Mikhail sat with Elana and Yuri in a tent on the far side of the clearing filled with alchemical equipment and ingredients. The Warriors had given the two Air Traders little grief once Elana vouched for them, though Mikhail hadn’t failed to notice the distrust in their eyes when they talked to her. He knew how they felt.

  She’s your mother, the small voice whispered in Mikhail’s ear. He ignored it. She was not.

  “So they declared war on the Sentinels?” Elana asked, looking at Yuri.

  Yuri nodded. “Ledavsk has fallen, it’s only a matter of time before they take Katavsk.”

  “Sergei wasn’t there, was he?” Elana asked, eyes wide.

  “Father’s in Katavsk,” Mikhail said.

  “I see. Well, that’s good. The Alchemists may have taken Ledavsk, but they don’t have the extracts or Alchemtek to besiege Katavsk.”

  Mikhail and Yuri glanced at each other. “They have at least one new extract, steelskin. It’s dangerous.”

  A scowl twitched Elana’s brow. “Ironhide. It’s called ironhide. Though steelskin certainly has a ring to it…”

  “You know about it?” Mikhail asked, canting his head to one side.

  “Of course I do. I created it.” Elana’s frown deepened. “But I told no one. That was only in my journal… Where’s my journal, Mikhail? You have it, right?”

  “Ahh…”

  Elana lurched to her feet, her cheeks suffused with blood. “You let them have my journal?” she shouted.

  Mikhail and Yuri both rose. “Of course not!” Mikhail said, returning her glare. “They found it before I returned from my apprenticeship. People have died because you left that book in the Guild.”

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  As fast as her anger came, it faded. “The Alchemists have my notes,” she muttered, staring at the ground and tugging at her fingers, popping each in turn. “Think, woman… telepathy extract takes four days to mix.” She looked at Mikhail. “Clearly they decrypted the journal. When did you give them the code?”

  Mikhail bristled. “I read your message at the end of it not to trust the Alchemists, and I didn’t tell them anything.”

  “So how did they break it?”

  Mikhail’s shoulders sagged. “We didn’t know Klara’s friend Zinaida was Anton Voronin’s daughter. She led him to us in Katavsk and kidnapped Dominik Pozharsky. I… guess they gave him truth extract, and he remembered I quoted your message about finding him.”

  Elana squeezed her palms against her temples. “Fabulous. How long ago was that?”

  “Nine or ten days?” Mikhail said.

  “Yes, that’s enough time for a few doses of telepathy, assuming they blew a few up in the process—”

  “Forget telepathy extract,” Mikhail interrupted, “that’s not going to win any wars. The real concern is this”—he flailed his arms—“ironhide extract. How much of that could they have made?”

  Elana stared at him, her face blank save a single arched eyebrow. Without a word she walked to the entrance, lifted the tent flap, and stepped outside.

  Yuri and Mikhail shared a look, then followed.

  Outside, Elana pointed to the gate, and they stared at it.

  For a moment, nothing happened.

  Then the ground shuddered beneath the emerald oval.

  “What in the depths?” Yuri muttered.

  A giant… no, giant was too small. Way too small. A colossal humanoid figure rose from the churned dirt and stone. Made from the dirt and stone. It towered above the gate, a hundred feet tall, as tall as the firs surrounding the clearing. Its huge hands clenched, revealing knuckles of stone. Raw power oozed from its broad shoulders, its long, thick arms, and its squat, tree trunk sized legs.

  Its head was an ever moving mass of stone and dirt, shifting and swirling in no discernible pattern.

  The monster turned, and, despite the lack of eyes, Mikhail swore it looked straight at them.

  “That,” Elana said, “is what telepathy extract is for.”