Xheng’s scream cut through the night like an eagle’s rending cry, mourning the loss of its young. Telos turned over onto his back and saw the pirate standing there, hand clutched over a stump at the shoulder. Black flesh smouldered, still glowing faintly from the heat of the impossible beam. Danyil had once told Telos that nothing made on Erethia could perforate the Hydra Scale Armour, but Telos knew that the beam Xheng had just pushed him out of the way of could have done it. That weapon was not mortal, it was another artefact of the Nilldoranians. It seemed all their secrets and treasures were coming to the surface, emerging in the hands of new champions. This had to mean the end was nigh, then. Some huge gambit. They were just pawns in a grand game between Daimons and deities. It sickened Telos, but he knew he had to play a part for his survival, the survival of his friends.

  The survival of his species.

  Xheng howled and fell. Qala caught him.

  “Xheng!” she cried, and she sounded stricken.

  Telos was on his feet in moments. Albron bared his teeth, enraged to have missed his intended target. The esoteric weapon in his hand was still levelled at them, and in its mouth was a blue fire glowing, building… He was going to shoot again.

  Even with his enhanced speed, Telos was not sure he could cross the distance in time.

  Xheng’s screams filled his mind as he started forward.

  “You won’t be so lucky again!” Albron screamed.

  And then a blade erupted from his throat.

  Telos startled, stopped.

  Blood spewed from the wound. The sword stroke had been mercilessly clean and efficient. It was withdrawn with a practiced motion. No flourish or swaggering—the swift kill of a temple priest slaughtering a prize bull.

  Albron gargled, clutching at his rent throat. His weapon tumbled to the ground.

  A woman bearing the insignia of a guard-captain stood over him.

  “Stand down,” she said. “Stand down.”

  Hesitantly, the guards all lowered their crossbows and spears.

  Telos stared in confusion. This had to be a trick. Could this… could this be good luck?

  “He was insane,” the guard-captain said. “He just levelled a town.” She cast her gaze over the ruins of Azalton, the smoking timbres, the blasted sand and cremated bodies. It was a vision from nightmare. A glimpse, Telos thought shudderingly, of the world to come if they failed. “I could not let that stand.”

  “Thank you,” Telos said. “For your courage, captain.”

  She shook her head.

  “Don’t thank me. I didn’t do it for you. I did it because I am a guard. We’re supposed to defend people, not destroy them. The evil this dwarf has wrought can never be undone. The families…” She let the words die. What could possibly be said that was not trite, rehearsed, untrue? She took a breath and started again. “They say you are behind the attacks on Wylhome and Wilderhook. They say you are a dangerous criminal wanted in your own land. Tell me they’re wrong.”

  “They are wrong. Well, about the attacks on Wylhome and the port towns. And about being dangerous. I am wanted in my homeland, but the man who wants me is an evil cunt.”

  The captain laughed, throwing back her head.

  “The world is full of them. But tell me, then: why do you run?”

  Telos hesitated. How much could he say? Danyil was dead and could not guide him.

  Then he remembered that he had argued once that Qala be included in their group because she could help them spread the word. Why leave the fate of humanity purely in the hands of the gods? Maybe this guard-captain could help? She had courage, intelligence, a good sword-hand, and she commanded loyalty—evidenced by the others standing down when she instructed. What more could he ask for?

  “You want the truth?” he asked.

  Ylia and the others shot him glances, but they held their tongues.

  The guard-captain nodded.

  “The truth.”

  “The truth is: we have little time. We are trying to stop something from happening. A disaster that could level the world.” Why was it so hard to say plainly? He forced it out: “The Daimons are returning.”

  The guard-captain’s eyes widened. Then, she nodded.

  That was all. No scoffs, no laughs, no bluster, nor wailing.

  “It is an outlandish claim, but I see no deceit in your eyes. And I also have seen many strange signs of late. The appearance of that Engine being one.” She pointed at The Warmaster. “And how we got across that Divide… Something carried us, and it was no dragon… A relative of mine spotted a sky-ship flying not long ago. No one believed her, but I know Old Miranda tells no lies, even if she is a little mad. There have been signs for a number of moon-cycles, now. Something is afoot.” The guard-captain smiled. “It explains, too, why you are prepared to risk so much. If you are acting in defence of this world, then I thank you.”

  “No, we thank you,” Qala said. “‘Blessed are they who stand against things dark and out of sight, for the unseen blade is more dangerous than the sword in hand.’ So it says in the Book of Talon.” Qala passed Xheng to Jubal, who held him firmly. The sailor had fallen unconscious, and the huge theront cradled him as Qala stepped forward. She bowed. Telos swiftly copied her, as did the others who were able. The guard-captain almost seemed a blush. It was the faintest rouge, but unmistakeable.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Well, that is enough pleasantry and poetry, if such an urgent quest is upon you. Go with the blessing of the gods. And…” A wicked little smile curled her lips. “Don’t ever let me see you again.”

  Telos smiled in return.

  “A shame,” he said. “I might have quite liked to share a drink with you.”

  She laughed again, the air ringing with it.

  “Then you may find me in the Virgodan city of Pareidolia, when all this is through. But I doubt we shall ever meet again.”

  She raised a hand, a sign of farewell. The others matched it. Then slowly, the guards began to pack away their weapons and form up around their captain.

  “They’re going to have to march around the Divide,” Ylia said, raising an eyebrow. “It will take them several moons.”

  “She’s clearly in no hurry to return,” Qala said. “She will have many questions to answer when she does.”

  “Tell me your name before you go!” Telos cried, as the captain and her troop began to walk away into the dark.

  She looked once over her shoulder.

  “Emerza, pretty man.”

  And with that, she and her modest company vanished into the desert night.

  “I think I’m in love,” Telos said.

  Ylia harrumphed at that, crossing her arms and pulling a pouting face. It was clear she was joking, but he detected a slight note of truth underneath.

  “Only joking,” Telos said, lamely. “But I still can’t quite believe our luck.”

  “Don’t… say… the words…”

  It was Xheng, groaning as he regained consciousness. Bleary-eyed, he stared at each of them. His face had been visibly warped by the pain. He did not look himself: too pale, too old, too vacant.

  “Peace, Xheng,” Qala whispered, and she touched him with a glowing palm. He descended once more into sleep. Qala lowered her head in sadness.

  “Are all Qi’shathians so brave?” Telos said.

  Qala smiled sadly.

  “If only.”

  “He saved my life.”

  “And she saved ours,” Jubal said, nodding towards where the guard-captain had stood. “But only if we use the time right.”

  “We have The Warmaster again,” Ylia said.

  Telos hadn’t realised that until she said the words. Their enemy had given them a gift. But the price was far too heavy. Danyil’s life, Xheng’s arm. What will be left of us by the end? Perhaps he could persuade Beltanus to fashion Xheng an arm of black metal, like the one he had. It seemed a small reward for helping to save Erethia.

  “To Dreamholding, then,” Telos said. “This is our last chance at a clean run. If we set off now and do not stop, we could make it on the third day.”

  “Then let’s not stop,” Qala said.

  ***

  They buried Danyil in the broken, glassy earth. It was a paltry funeral for one so great as he, both in magic and wisdom, but it was all that they could spare in term of time and tools. Qala said a few words, themselves a form of spell or blessing. Telos wept a second time, though now the tears were silent, concentrated, like diamonds hardened in the ash.

  When it was done, they clambered aboard The Warmaster. Ylia stood in the driver’s cab, looking profoundly panicked. Telos did not envy her the task of getting this hulking machine moving, but he was sure she could do it. Albron had worked out the controls, after all. And Ylia had been watching Danyil closely when he drove the Engine.

  It took her a few hours of tinkering, and one or two false starts. But eventually, the beast roared into life. Once it was moving, it did not seem to want to stop.

  “It’s like it’s alive,” Ylia said, patting the walls of the cab fondly.

  “Careful who you say that in front of…” Telos remarked, nodding towards Urgal.

  The felidae growled jealously.

  ***

  The next day and a half passed like a fragmented dream. Dawn rose. Dusk settled. Cities and places streamed past them more like mirages then real objects. Deserts, farms, more deserts, great walled citadels, loomed in and out of focus, like the illusions that warp across the canvas of a closed eyelid. They alternately slept and kept watch, though it seemed they were—at long last—free of pursuit. Besides, nothing could catch The Warmaster. They thundered along rail-lines, dodging the other crawling Engines, hurtling through large cityscapes without pause. They stopped only once by a river to hunt for fish. Urgal caught an array of smaller fish with his swift paws. Jubal showed Ylia how to use a bow. First, how to string it, bending it back over the calf and shoulder. Then how to pull it taut, how to aim. How to breathe and loose. It took hours, but eventually she shot a might fishy that fed them all for the next day. She looked so proud of herself he couldn’t bring himself to make a joke at her expense.

  Xheng was in and out of life and death, it seemed. Qala was certain he would live, but that his body was acclimating to the shock of what had happened. He seemed perfectly normal, at points, though in great pain. At other times, he rambled deliriously in Qi’shathian—and not even Qala seemed to understand him.

  They were all troubled, though trying to hide it. Words and thoughts and omens lived just below the surface of their interactions.

  Once, Telos caught Jubal talking in his sleep. The huge theront was sprawled half on and half off a bed. He was muttering to himself.

  “I can’t live the lie,” he gasped, wetly. “I can’t live the lie. I can’t… No…”

  Telos wanted to place his hand on the theront’s brow, to soothe him, but it felt too intimate, maybe a little patronising. He always thought of Jubal as his rescuer, after all, even though he had probably rescued the theront many more times now. Though he would not be in this situation if it wasn’t for you.

  He had to let go the guilt, but he did not know how. It wasn’t as if he had begun this great Tarod game between the gods and Daimons.

  “And we’re all Idiots in between,” he thought.

  The door to the carriage opened and Ylia stepped in.

  “Dreamholding… We’ve reached Dreamholding.”

  Telos’s heart sank. The tone of her voice, the thousand-yard stare…

  “It’s not—”

  Ylia nodded.

  “It looks like it’d been trampled.”

  Telos cursed. He wanted to slam a fist into the side of the carriage but he held back, as Jubal still slept.

  “There’s more,” Ylia said, and this time Telos heard a panic in Ylia’s voice that set his hairs on end. He had heard her afraid, angry, many things, but panic was not usually her style. That frightened him.

  “What?”

  Ylia swallowed.

  “I think you’d better come and see—and decide for yourself.”