“Well, so much for not being on the run,” Ylia said.

  Telos grinned ear to ear. But within, his heart felt the coldness of oncoming storm clouds. This is my fault, he thought. It is my luck. My wretched luck.

  He could cope—or at least, believed he could cope—with the bad luck affecting his own life. He had always been a chancer. He had lived in squalid dwellings, among morally squalid people, doing morally squalid things. He’d chosen the rough life, the life of a traveller, an adventurer, a criminal, an opportunist. He’d afforded himself some luxuries, but always hard won, earned after a dangerous adventure.

  But seeing his luck rub off on others was starting to take its toll. The others did not deserve this.

  He was shaken from his thoughts by Ylia poking him hard in the middle of his forehead.

  “Ow!”

  “Focus, Telos,” she said, grinning herself. “No time for self-pity.”

  “I was pitying you!” he exclaimed.

  “For what?”

  “For having to put up with me!”

  “Sounds like self-pity to me!” Jubal rumbled. He had removed his hood, bearing his proud face once more. Clearly, he was tired of hiding. “Ylia speaks truth: we have no time for sadness. I can hear the Wagemaster’s Engine on our heels.”

  Jubal was right. They were not alone on the tracks. Telos poked his head out of the window and saw another Engine, sleeker than an arrow, with a cowcatcher at the front that looked less like it was for clearing debris, and more for ramming a hole in another Engine. It was gaining on them fast, its piston rods blurring with speed, the smoke billowing from its central chimney painting the sky black.

  “Oh shit.” Telos pulled his head inside. “How much fuel do we have, Ylia?”

  Ylia was shaking her head and wiping her grime-smeared hands on her lovely new blouse. The sight made him inexplicably sad.

  “Not a lot. The engineer left some behind, but I’ve put it all in now. I’ve no idea if it’s enough to get us to the next settlement.”

  “Qala?” Telos said. “Any chance your magic could help us out?”

  Qala grimaced.

  “Perhaps… But there is greater danger to me and you, now. I overstayed my welcome before, drawing on the god-energies too deeply… If I do it again…”

  Telos held up a hand. “I understand.” He sighed. “Well, it looks like good old fighting is our only recourse.”

  “I’ll try and pick up some speed,” Ylia said. “Maybe we can outrun them.”

  She turned a pair of valves, and the spigots started to vibrate as more Daimonsblood and steam flowed through the copper pipes. The Engine growled, gurgled, then hissed. Smog erupted from the central chimney and it quivered as though only loosely bolted on. The boiler within began to whine.

  But the Engine picked up speed. Trees and fields flew by as The Jensen devoured the railway tracks, hurtling across the Virgodan landscape like an armoured horse at full gallop.

  But The Thunderbolt was faster.

  Gorm’s Engine was clearly a more advanced feat of engineering, and it was being driven by someone who had spent their life among Engines, who was a professional. Ylia was doing a fine job, considering she had never actually driven an Engine before, but she was learning as she went, and unsure of many of the controls.

  Albron, on the other hand, lived and breathed these machines.

  The Thunderbolt had switched tracks, now on their starboard side and gaining rapidly. Telos thought he could see Gorm through the window of the driver’s cab, his eyes like two mad fires in the dark.

  “Oh, what I would give for my bow-arm to be healed!” Jubal growled. He had unslung his yew bow and quiver, and clutched them in a white-knuckled grip. “I could strike him from here and rid us of this nuisance!”

  “Wait, what’s that?” Xheng said, pointing to the roof of the thunderbolt.

  Telos narrowed his eyes.

  “It’s… it’s the golem! Get ready! I have no idea what Gorm’s plan is, but clearly he’s not going to give up.”

  Urgal growled at that, as though signalling he was primed for combat.

  Telos scratched his head.

  The golem leapt out of sight. They heard a crash and metal screaming as though put under horrific pressure. Then there was another impact and the crunching of glass.

  “He’s inside!” Xheng said. “We’ve been boarded!”

  Telos cursed.

  “I promised you I would deal with him,” Jubal said, grimly. “I am a man of my word!”

  The theront opened the door to the driver’s cab, then stepped across the gap and into the first carriage.

  “Many hands make light work,” Xheng said, following Jubal. Qala looked at Telos.

  “Stay here and protect Ylia, in case the Wagemaster tries anything else.”

  “I don’t need protecting!” Ylia said, fiercely.

  “Perhaps not,” Qala said. “But you do need to keep this Engine moving, and to switch tracks if we are headed for a collision. Keep us alive, Ylia, and let Telos do the same for you!”

  With that, the Qi’shathian heiress vanished through the door also.

  There was a roar that could only be Jubal charging the golem head-on. Then there was a flash of white light so bright it bled into the driver’s cab, painting the black metal a pale silver. He saw white fire billowing out of the window and Qala screaming. Xheng could be heard, spouting curses in Qi’shathian.

  Urgal growled, hackles raising.

  Telos hesitated. He wanted to help his friends, but Qala was right: without Ylia to drive, the whole plan fell apart. And The Thunderbolt was now drawing level, the driver’s cab parallel with their own. He saw Albron frantically stoking the fires, running back and forth. The dwarf had a stool equipped with wheels on its legs and a kind of brake, so that he could move it about, and reach the higher valves and spigots. He was totally immersed in his work.

  Gorm faced the window. He looked directly at Telos. A black smile split his face.

  He levelled a crossbow and rested it on the window.

  “Down, Ylia!” Telos cried, as the bolt sang.

  They hit the hard metal floor and it whizzed in through one window and out through the other. Telos’s super-sharpened senses could hear the velocity in the sound made as the bolt hurtled by, could determine the precise, lethal torque of the device.

  “Get off!” Ylia said.

  Telos gritted his teeth.

  “Still no thanks for saving your life?”

  “He’s not aiming at me, you idiot!”

  Telos paused. That was probably true. Gorm wanted to reclaim Ylia, not kill her.

  Ylia stood and went back to the Engine, albeit at a crouch.

  It was then Telos noticed Jubal had left his bow and quiver leaning against the side of the driver’s cab. He crab-walked to the window and took the bow, testing the string’s tension. Once, he might have struggled to fully draw with a longbow of such power. As a thief, he had mostly used throwing weapons and occasionally a shortbow. But his newfound strength made drawing the string taut as easy as strumming a guitar. He fetched an arrow and nocked it.

  He poked his head out of the window and ducked immediately as another bolt whispered past his ears. Gorm was a damn good shot.

  Telos rose again, aimed, and loosed. Gorm’s eyes widened in surprise, but he was more of a fighter than he seemed, ducking behind the window just in time to avoid Telos’s arrow. Even over the deafening roar of the Engines, Telos could hear Gorm winding the crossbow once more.

  He had to begrudgingly admire Gorm’s determination, even if he was a piece of shit human being.

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  Telos drew another arrow, nocked it, and fired.

  Gorm dodged.

  Well this I going to be an interesting dance, Telos thought.

  But he could hear screaming from the carriage behind. He ducked another shot from Gorm. Ylia turned and looked at Telos.

  “They need you. I’ll be fine.”

  “But what if Gorm tries to board?”

  “Then Urgal will rip him to shreds!”

  Urgal yowled, as if in agreement.

  Telos forced a smile, but he did not feel it in his heart. I can’t protect everyone. No matter how hard I try.

  He had lived his life without any dependents. Things were easier that way. No pets, no lovers—other than the fly-by-night kind—and no children. He had only himself to think about. When you didn’t have to worry about others, it made decision-making simple. You weighed risks, weighed rewards, and chose based on whether you were feeling lucky or not.

  But all that had changed. Now he had friends, real friends bonded in blood, and dare he say it: loved ones.

  He gritted his teeth.

  “Be bloody careful!” he yelled.

  He ran to the door and sprinted through into the carriage.

  As before, he was greeted with a scene of carnage. But this time, unlike with the assassins, his friends did not have the upper hand.

  Jubal lay pummelled and bleeding across a row of chairs. Bits of his jaw looked broken, one of his horns had been sheared off, and there was blood flowing from his mouth and two ghastly wounds in his chest. It looked like someone had tried to rip his heart out of his chest.

  Qala lay unconscious on the ground.

  Only Xheng remained. The wine-bottle he’d so treasured—evidence of Lucan’s treachery—had been smashed, and he clutched the jagged end like a crude knife. His face was covered in blood and he looked like he was favouring one leg. He stood over Qala’s body, clearly ready to defend it with his life.

  “Good timing,” he grunted, as Telos came into the room. “It’s immune to Qala’s magic. And not even Jubal could shift it. I’ve never seen a bull stopped mid-charge before.”

  The golem, Tecleon, stood before them in burnished, blood-splattered splendour. Its eyes were cold meteorites. It’s a thing of evil, Telos thought. I am not against machines entirely, but this thing should not have been made. It was further evidence that, for all he admired about the gods, and for all he was grateful to Danyil, there were things he could not agree with. The gods and the Sumyrians had committed many profound sins. It was they, not the Daimons, who had broken the natural order.

  He put aside all that, now. All that mattered was saving those he loved.

  “SURRENDER THE GIRL,” the golem said, in a voice like the static aftermath of lightning. He heard the words and understood them, but they were not natural on the ear; they had no music.

  “I’m afraid not,” Telos said, drawing Darkbite. Then he hesitated. He doubted the sword, even well-made as it was, could pierce the golem’s steel-lated armour. He also remembered his fight with Dreyne in narrow quarters, where the long weapon had proved disadvantageous.

  Trust to your strength, Telos…

  Telos felt his hairs rise, goosebumps along his arms and nape. Who had spoken those words? It might have come from the depths of his mind. But he felt it was from somewhere else. And it felt, familiar.

  Danyil? Is that you?

  There was no reply. Telos handed the sword to Xheng, who discarded the wine-bottle and took it gratefully.

  “I’ll deal with this.”

  The golem glowered. Telos stepped forward.

  He knew not what intelligence powered the machine, but it clearly understood it was being defied even before open aggression, for it swung at Telos with hideous speed. The air vibrated with the passage of heavy metal. Each of its fists probably weighed more than The Warden’s mace, and swung with greater power. Not even Jubal could withstand such punishment for long.

  But Telos could.

  Within him, something was rising. Something in his blood but also transcendent of any physical part. Beltanus had operated on him, changed him physically, but the true change was deeper than that. He did not fully understand it, yet. But he felt it, felt its truth, more solid than diamond.

  He caught the golem’s fist.

  The machine shrieked. The titanic force of its own blow—arrested mid-motion—caused it to nearly overbalance. It staggered.

  “My turn!” Telos snarled.

  He swung at the golem’s face. He struck solid metal and it hurt like living hell but he felt the metal give way, bending and cracking. One of the golem’s sapphire eyes detached and wiring and pulses of what looked like lightning spasmed out of the socket, stinging him.

  Telos screamed. The golem, he realised, was screaming too. Perhaps not with pain, but most certainly with rage.

  “SUBMIT!” it shrieked.

  Tecleon raised its other fist and brought it hammering down. The force would have split the skull of any ordinary person and reduced their brains to soup. Telos sidestepped and slammed his palm into the machine’s side, where the kidneys would be located on a normal human being. Metal plates ruptured and he saw wires beneath. He reached in and pulled. A charge went through his arm and he was thrown backward with a jolt of burning agony. He felt glass—then glass shattering—then tasted open air and saw the blurring of countryside.

  No!

  His preternatural reactions kicked in and he gripped the side of the train. He was flung horizontal but maintained his grip.

  Panting with the effort, he pulled himself to the side of the train, then scrambled up onto the roof just as the golem’s fists crashed through the window, tearing out a whole segment of wall, ripping side the Engine’s steel as though it were paper. I really have made it mad, now.

  His senses tingled. He somersaulted backward just as the fist erupted through the roof of the train. Metal fingers gripped the edge and pulled. It forced its one-eyed dome through the opening and pulled itself onto the roof. The carriage groaned with the weight, the metal buckling convex under the golem’s immense weight.

  Telos stood. Balance should have been impossible with the wind rushing past at what felt like hundreds of miles per hour, but he was a perfected being now. His muscles knew the microcosmic adjustments needed to maintain his footing. He could withstand the wind, could withstand all the elements. He was elemental himself.

  He grinned.

  The golem glowered. It worked its artificial jaw as though nursing an injury there. It was disgustingly human for a thing of only metal parts.

  “I WAS MADE IN ANCIENT SUMYR,” it croaked, surprising Telos. “THE FINEST SMITHS OF SECOND NYSHALA FORMED ME FROM THE EARTH AND LIGHT. I WAS MADE TO SERVE HUMANITY, TO AID THEIR PROGRESS.” The golem straitened. “BUT YOU OBSTRUCT PROGRESS.”

  “Your purpose might once have been pure,” Telos said. “But you have become corrupted. Your master cares nothing for humanity’s progress. He wants to terrorise a young woman, that is all.”

  The golem took a step forward. The ceiling of the carriage bent.

  “I MUST OBEY MY MASTER. I MUST HONOUR MY PRIMARY DIRECTIVES.”

  “Then you are a servant of Nereth, though you know it not!” Telos said, surprised by the rage and fire in his voice. “You are one who believes all is determined. And I refuse to accept that!”

  He was about to close with the golem when his senses tingled once again. He threw himself down just as the bolt whistled past.

  He turned and saw Gorm levelling his crossbow from the driver’s cab of The Thunderbolt. Flames were openly spurting from the Engine as it began to overtake The Jensen. The Thunderbolt was racing now, causing the railway lines beneath it to rattle so violently bolts were coming lose. They were not built for these speeds.

  He’s going to move ahead, then onto the same track, then slam the brakes and force us to stop. He’s mad!

  But it would work. Ylia would be forced to slow to avoid killing them all. They had maybe three minutes before Gorm got sufficiently ahead to switch tracks.

  Telos leapt to his feet just as Tecleon bore down on him. The golem swung with maddened fury, like a boxer so enraged they had forgone all technique in favour of simply pummelling their opponent. The air sang with each fist. Telos ducked the first blow, then blocked the second which sent screaming pain all along his arm. His new-made bones were tested to the limit of their endurance. His skin had split and was bleeding.

  The golem stepped forward and threw another fist, screaming with mechanical fury. This one came so quickly it caught Telos about the chin and he was nearly launched off his feet. His head cracked backward and he tasted blood. One tooth felt loose in his gums. He spat it out and cursed. There goes my pretty smile.

  The golem advanced once more. He knew he could not keep this up. The golem was far taller than him. If he stayed at this range, he was a goner. Its superior reach would have him always on the defensive.

  When Tecleon attacked again, Telos stepped inside its guard, taking hold of the huge segmented panels—almost like an insects exoskeleton—that formed its torso.

  And then he lifted.

  The golem had no eyelids to widen in surprise, and yet the phosphorous glow that shone from its remaining sapphire seemed indicative of panic. It flailed and screeched in what seemed a machine-language, a guttural ululation of staccato syllables without meaning to the human ear.

  Telos screamed. He had seen wrestlers lift men overhead like this, but he doubted any golem had ever been carried overhead. The weight was unbelievable, impossible. Tons upon tons, all compressed into a shape that was vaguely, monstrously human.

  He had never tested his strength to this level. He’d thought it possible, but now he found what he could do—or rather, the very limits of what he could do.

  His knees nearly buckled as he took one staggering step towards the lip of the train. Dirt and grass and dust raced below them.

  But he was not aiming for the ground.

  The Thunderbolt had paused in its bid to overtake. Gorm was levelling his crossbow, clearly intending one last cheap-shot before they forced Ylia to halt.

  That, it turned out, would be his undoing.

  Telos grinned like a madman.

  “How’s this for a trump card!”

  Gorm’s face turned white, this time not with rage, but with utter terror. He saw what he knew with a blinding flash of insight could not be a man, but rather, a living god. He stood atop the train, lifting the golem over his head. His muscles were corded like galleon ropes, veins bulging, eyes like stars.

  “Albron!” Gorm screamed. “Brakes!”

  But it was too late. Telos hurled the golem with all his strength at the Engine. Like a silver comet, Tecleon struck the flaming machinery. Metal ruptured. The boiler burst like a ripe fruit spewing poisonous contents. Daimonsblood, fire, oil, and darker materials all mixed and the hideous fusion fizzled. There was a moment, less even than the blink of an eye, when the world held its breath.

  And then it detonated.

  The force of the shockwave nearly sent Telos flying. As the flames bloomed like an orange-black rose, The Jensen trembled and swayed. Telos shielded his face as superheated debris scattershotted in all directions. Swords of Engine-steel rained upon The Jensen. Purple arcs of lightning shot forth and blistered the air as the golem’s mystical energy system likewise erupted. Flames engulfed The Thunderbolt and rose skyward, touching the clouds. There was nothing left of the driver’s cab except twisted metal and blackly burning fire.

  When the shockwave had ended, and The Thunderbolt started to fall away, Telos unshielded his eyes. The lines of a poem came to him as the flaming wreck fell away into the distance.

  “From the edge of the Void, to the Golden Skies. In the Art, we trust. From black fires rise…”

  Then he leapt down through the hole in the carriage ceiling to check on the others.