He leapt down through the hole in the roof of the train carriage and found the others all staring at him. This is uncomfortably familiar, he thought, remembering a time—what seemed so long ago—on the road to Gorgosa when he had been in a similar position. And yet, so much has changed since then.

  Qala was awake, kneeling beside Jubal. He was in a sorry state, great chunks of flesh gouged out of his chest, his horn split. He tried to ram the golem and failed, Telos thought.

  Qala’s lips moved as she uttered the poetry of Sumyrian spell-craft. Soft light glowed from her hands, suffusing her patient. Before Telos’s astonished eyes, Jubal’s wounds were healing, flesh soldered together by opalescent light, though the bloodstains and tears in his gorgeous robe remained.

  It was done a moment later, and Qala collapsed backward, Xheng arresting her fall. He guided her back to a chair where she sat with one hand holding her forehead. She looked weary beyond belief, aged once more.

  “You are too generous with your power, your highness,” Xheng whispered. “You must save your energy.”

  “There is no greater cause than the life of a friend,” Qala replied, forcing a smile.

  Jubal sat upright. One of his horns was still shorn, but he was well again. He bowed his massive head in gratitude.

  “I hope to serve you better in future, my lady.”

  “You stopped that golem tearing us all to pieces. You served very well indeed, Jubal.”

  Qala turned her attention to Telos once more.

  “But you… you stopped it.”

  “The golem is truly destroyed?” Jubal said.

  “I believe so,” Telos replied. “It is hard to believe anything could have survived that blast.”

  The door to the carriage opened and Ylia stepped in, Urgal at her heels. She was staring wide-eyed at Telos.

  “Gorm…” she said.

  “Is almost certainly dead.”

  She ran through the carriage and pulled him into an embrace. The suddenness of the affection startled him, but he was not complaining. He felt her warmth—amplified by the Engine’s heat no doubt—as she pressed him close to her chest and wrapped her arms about his back. How long since he had been held by a woman like this? And never with his god-enhanced senses. It was as though she were a golden nectar he could sip from the air. It caused him physical pain when she withdrew.

  She was looking into his eyes.

  “Just how strong are you, Telos?” she said.

  “I don’t know,” he answered, truthfully. “But I suppose I intend to find out.”

  Ylia grinned.

  “That almost sounded like humility.”

  “I wouldn’t get used to it,” Telos replied, grinning in return.

  Jubal coughed. Ylia turned to the others, a little sheepish.

  “Erm, in other news...” Ylia said. “We have hardly any fuel left. We’ll have to stop. The next town is a place called Riches, I think.”

  “Riches?” Xheng said. “You Aurelians and your names!”

  “Well, I believe it is the location of a large goldmine…” Ylia replied.

  Xheng’s eyes widened and he started unconsciously rubbing his hands.

  “Let’s not get into any more trouble,” Telos said, quickly. “Ylia, how much money do we have left?”

  “12 Demons and 22 Relics. That’s enough for fuel to get us to Dreamholding and some food along the way.”

  “Then guard the moneybag with your life and don’t let me anywhere near it,” Telos said.

  Ylia laughed. “Now that is a promise I can keep.”

  ***

  Three hours later, and with a mere dribble of Daimonsblood left, the Engine protesting like a battered slave, they reached their next stop.

  The town of Riches lived up to its name. Though small, the houses were white facades ornamented with gold-embossed gambles, sills, and lintels. Clearly, rain rarely fell here. The streets were cobblestoned, but wider than Yarulian roads. The station looked like it had been newly painted the emerald colours of Virgoda. Its wooden awnings were engraved with owls. A few people languished on the stations, dressed in a similar fashion to those of Daimonopolis, with strange, high hats and buttoned waistcoats and puffy, shimmering dresses, though they displayed more colour than people in the industrial city.

  The stationmaster hobbled up to greet them, an elderly gentleman with a crooked spine and a few missing teeth. His bald dome gleamed like polished mahogany.

  “Papers, please,” he wheezed.

  Uh oh, Telos thought. They had been saved by the pandemonium of the city, but here, bureaucracy was in full force. They would not be so lucky. Stick with the original plan, he thought.

  “May I present to you an Emissary of the Emperor, Lady Gwendolyn Hart,” Telos said, with full theatre, bowing low and stepping aside to present Qala. Ylia shot him a look as her last name left his lips. It’d simply been the first thing that popped into his head.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Qala looked stunning in her jade dress, though it was torn in several places, and there were smears of both Engine oil and blood for those who looked a little closer. And the problem is, looking as beautiful as she does, everyone is going to look closer…

  The stationmaster frowned, the sniffed.

  “Forgive me, but which Emperor is she an Emissary of?”

  Telos felt his heart plummet. He knew there were two, one called Darius and the other Oryon, but he had no idea who ruled what or lived where.

  But thankfully Ylia stepped forward. She was slightly grimy from her Engine-work, but she looked presentable enough in the scarlet blouse and leathers.

  “Emperor Darius, of course!” she snapped. Telos was quite impressed by how imperious she sounded.

  The stationmaster flinched and bowed.

  “Of course, of course. I was merely confirming. There has been an inordinate amount of chaos of late. Strange people coming and going. Sights in the skies, even.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “If I did not know better, I would say the dragonriders are preparing for something. Several trustworthy witnesses said they saw one flying west!”

  Qala nodded sagely, as though all were known to her.

  “Indeed. Naturally, we are not at liberty to discuss such things.”

  The stationmaster looked sharply at Qala, seeming to see her for the first time. His gaze was hard, and Telos realised that her beauty was not going to win them any favours with him.

  “Forgive me for my impertinence, Lady Gwendolyn… But how comes one of Qi’shathian birthright to serve in the Aurelian Government?”

  “Insolence!” Telos bellowed, stepping forward.

  Qala raised a hand, and he froze in place. She’s as good at the deception game as I am, Telos thought. She knows how to play along.

  Qala took a single step forward towards the stationmaster. Her aura preceded her like a black shadow, a raincloud about to spew thunder. He visibly shrivelled.

  “I will answer your impertinence this once, stationmaster, because I believe you care about the welfare of this country.”

  “I do, I do—!” he squeaked, but Qala silenced him with a look.

  “It is pertinent for the Emperors, who must conduct foreign affairs of the highest import, to know the ways of their neighbours and rivals, is it not?”

  She waited. Eventually, the stationmaster stammered out a response.

  “Y-yes.”

  “Then you have your answer. And for the record, I was born on Aurelian soil to Qi’shathian immigrants, who had grown tired of the tyranny of the Jade Empress!” She snapped her fingers and Ylia approached her, holding out the moneybag. “Now, we require fuel. And fast. I have urgent business in the west.” She put significant inflection on that word, as if to impart secret knowledge to him, to give him a clue of his own suspicions. His eyes widened.

  “The west… Oh, I see. Yes, I see. Well, we can certainly refuel this… this Engine.” He had seen the damage to the roof of the first carriage. The shattered glass. The thing looked like a metal skeleton bolted together with screws. “W-what happened?”

  “It is none of your concern,” Qala snapped. “It has been a long road, fraught with peril. That is the road an Emissary of his Imperial Majesty must walk. Now, delay us no further. Name your price for the refuelling and we shall seek out your local hospitality, which hopefully shall be greater than yours!”

  Haughtily, Qala sidestepped the stationmaster. Ylia stayed to hand over three Demons, then followed her. Jubal walked with his hood down, Urgal slinking beside. Telos and Xheng walked as regally as they could.

  They had gone maybe ten steps when the stationmaster cleared his throat.

  “Ahem, there is just the simple matter of the Seal.”

  Telos inwardly groaned.

  He knew he would drive himself mad if he looked for his curse in every happenstance. The world was full of bureaucrats, with or without bad luck. But he could not help but wonder, always, if his presence was weighting the dice always against his friends.

  Qala had halted. She pivoted.

  “What do you mean?”

  The stationmaster smiled nastily.

  “Why, all Emissaries are granted them, are they not?” He held aloft a piece of paper and a small golden box containing wax. “Simply leave your impression, and I shall be on my way.”

  “We do not have time for such trivialities,” Qala huffed. “We are weary from much toil and danger, and require rest and sustenance. You have your Demons…”

  “I’m afraid, if you cannot provide your Seal, then I shall have to call the local Watch,” the stationmaster said, now positively grinning. “I needn’t remind an official such as yourself that impersonating a member of Government is an imperial crime that carries a life sentence.”

  “Yours will be the life-sentence if you impede us further,” Qala said, her voice pure venom.

  The stationmaster hesitated for a moment. Then suddenly he threw back his head and screamed:

  “Alarm! Alarm! Watchmen! Come!”

  Telos heard the tramping of boots—moving at pace from a nearby barracks. Riches was well-defended, which made sense if what Ylia had said about a goldmine was true.

  The guards would be here in moments. Telos was tired of this. Tired of fighting, running, escaping. He just wanted to rest. His god-forged body might have greater limits than his former one, but his mind required repose.

  “Telos…” Jubal said. It was less an alert and more a cry for guidance. They were coming to rely on him, which he did not like. It was too much responsibility. He couldn’t protect them from everything. And in fact it is you who brings this danger. Your luck, your curse. They would be better without you.

  He was serious about running now. He could draw the guards off, then lose them. Circle round and then complete the mission himself. The others could do what they wanted. They were not bound to him; he couldn’t be bound to anyone. Suffering and vicissitudes were all that awaited anyone who stayed near him.

  Then he caught Ylia’s eye. It was like she knew exactly what he was thinking. Her hand reached out and clasped his. So warm, so tender, so soft.

  “We face it together, Telos,” she whispered.

  How could he turn away? This was the only family he had ever known.

  The guards appeared from all directions. They crowded the platform, and the doorway that exited onto the town’s streets. They blocked the stairs either side of the platform. It was like they had been expecting someone… Telos cursed again. Perhaps this was a case of mistaken identity? Some anarchist group or traitors whom the Government was looking for, and they just happened to fit the bill.

  The guards were armed to the teeth. They clearly worked in pairs, one with a spear and one with a crossbow. They were clad head-to-toe in steel plating. Their helms were shaped like an owl’s head, with savage peaks on the nose-guard. Their pauldrons were fashioned like spread wings. Emerald tabards hung from their waists. Their eyes were hard, determined. These were not riffraff given weapons, but a properly trained Watch. Aurelia took its security very seriously indeed.

  The stationmaster sneered. He produced from his coat another piece of paper and waved it before them.

  “Telos Daggeron and his minions,” he wheezed. “We were notified of your presence. It seems you are a wanted man in both your own country as well. But you shall be tried here for your crimes against Wylhome.”

  Telos felt as though he had been punched in the solar plexus. His lungs felt weak, air thin. Spots flashed before his vision. What is going on? This is all too quick. Who had notified them of his former crimes? And why had they pinned the disaster at Wylhome on him? Clearly, he had some powerful enemies. This must be Nereth’s doing… Somehow. But would she really desecrate her fair hand by interfering with human affairs? Apparently, she was petty enough.

  “Lay down your weapons,” the stationmaster proclaimed. He gave them a nasty smile. “This is the end of the line.”