords.  The others in her line had clearly powerful magic, enough to break their chains and blast away the nearby guards.  River couldn’t allow herself to be dead weight.  She’d agreed to the prison break in the first place.  The masked man had the right idea.  River hoisted the stool over her shoulders as she jumped up onto the table, using her wings to maintain her balance as best as she could despite the restricted movement.


If the guards were just empty armour, would non-magical techniques even be effective?  She couldn’t dwell on it.  This was all she had right now.  She smashed her stool over the head of the nearest guard.  Glancing at the armour as it the collapsed to the ground, she grabbed another abandoned stool.  Leave the guard’s sword; you don’t know how to use it.  Remember what Uncle Flint told you: “A weapon in a fool’s hand will hurt the fool more than his enemies.”  They needed to find a way out of this room before more guards arrived.  The others’ magic couldn’t last forever, and they wouldn’t have any chance for rest until they were long away from their prison.