Telos sprinted into the first carriage of The Jensen. Ylia followed him. The Engine would run by itself for a while.

  The scene before them was one of chaos, but victory. The carriage windows had been shattered by forced entry. Glass shards rendered the floor a deadly carpet of caltrops. Three assassins lay dead. The puncture wounds in their chests suggested to Telos that Jubal had taken on all three and used his horns to great effect. The theront sat in a chair far too small for his huge bulk. His arms and chest were covered in gashes and bruises, the cloth of his tunic rent, but none of the injuries looked serious. His expression was like a mountain contemplating an avalanche.

  “I’ve killed again, Telos,” the theront said darkly. “I hope you can forgive me.”

  Qala, who was at the far end of the carriage with Xheng, hurried over to Jubal. She knew before him and placed a delicate hand on his. The difference between the size of his tremendous hands and her dainty ones made Telos—strangely—sad. He supposed it was because it emphasized that Jubal’s species had been created only for labour and war.

  “There is nothing to forgive, Jubal,” Qala said. “You fought to defend me. You have upheld your blood oath. For this, I thank you.” She kissed his hands. The theront blushed. His eyes avoided looking into the Qi’shathian heir’s. But Qala insistently held her gaze level until Jubal was forced to return the stare. He swallowed.

  “May I ask, my lady… how is it…?”

  “My hair has turned white?” she finished.

  He nodded.

  Qala stood. Telos marvelled at how she could yet look composed and noble stood amidst three corpses, on a grimy Engine, having—mere hours before—been tortured. He noticed now that she was missing several nails from one of her hands. The blood running from the exposed fingertips had stained her robe.

  “It was not the Governor who did it,” she said. “But my own magic. I… How to explain?” It was rare Telos had seen Qala lost for words. She bit her lip, closed her eyes.

  “I can perhaps help,” Telos said.

  Everyone looked at him in surprise.

  “Danyil once told me, To cast a spell is to paint the art of the dream, to weave the dream, to evoke the dream. Those who can dream well shall be fine sorcerers. But doing so can ravage the one who is unprepared, who tries to grip the dream too tightly—for dreams have the habit of slipping through one’s fingers. Or turning into nightmares.” He finished, surprised that he had been able to recite the words verbatim. Is this another trait of godhood? He wondered. Has my memory become eidetic?

  Qala was smiling, bowing her head.

  “Clearly, you know more about magic than you have let on. But tell me, who is Danyil?”

  “Oh boy,” Ylia said.

  “First let’s dump these bodies,” Telos said. “I find a dead man’s eyes rather distract me from a good tale.”

  With Telos and Jubal, it was an easy feat to throw the bodies out of the carriage doors. They disappeared amidst a blur of woodland. No doubt worms, crows, and foxes would have their way with the remains. Good riddance, he thought.

  When they returned, they all sat around. Urgal even joined them, watching the proceedings with the air of a lazy parent keeping one eye on their rogue children.

  Telos told Qala the story of what’d happened after his fall as best as he could. Qala was a good listener. She betrayed little of her amazement at the story, but even her perfect discipline faltered at points. When Telos told of first seeing Beltanus in all his iron-wrought magnificence, her mouth opened.

  “You… you conversed with the Kwei-Shin?”

  “More than that!” Xheng interjected. “He ate at his damn table! We all did!”

  Qala looked around in what was a comical alchemy of jealousy, yearning, admiration, and terror.

  “So the Kwei-Shin have returned,” she muttered. Then suddenly she laughed. “Ylia, it is a good thing I did not charge you for your augury—back at The Drunken Dragon. It appears I could predict very little of what was going to unfold.”

  Ylia smiled ruefully.

  “I don’t think anyone could have predicted this.”

  “Least of all myself being the object of their attention,” Telos said, trying and failing to sound humble. It’d worked a lot better in his head. Oh well, win some and lose some. He went on with his tale.

  He left out some parts, such as communing with the Daimon’s mind. That was a secret he intended to keep as close to his chest as he could. He still was not certain what he felt about the Daimonic plight. Perhaps his feelings did not matter. If the Daimons were going to eradicate humanity, then regardless of the gods’ sins, he needed to stop them. But still, it was hard having shared, even if momentarily, the perspective of his enemy. Seeing the world through another’s eyes always changed one.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Eventually, he let the others take over and tell their side of the story. He listened raptly as Ylia described how they had been ambushed, how she had ingeniously tried to save Jubal and Xheng, and how Telos had appeared in the sky-ship. He heard her voice change as she began to talk about the ship. Awe permeated every word. He had been awed too, he supposed, but for some reason the gods held less mystique for him. Perhaps it was because of the “Godseed”—whatever it was that had been done to make him immortal. Perhaps it was simply his personality, that refused to kowtow to anyone. He had rejected nobility aged seventeen. The gods were, to some degree, an extension of that. He was far more interested in Beltanus as a person than he was as a deity.

  It was then Qala’s turn to tell her side. The account was brief, and she did not linger on any of the distressing details. She was more focused on the implications of Governor Lucan’s request.

  “He wanted to know the secret to longevity?” Ylia said. “I suppose it is no surprise. Daimomancers have been trying to figure that out for years. Everyone with power wants eternal life.”

  “That is true,” Qala said. “But I sensed Lucan had some larger goal in mind. He was not a man merely pursuing life for life’s sake. He had… an intention. That concerns me. I’ve long suspected Qi’shath has had an enemy.”

  “And here’s the proof!” Xheng cried, holding up the bottle of wine.

  Qala smiled.

  “Yes, dear captain. Though I doubt we are in a position to bring him before a court of law.”

  “We have bigger fish to eat than a criminal Governor,” Telos said. “I understand you may exact your revenge when the time is right, Qala. But right now, our main concern is the return of the Daimons, the extinction of the human race.”

  “And getting to Dreamholding in three days’ time,” Ylia added.

  Telos smiled.

  “You really don’t want to let that go, do you?”

  “It was just monumentally stupid, that’s all.”

  “Children!” Jubal cried, the very soul of exasperation.

  Telos held up his hands, indicating peace.

  Qala nodded.

  “You are right, Telos. And I have no interest in revenge. If there is one sure way to miss The Way, it is to cling to past wrongs. However, he is clearly a threat, and if he is not dealt with, he may stop us from achieving our greater end.”

  “Well, that does make sense,” Telos replied. “But I doubt there is much we can do now.”

  “No, thankfully, there was only one working Engine in the station,” Ylia said. “If he wants to follow us, he’s going to be behind.”

  “That buys us time, then,” Telos said.

  A sudden weariness settled over him. He had been running ever since Ob-Koron, and whether he was supernaturally augmented or no, the strain was beginning to take its toll.

  No, that’s a lie. You were running long, long before then. He had been running for the best part of two decades, ever since he left his family’s manor in the north of Gorgosa and ventured south into the slums. He had told himself he was leaving behind the falsity of a life of lies, but in truth, he had simply gone on the run: away from his parents, his feelings, his shame. Now, it was almost as if those feelings had been given horrid, incarnate forms. The Warden. The Governor. Daimons. Gods. They were all coming for him. There would come a time when he couldn’t run anymore.

  “I’d better go back and check on the Engine,” Ylia said.

  He nodded, glad that he would not have to make conversation for a moment. Ylia slipped through the door and was gone. Urgal nuzzled Telos and he grinned despite himself.

  “Thanks for saving me earlier,” he said.

  Urgal just purred.

  They rattled on through the Virgodan countryside. The windows afforded them a view of the forestry and farmland, which hurried past in a blur of browns, greens, and yellows. Telos had to admit: he could see why so many explorers fell in love with Aurelia. It was huge, full of wilderness and beauty. The trees seemed taller, the valleys deeper, the crags and hills more akin to mountains. The place roared with adventure. He almost felt it was a shame to be flying past it so rapidly, but they needed to keep their promise to Beltanus.

  “There is one thing we must do in Daimonopolis...” Qala said, soberly, taking a seat opposite Jubal. Xheng sat next to her. He had clearly decided he was to be her personal bodyguard, her last line of defence. She was technically his ruler, so Telos wouldn’t argue.

  “What’s that?” Telos asked.

  “Take a bath,” Qala said.

  Telos paused for a moment, then burst out laughing. Soon, Jubal was roaring with laughter with them. Qala’s face split into a wicked and surprisingly impish grin. Beneath the many, many veneers of royalty, beneath the icy decorum and unflappable mask of the trueborn heir, was a girl who loved mischief. Telos was grateful for this glimpse of her.

  “You are not wrong,” Telos said. “They had every technology imaginable on Beltanus’s ship, yet neither of them ever offered me a bath. And now I come to think of it, when I stumbled on Nereth that time, she was bathing in a pool in Yestermere.”

  “So…” Jubal spluttered, through chortles so loud they rattled the carriage. “You are saying the gods, for all their wonders, lack hygiene?”

  “I am,” Telos said. “What a bitter revelation.”

  The laughter was good. It purged the air the way incense cleansed foul smells from a room. Telos then sniffedh is armpit and, with all the theatrical grace of a mummer, fell off his chair, his armoured suit crunching the glass beneath him as he let out a strangled cry. The laughter redoubled after that.

  Then Ylia burst into the carriage.

  “Erm… everyone…”

  Telos heard the panic in Ylia’s voice. He leapt to his feet in a single, practiced hand-spring. He rushed through the door, his fingers going to Darkbite’s handle. That name is ridiculous. He had, as the countryside sped past in watercolour streaks, been trying to think of a better name, but his mind always drew a blank. I guess I am stuck with it for now.

  He entered the driver’s cab and saw Ylia pointing shakily ahead through the main window. Daimonopolis loomed titanically before them, like the home of some colossal bird, one that thatched their nest from steel and smoke. But even by the standards of the blood-fed city, there was too much smoke. Seething lights coruscated brightly across the interior. Yellow-dark flashes went up like fireworks and great gouts of black smog plumed. Though at a distance, they could hear faint screaming and the rumble of ignited oils. Telos’s eyes went wide with horror.

  The city was on fire.