《Bridge of Storms》 Chapter One - Bridge Spirit ¡°¡®Stone has soul,¡¯ the poets claim.¡± Errol slid a drink across the table toward Mikhail. ¡°You were a mason: what do you think?¡± The old man muttered and shook his head. ¡°Don¡¯t know if I believe it, but the Bridge . . . mmm. . . sometimes she makes me rethink that truth.¡± Mikhail the builder hunched on a stool, his eyes growing soft in the half-haze of memory. White wisps of hair stuck out from under his flat-topped builder''s cap. Its gray color marked him as a stone mason, though he was centuries past his working prime now. He coughed, his gaze regaining its sharpness, and he stomped his mud-caked boots on the tavern floor. Errol leaned forward, grinning at the ancient builder. ¡°Got any ghost stories?¡± "Depends. You buying the next round, too?" Fighting to keep his hands from shaking with anticipation, Errol fished about in his belt pocket and snagged his last two coins, praying that his boldness would pay off. He slapped down the total sum of his wealth on the trencher next to Mikhail''s last mug, forcing himself not to panic at zeroing out all his worldly goods. "Addison said you spoke with the storm spirit once, before the thunderclouds gathered and the gangs of thieves and cutthroats overran the Bridge''s ruins, but I don''t believe her. She likes to talk." ¡±Maybe I did, maybe I didn''t." "I''m thinking you did, since you''re still alive and, well, the rest of the builders . . . " Errol trailed off with a shrug, but he knew he''d made his point by the way Mikhail scowled, his brow drawing into a blunt, heavy line. "Got lucky," Mikhail finally growled. "There''s smart, there''s lucky, then there''s forewarned, or so the poets claim," Errol said. "Thinking you got a story worth hearing regarding that last one, Uncle." "Thinking I might," Mikhail agreed after a long draught of rum, a lopsided smile playing on his lips. ¡°You got a lot of poetical sayings for a young pup.¡± Errol settled back to listen. An unfamiliar glow of satisfaction spread through his chest. His gamble might succeed after all, even though others from Shark Clan had already failed with the cantankerous old builder. "Took three hundred years, from laying the foundation stone to when a cart rolled across the Bridge for the first time. The council members who had commissioned the project had long since died off by the time we set the final stone in place, but the councillors weren''t really any different, if you catch my drift. Faces change, names change, but stupidity is common to us all." Mikhail paused, flagging down a server to refill his mug, paying with one of Errol''s hard-earned double coppers. After a noisy slurp of the refill, he belched and began anew. "Trade shot up like you wouldn''t believe. Oh, Laurentum is nice enough these days, but she bled gold when you pricked her back then. Centuries of heavy use wore down the road, so the council commissioned a few of us to perform upkeep. I stuck around after it became a penal colony, because it seemed like home; most builders gotta wander, but I like to feel settled. ¡°One night I was near sixteen hundred feet up in the air, dangling from a harness on the underbelly of the Bridge, welding a cable link back on to a girder. Prefer stone, but the steelwork had to be done, so there I was, twisting about in the soft, dark air, sparks flying around my head like little firefish, when I heard her reedy little voice." Mikhail chuckled, a sudden wonder in his weathered face rolling back the years. Errol could almost imagine the builder in his youth. "I''ll bet I looked like a sprite myself. I''ve always wondered if the lovely little stormer was confused, or if she talked to me because she was lonely. Either way, I''ll never forget her words. She told me to flee before the howling gale destroyed the place and consumed my very soul. I didn''t think much of it right away. She blinked out of existence, and I shrugged and kept working. I was almost done when the winds started to change."Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. He grew still, and the years piled back on as he relived the solemn events. His shoulders sagged and his eyes grew cloudy. "There was an anger that slammed into me in that first icy wind¡ªnear took my breath away. I clawed my way back up the rope, but it was the spirit''s words that froze the black blood in my veins, not the cold. I stuffed all my tools in a bag and ran right then in the middle of the night. Somehow, I made it to shore before the collapse at the docks.¡± ¡°The rest of the builders weren''t so lucky, were they?¡± Errol prompted. ¡°After all these years, I swear that I can still hear voices asking me to save them. Some nights are worse, closer to the harbor, when I can almost see the Bridge inside that maelstrom in the air." "She also calls for you to save her," Errol said evenly, studying Mikhail''s face for a reaction. The builder¡¯s eyes went flat. Errol pushed his luck. "Most people don''t know that the Bridge is alive." Mikhail spat into his now empty mug. "Cause it ain''t." "A convergence of that many builders working with sacred stone quarried from holy sites around the world? You expect me to believe that the stone doesn''t remember the past, or feel echoes of the future, after you infused a combined legion of builder''s binding into the Bridge?¡± Mikhail hissed in the back of his throat, scowling at Errol. He stabbed the remaining coin with a gnarled finger as black as coal, shoving the double copper back across the table top. His face twisted into a grimace, like he''d bitten into something sour. "Keep your money, young pup. Story''s not for sale." Whether it was the rum or a sudden surge of excitement, Errol wasn''t sure, but a knot he hadn''t even noticed loosened between his shoulders. After all the dead-end rumors and wasted leads, months of searching had culminated in Mikhail. Tonight, Errol might finally hear the truth about the Bridge for once. "You haven''t left town all these centuries later. She''s talking to you, but you''re too scared to listen." Errol lunged forward to grasp the builder''s powerful arm, pouring a stream of volts into Mikhail to keep him rooted in his seat. "Tell me what you know, or they''ll take weeks to scrape your skin off the floor." "Storm''s coming," Mikhail rasped. "The real one, and make no mistake. The Bridge, she ain''t happy, and you know it, or you wouldn¡¯t have found me. That''s all you''ll get, shark." "Three hundred years of tempests off our shore, and you say the real storm is still coming?¡± Mikhail wrenched his arm free with terrifying ease and stomped away, throwing a final warning glare over his shoulder in Errol''s direction. The knot forged itself again in between Errol¡¯s shoulder blades, tying tighter than ever. He let out a shuddering breath as tales of the legendary strength of the builders washed over him. What good was lightning against a mountain of solid granite? Laughing nervously, Errol swiped his last copper in the world off the table, flipping it in the air before he pocketed it again. He''d won the bet; his gamble had been worth the risk. So why did he feel so scared? Errol slipped out the tavern''s back door and scurried toward headquarters. Maeda would be angry when she discovered that she''d missed the encounter, but Errol needed this lucky break to catch up to her. She had risen through the ranks so quickly that the Guild Master had been suspicious at first, but they''d simply accepted her as a prodigy since then¡ªat least, everyone had accepted her except for Errol. Maeda had a way of running roughshod over objections, but he knew instinctively when he smelled a rat. It wasn''t just jealousy, he muttered to himself again. Even to his own biased ears, it sounded a bit thin after the thousandth time. He didn''t see a light in Maeda''s window when trotted back to his dormitory. Small victory, but he''d take it. Tonight might pull the tides in his favor, depending on how much the Shark Clan Masters valued the information from the interrogation, but it still caught like a hook in his gills to think about her perfunctory two month¡¯s probation as a lowly Dogfish. He''d put in three long, hard years proving his worth as a Dog, and nearly another five to work up through the tiers in Mako before they¡¯d forced the two of them to investigate together. No matter, he told himself as he retired to bed for the night. If the Storm was coming, as the builder claimed, then it was best to keep his head down anyway. Maeda wanted to ascend to the pinnacle of the Guild? Fine. Then she could become the lightning rod that faced the wrath of the tempest. Errol forced a short laugh at his weak joke, but as he rolled over in his hard, narrow bed, he again faced the fears of insignificance in the face of the impending Storm. Laurentum needed strong leaders, not a couple low- and mid-ranked Sharks who had wasted a year investigating a handful of wild stories of a sentient Bridge and approaching tempests of doom. Even so, it couldn''t hurt to reach out to a few higher-level contacts. Cedric could arrange for an audience with Indara. Errol rubbed his eyes. He best not be wrong. A failed audience with the archduke''s most powerful adviser could kill his career as a Shark, covering him in disgrace. That could prove most dangerous to his health. After all, like all good sharks, Maeda could sense blood in the water. Chapter Two - Shark Bait Indara¡¯s horns curled above her head, spiraling toward each other in an intricate whorl. A gold chain linked the tips of the horns. Suspended on the chain, hanging just between the points of her ivory-colored horns, an amethyst pendant crackled with faint light. Even standing on a dais, the Qeren came to Errol¡¯s chest. She somehow managed to look imposing despite their height difference. ¡°Do you know why I accepted your meeting petition?¡± Indara said. Her clear voice rang in Errol¡¯s skull, loud and strangely resonant. Bell-like. Errol shrugged. ¡°Cedric is reliable, and you are thorough and meticulous. It¡¯s your job to investigate every threat to the realm.¡± He winced a bit. Even to his own ears, he was struggling to sound compelling or intelligent. Indara narrowed her dark eyes. Her nostrils flared and her silver nose ring gleamed with a sudden inner lustre. ¡°Including every drunken rumor from washed-up builders?¡± ¡°So you don¡¯t believe me?¡± ¡°If I did not believe you, then you wouldn¡¯t be here having this conversation, would you? The boy who speaks with the Bridge and tames querulous builders! Try harder, little shark. Why did I grant you an audience?¡± Errol sputtered. He¡¯d waited over half the day to see Indara. Combined with a restless night tossing on his creaky mattress, his patience had worn thin. ¡°Forgive my impudence, but I¡¯m a hunter, not a spy. My days aren¡¯t spent analyzing politician¡¯s hidden motives. I find clues and occasionally kill people.¡± He squeezed his eyes shut, passing a hand over his face as though he could wave away the words. ¡°Apologies, that sounded like a threat. I didn¡¯t mean to imply anything.¡± Indara laughed¡ªa low, tinkling sound that again reminded Errol of bells. He snapped his eyes open to stare at her. ¡°Shame. I liked you better when it sounded like a threat. A Mako with teeth is a rare thing indeed.¡± She smiled, which took the edge off her words. Errol made a conscious effort to smile back. He glanced around the room, noting that his palace escort, Captain Grimhilt, had already departed. They didn¡¯t take him seriously as a threat then; he was only a common hunter, after all. Maeda would have commanded an armed guard, he told himself with a flash of irritation, even before passing her last trial. ¡°Truth is,¡± Indara said, breaking into his self pity, ¡°I¡¯ve been tracking the energies of the Bridge for decades, and they corroborate your builder¡¯s claims. Something is happening. A Fell Storm on the horizon? I don¡¯t know about that. But something.¡± ¡°So I¡¯ve told you nothing new? Why meet with me at all, as you said?¡± The smile vanished from the Qeren¡¯s face, replaced by a hard, hungry stare. ¡°Now you parrot my question back to me, but again without answers. This time, I will tell you: Because I have need of a hunter who can keep his mouth shut.¡± Something like fear flooded Errol¡¯s heart, but like a thin oil slick on the surface of deeper water, it only masked a sensation of adventure that bloomed within him. He savored the taste on his tongue. ¡°When do we sail?¡± ¡°Perhaps you¡¯re not as dull as you¡¯ve let on, hunter. Doesn¡¯t the Bridge scare you?¡± ¡°Terrifies me, if I¡¯m honest. But I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll make the trip worth my while. Besides, it sure beats paying for other people to drink at the tavern while I go hungry.¡± Indara nodded, apparently satisfied that the conversation had steered back into a topic they both well understood: greed. ¡°Three times your usual rate, shark. I¡¯ll also put in a word with the Guild Master about achieving Eel, providing you don¡¯t die on the Bridge.¡± Errol started, unable to mask his surprise. Usually he was better at hiding his feelings, but Indara¡¯s perception caught him off guard. He¡¯d showed such little aptitude for managing his voltage stream that he¡¯d given up dreams of any advancement past Bull, let alone a transfer to a more prestigious branch of Shark Clan. If he could pull off this mission, however, then Eel would be within reach one day, assuming Hammerhead was still beyond his abilities. ¡°I¡¯ve taken the liberty to assemble a party for you to lead to the Bridge. Meet them here tomorrow at dawn. Do not breathe a word of my plans to anyone, if you value your meager life.¡± ¡°Doesn¡¯t sound very glamorous,¡± Errol ventured. ¡°As the local expert on the Bridge, you¡¯ll be in charge of the expedition. Nominally.¡± ¡°Plausible deniability built right in, you mean,¡± Errol said, recovering his balance enough to risk a grin. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°And you said you lacked a politician¡¯s subtlety! What a charming liar.¡± =+= Errol savored the raw elation that coursed through him as he left the council chambers. His luck had finally turned. An expedition under his command. Details were scarce¡ªhe assumed captain Grimhilt would fill him in when necessary¡ªbut the shape of his future stretched out before him with alluring clarity. Favor with the council. Promotion to Bull when he returned, for certain, and maybe Eel if he trained rigorously enough. Today was going to be a good day. He didn¡¯t see the blow that spun him sideways into an alleyway. His face scraped against the rough brick wall, abrading the skin, and his knee caught a drainpipe with a solid thud that promised pain in the days to come. Cobblestones rushed up to meet him, slamming into his ribs and compressing his shoulder with a sickly pop. Ringing in his ears told him that getting up was a bad idea, so he groaned and held up empty palms in a sign of surrender. Anyone who could sneak past his electrical sensor field so easily wasn¡¯t worth the pain of fighting. An all-too-familiar voice hissed in his ear, sending a frisson of fear down his spine. ¡°What news makes the guppy whistle on his way home from the Chancellor¡¯s office?¡± ¡°Maeda. As delightful as ever.¡± His insolence earned him a kick to the ribs. Errol bit back a curse. Instead, he beamed at her sweetly and sat up, leaning against the brick wall of the alley to catch his breath. ¡°What could the exalted Chancellor possibly want with such a talentless hunter?¡± Maeda demanded. ¡°Tell me everything, or I swear by the monsters of the deep that I will flay your skin off and then stitch it back on inside out as a reminder not to cross your betters.¡± Errol staggered to his feet, annoyed that he still had to use the wall to stabilize himself, but he took a long moment to regard Maeda, trying not to be intimidated by the harpoon on her back or her cold, roving eyes. He even managed a passably steady voice when he answered her. ¡°Sometimes, if you¡¯re hunting dangerous prey, you have to be willing to be the bait.¡± To his surprise, Maeda actually smiled. It looked closer to a smirk than the genuine thing, all sharp teeth and ill intent. It seemed so out of place on her that he found himself grinning back at the Hammerhead like a fool, even as her words delivered her typical bite. ¡°I¡¯m sure you have lots of experience as human bait.¡± Errol shrugged. ¡°As you say.¡± ¡°And who is the big fish you¡¯re hoping to lure in with such, ah, tasty-looking chum?¡± ¡°Why don¡¯t you ask Grimhilt? I¡¯m sure he¡¯d love to fill you in on all the sensitive details of our mission. Seems like a right talkative sort.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll say this once, so listen carefully, chum. Cut me in on the deal now and I will train you how to bypass a weak electrical field like yours. It won¡¯t be enough to get by a skilled hunter, but anyone Hammerhead or below won¡¯t sense you. Leave me in the dark . . . well, my promise to turn you inside out still holds.¡± ¡°Hammerhead isn¡¯t skilled?¡± Errol regretted speaking the words as soon as they tumbled out of his mouth, but the contempt she showed for the division she¡¯d only joined last week cast a chill over him. ¡°Recruits like you are why the Shark Clan weakens. Devour or drown, little guppy. It¡¯s the only way upward.¡± He sighed, averting his eyes from her predatory glare. Maeda deserved every bit of her newly achieved Hammerhead rank, as much as it pained his pride to admit. At least she hadn''t been promoted straight to First Knife, but it still rankled him that she''d been promoted again so soon after passing her previous trial, much less made Hammerhead division before he had even earned the distinction of moving up to Bull. ¡°We¡¯re sailing to the Bridge. Tomorrow. First light.¡± Maeda flinched, recovering her composure so quickly that at first Errol convinced himself that he¡¯d imagined it. Her delayed response confirmed his suspicions, however: she was just as afraid as he was. ¡°No wonder you called yourself bait. Indara uses you for her own designs. You won¡¯t last a week out there, Mako.¡± The use of his rank felt like a sign of respect. Errol lifted his head and set his jaw. ¡°Might make it back in one piece if I have some protection.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a nice trick, making it sound like my presence on this little adventure is your idea.¡± Errol ignored the barbs. ¡°I¡¯ll arrange for your passage on the ship if you help keep me alive out there¡ªand I still expect training.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not in much position to bargain,¡± Maeda reminded him. ¡°Neither are you. Indara clearly wants someone expendable, so I doubt she¡¯ll swap you in for me if I go missing without explanation. No one cares if a footsoldier dies, but if an officer doesn¡¯t come back from the Bridge? Bad look. Besides, I¡¯m not supposed to talk about it, so it¡¯s awkward if you rat me out.¡± Maeda cuffed him on the shoulder, but without any malice. ¡°Sometimes even a stupid shark catches a fish. You¡¯ve just given me the hook I need. Contrary to your assumption, we¡¯re in a very strong position to bargain.¡± Errol narrowed his eyes. What was he missing that had her so excited? ¡°Do I have to spell it out for you, guppy? Indara could have asked any Tiger in the entire Guild if she¡¯d wanted to; even one of the Great Ones would be hard pressed to turn her down if she commanded them to travel to the Bridge, except everyone would hear about the expedition. But a bumbling young Mako desperate to advance after years of obscurity? You¡¯ll jump at your one big chance and keep your mouth shut.¡± ¡°What¡¯s that got to do with bargaining?¡± Maeda grunted. ¡°That tells me that she wants to keep this trip a secret for as long as she can. So who benefits the most from finding out about the plan?¡± Understanding dawned at last. ¡°It¡¯s a dangerous dance, sneaking something past Indara, but you think she¡¯s so invested in secrecy that she¡¯ll outbid any interested parties.¡± Maeda ran a finger along the hilt of her dagger, a slow smile twisting her thin lips. ¡°You¡¯re a bit shrewder than I gave you credit for. Maybe you¡¯ll survive the Bridge after all.¡± Chapter Three - Grimhilt Grimhilt paced in the council chamber, a foul mood poisoning his morning. His hands twitched to his sword several times before he mastered himself. He scowled at the half-dozen mercenaries lined up in front of the raised dais, but he smoothed his expression when he saw Indara tilt her head at him with a frown. The Captain of the guard straightened his crimson cape and strode over to the front of the room, where the Chancellor greeted the members of the expedition. He signaled discreetly to catch her attention, hoping to exchange a brief word in private, but she denied his request, instead taking him by the elbow and leading him up onto the dais. ¡°Honored hunters, it¡¯s my pleasure to introduce to you Captain Grimhilt, protector of the city and my personal bodyguard. He will brief you on the details of your mission.¡± Duty called, so Grimhilt answered. Years of training ensured that he didn¡¯t shift from foot to foot or clear his throat. He pointed to a map that Indara had unfurled while their attention was on him. ¡°Blueprints from the original construction team assigned to build the Bridge. You will all familiarize yourself with the architectural layout. I¡¯ve created smaller reproductions of the map and waterproofed them against the rigors of the voyage.¡± One of the hunters leaned toward a neighbor and whispered something the Captain couldn¡¯t hear, but apparently it was funny enough to elicit a barely-restrained snicker. He¡¯d have to keep a close eye on that one. Her curling horns and short stature¡ªshe was smaller than the humans to either side of her, but still taller than the burly dwarf at the other end of the line¡ªreminded him of the Chancellor, but without the refinement and aura of authority that allowed Indara to command respect among both the intelligentsia and the palace guards with equal ease. Grimhilt fixed the Qeren with a stern glare, and her mouth ringed into a tiny O shape in surprise. Hot blood suffused her horns, causing them to glow slightly. She studied her shoes, picking at a stray thread in her skirt. She seemed altogether too young for this extraction mission. ¡°We¡¯re looking for an artifact that the Chancellor has identified as vital to our survival as a city. Be on guard; its power is tainted. If you give in to the temptation to touch the thing, you may find yourself twisted by forces far beyond your comprehension. You¡¯ve each been selected for your adroitness at finding things¡ªand for following orders. You¡¯ll be under Errol¡¯s command for this trip, which we all hope will be short and successful. Let me introduce you to him now.¡± The hunter glided onto stage next to Grimhilt with the customary grace of Shark Clan, but the Captain noticed that the lad¡¯s hands were trembling. Strange juxtaposition: the deadly killer still in the throes of earnest self-consciousness. His youth worried Grimhilt, but if Indara gave her approval, then he would keep his concerns to himself. Indara¡¯s aides wheeled out the Testing Stone, a gleaming golden orb half as tall as Errol, mounted in a polished wrought iron frame embedded in a slab of granite. Strange runes were inscribed all along its edge. Grimhilt gestured for Errol to place his hands on a gold sphere. A soft light wreathed around Errol''s palms and radiated up his arms, then coalesced into details that hovered and shimmered in the air above the young man''s head. He read off Errol''s rankings. ¡°Mako Errol, a hunter of Shark Clan,¡± Grimhilt announced, glowering at the mercenaries arrayed in a semicircle in front of him as though he could hear their objections already. The dwarf chuckled, his bearded face splitting to show a row of sturdy teeth. The low voice reverberated through the council chambers in a harsh brogue, but he sounded friendly enough. ¡°What¡¯s this? They send us against leviathan with a minnow at our side.¡± ¡°He knows the Bridge better than any Shark in Laurentum,¡± Grimhilt said, heat rising. He couldn¡¯t believe he was defending himself to this woodland hermit. ¡°He¡¯s been part of a special task force. Ignore his rank; he¡¯ll serve well as your guide.¡±If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. An old man in the middle of the group, his shoulders square despite his age, adjusted a leather strap that held a smooth white shield across his back. The shield looked like its bearer: immaculate and precise, yet brimming with immense power tightly restrained. ¡°We accepted the mission. We will abide by our leader.¡± Errol nodded once toward the man, like a salute. ¡°Thank you, friend.¡± ¡°Taras.¡± ¡°Well met, Taras. I¡¯ll repay your vote of confidence many times over before the end.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll settle for just once,¡± Taras said, a ghost of a smile on his lips. The dwarf burst into a cackle. ¡°Well said, cleric. A suicide mission awaits, but maybe the shrimp will prove his worth¡ªafter all, I¡¯m half your size, but I¡¯m still worth the lot of you! Call me Gruvrik. I¡¯m, uh, Badger rank, or Weasel, or Grey Squirrel, or any other cantankerous woodland miniature of choice.¡± The two joined Errol next to the gold sphere, and he relinquished his place to his elders. Taras submitted to the scan next, eyes hard, bordering on resentful. Grimhilt held back an oath when he saw the scan''s report. "You could probably handle this hunt solo." ¡°Glad to have you on board!¡± Errol said. The young hunter warmed to the theater of the commission with surprising ease, Grimhilt noted. He flowed up and down the line, grasping forearms and conducting introductions, weaving in questions about the gaps in their readouts. Grimhilt scratched his chin and surreptitiously adjusted an earring in his right ear. The plain gold hid an intricate, inscribed interior. The runes allowed him to tune into the conversation. He listened as Errol inquired about their skills and histories, judging the young man¡¯s interactions. Someone had taught him well; he made sharp observations about their fit with the team. Maybe they¡¯d survive after all. Gruvrik, the bandy old dwarf who looked like he¡¯d crawled out of a bear¡¯s hibernation den just this morning, tried to slip a flask to Errol, who declined. Errol laughed and promised to buy the dwarf as many rounds as he could put down at a tavern of his choice if they survived the passage back from the Bridge. ¡°Back, you say? I like your spunk!¡± Gruvrik growled. ¡°You assume success is guaranteed and only something as treacherous as a vast body of water¡±¡ªhe grimaced¡ª¡°could prevent our safe return.¡± Taras made a fine speech, albeit a bit stiff, about purging the tainted spirits from the land and bringing light to the darkness. Errol watched in rapt wonder. Grimhilt sighed, sidling up to him after the applause died down. ¡°Remember we put you in charge out there. Granted, there is wisdom in listening to your elders, but don¡¯t let him sway you from your course.¡± Pride and gratitude radiated out from Errol. He seemed to stand a little straighter, hold his head a little higher. That would do. Jarkoda, a massive halfdragon, brooded on the edges, avoiding conversation. Errol started to approach him, but Jarkoda caught his eye and snorted, scaled nostrils flaring wide in an alarming threat before pressing tight into narrow slits. With a quick smile, Errol bowed and redirected toward the smallest, least-threatening-looking member of the strike force. Rhae, an overly cheerful young troubadour from the northern reaches of Wyvern¡¯s Gate, was still on training assignment from her bard college in Fair Haven. With downcast eyes, she admitted to her new leader that she wasn¡¯t the best fighter in a pinch. ¡°That¡¯s okay. I¡¯m not either. But don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ve arranged to bring some muscle along with us,¡± Errol said. ¡°Well, at the very least,¡± Rhae assured Errol, her curling horns suddenly brightening with a faint pulse of light, ¡°I can keep our team safe from the corrupting power of the artifact¡¯s evil with my songs, as long as your hired muscle keeps me alive. Balance!¡± Indara seemed to materialize out of nowhere. Errol started as she appeared next to him like mist coalescing over a lake, only much more quickly. ¡°Arrangements, young hunter? This is the first I¡¯ve heard of this display of initiative.¡± Errol held her gaze, eyes unblinking. His hands had stopped shaking, Grimhilt noticed in a moment of approval. Maybe there was more to the hunter than he¡¯d originally thought, despite the lowly rank. ¡°Problem, Chancellor?¡± She regarded him for a long moment, then gave a curt nod. ¡°Carry on, Errol. A leader must lead, after all.¡± Errol returned her nod, turning back to speak with his team without waiting for Indara to dismiss him, as though they were equals. He was either more competent than he let on, or even more foolhardy than Grimhilt had feared. They would find out soon enough. Chapter Four - Testing Errol tapped his fingers in a staccato beat against the side of his glass. He had just started to relax when Indara announced that they would conduct a testing ceremony. He bit back a groan. After they¡¯d already displayed their ranks, Errol had assumed he wouldn¡¯t be exposed to further humiliation, but he should have known that he¡¯d escaped too easily. Of course the team would want to see him in action. The hopes of an empire now rested on his shoulders. He hadn''t even known the Chancellor had her own copy of the artifact. The Shark Clan made it seem like they had the only Testing Stone in existence. Before his first level test, he''d been given three months to prepare. Now they were about to test him on the spot, and in public no less. If he failed, the Shark Clan would be disgraced. Indara carried a small tray of ziricote wood inlaid with mother of pearl. Five rings rested in a row on the engraved surface. She presented the first ring to Gruvrik, the eldest of the group. ¡°Begin your rite, sower of seeds.¡± He bowed low, his beard nearly sweeping the marbled floor, and put on the ring. Darkness fell over the room, dimming the candelabras and stealing the warmth of the fires along the far wall. Gruvrik started to glow, standing in blinding relief against the unnatural gloom. A luminous landscape appeared, superimposed over the tiled floor. Gruvrik huddled in a clearing surrounded by thick forest. Tall trees disappeared into points of light above them. One by one, the trees shriveled, succumbing to a gray rot that spread from a hideous, deformed sequoia tree with a bulbous face. It gnashed its monstrous teeth at Gruvrik. The dwarf ignored the belligerent tree. He crouched down and worked his hands in the dirt, a wordless tune on his lips. A small plant shot up from the ground, spreading branches and sprouting after a few seconds. It grew taller than Gruvrik, then shed its leaves. They scattered to unfelt winds, blown about the glade. Everywhere a leaf landed, the rot reversed. Trees healed and blossomed with fresh petals. The scene shifted. Gruvrik stood on a table in the middle of a vast tavern, which stretched on endlessly in every direction. Ghostly figures made of light cheered him on as he chugged from a small keg of rum, flecks of foam covering his beard. Across from him sat a troll three times the size of a human, likewise drinking from a keg. They finished at the same time and immediately picked up another keg. The drinking continued for ages, until the troll¡¯s tongue lolled from his mouth and his eyes rolled back in his sockets. He thudded to the ground amidst raucous applause. Gruvrik turned a little jig and pumped his fists in the air while the crowd roared: ¡°Master of Rum!¡± The hackles raised on Errol¡¯s neck. Power flowed through from the device, coating his skin with a thick, eerie sensation, as though he were suspended in tar. A moment later, the sensation passed and the lights returned. Gruvrik whistled long and low. "Haven''t seen one of those in decades! Quite the handy way to check up on my progress. Guess it was real impressed by me. Soon I''ll be grand master at rum drinking!" Errol chuckled at the joke, then nearly choked on his fruit drink when he looked up at the floating words in the air above the sphere. Inscribed in light was the title MASTER OF RUM, tier four, next to a string of accomplishments under Gruvrik''s name. The dwarf¡¯s sheer dedication to drunkenness boggled Errol''s mind. He¡¯d thought it was simply an embellishment of the Testing Stone Indara owned¡ªclearly an upgraded model over the little one at Clan headquarters. "I expect nothing less than grand champion," Indara said, her horns twinkling. Taras subjected himself to testing only as a courtesy to Indara, although he asked that everyone leave the room to avoid incineration. His results elicited a ripple of excitement from the technicians; his rankings in inner Fortitude was the highest Errol had ever seen before, and he had access to an array of abilities Errol hadn''t even heard of. He was starting to get the sense that the Shark Clan hadn''t been very forthcoming about the scope of power available in the world.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Errol drew in a sharp breath as he read down the list of abilities. Taras could prevent someone from dying, as long as the head was still attached. Good to know. That could prove useful on the Bridge. Rhae went next, an ashen pallor on her face. She shook her head when Indara brought her the ring, but a sharp look from the Chancellor overcame her hesitation. She put on the ring, looking like she bit into something rancid. Once again, the light glimmered across the floor, swept up the walls, painting the ceiling in a shadowscape. Her figure glowed as she appeared to draw in all the light left in the space, burning bright like a torch in the middle of an empty town square at midnight. A low thrum filled the chambers, pressing on Errol¡¯s skull. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut against the harmonic dissonance, unable to watch her performance. Three heartbeats later, the sound disappeared, gone as abruptly as it had begun. His eyes snapped open and he stumbled,, searching for the results, but none of the stats had coalesced in the air yet. Light still lined Rhae¡¯s figure, swirling in chaotic bursts of color. Indara strode toward the Testing Stone, her horns pale as though they¡¯d been drained of life. She touched the testing stone and the light burst back into the crowd. Rhae gasped and slumped over, shaking. Indara put a hand on her shoulder, and they leaned close together to whisper for a few moments. When they finished speaking, the rankings updated in the air, projected from the Testing Stone. A new ability Errol hadn¡¯t seen before, called Awen, stood at Master, Tier I, although Rhae¡¯s rank was only Level 3. No wonder the Bard school had recommended such a young student. Despite her paltry level, by the time she grew into her full strength, she might have access to more raw power than any of them¡ªeven Gruvrik had taken over a century to reach a Master level ability. Not for the first time, he wished he could keep his results private. Jarkoda roared through his testing, spinning his staff and cracking skulls. As his large, powerful frame suggested, Jarkoda had extremely high marks in Strength (trait: Steadfastness). He was Level Five already, though he was a year or two younger than Errol. He had a Flame Breath and Fury of the Dragon: Elite, Tier III. Errol made a note to never get on Jarkoda¡¯s bad side. The sheer destructive power of the halfdragon¡¯s flames made him shiver. In the simulation, Jarkoda had fainted trying to control the volcanic eruption of fire, but not before he¡¯d nearly melting all the way through a massive castle wall. At last it was Errol¡¯s turn. He reached for the ring eagerly, slipping it over his finger with as much decorum as he could muster in his haste. The heavy golden band tightened until it fit his finger as though custom-made for him. Shimmering light shot through his vision, spinning out to create a theater of war. Errol ducked a spear of light and cast out his senses, questing for enemies. He¡¯d landed in the middle of a battlefield¡ªnothing like his previous experience with a testing stone¡ªand he needed to know what he was up against. Three opponents charged from behind. He spun around, hands lifted, and tried to fling a lance at the nearest enemy. Nothing happened, which only registered as a mild disappointment. He hadn¡¯t really expected to see any miraculous increase in abilities during the testing, but it didn¡¯t hurt to try. Pushing his boundaries was healthy, his teacher often said. The first soldier closed with him, thrusting a sword glowing with light. Errol quick-stepped forward, twisting just enough to avoid the weapon¡¯s point as it flashed by his chest. He closed inside the soldier¡¯s reach, slammed his hand into the man¡¯s face, and cast his voltage stream. The illusion burst, a corona of light leaving a faint afterimage as the enemy died. Errol dropped flat and rolled to the side just in time to avoid the flanged mace the second opponent swung at his head. He launched to his feet, kicked the side of the warrior¡¯s knee, and stabbed up under the chinstrap with his belt knife. The man staggered, fell, and disappeared in a flash of light. Icy pain flared in Errol¡¯s back. The third light-crafted warrior stabbed a spear through his left kidney. He arched and screamed, collapsing to his knees. He blinked. Just like that, he was back in the room with the others. An aide rushed over, brow creased with worry. Errol waved him back. The pain dissipated as he stood up, but his shame burned like the sun. No one would want to follow him now.
Vitals Affiliation
Name: Errol Diplomacy: 12 Shark Clan
Level: 2 Strength: 6 Mako (Tier III)
Class: Hunter Acuity: 11 Ray Division
Health: 48 / 48 Inner Fortitude: 9 Reputation: rank & file
Lifeforce: 70 / 70
Abilities Items Favor
Sensor field: Adept, Tier V Voltage stream: Acolyte, Tier IV Belt knife Bridge spirit
Errol groaned and put his head in his hands. Best not to tell them that he''d actually gained two tiers in his rank and abilities since his last testing. To his surprise, Rhae clapped. He looked up, expecting to see her taunting him with fake applause. She waved at him with a grin. ¡°Good show, Errol. I¡¯ve always wanted to see a voltage stream in action! It¡¯s so dramatic-sounding.¡± Chapter Five - Vytautas Errol stared at the gold coins in his hands. They¡¯d each been given a stipend to spend at will in the marketplace before they departed for the Bridge, but Errol was tempted to forgo provisions and keep the surplus. Growing up in the Hubbard gambling dens, Errol had always been around money, but he¡¯d never actually had money for himself. In his own hands. All his own. Discretion finally won out over greed. He clenched his fists and shoved his hands into his pockets. No point in hoarding gold if he didn¡¯t come back from the Bridge, and coming back from the Bridge meant surviving for more than his first few hours out there. For that, he¡¯d need gear, as much as it pained him to part with the gold. With this much money to spend, he could bypass the greasy, smoke-filled shacks down in Dockside. They were only ever stocked with ratty clothes or hastily repaired swords and pots and pans, all beaten into shape by the same disinterested hammer. Selinsgrove Market was too far away for a quick load up, and he didn¡¯t fancy carrying spoilable food into the Bridge, but he vowed that he would visit the finest street stands in the market upon his return. No, today¡¯s purchase would be special: a fine harpoon crafted with alchemical perfection at Hellsbane Forge, the premier source of weapons and childhood dreams. His thoughts drifted as he trotted toward Hellsbane. If only ten-year old Errol could see him now, ascended through Dogfish and nearly out of Mako, strolling past the Stone Baths like he belonged among the rich folk, the Chancellor''s gold in his pocket, ready to pick out his favorite weapon of all time. It had been a hard few years before the Shark Clan had taken him, although Cedric had treated him well and tipped off the Clan about his talent for collecting information. Errol ducked suddenly, his ampullae tingling as his sensor field identified a fast moving target to his left. He whipped out his dagger with his right hand while winding his scarf around his left forearm with one swift, sweeping motion. The lizardback scarf wasn¡¯t much in the way of armor, but the triple layers of tough hide would deflect a glancing blow, which might be enough to let him survive. Maeda snickered at him, lounging casually against the side of Munsey Fountain. ¡°You¡¯re learning, chum. Might actually make it onto the ship in one piece.¡± ¡°Indara accepted my terms,¡± Errol said, still not sheathing his dagger. ¡°Of course she did. You aimed too low.¡± Errol shrugged. ¡°I wasn¡¯t all that interested in doing your dirty work for you.¡± ¡°You got some sort of suicide wish? Never met a Mako like you.¡± ¡°The Chancellor put me in charge of this expedition. If you¡¯re still coming along, I need to know you¡¯ll listen to my orders.¡± ¡°Or what? You¡¯ll keelhaul me?¡± Errol held his tongue. He really wanted to live long enough to buy that harpoon. Maeda plucked the dagger from his hand before he¡¯d even noticed her movement. ¡°I¡¯ll play along in front of the others. Don¡¯t worry about feeling undermined out there, unless you risk getting us all killed. But don¡¯t forget your place.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± Errol said, keeping his tone light and friendly. He smiled at Maeda in his most disarming fashion, but inwardly he vowed that one day, their roles would be reversed. She tapped the dagger on his forehead before handing back the little weapon hilt-first. ¡°You¡¯re a long way from Zay''tan or the Guild House. A few gold coins and your head¡¯s full of big ideas.¡± ¡°Afraid I¡¯ll waste my time with a visit to the cheese emporium, or Stratford Clothier?¡± Maeda snorted. ¡°Please. Every boy in this city dreams of a Hellsbane weapon.¡± ¡°They¡¯ve earned their reputation,¡± Errol said, his voice squeaking slightly. ¡°A touch defensive!¡± ¡°Who knows what we¡¯ll run into out there. I need better weapons.¡± Maeda held out her hand, gesturing for the dagger. Errol ground his teeth but handed it over to her. She licked her lips, took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and exhaled long and slow. Without tensing or winding up, she whirled and threw the blade, skewering a scrawny sewer rat nearly twenty paces away. ¡°You need to get better at using the weapons you already have. Even a Hellsbane blade will be like a toy in your hands.¡± ¡°This may be my only chance,¡± Errol whined, but he cut himself off with a stern reminder that he needed to act like a captain now. Even so, he trotted after Maeda when she went to retrieve the dagger. He tucked it into his waistband, and remembered to wrap his scarf back around his neck so he didn¡¯t look quite as ridiculous with it wrapped around his arm.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. ¡°Survive the Bridge, and you¡¯ll have plenty of opportunities to gear up. Waste all your money on a new weapon you can¡¯t even use? Now that¡¯s just stupid.¡± ¡°Why do you care?¡± Errol finally mumbled. Maeda shrugged. ¡°You¡¯re right. I shouldn¡¯t. But if we work together, we have a chance. It¡¯s a small chance, but if this insane mission succeeds, then a member of Shark Clan will have the ear of the Chancellor. You don¡¯t get to throw away that kind of prestige just because your half-developed brain goes crazy over a shiny bit of metal.¡± He considered her words for a moment, weighing his options, and conceded the fight. ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± he grunted. ¡°Of course I¡¯m right. If you were smart, what you should have said is, ¡®What should I do instead?¡¯ Then I could give you some direction.¡± ¡°You will anyway.¡± ¡°Course I will.¡± She cuffed his shoulder. ¡°But one way you sound like a man, listening to wise counsel; the other way, you sound like a petulant child who¡¯s still angry about his toy.¡± The walked in silence back toward Hubbard. Halfway there, Errol opened his mouth to ask what he should do next¡ªbut instead, he said, ¡°Where did you study before you came to Laurentum?¡± ¡°I trained with Isadora,¡± Maeda said at last. Her eyes grew hard. She didn¡¯t volunteer any further details. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be a Bull,¡± he confided as they turned down streets all too familiar to him. Each step seemed to drag him deeper into a past he never wanted to relive. ¡°Good. Settling is the first death; the grave follows on its heels.¡± Maeda stopped abruptly in front of a ramshackle building, motioning for him to enter. Its front porch sagged so hard to the left that Errol felt himself leaning sideways to compensate for the tilt as he climbed the creaking stairs. Boards shifted under his feet, and he held his breath on the third step for fear that it was about to rot through and break under his weight, but they made it to the top without major incident. ¡°Inside, ask the shopkeeper for a thieves¡¯ kit and a silver amulet of clarity. He¡¯ll outfit you properly to survive whatever we face . . . out there.¡± Too many ears around to say ¡°the Bridge.¡± If one of the many listeners heard about their destination and relayed the news to a rival boss, then the questioners would trap them in town for so long they¡¯d miss the boat¡ªin the best case scenario where they were still alive after the questioners were done with them. Errol pushed open the faded green door and stepped inside what surely must have been one of the most haphazard shops in all of existence. Jars lined the shelves, interspersed with an assortment of knives, clothes, and rat traps. Two barrels had tipped over, but nobody had bothered to clean up the contents. A rat perched on top of one pile, eating a moldy biscuit right below a rat trap, mocking its fate. The shopkeeper wasn¡¯t in sight, but Maeda brushed past the counter, stepping over and around obstacles and items on the floor. A soft squelch followed by a curse made Errol snicker, but he kept it quiet and followed in her wake, quick feet enabling him to avoid broken glass and a pool of rotting jam. Ahead, Maeda shook her foot and wiped it against a discarded cape, then shoved aside a curtain of beaded string. The first thing Errol noticed when he followed her inside the next room was the massive axe pressed up against his throat, wielded by a man whose neck and shoulders looked like he¡¯d borrowed them from an ox. The second thing he noticed was how utterly spotless the room was. The pristine display cases and well-crafted items hanging neatly in patterns and rows stood in dizzying contrast to the squalor outside, a look he now realized was carefully curated. ¡°He¡¯s with me,¡± Maeda snapped, and the guard stepped back, waving Errol into the room impassively. A slender, serpentine creature coiled on the stool behind the desk. ¡°Welcome,¡± it said, in a voice so deep and rich that Errol almost tripped. He¡¯d expected something reedy, sibilant¡ªa high-pitched wheedle that matched his perception of the proprietor. ¡°Maeda vouches for you, so we will accept your coin, tainted though it is with the touch of the Chancellor.¡± Errol frowned at Maeda, who shrugged as if to declare her innocence. ¡°We can smell it all over that filthy lucre,¡± the being continued. ¡°No one had to tell us that she tracks its use. We will sever those strings.¡± Errol took inventory of all the muscles he¡¯d clenched when the big man had stopped him with the edge of his ax. Breathing in a practiced rhythm, he released his hold on each one until he felt calm and limber again. ¡°I¡¯d like to buy a thieves¡¯ kit and a silver amulet of clarity.¡± The snake¡ªit wasn¡¯t the right term, Errol knew, but he couldn¡¯t disassociate the creature from its distant cousins¡ªrecoiled, hissing once in betrayal of its ancient roots. ¡°Your business is your own, but we beg you to reconsider.¡± Maeda stepped forward to lean over the counter. She thumbed the wooden surface with every few words to punctuate her point. ¡°Don¡¯t ask any questions. The need is great, and you¡¯re not the target. This I swear to you.¡± ¡°Very well. Vytautas hears and obeys.¡± Four more serpent-like beings slithered out from behind shelves Errol hadn¡¯t seen when they had first entered the shop. They swayed in perfect unison, collecting items with invisible hands to bring to the desk. When the completed their task, they twined together, braiding bodies with the first creature until Errol couldn¡¯t tell where one ended and another began. Vytautas hovered above the desk now, spinning slowly on their side. ¡°We accept the coin of our enemy. Do not make us regret our choice.¡± Errol swallowed twice before he managed to wet his tongue enough to reply. ¡°Thank you for your generosity. It will not be forgotten.¡± He took the pack of tools that floated over to him, borne aloft by unseen limbs, bowing as he backed away with his new gear. The language felt too formal, but Vytautas seemed not to notice, and Maeda hadn¡¯t laughed or even quirked an eyebrow. She palmed something off the shelf on the way out, pocketing an item Errol couldn¡¯t see when the guard glanced at him instead. He filed the information away, reminding himself to ask her about it later¡ªeither that, or try to use the knowledge as his final resort. Sweat broke out on his forehead. They creaked back down the steps outside, but Errol didn¡¯t pay it much mind. For the first time since he¡¯d accepted the mission, the thought occurred to him that he might actually die. He couldn¡¯t even buy basic tools without finding himself in over his head. What could he possibly hope to accomplish on the Bridge itself? Chapter Six - Donalon They hurried to Dockside, casting looks over their shoulders. Even Maeda made no attempt to hide the fact that she wanted to get away from Vytautas. Anything that could strike fear into Maeda ought to terrify Errol, so he lengthened his strides. The scent of saltwater and fresh breeze hit his nose. Errol breathed deep, cleansing the stench of the shop. The five members of his group, including a hooded figure he hadn¡¯t yet met, had already completed their purchases. They stood in a loose knot around Captain Grimhilt, who barked out last-minute orders. He glanced up and beckoned when he saw Errol and Maeda. If her presence surprised or unsettled him, then he certainly knew how to hide his reactions. ¡°Now that you¡¯ve arrived, I have one more task for you to accomplish. My colleague, the esteemed Lieutenant Inspector Donalon, will fill you in on the details.¡± A slender man of average build, Inspector Donalon had mastered the art of blending into the crowds. He stepped into their circle, melting out of the bustle of passersby to join the group. Errol couldn¡¯t tell where he¡¯d come from, or what he¡¯d been doing. The very air around Donalon seemed fuzzy, blurring in a way that he only noticed when he squinted. Maeda nudged him and whispered, ¡°Use your sense field, not your eyes, Mako. He¡¯s not masking his presence right now, just his appearance.¡± Errol relaxed his hold on the senses, normally kept in check when he was in crowds so the pulsing mass of humanity wouldn¡¯t overwhelm him. He reached out, sweeping the crowd. A faint pulse from Donalon solidified as he finally pinpointed the man. Maeda leaned close again. ¡°In time, you¡¯ll be shocked to look back and wonder that you survived without relying on your sensor. Use the gifts you¡¯ve been given.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± Errol said, but suspicion wormed its way into his gratitude. What motives drove Maeda? He didn¡¯t know her to show unasked-for kindness. They''d only ended up on the Bridge investigation together because no one else was stupid enough¡ªand because he had ghosts of the past to dispel. ¡°Hail, Adventurers,¡± Donalon said. Errol could hear the eye roll in the Inspector¡¯s use of the heroic title. ¡°I have a second job for you, should you find your current undertaking too light a burden.¡± Gruvrik snorted. ¡°I¡¯ll accept this job. The hill dwarfs do not tire.¡± ¡°Among my duties as official Inspector is the followup on delicate cases. For the last two years, I¡¯ve been unable to pull at a most intriguing thread, since I''m prevented from setting foot on the Bridge. Our powers are simply incompatible; that place would tear me to pieces if I ventured too close to its jagged shores. You, however, have a chance to be my eyes and ears.¡± ¡°How about your mouth?¡± Gruvrik said. ¡°Sounds to me like you could use some help in the speaking department. It¡¯s a shame you¡¯re so often at a loss for words.¡± Jarkoda rumbled. It sounded like two boulders smashing together, or like thunder across the bay. It took a moment for Errol to recognize it as laughter. ¡°Point taken, my short friend,¡± Donalon said. ¡°I¡¯ve been tracking Stefano Dell¡¯Atti, the heir to the Dell¡¯Atti fortune. He disappeared a few years ago, last seen heading for the Bridge. If you can find him and return him, the Dell¡¯Attis will ensure that it¡¯s worth your while.¡± Errol¡¯s vital ring chimed silently, alerting him to an update. He twisted it, pulling up the map Grimhilt had loaded.
Quest update: Find the heir. Upon completion, receive 1,000 gold and favor with Dell¡¯Atti banking syndicates. Accept?
Grimhilt cleared his throat. ¡°Please remember that your primary duty is to recover the Heart of the Tempest Stormorb at all costs. Stefano is merely a lucrative secondary option.¡± The acid Grimhilt poured on the word ¡°secondary¡± made it clear that he didn¡¯t consider it secondary, or even tertiary, but Donalon shot him a look and he sighed. The contempt leaked out of his posture and he stepped aside. ¡°How will we know if we¡¯ve found him?¡± The question came from the hooded hunter, who hadn¡¯t spoken until now. Her voice was plain and quiet. Errol felt a tinge of disappointment. After wondering all morning about the identity of their mystery companion, hearing something so normal seemed like a letdown. He rallied and threw his support behind her. ¡°Seconded. We need details, Inspector.¡± Donalon withdrew a fine gold chain, etched with runes that emitted a faint bluish-white glow. ¡°Wear this. It¡¯s attuned to Stefano¡¯s life force. You will know when you¡¯ve found the heir, no matter how he may be disguised.¡± Errol ran his hands through his hair. ¡°Disguised? That sounds like he doesn¡¯t want to be found, Inspector.¡± Grimhilt shot a glance at Donalon, who looked away rather than meeting the Captain¡¯s eyes or answering Errol¡¯s question. Before Errol could follow up with more questions, Donalon merged in with the foot traffic around him, slipping away from view. Errol cast out with sensor field, but only a weak beacon from the other side of the square matched Donalon¡¯s profile. Then it, too, winked out of existence.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it ¡°Did I imagine that?¡± Errol said to Maeda. ¡°I thought I sensed him moving in the opposite direction, just for a heartbeat.¡± She crossed her arms. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you felt that much, although you sensed true. He¡¯s a sly one, I¡¯ll give him that. Gone.¡± Grimhilt cleared his throat. ¡°Daylight¡¯s burning. Depart for the docks.¡± Errol caught himself before he saluted, but he started marching toward the ships in dock by the harbor. Merchants and dockworkers surrounded them, pushing in toward the city where they could spend shore leave and conduct business. His little team followed close at his heels, cutting through the wave of pedestrians and carts like salmon swimming upstream. They crested the final gentle slope of Covington Lane. Masts and rigging came into view in the bay below them. Errol picked up the pace, his lanky legs halfway to jogging down the hill in his eagerness to depart. He drew up short a few breaths later, staring at half a dozen sharp spear points levelled at the group. The warriors bearing the spears wore masks of scarlet. They advanced with a shout, an attack chant on their lips. Taras and Maeda recovered first, launching themselves in front of the pack. Taras turned two spear thrusts with his shield, which glinted in the high morning light. He thrust out his shield ahead of him with both hands, and a wave of white-hot light poured forth, knocking two enemies to the ground. They didn¡¯t get back up. The people surrounding them screamed and scattered in all directions to avoid the fight that broke out on the streets. A stiff breeze whipped in off the sea, carrying pungent scents of fish and salt and a mixture of spices from the stalls on the harbor, which only added to the medley of confusion. Maeda produced a small dueling net and already closed with the nearest attacker. She lunged forward, twisting under the spear thrust, and tangled her opponent in the weave of the net, tossing him down like a fresh catch of fish. Her hand blurred in a flash of steel, and the man grunted and flopped over. With a roar like rolling thunder, Jarkoda leaped past Errol, catching the shaft of a spear in one hand. The halfdragon yanked on the spear, pulling the thug off balance. He smashed his other fist into the man¡¯s head, which caved in with a sound that almost made Errol retch. The other spearmen hesitated, taking a step back and shifting their weapons into a more defensive stance. Before they could regroup, Errol quick-stepped over to the closest soldier and unleashed his voltage stream into him, pouring all the energy he could muster into the attack. An acrid scent of burning flesh rose in the air and the man lurched away from Errol, arms thrashing about violently. Abruptly, he collapsed to the ground and grew still. Errol staggered as he ran out of energy¡ªhis life force was still woefully inadequate. He caught his balance and leaned over to rest his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. The air seemed thin. Lights danced around his vision. The spearman next to him took advantage of his disoriented state, thrusting straight toward his heart. Errol tried to lurch to the side, but he was too slow. Pain blossomed in his shoulder. He¡¯d avoided a killing blow, but agony ripped through his arm. Screaming, he grabbed the spear just below the sharp bade that lanced through his shoulder, attempting to wrench to free it from his flesh, but the pain drained his strength. He gave up and clamped his hands down on the wound. The last spearman glanced once at his fallen comrades and then sprinted away in the opposite direction, turning only to throw his spear behind him to slow their pursuit. It clattered harmlessly to the stone and skittered to a rest at Errol¡¯s feet. Rhae rushed over to him with a great deal too much excitement. ¡°At least you didn¡¯t get skewered twice!¡± She placed her hands over his, pulling them away gently but inexorably. He registered a dull shock at her strength, but the thought seemed far away, wrapped in a layer of clouds and gauze. Clarity came rushing back when she tugged the spear free. Despite Errol¡¯s shouts of protest, Rhae held him in place, wrapping a strip of cloth over the wound to staunch the bleeding. She stepped back only once he¡¯d stopped struggling and pulled out a small set of bagpipes, playing a lively tune that felt out of place compared with his pain, but the sharp edge soon subsided into a subdued throb. The sound screeched a bit in his ears, but he was grateful anyway. Her ability to weave healing into her music helped take just enough edge off the pain that he was able to stagger to his feet. If he stayed prostrate on the ground any longer, his strike force might lose whatever little confidence in him they had left. ¡°If only I had that harpoon, I could have taken them both,¡± Errol said to Maeda, trying to keep his tone light. She chuckled. ¡°More likely you¡¯d have missed and punched a hole in your other side.¡± Taras approached then, his hands surrounded by a nimbus of white fire. ¡°This will hurt,¡± he said, then latched onto Errol¡¯s shoulder without any further preamble. The burning was worse than the spear thrust had been, but Errol gritted his teeth, determined not to scream again, and with a wash of heat, the pain disappeared. He rotated his arm and lifted his hand above his shoulder experimentally. ¡°Thank you!¡± ¡°You¡¯ll still scar, most likely, but at least you won¡¯t slow us down on the Bridge.¡± Errol nodded, but his gratitude soured as he realized the mission was paramount to any concern for his own health. He swallowed the bitterness. ¡°It feels as good as new.¡± The clatter of boots caught his attention and he glanced to his right. Two city guards ran up, swords at the ready. They bowed slightly to Taras and resheathed their weapons. ¡°Honored one, forgive our intrusion. We¡¯ll see that these men are brought to justice, unless you already have a claim on them yourself.¡± ¡°Send a message to Grimhilt,¡± Errol interrupted. ¡°Call for backup to deal with these thugs if you have to, but get to the palace now. Tell Grimhilt that someone knows. Someone opposes the Chancellor.¡± The guards looked at each other briefly, but Errol caught the disbelief in their faces. With a sigh, he turned to Taras for backup. ¡°Do as he commands,¡± the cleric said. They exchanged glances, looked back at Errol, and shrugged. Seconds later, they sent up a flare to summon additional city guards, then ran back toward the council chambers. Errol bristled inwardly, but he thanked Taras for his help, schooling his features to remain smooth and calm. Leadership. Ugh. Chapter Seven - Passage Errol''s sensor field alerted him to a new player on the scene. As soon as the city guards disappeared around the corner, a new figure dressed entirely in scarlet approached them from the now empty street, picking her way over the bodies of the fallen to stand in front of them. One hand held a perfumed handkerchief to her nose. ¡°I abhor the smell of violence,¡± she said in a voice that seemed to almost purr. Errol thought immediately of fine silks and the indulgence of flavored ice every afternoon. She struck him as the most captivating woman he¡¯d ever seen. ¡°How may I help you, my lady?¡± Errol said. She ignored him, addressing her question to Jarkoda. ¡°You look like you know your way around a battlefield. As much as I dislike the aftermath of a fight, I¡¯m always happy to make use of every tool at my disposal. I have a job for you.¡± Errol shouldered his way in front of the halfdragon. He desperately wanted her to notice that he was the leader of the little group. ¡°He already has a job. Please contact Captain Grimhilt if you¡¯d like to inquire about our services and rates when we return.¡± ¡°Ah, but that will be too late, my little Mako. The job I offer comes with certain restrictions of time and place; namely, it must be completed while you¡¯re on the Bridge.¡± Errol drew back, resisting the urge to look to Maeda or Taras for support. She knew his rank, she knew about their destination on the Bridge¡ªwhat else did she know about their mission? It seemed like too great a coincidence for the spear-wielding thugs and this finely-dressed lady to both know details Indara had kept under strict secrecy. ¡°I¡¯m not sure that I¡¯d like to work for someone who throws away her soldiers just to test our mettle,¡± Errol growled, guessing her connection to the attackers. ¡°That¡¯s why I didn¡¯t offer the job to you, boy.¡± Gruvrik and Maeda joined Errol. The burly dwarf glowered up at the woman from under his bushy eyebrows. ¡°Not the most inspiring recruitment speech I¡¯ve ever heard. Might want to listen to our captain.¡± She took a step back, waving the handkerchief in front of her as though she could ward off the dwarf with its perfume. ¡°Whatever Donalon is offering for the return of Stefano, I¡¯ll double¡ªno, triple it¡ªif you bring back his head.¡± Like before, Errol¡¯s vital ring chimed, again alerting him to a potential update. He could get used to this. Handy bit of magic. He twisted the ring to pull up the map.
Quest update: Kill the heir. Upon completion, receive 3,000 gold. Accept?
He hesitated a moment before he dismissed the notification. He wanted to find out more about Stefano before he committed himself one way or another. Without waiting for a response, the lady in scarlet minced back across the row of corpses and slipped down a side street. A faint scent of jasmine hung in the air behind her. Rhae pursed her lips. ¡°I don¡¯t like her very much, but that¡¯s a lot of money.¡± ¡°No,¡± Jarkoda growled. ¡°We are sworn to recover the Stormorb. Stopping to render aid to one in need, this I will accept; killing the selfsame, I will not.¡± ¡°Well said, my monkish friend,¡± the hooded girl added. Errol gestured toward the harbor. ¡°Move along. We¡¯ve already dawdled long enough. I¡¯d like to be on our ship by noon.¡± =+= Midday had come and gone a few hours past, and still they hadn¡¯t found a berth. The ship that Captain Grimhilt commissioned had mysteriously sprung a leak that morning, although the way the sailors lounged on deck made Errol narrow his eyes at their story. The next captain they¡¯d asked seemed to have plenty of extra space, until they told him their destination. He¡¯d blanched and kicked them off the ship, holding his thumb and ring finger together in a sign against evil. Three ships later, they discovered that his response was actually the most reasonable so far. One captain and first mate had drawn swords and rushed to attack them, but Gruvrik had kicked their legs out from under them and ¡°yelled some sense into their thick skulls,¡± in his words. Errol hoped they didn¡¯t file a grievance with Grimhilt over the broken kneecaps. Head in his hands, Errol slumped against a barrel by the loading docks. His shoulder still throbbed, despite the double healing from Rhae and Taras. His stomach gurgled, reminding him that he hadn¡¯t eaten a midday meal. He sighed and patted his belly. With only a thieves¡¯ kit in his pack instead of victuals, he didn¡¯t have many options other than self-discipline and patience, just like his early days on the streets. ¡°Let me try,¡± Maeda murmured nearby. ¡°I could pull in a few favors.¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. He turned to look at her, almost ready to accept the offer, when a stubborn streak reared its head. ¡°Thank you, Hammerhead, but this is my responsibility.¡± Maeda tilted her head, regarding him cooly. ¡°Better get up and try again in that case. You won¡¯t hire a ship by sitting there.¡± Errol bowed a hair, just enough to show gratitude at the lesson, and ambled toward two of the remaining ships still in the harbor. At this time of day, most ships that weren¡¯t in repairs or scheduled for resupply would be out on the open seas, not wasting their time dallying around dockside, so he wasn¡¯t sure if they were ready to depart. Only one way to find out. The first ship had a hawser across the gangplank with a sign that announced they were closed for business until further notice, quarantined by command of the city guards. Errol waved them onward. One last shot for the day, then he¡¯d relent and let Maeda take the credit for their passage. He hoped this last crew proved more willing than the others to entertain the possibility of sailing straight for the Bridge. Only three miles separated the port from the Edgewater of the Bridge, but it may as well have been three thousand. The tides swirled against their favor, and the closer ships drew to the Bridge, the more treacherous the eddies and riptide became. Foul winds buffeted the last half mile at the end of the Bridge, carrying the stench of decay and death, like rotting earth and the unease of upturned graves. Black clouds swirled around the superstructure of the Bridge itself, obscuring any view of potential landings. Errol shoved the pessimism from his mind. He had a job to do. He squared his shoulders and approached the final ship on this side of the bay. Last chance to hitch a ride. The sleek boat seemed built for speed, rather than for heavy cargo. The rigging and sails looked practically new. The tar glistened with layers of fresh application. Painted on the side in big, bold, black letters: Djullanar. The crew''s pride in the vessel was obvious. The pensive looks of the sailors gathered around the gunwale didn¡¯t bode well for Errol¡¯s success, but he strode up the gangplank with a smile. ¡°Taking passengers?¡± ¡°Depends where you¡¯re bound,¡± one of the sailors called back. ¡°I¡¯d like to discuss that with your captain,¡± Errol replied. ¡°Captain doesn¡¯t put in at many ports of call. You¡¯ll have to offer a pretty penny for Cap to take you on, and no mistake.¡± ¡°All the same, I¡¯d like to speak with him.¡± ¡°Her,¡± a new voice corrected. ¡°I¡¯m Captain Shiori.¡± Errol turned to see a woman several years his senior step out from behind a jumble of crates. Sea-green cloth covered her arms and legs. A black leather cuirass was her only armor, but she carried her confidence like a shield. Twin dagger hilts etched with scrimshaw jutted out from her left hip. Gold-tipped scabbards curved behind her back, extending just past her torso on the other side. A small karambit tucked into her right knee-high boot completed the ensemble of visible weapons. ¡°Where are you headed, child?¡± Errol inclined his head, but refused to bow to someone so near his own age, particularly if she insisted on insulting him. Child, indeed. ¡°We sail for the Bridge, straightway.¡± ¡°Perhaps. But not on my boat, unless you can give me a compelling reason.¡± ¡°I can give you two,¡± Gruvrik muttered, holding up both hands in an obscene gesture. ¡°If you don¡¯t want us, just say so.¡± Shiori rested one hand on the hilt of a dagger, and with her free hand, she returned the dwarf¡¯s insult. ¡°Haven¡¯t heard your reason yet.¡± Taras stepped forward to speak with her, but Jarkoda put out an oak-tree-like arm to bar his way. ¡°Your ship is the last in port. If we do not leave today, we burn your ship first, and then we work our way back across the horizon, sowing blood and fire.¡± Shiori turned slowly to catalogue each of the hunters one by one, her gaze lingering on the hooded girl before turning back to Errol. ¡°And why does the child speak for you?¡± ¡°Captain Grimhilt put me in charge,¡± Errol said, doing his best to radiate authority. Shiori addressed Taras. ¡°Is this so, cleric?¡± ¡°It is. The Mako has hidden talents.¡± Ah, bless you, Taras. Errol resisted the urge to nod or visibly acknowledge the honor in fear that it would diminish its impact. Instead, he sought out Shiori¡¯s gaze. ¡°I will not burn your ship if you will not take us. The halfdragon has a natural affinity for fire; please forgive him for the outburst. We¡¯ve met with little success after our ship¡¯s captain reneged on his contract.¡± Shiori stormed up the gangplank. ¡°Which ship?¡± ¡°The Orias,¡± Errol answered. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°He¡¯s part of the shipping guild. Do you have proof of contract?¡± Shiori swore. ¡°Why am I asking¡ªGrimhilt made arrangements. Of course you do.¡± Looking like she¡¯d agreed to let a viper bite her face, Shiori motioned for them to join her on deck. ¡°I will take up the matter with the guild, provided I come back alive. For now, I¡¯m bound to honor the contract, like it or not.¡± ¡°We will double the pay in recognition of your troubles,¡± Errol heard himself say. Once he calculated the cost in his head, he feared it would wipe out most of his share for the trip. Well. Better to reach the Bridge and at least have a shot at success than to fail before we¡¯ve even left port. Fine leader he¡¯d make, slinking back to Indara with a spear through his shoulder and not a ship left in the harbor. He pulled up his quests again, staring at the reward for killing the Dell''Atti heir. He''d almost rejected the quest when the rest of the team had reacted so strongly against it, but the extra two thousand gold would more than make up for hiring a ship last minute like this. And if he didn''t have to split it with the team . . . ¡°I¡¯ll get you as close as I can,¡± Shiori said. ¡°But I can¡¯t promise we¡¯ll even be able to approach the storm. The winds form a vortex so powerful that even if we try to get closer, we might find we are flung backward. There¡¯s a reason no one sails for the Bridge.¡± ¡°Get us as close as you can, Captain. I¡¯ll see to the rest.¡± ¡°Very well,¡± Shiori agreed. Errol held out his forearm toward her to seal the bargain. She smirked, but quickly suppressed it and clasped his arm. He flashed a smile at the crew, trying to project confidence as they boarded the ship, but a rock settled in his stomach. What have I gotten myself into this time? Chapter Eight - Stormwall Below deck, once they were out of sight of the crew, Maeda whirled on Errol. ¡°You¡¯ll see to the rest, Mako? You expect us to swim, held above the waves by your giant ego?¡± ¡°I expect you all to do your jobs,¡± Errol said gravely. Maeda surprised him by laughing in his face. ¡°And what do you suppose that looks like, little shark?¡± Errol stiffened. ¡°It might mean swimming, yes. If it comes to it, you¡¯ll lead the charge, as expected from a Hammerhead.¡± ¡°Nifty trick, turning that back on me. Hope you can outswim the sea monsters.¡± They fell silent, staring at each other for a moment. Errol shouldered past her into the main galley, where the others already clustered around a tiny table, listening to Gruvrik spin a tale¡ªit sounded like he¡¯d single-handled fought off a pack of pirates on the high seas. Taras nudged Gruvrik. ¡°I didn¡¯t take you for the seafaring type.¡± ¡°Bah! Hate the water, and that¡¯s the truth,¡± Gruvrik spat back. ¡°I¡¯d hoped Indara¡¯s mages would just teleport us over.¡± Taras shook his head. ¡°Can¡¯t. The interference is too strong.¡± ¡°What¡¯s the plan, Errol?¡± Maeda prompted him with a far-too-pleased upturn of her lips. ¡°If we can¡¯t teleport, and the ship can¡¯t make it to the Bridge, what do we do?¡± The ship listed to the side just then, tossing Rhae out of her seat. She blushed, the pink rising into her horns in embarrassment. Errol helped her to her feet, fussing over her more than was necessary, trying to draw their attention away from the problem at hand. A half hour of relative calm had lulled Errol into a state of confidence, but as they drew nearer to the stormwall surrounding the Bridge, the seas kicked up around them. The Djullanar leaped and bucked, crashing through the swells. Errol clamped down with an iron will on his stomach¡¯s urge to expel his breakfast. He didn¡¯t expect anything less than a rough welcome, but the storm was only going to get worse the farther they pushed onward. Swimming might not work. Shiori barged into the galley before the questions could start up again. "Storm''s picking up.¡± ¡°Hadn¡¯t noticed,¡± Gruvrik grumbled, clutching the side of the table for support. His old, gnarled face looked a bit paler than usual. Shiori ignored him. ¡°We should turn back, but since I imagine it will take a few more big waves to change your minds, you should all retire to your cabin. You¡¯ll be safer than out here in the open galley.¡± Single-file due to the ship¡¯s tight passageway, the team shuffled to their bunks, arms out to brace on either side when the ship rolled or pitched under their feet. They squished into the narrow room together, close enough that the sour, rancid smell of someone¡¯s unwashed body assaulted Errol¡¯s nostrils. Maybe swimming wasn¡¯t a bad idea, if only to drown the odor in salt water. Above them, an ominous cracking sound cut through the howl of the wind and the crash of the waves. Rhae whimpered and clutched Jarkoda¡¯s arm. ¡°Was that the mast breaking? I don¡¯t want to drown!¡± ¡°Sing for us,¡± Maeda suggested, sparing a motherly glance at the young Qeren. Well that was unexpected. Errol considered revising his opinion of the usually-dour Hammerhead. Maybe she was actually nice; maybe she just didn¡¯t like him. Rhae had just struck up a soothing song when shouting filtered through the cabin walls, rising above the dull roar of the outside storm. A scream was cut short, followed by something solid thudding into the door, shaking the sturdy portal in its frame. ¡°We¡¯re turning around, or you¡¯re going overboard!¡± a rough voice yelled. Errol locked eyes with his team, then yelled back, ¡°You¡¯ll honor the contract if I have to hold you to it at knifepoint!¡± Heavy blows rained on the door. Soon, it splintered and slammed open. Two burly sailors stood outside, cutlasses at the ready, while a third squeezed through the broken door and grabbed the nearest adventurer: Errol. The scowling sailor dragged him out into the passageway and threw him on his knees. The larger of the two armed men, bare-chested and covered with tattoos, drew a long knife with his off hand. He jammed the tip up under Errol¡¯s chin and glared. ¡°I¡¯m the one with the knife here, son, so cut the big talk. This is madness. We¡¯re honest folk; if you tell the captain to turn around, we¡¯ll let you go.¡± Errol flashed the man a lopsided grin. ¡°Nothing says honesty like threatening to gut your passengers and toss them overboard.¡± Pressure on the blade¡¯s point drew a bead of blood. Errol swallowed, trying to figure out his course of action. Appealing to their good will to honor the contract didn¡¯t seem like an option, and he didn¡¯t have enough money for bribery. Errol sighed and released his voltage stream, pouring just enough force into the attack to make the man yelp and leap back. He jumped to his feet and flourished his own dagger, daring the other sailors to attack. A faint scent of sizzling flesh lingered in the air. Eyes wide, they backed off, wary that he might be a dangerous target. Twirling the knife casually in his hand, Errol stared them down. ¡°Care to test yourself against a full fledged Eel?¡± ¡°Stand down!¡± Shiori roared, stalking down the passageway. The sailors scurried off in the other direction, covering their faces as though they could hide their identity against possible disciplinary actions. She stopped in front of the cabin, hands on her hips, feet shoulder-width apart, one foot in front of the other and slightly off to the side to maintain her balance as the ship heaved and rolled. ¡°I said I¡¯d take you to the Bridge, but I don¡¯t blame my crew. They¡¯re right. Djullanar can¡¯t take much more.¡± ¡°We sail for the Bridge,¡± Errol insisted. Shiori shrugged. ¡°Can¡¯t pay me enough for that.¡± He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. ¡°If it¡¯s gold you want, I¡¯ll pay any sum. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve heard stories of how generous the Chancellor can be¡ªname your price, but stay the course.¡± She shook her head and sighed. ¡°I¡¯ll give you ten more minutes.¡±You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. ¡°Will we reach the docks that soon?¡± Maeda asked, a hint of skepticism in her tone. ¡°No, but I¡¯ll give you a skiff. Final offer,¡± Shirori said. More shouting rose above the din. She whirled to run back above deck. ¡°I¡¯ve got a mutiny to stop.¡± After the captain left earshot, Taras crossed his arms and addressed the team. ¡°We may want to heed her words. She¡¯s risking her entire livelihood to take us to the Bridge. There must be another way.¡± Errol grunted. If he gave in now, he was tacitly admitting that Taras should have been in charge from the beginning. ¡°She gave her word. We push on for the Bridge.¡± He glared around the room, daring them to argue. No one said a word, but he sensed their uneasiness as the ship groaned and threatened to break apart. They passed another several minutes in silence, everyone avoiding eye contact. Errol¡¯s skin crawled with the uncomfortable tension. The boat juddered, throwing them sideways against the bulkhead. ¡°Rough seas! Tie yourselves down,¡± Maeda shouted, her sailing experience kicking in immediately. Errol was glad to defer to her lead for once. He may be Shark Clan, but he rarely ventured out on the waves, and he fought to keep his nausea under control. He¡¯d thought the earlier waves were bad, but apparently they were just a warning. Shiori burst into the cabin then, wide-eyed in horror. ¡°Get off my boat!¡± Errol cut the bindings, not bothering to try to undo the knot, and scrambled to his feet. He roared for the hunters to follow Shiori. His knees buckled as he tried to step after her. His hands slammed into the deck, jamming his wrists with a flash of pain. He grunted, but crawled after the captain. The rest would follow. Or not. Salt spray stung his eyes and pricked his cheeks as soon as he lifted his head above deck. Waves rose above the masts. Thunder boomed, shivering the air around him, unnaturally twisted and somehow malicious. On the far edges of his mind, a foreign entity brushed his consciousness, vast and seething with murderous intent. Shiori beckoned them onward, pointing toward a little boat. ¡°Get in! We¡¯re turning around in two minutes, whether you¡¯re boarded or not!¡± Errol nodded and staggered across the deck, toward her crew while she turned the ship around, bearing back toward Laurentum. The sailors struggled to keep their footing on the tilted deck, tossed about by the massive waves as they wrestled with the ropes holding the landing skiff in place. A blinding sheet of lightning split the skies, forking into a thousand glittering lances and striking the ship¡¯s deck. The skiff ripped in half in an explosion of splinters, scattering sailors over the edge of the ship and flinging Errol to the deck. Scrabbling backward on all fours, Errol pulled his team back below deck. They huddled around the tiny table in the galley, Taras praying for their survival, and lashed themselves back down. They had no choice now but to ride out the storm and hope for the best. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I failed you,¡± Errol said, barely managing to keep the self-pity out of his voice. ¡°The dwarf could get us there,¡± the hooded girl suddenly announced. All eyes turned toward her. ¡°And what about you?¡± Gruvrik asked. ¡°What are you going to contribute to this adventure? We don¡¯t even know who you are.¡± ¡°I will tell you everything when we reach the Bridge. For now, know that Indara selected me by hand and sent me with her . . . blessing.¡± A note of humor crept into her voice. Errol filed it away for future reference. He¡¯d push for answers when they weren¡¯t about to die. In the meantime: ¡°Gruvrik, what exactly does she mean? How can you help us¡ªI thought you hated water.¡± ¡°I do!¡± Gruvrik bellowed. He scrunched up one eye and scowled at the hooded hunter. ¡°Swore I¡¯d never touch the sea again.¡± ¡°The last time was an honorable action,¡± the hooded girl said. ¡°And so is this time.¡± Gruvrik hunched his shoulders and flopped down on the floor. ¡°Bah! Enough talking, little girl. Don¡¯t know how you weaseled that story out of Indara, anyway. Hmph. I¡¯ll do it, because it has to be done, but I ain¡¯t happy about it.¡± ¡°Rum,¡± Gruvrik hollered. Errol pointed to the lashing around his midsection and shook his head. The hooded girl had already loosened the safety bonds holding her in place against the low bunk and ducked out of the galley. She somehow managed to look graceful as she kept her balance amidst the swaying and sudden drops whenever the ship crashed through a wave in the choppy seas. ¡°How can you drink at a time like this?¡± Taras yelled above the wind, which had risen to a shrieking cacophony that threatened to split Errol¡¯s eardrums. ¡°Ain¡¯t no better time to drink than when you¡¯re spitting in death¡¯s face!¡± Gruvrik said. ¡°But I¡¯ll need rum to fuel the transformation.¡± The ship trembled then, as though the storm spirit had seized the craft and rung it like a gong. Vibrations ran through the vessel until the timbers quivered and split. A terrible, keening sound forced Errol to jam his hands over his eras. The harmonic oscillations grew more violent, shaking them in the throes of the ship¡¯s death. ¡°All the time is a good time to drink, now that I think about it,¡± Gruvrik said cheerfully. ¡°No bad times, as long as we¡¯ve got rum.¡± ¡°No rum yet,¡± Maeda snapped. Just then, the hooded hunter dashed back into the room, falling sideways with the ship¡¯s roll to land on the wall, where she crouched as if she sat on the floor. A cask hung from her back, strapped in place with a net Errol recognized with a shock. How had the hunter managed to take the net away from Maeda on her way out? He couldn¡¯t recall seeing anyone able to pickpocket a Hammerhead. Who was she? Gruvrik stomped over to the hooded girl, tottering a bit on his short legs. He bit into the rim of the cask with his bare teeth, spitting out splinters and sloshing rum across the deck. With a loud growl of satisfaction, he lifted the keg above his head and poured the rum straight down his throat, chugging like his life depended on it. Errol suspected it just might. ¡°Go back above deck,¡± Gruvrik ordered. ¡°I¡¯ll take care of the rest.¡± Slipping and sliding in the boat-turned-deathtrap, Errol clambered back outside. A few harrowing moments later, the rest of the hunters emerged topside, all except for Gruvrik. Errol grabbed Jarkoda by the cloak. ¡°You were the last one out! Where is the little drunk?¡± Jarkoda leaned close and screamed to be heard above the howling gale. ¡°Stupid dwarf dove through a porthole! He¡¯s dead, sure as we are if we don¡¯t get out of this storm.¡± Errol struggled to process the words. The dwarf hated water, but he didn¡¯t seem suicidal. What had he said about a transformation? Rum fueled it, Gruvrik claimed. Rhae was crying. ¡°I don¡¯t want to die, too! We shouldn¡¯t have left him alone.¡± A massive tentacle slammed down on the deck next to him, splintering wood. Errol fell in his haste to scramble away from the massive suction-cup covered limb, but another limb snaked out and caught him by the ankle, flinging him twenty feet up into the air and catching him upside down, where hung suspended in the midst of the storm. Below, the deck strained and buckled under the force of the waves and wind. Figures rolled in all directions, flung about by the chaos. More tentacles flashed through the splattering rain, catching up each of the hunters with unerring accuracy. The creature rose up out of the water, its bulk dwarfing the ship, wrapping its limbs around the vessel. A mighty heave launched the ship away from the tendrils of darkstorm swirling around the Bridge, sending the craft flying back toward smooth seas and clear skies. Errol could just make out a line where the cauldron ended; the waves and winds preternaturally stopped as soon as they hit the boundary. Djullanar eclipsed the boundary and the rigging went still. Shiori had enough foresight to bind the sails tight, and now the sailors scrambled into position, unfurling the sails and tacking into the wind to flee from the malevolence of whatever malady afflicted the Bridge. A whoosh of air brought Errol back to the terror at hand. The colossal beast beneath him quivered and contracted its muscles, launching up from the water with its awesome power. Its tentacles and fins stroked the water like a warship under full oars. They skimmed the surface of the whitecaps, speeding toward the Bridge more quickly than Errol had believed possible. He squeezed his eyes shut against the biting pain of the wind. The air rippled his cheeks with its force. His skin flapped until he thought his lips would peel away. As abruptly as it had begun, they slammed to a halt. The oppressive darkness lifted, just a little, and Errol could make out the silhouette of a jagged shoreline if he squinted in the gloom. Several broken jetties looked like mangled fingers reaching into the ocean¡ªthe final crippled grasp of an ancient, dying giant. Man-made pillars jutted up into the sky, swallowed up by the clouds. Each was at least two or three times as thick as the length of Shiori¡¯s ship. Above, the outlines of a monstrous, city ringed in lighting, stretched away into the darkness, disappearing past the reach of his eyes. They¡¯d arrived at the Bridge at last. The behemoth creature set them down on a half-collapsed quay, then pulled itself up on the edge, deflating and twisting in spumes of smoke until it evaporated into the still, small form of Gruvrik the dwarf. He coughed and sat up. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t happen to have any more rum, eh? Fellow works up a powerful thirst, taking in that much salt water.¡± Chapter Nine - Rashana ¡°Not a step further without answers,¡± Errol said, arms crossed. He blocked the pathway to the Bridge proper, using his height advantage to loom over the hooded girl. ¡°You promised you¡¯d tell us who you are as soon as we arrived¡ªand how you knew about Gruvrik. Here we are, so start talking.¡± ¡°Are you prepared for the truth, Mako?¡± Errol scoffed. ¡°I just rode through a sorcerous hurricane on the back of a magical kraken, and you think your identity is going to shock me?¡± ¡°Fair point,¡± the girl said, throwing back her hood to reveal gleaming metal. With a flick of her wrist, she pulled off the full-body robe that had covered her limbs and obscured her face. Underneath were polished plates, pneumatic pistons, and power servos, all glistening with the telltale sheen of limitless possibilities that marks something newly-crafted. ¡°My name is Rashana. I am Indara¡¯s spirit made manifest.¡± For once, Errol had nothing to say. He stared at the alien, all-metal body. ¡°I vote we stuff the spy into a crevice and get her on the way out,¡± Gruvrik said, picking a strand of seaweed out of his beard. Rashana laughed¡ªan eerily human sound. ¡°Don¡¯t forget who got the rum for you.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll thank you next time I see ya in the flesh.¡± Gruvrik walked over and poked Rashana in the stomach, thunking his blunt, square fingernail against her smooth metallic surface. ¡°For now, go away and stop keeping an eye on us. Gives me the creeps.¡± Rashana ruffled his matted hair as though Gruvrik were a small child. The dwarf shouted and slapped her hand away. ¡°She can¡¯t see you, dwarf. I am a sliver of her, an echo of sorts, not a scrying pool.¡± Taras pulled Gruvrik back a step. He peered at Rashana and frowned. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen such craftsmanship. You¡¯re a marvel, and we need you to survive this place. But I can¡¯t say that I¡¯m comfortable in your presence. Did the temples approve this soulbond? Somehow I doubt you would be permitted to live if the priests knew of your existence.¡± ¡°I do not sense an abomination,¡± Jarkoda rumbled. ¡°She may be split from Indara, whom I do not trust, but she is still young. Innocent, maybe. I can perceive goodness in her.¡±You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. ¡°You merely like that she backed you up when you rejected the hit job on Stefano,¡± Errol said, probing to see how much the halfdragon would push back. Jarkoda shook his massive head. The scales around his eyes and nose undulated in a hypnotic pattern, dilating and closing with his mood. ¡°That is a good example, yes, but it is not my evidence. I may be the youngest of this group, but my time spent training as a monk has given me wisdom beyond my years.¡± ¡°You¡¯re the youngest?¡± Errol burst out, staring up at the hulking form of the halfdragon. ¡°Technically, I¡¯m newer,¡± Rashana said. An uncomfortable silence hung over them after Rashana¡¯s pronouncement. Errol shrugged on his pack. ¡°Now that we¡¯ve solved one mystery, let¡¯s go find another. We¡¯ve got a lot of ground to cover before nightfall.¡± They fell in line behind him, ordering themselves in a rough segregation by age. Errol wondered if they even noticed, or if they simply sought out their peers subconsciously: Taras and Gruvrik in the front where they could scout the ruins; Rhae and Rashana chatting in the back, fast becoming friends; and Maeda and Jarkoda brooding as they wandered in between, never quite finding their place. Errol scratched his chin, feeling the stubble that had grown out since he had shaved it off yesterday for his meeting. He might go back home looking like Gruvrik. Home. He¡¯d never really considered Laurentum all that attractive of a place to live, but compared with the Bridge so far, it was paradise. Part of him couldn¡¯t wait to return, but another part of him reveled in the idea that out here, Maeda was just as much of an outcast as he was, if not more. She¡¯d forced her way in, although he suspected she may regret that now that they¡¯d arrived on the Bridge and she seemed out of place. They stumbled along the uneven quay. Footing was treacherous on the pitted surface, its once-uniform cement sheathing now torn apart and warped by the endless pounding of surf and virulent storms. According to the map that Errol had reviewed before the ship had hit the storm¡¯s wall, the quay widened toward the Bridge foundation, allowing passage to the first of the artificial islands that supported the vast pillars of the Bridge. Every few dozen yards, they came upon the wreckage of shipping vessels strewn about the dilapidated dockyard of Edgewater, the buffer zone between the bay and what was left of the Bridge. Once, the Bridge had extended all the way to the mainland in a long, gentle slope, but that was before Laurentum had destroyed the roadways and transformed the Bridge into a penal colony, which they¡¯d abandoned after the storms claimed possession. The edges of the quay curved outward. Traveling conditions improved as they moved away from the salt spray. Ahead, Errol could see rocks give way to dirt and underbrush, a hardy breed of gnarled shrubs that still clung stubbornly to life. The splintered timbers and rotted hulls thinned out. They all seemed happy to leave the ship graveyard behind; he couldn¡¯t believe so many foolhardy sailors had ventured this close to the Bridge. Errol shuddered at the thought. Would they end up in that graveyard, just the latest string of victims of their own stupidity? The Bridge suffered no fools. Chapter Ten - Lurking Danger Oskar Freyman hummed to himself as he prepped for his afternoon meetings. Bah. He hadn¡¯t missed entertaining while he¡¯d been away¡ªnot that he wanted to return to the Imperial prison, but incarceration had certain perks. Fools didn¡¯t bother him in the dungeons, or at least not as often. He could drop the Charm and simply simmer on occasion. Thankfully, he could offload a few interactions on the list today to minor lackeys¡ªthey¡¯d popped up like weeds once he¡¯d been released last month, all desperate for his favor. Well, he could shine on them a bit, let them think they were important. At least the sycophants hadn¡¯t all disappeared in the last decade, although a few still liked to remind him that he was the erstwhile Archduke of Laurentum now. He munched on a powdered croissant and peered at the agenda, wiping away the sudden dusting of sugar on the paper. Ah, Lieutenant Lasgaard. He tapped his finger on the name. That appointment he¡¯d keep. The man showed potential, although he had a penchant for holding back information. Ambitious fellow. Freyman ambled to his study, examining the walls as he walked. So many empty spaces on the mahogany paneling these days. His shoulders slumped as he exhaled, long and slow. All his paintings, gone forever. It almost made him feel old. He¡¯d just positioned himself at his desk when Lasgaard marched in and bowed low in greeting. He stood and snapped a salute. ¡°They¡¯ve made it onto the Bridge, your Excellency.¡± ¡°Very good, Lasgaard. Thank you for your vigilance.¡± Freyman frowned, studying his lieutenant¡¯s pristine uniform and rigid posture. Freyman could see his reflection in the man¡¯s boots! That much polishing had to be some form of compensation. ¡°Orders, Sir?¡± Lasgaard¡¯s face was void of emotion. Freyman leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, and stabbed a solitary finger in the air to emphasize the gravity of his words. ¡°Prepare your men at once. The hunters cannot be allowed to deliver the Heart of the Tempest Stormorb to Indara. Whether you go to the Bridge or intercept them on their return is up to you, but your orders stand. Leave nothing to chance.¡± The lieutenant saluted sharply and marched back out of the room¡ªno doubt already scheming his next moves. Freyman would have to keep an eye on that one. Too much of the pride of the old guard in him, although he was a prodigy with information and tactics. Other than a puzzling aversion for getting his hands dirty, Lasgaard was an ideal underling. Freyman let out a long, world-wearied sigh and creaked out of his chair. He had a date at the theater tonight¡ªjust like every night, lately¡ªand he didn¡¯t intend to miss that opportunity to reintegrate himself in society, even if the Bridge dominated his thoughts. Fighting a war on two fronts was exhausting, but necessary. He waved over his personal attendant, Sundar. ¡°Have you finished the deliveries?¡± ¡°As you instructed, your Excellency. To the letter.¡± Sundar inclined his head just the proper amount to show deference. ¡°Good, good. And Naira? Has she given any indication that she will be amenable to our generous offer?¡± Perfect teeth flashed in response. ¡°She will roll out the red carpet, your Excellency.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve done well! Take this token to the Laurentum Imperial Storehouses. They will open their bounty to you. Choose a reward, but choose wisely,¡± Freyman said, handing an engraved key to the servant. Sundar¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°You¡¯ve been fully restored, then?¡± ¡°Just so, just so! Good things come to those who wait, as they say. You¡¯ve stuck with me even when the prospects looked grim. Now I offer to you a small recompense. Fill my coffers, fill your pockets¡ªFreyman commands you!¡± Sundar bowed again, greed radiating off him like a fever. He rushed off before decorum dictated he should leave, but Freyman just chuckled at the hasty departure. The man had more than earned it for maintaining his loyalty, even while Freyman had rotted in the imperial prison; without his efforts on the outside, fewer would have flocked back to his banner. Plans were coming together nicely. Pension restored at last, Naira LaCasse as good as in his pocket, the Dell¡¯Atti heir almost removed from the picture¡ªand, if Lasgaard came through, a crushing blow to his rival Indara¡¯s designs for greater advancement. Now, to check on dinner . . . =+= A chittering shriek split Errol¡¯s ears as the little group reached the end of the quay. Up ahead, a shape loomed in the mist, slowly resolving into a recognizable silhouette as they drew nearer. Errol stared up at the massive, mangled corpse of a kraken. Humanoid creatures with too many limbs crawled on its surface, halfway through the butchering process. ¡°Siyokoy,¡± Maeda hissed, drawing her harpoon and running forward in a crouch. A large, scaled form rose up to her left, throwing a weighted net toward her. She met the spinning weave of hemp with an open palm, left arm extended, and spun to the side, letting the weights whip around her wrist like wheels around an axle before launching her harpoon in a counterattack. The Siyokoy turned to run, but her harpoon caught it in the side and punctured its scaled hide, burying deep just below its gills. Errol¡¯s dagger was in his hand before he realized he¡¯d drawn it. He sprinted past Maeda to the fallen Siyokoy, whose tentacled limbs still thrashed on the damp deck, and shoved both hands into the brute, unleashing his voltage stream. It convulsed once and grew stiff. Maeda joined him, running a finger over the clan markings. ¡°Not Siyokoy by these marks. Possibly Adaro. I¡¯ve never paid close attention; either one is bad news.¡± ¡°Do you think the rest of them noticed us?¡± Maeda pointed toward harvesting grounds in answer to his question. The Adaro¡ªErrol thought he recognized the clan mark, although he¡¯d never been this close to one of their scouts before¡ªhad rolled in a huge barrel, and were in the process of draining black oil from the beast, their backs turned toward his little group. ¡°Wait it out,¡± Errol ordered. He tore off a strip of cloth from the enemy¡¯s cloak, wrapping it around his hands, and pulled the Adaro backward with him as he retreated. ¡°We¡¯re not equipped to fight against those odds.¡±The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. Rhae wandered over, a ghastly pallor on her face. She reached a hand toward the body, but Maeda slapped her away. ¡°Don¡¯t touch the blood, little songbird, unless you want your skin to boil right off your bones.¡± The troubadour skipped back a step, clutching her hand close to her chest. Jarkoda breathed into his hands and unfolded a staff from his pack. ¡°I will not permit this to endure so close to our shores. That much blood and bile could consume half of Laurentum if they light that barrel in the city.¡± Errol clamped a hand on the halfdragon¡¯s arm. ¡°Stay on track. Navy patrols will stop their threat. And if not, the Sharks will. This is not our fight, not yet.¡± Jarkoda shook himself free. ¡°The Adaro are too dangerous¡ª¡± ¡°Exactly, we agree on that point,¡± Errol snapped. ¡°They¡¯re too dangerous. Besides, our task force has a different mission.¡± They glared at each for a moment. Jarkoda¡¯s eyes grew more luminous and a low growl started deep in his chest. His mouth hinged open, revealing double rows of razor-like teeth, and a glow of flame flickered in the back of his throat. Errol panicked, certain he was staring fiery death in the face. He slammed his hands into Jarkoda¡¯s chest and poured every last volt into him, hoping to subdue the warrior long enough to talk reason into him. Jarkoda rumbled in laughter. ¡°I am the descendant of a storm dragon. Lighting gives me energy, although you just tickle.¡± Taras shoved in between the boys. ¡°Back. Each of you. We wait and watch.¡± Errol stepped back, embarrassed at his own lack of strength. He¡¯d always been proud of his voltage stream, since he¡¯d learned it by himself; it may be weaker than the awesome power of a true Eel, but it had protected him against unwitting street thugs more than once. As far as he knew, he was the only Dogfish who had ever manifested the ability. It was the only reason he¡¯d even been promoted to Mako in the first place, although over the years he¡¯d progressed enough to earn the rank fairly. Still, the venerable cleric had backed him against the halfdragon. He¡¯d remember that. Jarkoda bowed, the fire in his eyes dimming to embers. ¡°I will obey.¡± For two hours, they watched the Adaro gut and render the fearsome monster into useful parts. Weak daylight filtered through the banks of dark clouds above them. Errol found himself urging them onward; he didn¡¯t want to waste daylight on the edge of the Bridge. The longer he watched, the more his mind wandered. To amuse himself, he counted the Adaro and started to assign nicknames and tasks. Chumbreath was almost done filling up his fifth bucket of oil when the group abruptly ceased activities. Instead of diving into the sea, as Errol expected from the seafolk, the Adaro fanned out in a loose formation. Dragging nets and tools behind them, they headed down the quay. Straight toward him. He scanned their numbers. Eight visible. Earlier, he had counted a dozen Adaro. How in the eight heavens had a third of them slipped off without him noticing? The implication hit him a moment later, and he scanned the area. His sensor field picked up four weak pulses in the water behind them. He whirled and drew his dagger. Maeda already sprinted toward the threat, a new dagger in her hand. She hadn¡¯t been able to recover the harpoon yet, still wedged into the bony structure of the first Adaro. ¡°Jarkoda, defend our flanks!¡± Errol roared. The halfdragon turned in obedience, his years of training kicking in before he even saw the threat. On either side of the quay, two large Adaro exploded up from the sea in a spray of foam and fury, flinging nets with heavy iron barbs. They rushed forward, tridents at the ready, stabbing toward him before Errol could even get up his guard. A dull pain at his knees knocked him over. A three-pronged blade, crackling with energy, split the air just above him. Gruvrik cackled in glee, sloughing Errol off him to join in the fight. He cast a wink at Errol as he ran past him to join Jarkoda. Unleashed rage tore from the halfdragon¡¯s mouth. He reached out with both hands and crushed an Adaro, massive jaws chomping down on the opponent¡¯s neck. Ripping with bloodied teeth, he tore out a hunk of flesh and flung the carcass into the second warrior. This Adaro dodged, sidestepping contemptuously, and spun out a second net before the halfdragon could recover. Fronds of seaweed sprouted from the net and ensnared Jarkoda. The deep green flora seemed to quaver in unseen currents in the air, but they held tight against their captive¡¯s thrashing. Errol staggered to his feet and rushed to defend their flank before they were caught in a pincer Immediately, the attackers on the other side peeled off, diving back into the water to sink beneath the waves. The main group charged then, rushing in with ululating war cries and hurled harpoons. Taras stepped in front of the other hunters, his eyes blazing with white light, shield lifted. Chanting in a low tone, he projected light from his shield into a barrier, knocking the harpoons to the ground. Errol dashed back over to Taras, ready to fight at the choke point. Behind him he heard a howl of anger with a note of terror mixed in, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Jarkoda in the net, twisting and biting to no avail. Maeda and Gruvrik struggled with the massive Adaro who had captured Jarkoda. Shouts tore from his throat, each accompanied by a sweep of his tentacles or a stab of his trident. They were driven back, despite their numbers advantage and the Adaro¡¯s divided attention. With one hand, he restrained his massive catch in the net, and with the other hand and tentacled limbs, he fought off the Hammerhead and shapeshifter. The main body of the Adaro slammed into the shield of light. Incoherent grunts rose from Taras. He snapped back with the force of the contact, barely able to keep his footing. Rhae slid into place next to Errol, clutching her flutes. She whimpered at the sight of the enemy crashing into the translucent barrier, but she still raised the instrument to her lips. The piercing notes seemed to stir Taras. The cleric dug in his feet and shoved the horde backward in a surge of power. Errol darted out from behind the edge of the shieldwall. His dagger flickered twice and he leaped back behind the protection Taras offered. An Adaro soldier gurgled blood, clutching at his chest. Black bile cycled out of his gills and he crashed into the sea. Rhae grinned at him around her flute. She didn''t miss a note. Another net hurtled toward them, on a collision course with Rhae''s back. Errol lunged past her and caught it before it could snag the little musician, but the weight toppled him sideways. He bounced off her leg and tumbled to the concrete, grappling with the net. He rolled into a crouch next to Rashana, panting with exertion. Rashana had been sitting on the ground the entire fight, unmoving. She glanced down at him, as if realising just now that they were in danger, then unfolded to her feet. After hesitating a brief moment to take in the fight, she blurred into action. The Adaro who had captured Jarkoda tensed just before impact, but Rashana hit him like a cannonball tearing through a rotting ship hull. He splattered in all directions, his top half liquifying. Without a sound, his body went still. He crashed backward into the water, one leg still standing straight up, shorn from his torso like a Titan had cut him in two with an enormous meat cleaver. Jarkoda slammed into the concrete, scrabbling for balance. His taloned feet gouged the concrete. The seaweed around the net withered and died, dropping away with a hiss. Shaking with rage, he bit and clawed at the net. This time, it tore like yarn. Unleashed from his prison, Jarkoda bellowed a wordless warcry and launched into the air on powerful haunches. Stunted black wings unfurled from his back¡ªtoo stubby for flight, but they still helped him stay aloft in a controlled glide. He soared over the barrier, plowing into the first row of Adaro. Eyes aflame, he tucked into a tight ball, pulling several Adaro to the ground with him. Flame erupted a moment later, gouting out from a volcanic epicenter. Jagged bolts of lightning stabbed out from the storm of fire. The burst of energy ripped through the remaining Adaro, scorching scales and skin off the Seafolk, a conflagration of agony that flared and then winked out, revealing the charred remains of his enemies. The few remaining Adaro fell on their knees and begged for mercy, singing gratitude as Errol yelled at them to be gone. Errol put a restraining hand on Jarkoda''s arm, but he needn''t have bothered. The halfdragon tottered and collapsed to one knee. Exhaustion kicked in. His eyelids fluttered; then he went limp, sliding the rest of the way to the ground in a heap. Chapter Eleven - New Friends, Old Enemies Grimhilt shifted through a pile of reports from his scouts, rubbing his forehead. His lamp guttered and went out¡ªhow long had he been up? A glance out the window led to a resigned sigh. Dawn would arrive in another hour, and he was scheduled to train a contingent of new recruits at the armory. He trimmed the wick, added more oil, and polished the buildup of soot off the inside of the glass. Another few reports, then he¡¯d fill his water clock up to the twenty-minute mark and get a few ragged moments of sleep. Errol¡¯s message weighed on his mind. Someone knew about Indara¡¯s plans¡ªknew the purpose of the mission, the members of the team, the route they¡¯d take. That worried him more than he¡¯d let on to Indara during his security briefing. He tapped his fingers on the desk, looking for a pattern that, so far, didn¡¯t exist. An old instructor had once told him to be wary of patterns he only found when he¡¯d looked long enough¡ªusually it was desperation playing tricks. Right about now, desperation looked mighty tempting. They needed answers, and if he had to crack a few of the wrong skulls before he got to the right answers, then he certainly didn¡¯t mind. Might do the body some good, in fact. He¡¯d called in every favor with Donalon to get access to his spy network. Apparently, the stunt he¡¯d pulled to give the inspector access to Indara¡¯s team hadn¡¯t been enough on its own to curry favor, but Grimhilt didn¡¯t care if he was on the losing end of the bargain; he just needed the information. He promised the man anything he wanted in exchange for help. He shoved aside the stack of papers. Nothing useful. Just a bunch of rumors: A sect who worshipped an ancient storm god had tried to derail the hunters; Tinashe operatives were undermining the government; Indara¡¯s old housekeeper stole state secrets because she talked in her sleep. Grimhilt snorted and tore up that report, shaking his head. Better for him not to risk her ire by implicating her nanny. Two more reports went into the discard pile before he found a credible lead. One of the city guards had worked for the warden at the Imperial jail for a few years before transferring out to patrol duty, and he thought he recognized one of the spearmen in the attack. They¡¯d need to confirm with the warden, but it sounded promising. The man was apparently a lowlife thug from Dockside who had also been employed by the warden a few years back as a prison guard. They had fired him when he was caught taking bribes from some of the prisoners. Grimhilt would have to visit the jail and ask which area the guard had patrolled. Most of the inmates didn¡¯t have the money¡ªor the reputation¡ªto pull off this kind of coordinated attack, and the ones who did were probably already rotting down at the bottom of the bay, courtesy of the execution squad. Grimhilt stood up and knuckled his back, then stretched his arms to either side, sighing at each crackle and pop. He was getting too old to sit still for so long. Retirement was still a few decades off, but the pressures of his station made him feel like a rag wrung dry. Maybe he''d take a leave of absence after this Bridge business wrapped up. Soon. A few more weeks and he could plug up any holes Donalon might find, declare success, and go back to the mundane tasks of keeping the peace. Grimhilt chuckled. Stabbing and petty theft was starting to sound pretty good right now compared with political wrangling and evil storms. And, while Indara was most concerned about the Bridge and the disturbing research they had uncovered about the Stormorb, Grimhilt would rather fight a battle than deal with politicians, even if the opponent was an ancient evil he had no hope of defeating¡ªwhich, coincidentally, was exactly how he described politics. His eyelids drooped, threatening to close for the day. He rubbed at his eyes. They felt gritty and swollen with the night''s work. His recruits would keep their mouths shut, but he could already imagine the jokes about red-eyed ol¡¯ Grimhilt, not to mention the wagers that would fly about which activities kept him so exhausted all the time. Maybe he should bribe someone on the inside to set the odds so that he could clean up the bets. New recruits invariably lacked the belief that he had once been in their boots; in their minds he was simply an institution of the Empire. An Imperial fixture. He pushed away from the workstation and reached for his oiled cloak. Rain wouldn¡¯t stop him from a quick walk to clear his mind. He felt like a street performer with too many clubs up in the air, and chances were good he¡¯d drop them all if he didn¡¯t take some time to organize his thoughts. He rubbed his head. I need to learn to come up with better metaphors. The heavy rain cleared out the usual street urchins. Usually they kept an eye out for any suspicious activity and reported to Cedric, a ¡°newspaper man,¡± or so he¡¯d heard from Inspector Donalon. Grimhilt hadn¡¯t read the paper, but he¡¯d heard that the newfangled thing was becoming quite popular among the nobility. That give him all the information he needed to know about the value of the newspaper business, but if Donalon found Cedric useful, then maybe he could, too. He trudged through puddles already ankle-deep, sloshing against the cobblestones. This storm was a bit of a letdown. Clouds had brooded all day and all night, but no thunder or winds accompanied the rain. Feels right, somehow. Matches my disappointment. Nights like these, he couldn¡¯t even take out his aggression on a rowdy group of drunks. He passed through empty vendor stalls in Selinsgrove Market, heading South from his quarters in Bellefontaine. He couldn¡¯t afford to stay in Breeland, closer to Indara, and when he¡¯d suggested finding housing in the City Center, she¡¯d laughed at him. No living space among the administrative buildings, apparently. The rain tapered off. A warm, gentle breeze swept through the streets. Wan light filtered through the mist of the early pre-dawn. He breathed in, suddenly invigorated. Picking up the pace, Grimhilt broke into a jog. Foul weather or not, he could get in some exercise. No sense going soft in his dotage. Buildings clustered together more closely after he exited Selinsgrove. He glanced around, taking in the tenement housing and corner shops. South Side of the city had earned the distinction of a reputable, cheap place to live and raise a family. Unlike the slums outside the city walls, or the twisted warrens of Hubbard, South Side carried a sense of weight: plain, sturdy, trustworthy. The enterprising heart of the new manufacturing jobs, he reckoned it was the perfect place for a man like Cedric. Grimhilt double-checked the address when he found the blocky, ramshackle building. Simple and unassuming though the massive house appeared, the imposing fence reinforced the secretive and often sensitive nature of the newspaper business. How did a former cobbler hoard up enough to buy an old mansion like this? A young boy in a flat cap intercepted him before he reached the front gate. ¡°Come round to the side, Cap. Cedric said to bring ya right in.¡± ¡°Eyes everywhere, eh?¡± The boy doffed his cap, revealing a mop of curly ringlets. He shot a gap-toothed grin up at Grimhilt. ¡°You know we do! That¡¯s why you¡¯re here. I¡¯m Aruna; I run this street.¡± Grimhilt slipped the boy a double-copper. ¡°Pays to take pride in your work, son.¡± Aruna winked at him and disappeared the coin. He ushered Grimhilt down an alley and stopped in front of a dark green gateway. Aruna glanced about the street quickly, then ushered him in, apparently satisfied that they weren¡¯t being watched. Once inside, a pair of older boys unlocked another door and waved the two past the little gatehouse. Grimhilt expected to cross the courtyard, but instead they veered left and trudged down a long stairway of undressed stone. After two or three flights underground, they emerged through an archway and into Cedric¡¯s true palace of information. A slim, dark-haired man a little younger than Grimhilt approached him and extended a hand in greeting. ¡°Captain! What an honor to make your acquaintance at last.¡± Grimhilt clasped his arm. ¡°I regret it¡¯s not under more pleasant circumstances.¡± ¡°Oh, no, on the contrary, I prefer work to personal visits,¡± Cedric said, laughing as he slid out of Grimhilt¡¯s grasp and instead shook his hand in the modern fashion. ¡°You¡¯ll find that I¡¯m a strange, somewhat singularly-minded man, when it comes to the news. Your visit is quite fortuitous; this saves me the trouble of arranging for an audience with you, which would no doubt incur a debt to Donalon if he set up a meeting.¡± They shared an amused glance at the Inspector¡¯s name, and Grimhilt allowed himself to relax a little. Perhaps he and Cedric were more alike than he¡¯d suspected. ¡°I appreciate your forthright approach,¡± Grimhilt said, ¡°so I¡¯ll return it in kind. I¡¯m sure you can guess that I¡¯m here to ask for a favor¡ªname your price, and we¡¯ll get to it.¡± Aruna tugged on his sleeve. ¡°I can bring you the latest rumors on the daily, if you¡¯ve got more double-coppers for me each day.¡± ¡°Two doubles every weekend,¡± Grimhilt countered with a stern frown. ¡°Deal!¡± Cedric shooed the boy away. He turned back to Grimhilt, shaking his head. ¡°You got the worst of that bargain, no mistake. I¡¯m far more disposed toward honesty, however. I¡¯ll settle for interviews¡ªyou don¡¯t even have to reveal your name yet!¡±If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°What kind of interviews?¡± ¡°Ah, an inside look at life in the guardhouse. Think of all the ways you can capture the imagination of our city¡¯s youth! We¡¯ll practically be printing recruiting papers. People love to read human interest pieces. It¡¯s all the rage these days¡ªthe news alone is boring, as much as it pains me to say so, given my position¡ª¡± Grimhilt grunted to cut Cedric off, but he didn¡¯t push the issue. ¡°You heard of the attacks down Dockside a few days back?¡± ¡°Doesn¡¯t the city guard have plenty of resources to find a few thugs?¡± Cedric asked, an eyebrow arched. ¡°I¡¯ve got my methods,¡± Grimhilt said agreeably. ¡°I¡¯m looking for motives and connections, however. Don¡¯t ask why, but the targets of the attack turns this into a matter of national security. I need to know behind-the-scenes details.¡± Cedric grabbed a fresh print of the news from a stack and waved it at Grimhilt. ¡°All the Information you need is right here. First copy is on the house. After that, you¡¯ve got to pay for it.¡± ¡°You¡¯re all alike,¡± Grimhilt grumbled. ¡°But it¡¯s hardly a surprise. I came prepared to pay a bribe. My stipend isn¡¯t as much as you might think, however.¡± Cedric chuckled and led him to a side office. ¡°I simply meant that you¡¯ll have to buy a newspaper, Captain. Of course, if you ever want to, ah, share anything exclusive, then I may be able to make arrangements to reciprocate.¡± ¡°You want me to divulge Imperial secrets?¡± Grimhilt growled. Cedric gave him a smile that was probably meant to be charming. ¡°What you share is up to you, although I won¡¯t turn down a good story. Have no fear, my good Captain; my business is just as reliant on discretion as yours. I print far less than I know, you can be sure of that, but I do believe in an informed populace.¡± Cedric must have seen the skepticism on Grimhilt¡¯s face. He laughed nervously. ¡°Before you go, could I interest you in a tour of the printing presses? Or how about a few stories from my Beggar Boys network? I¡¯ve got the finest eyes and ears in the city.¡± Cedric wilted a little when Grilmhilt just stared at him. ¡°Right! Well, good meeting you. I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll be in touch soon.¡± Grimhilt gave him a flat look for a moment, then turned to leave. ¡°I¡¯m sure.¡± Awkward silence settled between the two men. Grimhilt bid his farewells and made his way up to the courtyard. What a waste. I don¡¯t know what Donalon sees in that man. Footballs behind him made him pause at the gate, one hand on the latch. He glanced back, wondering who could make such a commotion. Aruna dashed up the stairs, his gap-toothed grin wider than ever. ¡°Might want to check the guest list at the Savona lately, Cedric says. That¡¯s a freebie!¡± =+= ¡°Ladder,¡± Gruvrik grunted, pointing ahead. Errol squinted, but he couldn¡¯t make out any features through the thick gloom. ¡°I¡¯m afraid that I don¡¯t quite have your eyes, dwarf.¡± ¡°Good thing, too, cause I¡¯d cut ya to get em back." Errol groaned at the dwarf¡¯s humor. He hitched his pack higher and picked up the pace. Maybe he could outrun the terrible jokes if he forced Gruvrik to move his legs faster. They had used up almost all their daylight nursing Jarkoda back to consciousness and patching up everyone else¡¯s minor wounds. Taras looked pale after pouring healing into the halfdragon, and Rhae seemed more muted, too; she had played a song while the cleric performed his ministrations, strengthening their potency. Now they all trudged inland, looking for a way up. Gruvrik sprinted far ahead, covering more ground than Errol would have believed if he hadn¡¯t seen it with his own eyes. The dwarf churned over the path of dirt and rock like a badger, stout and powerful. He all but disappeared a moment later, swallowed up in the thick fog. His voice boomed and echoed back to them from far ahead. ¡°Ladder is no good. Too far off the ground for us to reach, even if we all stand on each other¡¯s shoulders.¡± Taras leaned over to Errol. ¡°Ask the creature if she¡¯s memorized the Bridge blueprints. If I recall, there are maintenance doors and passageways that we might use. On our own, it may take days to find them, and I doubt we want to spend any nights out in the open here.¡± ¡°Why don¡¯t you ask her yourself?¡± Taras shuddered, and Errol didn''t blame him. They had all avoided looking at her after seeing the gore that coated the walkway like a new paint job. ¡°I agree that the soulbond seems to have been performed flawlessly," he allowed. "So far, she only shows helpful inclinations, but I¡¯ve spent a lifetime hunting and destroying many creatures like her. They are an abomination against the Light.¡± Errol¡¯s gaze flicked over his shoulder. Rashana and Rhae had moved forward to absorb Jarkoda and Maeda¡ªand was that Maeda laughing at Rashana¡¯s comments? ¡°I¡¯ve seen some terrible people in my short life,¡± Errol said, turning back to Taras. ¡°She doesn¡¯t seem anything like them, despite that display. I killed an Adaro, too.¡± Taras didn¡¯t stop to look back. His stony expression never changed. ¡°Our hunt is young, still. Keep your guard up.¡± Gruvrik came bounding back then, nearly knocking Errol over in his haste to rejoin them. ¡°Got more company up ahead,¡± he announced. ¡°I won¡¯t be much use until I¡¯ve had a chance to recover my strength, so you get a chance to return the favor.¡± Errol called for the stragglers to join them. ¡°What are we dealing with, Gruvrik?¡± The dwarf didn¡¯t seem to hear him. He had his head tilted back, mouth open, one finger fishing through his teeth. Grunting, he pulled out a fishbone. ¡°Snapped this up on my way out of the water. Nice snack.¡± Rhae stepped past him, peering into the roiling clouds, which twisted and twined like an injured beast straining against a trap. ¡°I hear singing.¡± From out of the mist they came forth, three diminutive pale faces emerging from the thick darkness, a song on their lips. When they saw the hunters, they froze in place, then scrambled backward. Despite the fear etched on their faces, they spun around and sprinted away in precise, practiced unison. In a blink, it appeared that they had been assimilated by the storm. Taras snorted. ¡°That¡¯s your company, dwarf? They¡¯re children!¡± ¡°To be fair,¡± Gruvrik said, pausing to belch, ¡°they all looked pretty big to me.¡± Jarkoda twitched, fists opening and closing. He seemed to lose his patience with the old hunters. ¡°I don¡¯t care about their size or threat level. What are children doing on the Bridge? We had to move heaven and earth just to get stranded on the edge of its shores, and here they are, strolling about and singing like it¡¯s a picnic in the park.¡± ¡°I think they live here,¡± Maeda said. ¡°You could be right," Errol said, "as strange as that would be. But why do you think they live here, if the Adaro use the Bridge as hunting grounds?¡± He wondered which details he had missed. Maeda nodded, accepting his unspoken request to instruct him. He had a long way to go to reach Eel, after all. ¡°All three wore long slats of wood on their backs, like a mat rolled up into a cylinder, but none of them had weapons. They didn¡¯t appear to carry any food, since the sacks they had tied to their sides look too small to contain anything other than a few tools¡ªprobably something to start a fire¡ªor perhaps a spool of fishing wire.¡± ¡°Good eye,¡± Errol said. He meant it, but Maeda gave him a flat look that killed any further compliments. ¡°If they live here, which sounds likely, then the safe assumption is that they¡¯re not alone. Chances are, they¡¯ve already alerted the rest of their group. We should probably prepare for the possibility that the rest of them will have weapons.¡± Taras loosened the straps of his shield, shifting it from his back to forearm. He tightened up the straps again, ready to fight. ¡°Agreed. Anyone, or anything, that survives out here knows a thing or two about winning a scrap.¡± ¡°We should seek cover,¡± Rashana said. ¡°Grimhilt provided us with blueprints, but I¡¯ve had some trouble finding the right details. Anyone else had success?¡± Blank stares met her question. Errol nudged Taras, who muttered an excuse that he had not yet had a chance to review the schematics. Rashana led them around the back of the first tower, passing far below the broken ladder that Gruvrik had mentioned. ¡°Look for an iron-bound door. I¡¯ll bet that it¡¯s rusted after decades of disuse, but it should be on this support pillar, perhaps fifty paces down.¡± After nearly an hour stumbling back and forth across the shale and dirt to no avail, Rhae found the top of the door. Rocks and debris nearly covered the entire opening. Errol figured that a rock slide or earthquake had torn up the stone and obscured the entryway. Or perhaps the ill effects of the Bridge itself had churned the ground into chaos. Errol tried not to dwell on that possibility while he dug. He made slow progress, unused to digging with the small shovel in his thieves¡¯ kit. Jarkoda and Gruvrik soon shoved him out of the way, and they managed to unearth the door in minutes. ¡°Told ya! Call me, uhh, Badger rank,¡± Gruvrik grated through a mouthful of grit and sand as he flopped down on the ground with a grin. ¡°Your digging is most impressive,¡± Errol said, staring at a rock still stuck in the teeth of the smiling dwarf. He joined Jarkoda in the semicircle pit they¡¯d dug, tugging on the door. Although he was strong for his age, he soon realized that he added next to nothing to the halfdragon¡¯s efforts. Still the door didn¡¯t budge. ¡°Hammerhead, please help open the door.¡± Maeda gave him a lazy smirk as they swapped places. Errol hated reminding everyone that he was still only a Mako, but he knew that if he didn¡¯t use the honorific of Maeda¡¯s rank, she would bristle at the idea of helping him with such a menial task. Even with their combined efforts the door barely budged until Rashana slid gracefully in place next to Jarkoda and bent the metal in two like parchment. Errol felt Taras seek him out with his eyes, accusation and implications burning. Undealt with, Rashana was a threat. Sweat beaded on Errol¡¯s forehead; even if he wanted to remove the threat, he didn¡¯t have the strength. He ducked inside the door to get away from the cleric¡¯s fierce gaze, but that only put him in lock step with Rashana, who had entered first. ¡°Ready for a climb?¡± she asked, cheerfully offering a smile. Was that a . . . dimple . . . in her metal cheek? ¡°Lead on,¡± Errol said, motioning her forward, but he dragged his feet and let her outpace him into the repair tunnel and up a spiral staircase that seemed to stretch upward into infinity. If she could hear as well as she could tear things apart, his efforts might not matter, he realized. Nonetheless, he gestured for the other five to gather next to him. Keeping his voice low, he asked what Taras considered the best course of action for the situation. ¡°Does she pose too much threat? I mean to get you all out alive.¡± Jarkoda drew himself to full height, towering over the rest of them. ¡°The mission comes first. We must recover the orb and return it to Indara to break the curse. What are seven lives in the balance against an entire city? As for me, I owe her a blood debt.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been entrusted with those lives,¡± Errol said, tone low and controlled. He clenched his hands into fists and threaded his voltage stream from one to the other, the energy crackling to underscore his words. ¡°Storms take Laurentum for all I care. My duty is to my squad.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve got a mighty fine liking for staying alive,¡± Gruvrik said. ¡°If we¡¯re taking votes, I¡¯m team shark, not team dragon.¡± Rhae started humming, her eyes closed. Silvery-blue motes floated in the air like colorful raindrops that didn¡¯t fall to the ground. Errol felt the familiar knot in his shoulders loosen and slip away. Everyone¡¯s faces relaxed. Even Maeda looked calm for once. Friendly. Errol shot a look of gratitude toward Rhae. "It''s a long climb to the Bridge. Let''s get moving. Together." Chapter Twelve - The Climb Night had fallen outside. Inside the tower, however, Errol couldn''t tell what time it was or how long they had climbed. The sun might rise and set again before they reached the top. For all he knew, there was no top. They were cursed to spiral through the blackness forever and ever¡ª "The way''s blocked," Maeda called from up above, a huskiness born of exasperation creeping in to her voice. Even she seemed weary after the long climb, although he didn''t dare mention it. Despite all of Rhae''s ballads to soothe the ragged edges of their nerves, Maeda had glowered at them when Gruvrik had cracked a joke that a single fish-man was stronger than a dragon, a dwarf, and a ¡°wee little lass.¡± Errol stopped climbing the stairs, hands on his knees to catch his breath. Everyone else joined Maeda to shoot down each other''s suggestions for getting past the blockage. He took a moment to reflect on the gap between their strengths. He¡¯d never make Bull at this rate. Yet for all her incredible sensor field control and physical prowess, Maeda''s combat skills with the electric field were only mediocre. Fine, still well above average, he corrected himself in a rush of annoyed honesty. Likely, he had a chance at catching up or possibly even out-ranking her in the future. He sighed. It all depended on whether he could gain mastery over the arcane voltage steam the Eels hurled into their enemies to shock them into submission. His failed attempt against Jarkoda had stung his pride. He was weak; and worse, he still required physical contact just to loose a small trickle of the lightning. He was a long way from transforming his voltage steam into a lance. Above him, the arguing grew more intense. Dreading the encounter with Maeda, he dragged himself up the next flight of stairs, indulging in one last fantasy. Eels functioned as the strike force of the Shark Clan, while Rays were the hunters and listeners, so they didn¡¯t exactly share a command structure. If he joined the elite assassins, he wouldn¡¯t have direct authority over Maeda, but she would be forced to show him respect nonetheless. Maybe she would even be his friend one day. Her withering glare when he joined the group killed the dream instantly. He buried his misplaced hope. "Our fearless leader! All our problems are solved." Errol shrugged, ignoring Maeda¡¯s barb¡ªhe was used to them. He surveyed the pile of rubble and twisted girders. Upward was no longer an option. He clasped his hands behind his back and studied the pillar as though he has some deep insight into the solution, but he was really just buying time. If he faltered now, he''d never regain their trust, or respect. How many times have I had that exact thought? I walk the razor¡¯s edge. Maeda rolled her eyes. "Well? We''re waiting." He turned toward her, solemn and measured on the outside, but inwardly he felt like he was drowning. A faint wind ruffled his scarf and he seized the sudden inspiration, glancing over at the wall to try to find the crack. ¡°Feel that wind? When the storm surge damaged the pillar, it broke through the wall around the stairway, creating this pile of debris blocking our way. If the storm can get in, then we can get out. Figure out where the break is. Let''s clear out a way to the wall, then we can climb the steel support beams as far as we need to go." Taras slung his shield over his back and strode toward the wall, nodding. "Only here, by the maintenance stairs, is the supporting wall thin enough to crumble. We couldn''t cut our way though otherwise. Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise. Good plan." Maeda scoffed. "A blessing would be walking the rest of the way to the top, undisturbed. Stop feeding the Mako''s ego." ¡°Stop undermining his command,¡± Taras countered. ¡°He brought you here without Indara knowing, and you¡¯re still here only because she permitted your intrusion. Do not think we share your childish prejudice simply because of his rank.¡± Gruvrik belched in the corner. ¡°I do, actually. The kid¡¯s a bit of a runt.¡± A smile twitched at the corner of the cleric¡¯s mouth. ¡°Fine words from a dwarf.¡± Errol strode over to the wall where he felt a hint of wind rustle his cloak, and reached his hands into a crack in the stone. He tugged, pulling off a fist-sized rock, and tossed it down the center of the stairwell. It fell far enough that he couldn¡¯t hear the impact when it hit the floor, but he tried not to dwell on how high up they were. The rest of the rough stone proved harder to tear off. He dug in his dagger, struggling to find purchase. Grunting with the effort, he dislodged more chunks, none larger than a finger. Without a word, Rashana joined him. Her metal fingers melded into a hook on one side, and a hammer on the other. She alternated between heavy blows and sharp rakes, tearing apart more of the wall with each pass. Jarkoda limped over, not meeting Errol¡¯s eyes, but he threw himself into the task, sharing Rashana¡¯s space on the wall. He took his blood debt seriously, growling as he strained to rip off sections of concrete as large as the ones Rashana demolished. The rest of the team moved in to support the effort, digging and slashing with the force of a shared purpose. Only Maeda hung back. Errol felt a spike of pity for her, but he suppressed the instinct. She would come around if she felt like it, and only then; if he tried to force the issue she would only respond with contempt. Her pride was on the line, after all. Cracks spread through the wall suddenly, branching out in a spider web pattern. ¡°Back!¡± Errol shouted, pulling Rhae and Gruvrik with him as he jumped away from the wall. Rashana smashed her hands together, welding them into a massive sledgehammer. She swung both arms in a huge overhand blow, pounding the wall in the center of the fissures. Stone exploded out like she¡¯d dropped a match into concussive powder. Slabs of steel-reinforced wall slid off, an avalanche of falling concrete and twisted metal. Dust rushed through the gaping hole, choking Errol and stinging his eyes. He staggered, scrubbing at his eyes with his scarf. The cloud of pulverized rock drifted in chalky patterns around him, slowly settling to the floor. Outside, black clouds swirled in the gulf where Rashana had destroyed what was left of the damaged wall. He could faintly make out the stars overhead. Deep night, but perhaps closer to morning than midnight.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Rhae walked over and stuck her head outside, whistling a lively tune that quickened the blood. Errol didn¡¯t recognize the song, but he felt invigorated despite the late hour. She turned from side to side, scanning the outer wall. ¡°Well, the good news is that we can get outside!¡± Maeda snorted in derision. ¡°The bad news,¡± Rhae continued, unperturbed, ¡°is that there¡¯s nothing to hang on to that I can see. Climbing doesn¡¯t seem to be an option for at least a couple dozen yards straight up. Then we can dance along a steel girder that¡¯s big enough to hold all seven of us side by side, although it may be a tight fit since Gruvrik is so fat.¡± Gruvrik chortled, slapping her on the shoulder, a grin showing through his beard. It was a friendly blow, but Rhae still staggered sideways, almost falling out of the hole in the wall. Taras steadied her and shook his head at the dwarf. Errol heaved his pack to the floor, fishing inside for his thieves¡¯ kit. He withdrew a length of coiled rope and a small, claw-shaped grappling hook. Three throws later, he realized that he¡¯d never be able to fling the hook far enough to loop all the way around the girder, which loomed in the darkness above him, at least twice as thick as his hovel in Laurentum. ¡°Jarkoda, I need the strength of dragons.¡± The young monk flinched, then drew himself up, dragging his gaze to meet Errol by force of will. ¡°As you command.¡± An uneasy peace passed between them, but the halfdragon took the hook in his hands, hefting it to get a sense for the weight. He stepped into the breach and hurled the hook and rope into the heavens. It raced upward, arcing over the girder with twenty feet to spare, and wrapped around the beam, colliding with the metal with a satisfying thunk. The grappling hook didn¡¯t bite. It hung like a child¡¯s fish hook on a slender string, dwarfed by the sheer scale of the Bridge. Instead of looping all the way back around the rope and tangling in place, the hook barely reached past the opposite edge of the massive girder, swaying in the star-studded sky. ¡°I can be of use here,¡± Rashana said. She pushed her hands together again, dissolving the hammer in seconds. Next her fingers elongated, split, sharpened; they articulated with too many joints and a multitude of digits, clacking and dancing in front of her. She reached for the edge of the wall and jammed the razor points into the stone, splaying her hands. Deep cracks formed under each point of insertion, but she hauled herself outside, clinging like a spider to the smooth surface of the pillar. The hunters leaned their heads out of the hole to watch her rapid ascent. Errol threw up his hands. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you just do that earlier?¡± Rashana didn¡¯t answer. Her right hand slipped, gouging the wall. She jammed it back in the concrete and scrambled another few yards, but her movements grew labored, jerky. Her fingers started to slide again, leaving score marks like a panther sharpening her claws on a tree. With a last twitch, she shoved both fists deep into the wall, burying them to the elbows, and then her metal body clattered against the wall, as lifeless as a pile of scrap. ¡°Now we know her limits,¡± Taras muttered next to him. He sounded oddly encouraged. ¡°Pull the hook back down,¡± Errol commanded. ¡°We¡¯ll hook into her, instead.¡± Jarkoda¡¯s eyes narrowed to slits at the suggestion, but he jerked on the line, reeling the clawed roped back to their perch on the stairs. He snorted a puff of smoke in Errol¡¯s direction to signal disapproval, then flung the grappling hook up toward Rashana. It wrapped up around her shoulders three times, the claws catching fast in the loop of the wire-reinforced rope. Errol grasped the rope with both hands and began climbing. He wasn¡¯t the strongest or the lightest, but he was in charge. Sometimes that meant taking matters into his own hands. In any case, he couldn¡¯t ask anyone else to take the risk. Rashana¡¯s carapace had come to a stop roughly three yards short of the steel girder, wedged into the fractured crater she¡¯d created with the last of her energy. His arms burned with the effort. If he had been fresher, the climb would have been a simple thing, like ascending rigging in a ship, but he¡¯d been through two battles, a murderous storm, and an endless set of stairs today already, all without sleep. Trembling, he pulled himself up a few inches at a time, stopping when he couldn¡¯t hold any longer to wrap his feet around the rope and hold himself in place with an ankle lock. Once he caught his breath, he continued his ascent, hand over hand. When he returned to Laurtum, he vowed, he¡¯d spend more time in the training room. The rope climb would become his best friend. By the time he grasped Rashana¡¯s arms and flopped over her shoulder, resting on top of her metal shell, he was having serious second thoughts about his plan. Initially, he figured that it would be easy to perch on top of Rashana, leap upward to plant a foot on the wall, and redirect off the kick to gain extra height and grab the girder. He¡¯d learned the technique from acrobats on the streets in his youth, and used it many times escaping from the guards back when he made a living by theft. But now, over half a mile up in the sky, clinging to the side of a Bridge pillar, he made the mistake of looking down. A fist of ice clenched deep inside his gut. His breathing spiraled out of control, rising in a rapid cycle until he slapped himself in the cheek and forced himself to breathe in a deep, even pattern. The panic subsided slowly. When his limbs stopped trembling, his thoughts ran through new possibilities, considering and rejecting each idea. At last the obvious hit him. He groaned in embarrassment, glad that Jarkoda couldn¡¯t witness his distress from so far below and make any disparaging comments about the weakness of humans. Errol grasped the grappling hook and tried to wriggle it free from its hold. The claws had sunk in deep, and they refused to budge when he pulled. He worked it back and forth like a saw instead, trying to feed slack into the knot by pulling up the rest of the rope and unwinding the loops around Rashana. The grip loosened and broke free. Gratitude flooded him. He coiled up the rope again, holding the working end, and threw the hook over the girder, which now stood roughly ten feet above his head. The grappling hook flew well beyond the massive beam, catching the starlight as it fell. Rope spooled from his hand until it reached the end, but he restrained it with a sharp tug. He tied off the rope, looping it twice underneath Rashana¡¯s shoulders with a whisper of apology. Far down below, he could see the hook had passed close to the hole where his hunters waited for him. They couldn¡¯t quite reach, but maybe they could find a way to snag it with another hook on a rope. Maybe Gruvrik could shift into a bird and fly over to pull it back in his beak. Maybe Maeda could draw it in with her nets . . . Instead, he saw Rhae pull out her harp and pluck a note. The strings glowed with golden light so sharp that he could see it from his perch. She tapped an arpeggio and twisted the top of the instrument. All but one single string fell away. The neck hinged open, transforming the harp into a bow. Rhae drew back the golden string and released. Errol didn¡¯t see her noch an arrow, but the golden light shot forward with a clear note like a chime, enfolding itself around the rope, where it twined into a gold ring. Rhae twisted the wood again, and it reverted to a harp with the original nine strings. Her fingers flew across the harp in an intricate pattern that rose and twisted until it sounded a crescendo. The gold ring around the rope reeled in towards the hole in the wall. Rhae grasped it in her hand, passed it to Taras, and promptly collapsed. After a moment, Gruvrik¡¯s voice boomed up to Errol, announcing that they¡¯d secured the other end of the rope. He shimmed up the remaining few yards, pulled himself over the edge of the girder, and stretched out on the steel beam to rest. The remaining hunters joined him soon, each one groaning and stretching out as soon as they saw they had space to spare. Jarkoda crested the top, Rhae strapped to his back, and he bowed to Errol. ¡°You are proving your worth. I apologize for my insubordination.¡± Errol inclined his head in recognition. ¡°As punishment, I order you to sleep for the rest of the night, such as we have left.¡± The halfdragon snorted. Even Maeda managed a grin. The rest were too weary to care. They set up camp, lashed themselves in to the rope to ensure they didn¡¯t roll off the edge in the night, and embraced the welcome oblivion of sleep. Chapter Thirteen - Discord Morning manifested as a smudge of dirty light above Errol. Light was perhaps too strong a word, but the oppression of the Bridge seemed more manageable. Errol stretched the kinks out from his limbs and yawned. According to the old map Grimhilt had given them, he estimated at least another two days of walking to reach the command tower in the center of the Bridge, where they were fairly certain the darkstorm surrounding the Stormorb had taken up residence, but that was an optimistic timeline didn¡¯t take any further obstacles into account. Who knows what they might encounter out here. He needed to replenish their food and water supplies soon, too. ¡°Any chance we can catch some birds? I¡¯ve seen a few nests, but they¡¯re the wary sort, as you might expect from creatures in this forsaken place.¡± ¡°Might be good target practice,¡± Maeda grunted, turning a throwing knife over in her hand as she glared at Errol. ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll get started while you finish your beauty rest.¡± Errol scrubbed the sleep from his eyes and surveyed their camp. Everyone else was up and packed, ready for the day¡¯s expedition. A specter of guilt crept into his soul. He opened his mouth to apologize for not leading by example. Instead, the words that came tumbling out were: ¡°Where¡¯s Rashana?¡± Rhae¡¯s mouth twisted. ¡°She still hasn¡¯t moved.¡± Gruvrik harrumphed. ¡°Nothing but a fancy climbing piton now, lad. Time to strike camp.¡± Jarkoda blurred, moving like quicksilver to loom over the dwarf, who looked up and then spit over the side of the girder, followed by a noisy yawn. ¡° ¡°She served her purpose, and she served well,¡± Taras cut in. ¡°That¡¯s the sweetest thing I¡¯ve ever heard you say,¡± Gruvrik said, brushing past Jarkoda. ¡°Must have liked her more than you let on.¡± ¡°We can¡¯t just abandon her!¡± Rhae cried. ¡°She was my friend.¡± ¡°I no longer sense the soulbond,¡± Taras said. Though he spoke quietly, he words reverberated through the group. Stunned silence for a moment, and then a dozen opinions rose up, contradiction chasing on the heels of proposals, often from the same mouth. Errol held up his hands for silence. ¡°The Stormorb grows in power. We cannot afford to wait for her. Taras, can you leave a trail of our essence?¡± Taras frowned, but nodded. ¡°Be warned: anyone can track us if they know what to look for, if I do this thing.¡± The thought gave Errol pause. They had already encountered two groups, one of which was still unaccounted for, and he hadn¡¯t truly expected to find any presence other than the orb. His carefully hoarded information about the Bridge seemed so insignificant now. He shook his head as he realized how disproportionately proud he had been of his meager knowledge. Just enough to be dangerous, as Cedric had often chided him. ¡°Do it. The risk is worth it if Rashana recovers strength and follows. She is the strongest among us, but we can¡¯t hold up here indefinitely.¡± Maeda returned then, a brace of sea birds slung over her shoulder. She searched their faces and jumped to an accurate conclusion. For once, she gave Errol a look of approval. That made him second-guess the wisdom of his actions, but he started marching forward, as though he could leave the accusations and guilt behind.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. He ran his voltage steam into one of the birds, roasting it from the inside out, and passed it with down the line after tearing off a drumstick and thigh. Rhae slid into place beside him and squeezed his arm, offering a tentative smile. ¡°We¡¯re still a team. Don¡¯t worry.¡± ¡°You¡¯re the most optimistic Qeren I¡¯ve ever met.¡± Rhae¡¯s face clouded over. ¡°Humans always seem to distrust us. Yet I¡¯ve never met any Q who acts like the stereotypes.¡± Errol picked up the pace and didn¡¯t answer, chewing on a mouthful of bird meat so he could avoid the topic. He hadn¡¯t actually met any Qeren at all, before Rhae and Indara, but if he admitted that now, he¡¯d just look ignorant and rude. ¡°Long way to go. Bridge is already crying beneath us; we need to be careful now.¡± Rhae brightened. ¡°You can hear her?¡± ¡°Not most of the time,¡± Errol admitted. ¡°I¡¯m still a novice with my sensor field. Teachers say it may take another few years until I gain sensitivity. Maeda could probably hear more, but she¡¯s not attuned to the Bridge like I am. My unique gift is the only reason Indara even noticed me, truth be told.¡± That, and I¡¯m expendable, he added silently. ¡°Why are you attuned?¡± Errol swallowed. ¡°I¡¯d rather not talk about it while we¡¯re here. Let¡¯s just survive first, and I¡¯ll tell you the entire story.¡± The Qeren seemed satisfied with his answer, so he trudged onward and upward, moving along the slope in long, easy strides. Soon they would reach another pillar, where presumably a staircase or ladder could take them topside, if his memory of the map served. A cold wind whipped up, blowing the clouds away momentarily. As the last mottled gray wisp of cloud dissipated in front of him, Errol stared in shock at the remains of the support pillar. The entire top section was missing, along with a chunk of the bridge. The crater looked massive enough to swallow up an entire district of Laurentum. Errol knew his sense of scale was wrong, but he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that something cataclysmic was at work here. The enormous beam they stood on ended at the pillar, still attached in enough places to stay in the air, but the end of it fragmented into hundreds of channels and fissures. ¡°I hate jumping,¡± Gruvrik muttered behind him. Maeda laughed, low and malicious. ¡°We¡¯ll throw you across, Badger.¡± Ragged laughter rumbled out of him. ¡°Just wait until I recover long enough to transform again. I¡¯ll fly off and leave ya behind, ya dumb shark!¡± The banter continued, but Errol shut it out and marched. They belonged to a world that he couldn¡¯t enter yet, not at his lowly rank. Fueled by frustration, he arrived at the first crack and leaped across, then bounded over a series of wires and cables as thick as his waist. Not looking back to see if they followed, he continued to swing and jump, pushing himself into a run until his breath ran out. His blood felt like acid, corroding his veins, but as soon as his breathing slowed enough so that he could lift his head, Errol pushed on. They all made fun of how weak he was, so they¡¯d only be able to blame themselves if they fell behind. A tangle of cables rose before him, hanging down from the torn edge of the Bridge itself. He growled at the challenge, rummaging in his pack until he found a harness and some spikes. They wouldn¡¯t have helped with the rope, but for this oversized bird¡¯s nest, they¡¯d do. He started climbing. Halfway up, the swirling winds almost tore him from the cabling. If he hadn¡¯t driven in an entire foot of spike a moment beforehand . . . he shivered, letting the image evaporate. Lose his focus, and he¡¯d die. Wind roared and howled by his head. The cold grew worse as the unnatural storm intensified. His hands shook and his grip grew icy. By the time he could see a doorway up above, he couldn¡¯t even feel his hands at all. Finally he chanced a look down to see how the rest of the team fared¡ªmost likely they¡¯d remembered to bring cloaks and gloves, or had powers to climb up like squirrels. No one was there. Errol scanned the area again. Nothing. His stomach turned, but he shoved down an urge to retch. Maybe Gruvrik had transformed into a giant Roc and carried them up to the top already. Maybe they were smart and had found a cave to shelter in to wait out the storm. Or maybe he¡¯d failed and left them to die. Chapter Fourteen - Tea & Gruel Lasgaard led twenty of Freyman''s crack troops out a side gate North of Laurentum under cover of night. He held up a faint glow stone and consulted the map again, adjusting their course for a hilltop half a league from the city. He could barely make out a path through the copse of trees, his steps obscured in the shadows, but the moonlit skies were clear enough to guide his way if he followed the stars. Freyman hadn''t given him a name for their contact, but he figured not many mages were wandering around on the top of that particular hill after midnight. They broke out of the trees and entered a broad, foul-smelling marshland. Soft, sucking squelches sounded at every step. Despite their strict moratorium on making sound, one of the soldiers cursed, fumbling around for a lost boot. Lasgaard couldn¡¯t blame him. He pinched his nose with his thumb and finger, fighting off the rising wave of frustration. How had he ended up here? He was supposed to be a favored son of the empire, attending soirees and dances with a beautiful heiress on each arm. Instead he was trudging through muck up to his knees in the middle of the night, all in service to a disgraced has-been. Soft hoots and whistles made his hair stand on end. He knew they were just bird calls, but he still jumped at every sound. The fabled treasures of the Dell''Atti family seemed far away, an absurd dream for a man mired in this mess. The promised promotion had better be worth it once Freyman seized power. At any rate, Naira LaCosse had all but guaranteed them the key to the Dell''Atti vaults. The elder Dell''Atti was enraptured with her voice and dancing. Even if Freyman''s master plan fell through, gold would flow to his friends once more. And Lasgaard had ensured that he counted among Freyman¡¯s friends. ¡°Form up. We¡¯re getting close,¡± he commanded. The troops pulled themselves from the swampy lowlands. They¡¯d show up stinking like wild dogs, but the mage would just have to deal with the insult. The hard part was still to come. At the end of the path, a row of pine trees ringed the top of the hill like a crown, planted in exact uniformity. The stench of magic leaked from the place. Lasgaard felt his fingers twitch in temptation to ward himself from evil, but he didn¡¯t want to risk further offense in case the mage was watching. It was always safest to assume mages were watching. Lasgaard shivered when they passed through the ring. The hilltop invigorated his senses while dulling his mind; he found himself struggling to form coherent thought, like he was trudging through a river of molasses, but he could hear the rustling fabric from each soldier¡¯s uniform and see every blade of grass individually, standing out sharp and clear in the moonlight. A presence manifested behind him. He turned and bowed, knowing at once it was their mage. Without the boost to his perception, he would never have felt the mage. Fear threatened to claw its way to the surface at the thought, but since he was still alive, Lasgaard reasoned, he was safe for now. ¡°Your master presumes much.¡± The mage¡¯s hard voice shattered his illusion of security. Lasgaard stepped back in alarm, trying to calculate if he had enough fighters to handle the old mage if his displeasure boiled over into violence, but his thoughts slipped away like trying to grasp the wind. Curse the dark arts.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. His irritation spoke before his mind could catch up. ¡°Can¡¯t do it, eh?¡± A wave of pressure hit him, knocking him to his knees. ¡°Can you fulfill your end of the deal, or do I need to find a different two-bit con artist?¡± Lasgaard taunted. The mage stepped forward, raising his arms. Lasgaard flinched, preparing to die, but the man reached into the sky next to him, his arm disappearing for a heartbeat. A ripping, grinding sound, like bones pulled apart, forced Lasgaard¡¯s hands over his ears. A tear opened in space. The mage motioned toward the dark rift, and Lasgaard¡¯s troops filed in one by one. He staggered to his feet to follow, but the mage clenched a fist, closing the gaping hole, cutting off Lasgaard from his soldiers. ¡°Not you. If you want to reach the Bridge, you¡¯ll need to swim.¡± Lasgaard cast him a crooked grin. ¡°Who would want to visit the Bridge? I¡¯m going home to put on a kettle of tea.¡± =+= Rhae shivered just remembering the force of the icy gusts that had battered them. The wind tore across the Bridge¡¯s underbelly before they¡¯d had a chance to prepare. One moment she¡¯d been laughing and talking with Errol, clambering across massive cables and girders, and the next she was running for her life, buffeted by cold, spiteful winds as rain pelted like needles, stinging her cheeks and covering her horns with a sheet of ice. She swore the air was malicious; it wouldn¡¯t make sense anywhere else, but here on the Bridge, everything took on a tint of evil. A group of strangers had swooped down from nowhere to drag them to safety. Rhae had been so excited to meet them! But then they reached a maze-like series of maintenance tunnels and the humans had slapped a pair of chains on her wrists and left her lying in a room so small that she could barely stretch out from one end to the other. Rhae squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that welled up. She shifted to her other side, trying to stretch her cramped muscles. Why were people so mean? She flopped around, trying to shift her vantage point to take in the rest of the tiny room, a space not much larger than a broom closet. The quick survey confirmed her deepest fears. All of her instruments were missing. At least they¡¯d lit a little lamp, hanging from the ceiling. She didn¡¯t want to be alone in the dark. Humming a comfortsong to keep from crying, Rhae pushed against the rough, pitted wall with her feet, leveraging herself up to a sitting position. She looked around the room again, this time checking for anything she could use to free herself. They¡¯d left only a small bowl with thin gruel, however, and it smelled like seaweed. Who were these strange people, anyway? No one else was supposed to live on the Bridge. Imagine the stories she could tell about running into an entire village of children and warriors. The shuffle of feet outside her door sent a spike of fear down her spine. ¡°Food,¡± a muffled voice called. The faded door creaked open, metal hinges protesting in a cacophony of disuse. A young, smiling girl with brown curls carried a new bowl inside. ¡°Heard you might be hungry. Do you like fish?¡± Rhae nodded. She started to respond, but her throat tightened up when she considered who the girl represented. Rhae was still a prisoner. And as nice as the little girl might seem, she was still Rhae¡¯s captor. The girl wrinkled her nose. ¡°Your horns are funny!¡± ¡°That¡¯s not polite,¡± Rhae said, breaking her silence. ¡°Haven¡¯t you ever met a Qeren?¡± ¡°Is that a type of Shrike?¡± Rhae shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know what a Shrike is, so no. At least, I don¡¯t think so.¡± The little girl tilted her head to the side, studying Rhae. ¡°You don¡¯t look like a Shrike.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t think I did!¡± ¡°Lucky we found you, then. I¡¯m Loma. Who are you?¡± ¡°My name is Rhae.¡± Loma put the bowl down in front of Rhae with a bob of her head. Dimples formed on her cheeks when she smiled again. ¡°I¡¯ll come back tonight with another bowl.¡± Rhae started to smile back, but her eyes blurred and slumped against the wall. The fetid air and cramped confines sparked a storm of panic. She didn¡¯t belong here. She didn¡¯t . . . Chapter Fifteen - Mother Bridge, Daughter Spirit Usually the Bridge sounded like a favorite grandmother at twilight, whispering softly to lull him to sleep¡ªthe faint echo of a songbird on the edge of his hearing. Pleasing susurrations that Errol could ignore, like a babbling brook next door. Here, on the doorstep of her domain, the Bridge thundered like a waterfall. Return to me, child. Errol huddled as close to the cabling as he could, his pack spread over his shoulders like a blanket. He had passed from uncontrollable shivers to a quiet numbness that seemed almost pleasant by comparison. Sleep hovered on the fringes of his consciousness, inviting him to give in and rest. Deep inside, a voice warned him that surrender meant death, but it was so tempting to sleep . . . Gritting his teeth, Errol forced his eyes open. He hung suspended by his harness, hands free to rummage through his pack. After what felt like an eternity, he found what he was looking for: a loop of thin wire with wooden handles, the last resort of a thief who must kill rather than be killed. He pulled the garrote from the pack, fingers clumsy with the cold, and wrapped the wire between two of the cables. Satisfied the wire was touching either end of the two cables, he poured forth his voltage stream in a weak but steady trickle. The wire glowed with light, then faltered. He summoned all his reserves and increased the flow. Heat radiated out from the wire in a thin wave, then faded away again as he lost focus. Errol started to shake, but not from the cold. Anger flooded his veins. Fueling the stream with his fury, Errol ran more current into the wire, pushing as hard as he could. Teeth clenched, back arched, he strained to burn through the filament in front of him to produce more heat. Even his toes curled with the exertion, and the light blazed, blinding him. He squeezed his eyes shut and kept feeding the flame, soaking in the heat from the makeshift lamp he¡¯d created. Lances of pain hit his fingertips like needles. A thousand pinpricks of fire pierced through the chill as he started to thaw. Groaning, he focused on the pain, drawing more strength into his current, but the agony inside was even worse than the tingling in his hands. His breathing degenerated into ragged gasps for air. Each icy inhale felt like a knife in his lungs. He wanted to stop. Everything in him screamed to give up, to just end the pain and curse the day of his birth and die already. A tremor in the Bridge broke his concentration. He lapsed for a moment, shaking. The light dimmed, but didn¡¯t die. His spirit still fed the stream, willing heat and life into his body. Again he felt a pulse of energy deep in the Bridge, like the entire structure was struggling against itself. All at once it grew still, at peace again, and a surge of warmth washed over him in a wave of power, dispelling the winds and rain. Even the clouds evaporated fully around him. Up above, he could see the stars, glimmering in the black velvet of the sky. Don¡¯t be afraid, child. I¡¯m watching over you. I will lend you my strength while I can. Power rushed over Errol as the words resonated in his soul. The voltage stream flared in response, blazing like the sun. He turned his face from the overwhelming light and heat. Sparks danced along the wire until it burst in a tiny blossom of fire. Errol started climbing again, almost running up the cable. He felt reinvigorated¡ªremade. New strength flowed through him, wild and urgent, vast as the sea. He hauled himself to the top of the tangled web of cables and slammed open the metal door, shattering its seal of rust. Inside, he began to run. The Stormorb was still two days¡¯ journey deeper into the Bridge, at least, and he¡¯d already lost too much time. His team would catch up. They were stronger and better-prepared. He¡¯d only slowed them down. Guilt nagged at his conscience, but he repeated his new mantra. He would only slow the others down. He hadn¡¯t seen them before the icy storm hit the Bridge. Stopping to look for them now would waste time and energy. Besides, they were experienced and resourceful. Surely they had found a way. And if not, his orders from Indara were clear. He could still finish the mission. In fact, he might even find it easier all alone. The Bridge would help him. She hadn¡¯t spoken to him when the others were nearby, particularly the cleric. He could sense her fear of him. Even though he could be a weapon against the parasite that burned in her, he was still a danger to her kind. Free me from this disease, child. I will care for you¡ªI have always cared for you, even if you couldn¡¯t hear me. Your father ran from here, unable to bear the burden, but I know that you have my strength. Come, free your mother.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. =+= Rashana¡¯s eyes flickered open. Her forehead rested against a stone wall. She leaned back and shrieked when she realized that her hands were inside the wall, buried up to her elbows, and then she screamed again when she looked down and saw nothing but boiling cloud banks far below. The last thing she remembered was climbing up the wall. A pulse of memory flowed through her: a massive, scaled palm held out, a blade in the other hand. A flash of steel, a line of fire across the hand, a clenched fist; blood squeezed out of the hand, dripping over talons to drop off what looked like the edge of the world . . . She blinked rapidly, looking down again in panic. What had happened? How had she ended up stuck in the wall? Calculations whirred in her mind, but she shut down the possibilities, trying to focus on the most recent memory. She glanced up, looking for the source of the blood. Above her, a shimmering trail of light led off into the horizon, following the colossal steel girder a few feet from her head. She clawed her way up the wall and vaulted over to the beam to examine it more closely. The pure white color and the residual power immediately reminded her of Taras. She processed that information for a moment. He¡¯d wanted her to follow. Memory fragments glowed on the beam by her feet, tracing out a constellation of lights. Rashana gathered up the remnants of the night¡¯s events, inhaling them before they faded away forever, feeding on the faint soul energy. She always felt more alive, less like a machine, after harvesting the bright globes of other people''s experiences. Less like Indara. A dark red orb that reminded her of Jarkoda filled in the rest of the details regarding the blood. He¡¯d lingered at the camp site after the others had left, reciting an oath to pay his blood debt. He¡¯d cut open his hand, blood trickling down onto her head, a deep rumble of resignation as the drops landed on her metal shell. The vision shifted and blurred. He walked away, leaving behind the impression of what he¡¯d done. Rashana reached up to touch the top of her head, running her fingers over the crusted flakes where Jarkoda¡¯s blood had landed. If not for his last gesture, she might have remained on the side of the wall for eternity, until the stones themselves dissolved into dust. She¡¯d heard of soulbound who fed on blood, draining the living memories from victims, but it reminded her of spooky stories about vampires. Indara told her that they had fascinated her when she was a child. She had never drained a living person before, and even the thought made her queasy, although the energy would probably sustain her for weeks. Indara might do that, but Rashana wouldn''t. She''d rather power down for good than betray her friends. Better to wait for the globes to ripen and fall naturally, then harvest them like fruit ready to be boiled down into preserves. Her teammates had left the fruit of the previous day¡¯s activities all over the ground, and she needed the energy to survive. She hesitated only a moment before feasting, a question of permission working through her thoughts. This new group of people were her friends, after all. She didn''t want to intrude, but the fragments were fading fast. Rashana jogged along, following the trail of light Taras had painted for her, savoring the memory scene where Taras and Errol talked about needing her help. They''d wanted to wait for her, despite the mission¡¯s urgency. Even Taras liked her, and he seemed to hate everyone else. Maybe they could even be friends someday. Whirring sounds expressed her pleasure at the thought; she didn''t need to mimic human laughter for the sake of the team when they weren¡¯t around her, and the spinning gears seemed more real to her than vocalizations. It was one of her few concessions to her machine side that didn¡¯t make her feel guilty. Being fully human was overrated. Sated on memories, she ran after the trail marker, inhaling its light essence as it led her deeper into the Bridge, flaring like a beacon to guide her way back to her friends. Twenty minutes later, the trail exploded in a cacophony of colors, all entwined with the diseased grayish streaks she now associated with the Bridge. The Stormorb infected the place like a parasite, she was sure of it. They''d be rid of it soon. Maybe she could visit again after they cleaned up¡ªthis place suited her with its immense scale. The trail blinked out, but Rashana found the wake Taras had left. Its turbulence almost pulled her under, but she mastered herself, retreating into her shell. Other trails crisscrossed the main path numerous times, already so faint that she couldn''t follow them for longer than a few minutes. It looked like a natural convergence of unrelated events, but Rashana knew better. Someone, or some thing, had dragged them all in different directions, splitting the team apart. She was already attuned enough to her friends to see their tails more strongly than the ones left by strangers, but they faded fast. Errol''s seemed the oldest, and his passed up ahead, then straight up into the sky. Had he split off to find help? In the air above her, a few silvery raindrops floated. She didn''t recognize them as natural memory fragments, but all the same she jumped up and breathed in their essence. Rhae''s song left its own fragments. Her presence strengthened in her mind, pulsing with a spike of fear and anticipation. Rhae¡¯s vision flashed in her mind: winged creatures from up above, swooping down through the storm to scoop up the hunters and draw them away from the fight, weapons at the ready. The team had no time to argue before a second group joined the skirmish. The first team beckoned and pulled them. Their guidance wasn''t optional, but it didn¡¯t seem malicious . . . The memory broke. Rashana slumped back. Interference kept her from focusing on any one trail. Rhae seemed brightest in her head, but she couldn''t quite catch the location. Even the ribbon of light Taras had left behind sputtered out, although he still pulled her like a lodestone. Three sets of trails, all of them rapidly fading as she stood there, frozen in indecision. She¡¯d have to make her best guess and choose between the team members. Rashana felt a stab of fear. What if she chose the wrong pathway? What if she turned off again before she could find them? What if¡ª Steeling herself against the prospect of failure, she made her choice. Chapter Sixteen - Prisoners ¡°Wake up, grandpa.¡± Taras groaned. His eyes fluttered open. Three pale faces floated into view, smudged in ash and ringed by dark, short-cropped hair. The one in the middle wore Taras¡¯s shield on his back, but it was so big that it covered him like a turtle¡¯s shell. He spoke again, his voice accented like he was in an old-timers street performance. Rough bristles chafed against his wrists and ankles when Taras tried to stand. Ropes. He was a prisoner. ¡°Thank you for shelter from the storm,¡± Taras offered. ¡°Are you the holy man for your sect?¡± Taras stared down the boy, who couldn¡¯t have been more than thirteen or fourteen. His words were understandable, but the diction was strange; the speech pattern sounded a little like Taras¡¯s great-great grandfather. He frowned at the boys and spoke haltingly. ¡°Are you the leader of your . . . sect?¡± The other boys snickered, elbowing their friend in the ribs, but they fell silent when a big man stepped into the room. Taras catalogued his prison. Little more than a closet, the room only contained a blanket and a coil of rope. His staff was nowhere in sight. He couldn¡¯t hear the wind or see any dark clouds, so they must be deep within the Bridge¡¯s superstructure. The big man shooed the three boys out with a look of annoyance and pride that marked him definitively as their father. Brothers, then, not just friends, though close in age. The older captor knelt down in front of Taras and spoke in the same antiquated accent, but his voice was harsher, more guttural. ¡°What are you doing in our territory?¡± ¡°Looking for a way up after we landed on the shore. It¡¯s a tough climb.¡± ¡°You claim to come from over the water?¡± Taras nodded. ¡°Laurentum.¡± The man drew in a sharp breath. ¡°The elders used to speak of this mythical land. But I¡¯ve never seen Laurentum, even in my pilgrimage to the Edge of the World.¡± ¡°You can¡¯t see it through the storm, but we¡¯re only about a league from the city¡¯s harbor.¡± ¡°A league? We would hear you. I am not sure I believe a word you say, even if you have strange garments and weapons.¡± ¡°My name is Taras. I¡¯m a cleric of the light, and I¡¯ve sailed here to end the storms.¡± ¡°I am Aravind, the keeper of the Western Cr¨¨che.¡± Taras tried to place the word. At his blank look, Aravind drew his eyebrows together and leaned closer. ¡°You have no cr¨¨che?¡± ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t even know what a cr¨¨che is,¡± Taras said. Aravind gestured around them. ¡°This is where all the children on my side of the world are raised. We train them and provide shelter. My wife and I are the parents of this cr¨¨che.¡± That explained the pride. Maybe the three boys were just friends after all, but treated like surrogate children. Taras nodded at Aravind¡¯s explanation. ¡°I was trained in a temple with other acolytes. It¡¯s not so different from a cr¨¨che. But it¡¯s a long way from here, or from Laurentum for that matter, far across the sea.¡± ¡°The others that were with you, are they also from this temple?¡± Aravind asked. Taras shook his head. ¡°We met up in Laurentum for this journey. We didn¡¯t know anyone even lived on the Bridge, until we saw your boys down dockside.¡± Aravind struck him casually, with his open palm, spinning Taras into the wall. ¡°Ah, now I know all you have said is nothing but lies. No one is allowed on the ground by the water!¡± ¡°Ask them yourself,¡± Taras said, forcing himself to regain clarity of thought. His entire head rang with the impact like he¡¯d been turned into the clapper for a giant bell. ¡°We were still approaching the first support pillar when the three boys strolled out of the mist, singing together and laughing. I¡¯ve never seen such terror when they saw us! Took off running like they thought we would eat them.¡± Aravind pressed himself backward against the wall. He drew a short cudgel from his belt. ¡°I¡¯ll die before I let you eat my children.¡± Taras could sense unbridled fear flowing from Aravind in powerful waves. It didn¡¯t feel at all like the same parochial superstition at work. ¡°I¡¯m just a man. What have you seen down there that terrifies you?¡± ¡°Monsters patrol the waters beyond the world.¡± ¡°The seafolk? We had to fight through some Adaro on our way in, but you look like you¡¯d be able to handle them.¡± Aravind shook his head. ¡°The ones who look like fish men? They bleed, as you say. The spirits of the deep . . . I¡¯ve only had the misfortune of seeing one, when I was still a child, back in the Eastern Cr¨¨che. We lost our cr¨¨che parents that day, along with half my brothers and sisters¡ªand it would have been worse, but many of us were out on a hunting trip with an elder, and so were spared from the slaughter.¡±If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. He broke off, eyes glazed over as he looked back through his history of fears. ¡°The elder told of a time when his great grandfather¡¯s great grandfather lived free of the storms. He claimed that if we destroyed the storm spirit, then we could be restored to paradise.¡± Taras held out his fettered hands. ¡°That¡¯s why we¡¯re here. Cut us loose. We will continue our hunt.¡± Aravind laughed. ¡°When the storm came, you thought you would survive without shelter? You were wrong. And now you think you can kill the storm spirit? You were too weak to fight the children of the Western Cr¨¨che. How will you fare when you meet the might of storms?¡± =+= Rhae winced. She had come to a few moments earlier, lashed hand and feet in the courtyard of an old building that looked like it had once been an inn centuries ago. The inn squatted near a broken up road wider than any she¡¯d seen in Laurentum or Fair Haven. Children ran around in the courtyard, kicking a ball stitched together from old skins, and a small group of youth cooked a bird on a spit over a campfire. She didn¡¯t wince from pain or fear of imprisonment, however: her captors were using her bagpipes as bellows for the fire. At least she was outside again. Loma must have told the others how poorly Rhae felt in the cramped closet where she¡¯d been at first. ¡°That looks tasty!¡± Rhae called over to them. She tried to wave when they turned to look, but her hand didn¡¯t move. Oh. Right. She was still tied up. ¡°Please don¡¯t burn the bag. That was a gift from my aunt when I graduated from the junior college to the senior college at Fair Haven bard university.¡± ¡°Quiet, devil child,¡± one of the bigger girls called back. Rhae burst out laughing. ¡°You can come up with a better taunt than that! Come on, let¡¯s hear some more creative options.¡± They shifted to turn their backs to her, still stoking the flames with her stolen pipes. Even Loma flashed an apologetic smile, then hunkered down and wouldn¡¯t meet her eyes. Rhae tucked her legs up between her arms. She had just enough wiggle room to hug her knees, despite the ropes on her wrist. An old, familiar hurt tightened her stomach, and her cheek twitched just under her left eye. She ducked her head so they couldn¡¯t see her anymore, resting her face on her knee, and squeezed her eyes shut against the tears. The insults didn¡¯t bother her¡ªtoo much¡ªbut the rejection stung just as much as always. Why should it be any different, here on the Bridge? People didn¡¯t like Qeren, and expecting her captors to want to play with her didn¡¯t make sense. Still, she¡¯d thought they would be nicer. Loma had given her false hope with her smiles and kind words. ¡°Sit up, child.¡± Rhae lifted her head an inch, peering out from beneath her hair to study the speaker. A middle-aged lady, tall even for a human woman, stood next to her, holding her bow harp. ¡°Will you play for me, if I untie the rope?¡± Rhae nodded in a burst of nervousness. She hoped the woman liked her song! Holding out her wrists, Rhae stared at the rippling fabric of the woman¡¯s gray and black dress, wrapped in elegant folds around her body. It shimmered like moonlight on pearls. When the lady bent down close to untie the ropes, it paled into a shapeless bonewhite, then transformed into an inky blot that blurred in her sight, obscuring her captor. Rhae smiled up at her. ¡°I love that pattern. I wish I had a dress just like it!¡± ¡°A dress just like this would be too big for you, little horned one.¡± Rhae felt her face crinkle even more. ¡°I might still grow! My grandma didn¡¯t hit full height until she was nearly sixty. Don¡¯t count me out so easily.¡± ¡°Thenxi,¡± the lady said, untying Rhae¡¯s feet, too, and bowing. Rhae wobbled to her feet and returned the bow. ¡°Then she what?¡± Thenxi furrowed her brow. ¡°In the Western Cr¨¨che, it is not polite to ask a family name if you are not from here.¡± ¡°Oh!¡± Rhae squeaked. ¡°That¡¯s your given name. I thought you wanted me to tell you more of grandma¡¯s story.¡± Thenxi handed over the bow harp. ¡°Perhaps you play better than you socialize.¡± Rhae ran a hand over the carved wood, inspecting it for scrapes or cracks. It was still in perfect shape, so she flashed her biggest grin at Thenxi. Even her horns lit up with pleasure. A string twanged flat when she experimented with a chord, so she hummed and tuned everything at once. ¡°The magic binding must be weakened, here on the Bridge, or else it would never lose its tune. Easy enough to fix!¡± A lilting folk song popped into Rhae¡¯s mind, so she gave in to instinct and let fingers fly. The song¡¯s bridge had a tricky bit, but no one seemed to notice when she dropped a few notes. Rhae giggled and looped back to the beginning, playing faster. A crowd gathered to watch. Even the campfire brigade put down her bagpipe¡ªthough a little too close to the fire for Rhae¡¯s comfort¡ªand started to tap their feet in time. The more people who showed up to listen, the better Rhae played. This time, she hit the notes perfectly in the bridge, even at her new, faster tempo. Her fingers felt transformed, liquid silver flowing over strings of gold, like a spell had settled over her and guided each movement. With a final, triumphant laugh, she spun in a circle and palm-muted the strings just as the song reached its crescendo. The silence hung in the air, expectant faces all staring at her, waiting for more magic. Rhae flopped down, panting. ¡°Whew! Forgot that part.¡± Thenxi shook her head, eyes wide. She turned to the assembly, a necklace clutched in trembling hands. ¡°My pendant knit itself back together while our guest played. It¡¯s been broken for over forty years. My Cr¨¨che parents handed it down to me when I took over the Western Cr¨¨che from them. What witchery is this?¡± Rhae tilted her head, tugging on her horn. ¡°That¡¯s a good thing, right?¡± It¡¯s not supposed to be broken for some ritual or something? Because I¡¯d feel terrible if I disrupted forty years of history with my mending song. I just wanted to improve people¡¯s spirits!¡± Thenxi drew Rhae close, one hand on the Qeren¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Hear me, children of the Western Cr¨¨che! As foretold, the key is complete once more. The time has come to fight against the shadow. Our deliverer has come.¡± Rhae drew in a deep breath to keep from fainting. ¡°Are you talking about . . . me?¡± Chapter Seventeen - The Huntress & The Fairy Rashana crouched on the top of a metal railing, overlooking the proceedings below. A group of twenty-five or thirty men stood in a knot around three prisoners, who huddled together against a pole. They were chained to the pole with heavy iron links¡ªRashana recognized them as an old design that had died out since the prisoner transports ended. These iron chains had been used for fastening the hawsers to the anchors. If they could hold a ship in place against the pounding surf, then her friends had no chance at escaping alone. Perhaps these people were descendants of the penal colony residents. No one thought it was possible to live longterm on the Bridge, but apparently the men and women had survived and had offspring. Luckily for the adventurers, Rashana had tracked them here. The halfdragon fascinated her. He was a magnificent fighter, despite that nasty trick with the enchanted net that had caught him unawares against the Adaro. Combined, perhaps Jarkoda, the Hammerhead, and the dwarf could keep her focused and powered up. She could cut through any obstacles between them and the Stormorb command tower. Her initial instinct had been to follow Rhae. She liked Rhae the best. But that didn''t seem like the wisest course of action, to follow someone just because it was the easy choice. Besides, Taras was a famous destroyer of evil. He and Rhae made a formidable pair. Errol was all alone, though, and she''d started to follow him, but almost immediately she''d changed her mind. He was the captain. Indara believed in him. He''d be fine. Now, as she heard the ugly threats of violence against the captives, she knew she had made the right choice. Jarkoda had paid his debt, but she felt a bond with him now. Cutting through thirty armed opponents didn¡¯t seem feasible, however. She was feeling weak already after pushing to catch up with the three captives. The bandits must be nomadic, or at least away from their outpost, because she couldn¡¯t sense any concentration of memory. The fragments needed time to settle into place¡ªtime she might not have. The scrabble of displaced pebbles behind her set her senses on edge. Rashana whirled, melding the metal fingers of her right hand into a blade just in time to catch the curved edge of a battleaxe. She deflected the attack, swinging in an arc left-to-right. The man leaped back and reset his stance, but she tightened the circle of her swing and lunged forward with an overhead slash, cleaving the axehead off the shaft. His eyes grew wide. Rashana drove the blade straight through his mouth before he could shout out a warning. Blood gurgled in the back of his throat.He clawed at the short sword in desperation, fingers tearing on the razor edge. Rashana bit down on his jugular, siphoning off his spirit through the flow of blood. Power rushed through her, although he died before she could drain him completely. The Bridge reoriented itself in her mind as his memories rushed into her. Slowly, her mental map gained greater detail and clarity. The scale of the place surprised her. She looked down at the dessicated husk at her feet. Only seconds after death, the man¡¯s skin already looked liked old shoe leather. Death turned his face into a hideous mask, thin lips drawn into a snarl that Rashana couldn¡¯t bear to look at without the temptation to shiver. This must be the feeling humans have when they say that their skin is crawling. The power was seductive, even in a limited form. She¡¯d spilled too much of his life-force before she drained him to reap the full effects, but even so she felt stronger than she had when the team had left Laurentum a few days ago¡ªand that would have been enough for her mission if she hadn¡¯t used up so much in the fight and the climb earlier. She¡¯d been instructed to skim a little bit from the team every night. Indara¡¯s calculations suggested that Rashana could last eight or nine days away from her mother spirit as long as she consumed memory fragments to revitalize herself each morning before they struck camp. Drawing in a living soul¡¯s raw energy might sustain her for a week at normal activity, or perhaps three days of hard fighting and exertion. This man¡¯s energy felt more volatile than Indara¡¯s, a jumble of information lacking context. Her spirit lusted for more. Prowling along the rooftop¡¯s edge, she looked down again, wondering how many of the humans she¡¯d be able to drain before they ran in fear. Thirty had seemed like too many before; now, it seemed like too few to sate the hunger. They are an abomination against the Light. Taras¡¯s voice filtered through her memories. He didn¡¯t think she¡¯d been able to hear him from that distance, but every word had pierced her spirit like a spear thrust. He was talking about soulbound. He was talking about her. Rashana sank down to the roof. Maybe he was right. A cry cut through her self-pity. She bolted upright. That sounded like Maeda, or at least the way she imagined the woman might sound if Maeda even let herself feel pain. What were they doing to her down there? Rashana crept to the edge and looked over, afraid of what she might see. Instead of the images of torture that flashed through her mind, however, she simply saw a withered old woman with her hand held toward Maeda¡¯s head. She amplified her vision, sharpening the scene as far as her spirit would allow. A tremor resonated through her. The woman was drawing memory from Maeda¡ªnot in fragments, but in an ever-growing stream that would soon swell to a torrent. Rashana tore a chunk of crumbling stone from the rooftop of the ancient building and hurled it down at the crone. It shattered the woman¡¯s elbow, cutting off the spirit drain. Maeda slumped back in a heap against the post, her face a waxy, pale yellow.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. Four spears punched holes in the air where Rashana had been a split second earlier. In the space of a blink, she¡¯d catapulted herself across an old sidestreet, crashing through the roof of a lower building. Inside, she reforged her right arm into a broad shield, and her left hand into a long, spiked whip. She positioned herself against an inner wall, facing the door, and gathered her focus, her new great shield held high. Let them come. She was prepared for the onslaught of the Bridge warriors¡¯ might. Outside she heard the stamping of feet and the low, terse voice of people accustomed to danger. A familiar anticipation buzzed through her. She cracked the whip, flicking the tendon-like metal in a pattern, her arm snaking in deadly flourishes. Then the sounds faded, as though the feet were . . . running away. Rashana ghosted forward, slipped her head out the door, and glanced around. The area was empty. Chains hung from the post, unoccupied. They were gone. She¡¯d have to track them a little farther, try a more proactive plan to rescue them. As she picked her way across the yard, still on high alert for an ambush, she realized the old woman had swept the entire place clean. Not a single memory fragment floated in the air or lingered on the ground. Worse, she¡¯d somehow masked their essence trails. Rashana would have to track them the old fashioned way. =+= ¡°Repeat it back to me, child,¡± Thenxi said to Rhae. ¡°Again? Once I¡¯ve put it in song, I don¡¯t forget things. I promise!¡± Thenxi rubbed her chin with the back of her hand. ¡°Get it wrong, and you die. Are you so willing to risk your life that you won¡¯t practice?¡± Rhae shivered. ¡°I¡¯d rather stay away from all the storm spirits, just to be safe.¡± ¡°I should accompany her,¡± Taras said, starting down a line of argument that he had lost at least three times already that day. ¡°My entire life has been spent fighting evil. She could ask for no better guardian against the storm.¡± Thenxi shook her head. ¡°She is not interested in petty fights. Rhae will cleanse the world from darkness.¡± ¡°There¡¯s a lot more to the world than your little Bridge,¡± Taras snapped, not bothering to keep the contempt out of his voice. Aravind rose from a crouch. ¡°Let me tie him back up, Thenxi. He¡¯s acting like the storm is infecting his head with all his moaning and thunderclouds.¡± The two men had been sour toward each other all day. It had started when the break in the clouds disappeared and the hail storms rushed back over the Bridge. Aravind had escorted the entire creche down below the Bridge, through a network of narrow tunnels and broken paths to the metal and concrete system by the support pillars. He¡¯d given them a crash course in how to use the rolled-up mats they all carried, which were made from some fibrous material that they harvested from seaweed. They¡¯d spent the morning climbing, balancing, swinging, perching; Rhae had hummed a song to drive away fear, but it hadn¡¯t worked. Even now, swaying a mile above the earth on two mats lashed together, Rhae¡¯s heart hadn¡¯t stopped fluttering. ¡°We have several days still to go before we can be sure it¡¯s safe to venture into Shrike¡¯s territory,¡± Thenxi said, ignoring her husband¡¯s threat toward Taras. ¡°The Shrike usually patrols in a circuit, but it¡¯s never a good idea to assume you know his comings and goings.¡± Aravind crossed his arms. ¡°Which is we should initiate Rhae elsewhere. What good is a key if she¡¯s captured¡ªor worse?¡± Taras matched Aravind¡¯s pose, sweeping his gaze back and forth between Aravind and Thenxi. ¡°For once, we agree. It¡¯s too dangerous to risk Rhae¡¯s life.¡± ¡°She needs training,¡± Thenxi said carefully. ¡°Perhaps she can receive instruction here in the meantime and reach a stronger understanding of the inner storm before she wrestles with the great storm.¡± ¡°So it shall be,¡± Aravind said, nodding. ¡°You show wisdom in restraint.¡± Thenxi smiled at him fondly. ¡°Thank you, my lodestone. You always point me true.¡± Rhae let out a long breath. ¡°Whew! I¡¯m glad we could all agree.¡± She bowed to Thenxi. ¡°I¡¯ll be a model student, I promise!¡± Five hours later, Rhae slumped back down to the tiny floor of the hanging shelter. ¡°Could we maybe start with a more . . . basic . . . course of instruction?¡± Thenxi groaned and stretched out on the floor next to Rhae, a heavy sigh escaping her otherwise-controlled demeanor. ¡°This is the first lesson that our children learn. You have a lot of catching up to do.¡± ¡°Maybe Taras should take the key. He¡¯s very good at blasting things with light! Or Errol, if we can find him. He¡¯s so smart and talented¡ªand cute.¡± ¡°Who is Errol?¡± Rhae rolled over to look at her new teacher, careful not to stab her with a spiraling horn. It was a tight fit in the little bivouac. ¡°I hope he¡¯s okay out there. I¡¯m surprised you didn¡¯t you see him in the storm when you found us. He was up ahead, bravely scouting the way, but we all got disconnected somehow and now he¡¯s lost.¡± Thenxi nodded gravely. ¡°A scout¡¯s life is always dangerous. We honor their sacrifices.¡± Rhae shrieked. ¡°You think he¡¯s dead?¡± ¡°Who can say, child. The storm hunts us all.¡± ¡°But Indara hand-picked him to be our leader! He¡¯s supposed to know the most about the Bridge of anyone in Laurentum, even though he¡¯s only a Mako.¡± ¡°What¡¯s a Mako? And who¡¯s Indara?¡± ¡°Now you know how I feel,¡± Rhae giggled. ¡°Everything we say sounds so different to one another. I can¡¯t believe we¡¯ve grown up so close together. If you think about it, we might as well be in completely different worlds.¡± Thenxi sat up, regarding Rhae with eyes that turned from a clear brown to solid black as she probed Rhae¡¯s spirit. ¡°So young, yet so wise. I see that I have taken the wrong approach to your training. As you say, you might as well be from a different world. I cannot expect you¡¯ll take the same path as our children. There is another way, if commanding a storm spirit is beyond you right now.¡± Rhae bounced to her feet, swaying on the unsteady surface of the tent floor. ¡°I knew you would come up with something! You¡¯re the most interesting person I¡¯ve ever met. I hope I¡¯m just like you when I¡¯m old.¡± Aravind snickered. ¡°She is quite old.¡± Thenxi laughed alongside her husband. ¡°We¡¯re both old. That¡¯s why the children have to listen to us.¡± ¡°You think she should speak to the Mother.¡± Aravind spoke quietly, a question lingering in the words. ¡°You disagree?¡± ¡°No, but I fear for the outcome if she should fail. It is the only way forward; I must put the fear from my mind.¡± ¡°We¡¯re of one spirit, then. I will take her Below. Pray we return with our souls intact.¡± Rhae scratched her horn. ¡°Do we have to go right away? I wouldn¡¯t mind lunch!¡± ¡°Tomorrow, child,¡± Thenxi said, coughing and covering her mouth. ¡°We have much to do before we go, and you still need your wings.¡± ¡°Wings?¡± Rhae echoed. She clapped in excitement. ¡°I¡¯m going to become a fairy!¡± Chapter Eighteen - Albatross Rhae tried very, very hard not to make a face when Thenxi showed her the wings. Instead of the glorious gold and pearl wings she¡¯d imagined, these were dingy little bits of cloth coated with an abhorrent smelling resin for waterproofing. They fit the colors of the Bridge¡ªmottled in gray and black with pale green splotches¡ªbut Rhae had already pictured herself dispersing the clouds of the storm and flying back to Laurentum like a being from the heavens. She¡¯d even composed an orchestral score to accompany her return. ¡°Forgive, Thenxi, but how am I supposed to fly with those? I¡¯m not very big, but they still seem a little bit on the small side.¡± ¡°Fly? Who said anything about flying?¡± ¡°Oh. But you . . . you said we needed wings . . .¡± Thenxi chuckled at Rhae, patting her horns affectionately. ¡°Wipe off that crestfallen look. I will show you how to glide from ridge to ridge, clinging to the projections under the world. With a tent, you can bring your own little house with you.¡± ¡°That sounds complicated! Are you sure that I can learn?¡± Thenxi drew a skull from an inside pocket of her robe. ¡°This is from an albatross. They¡¯re the best fliers in the world. I was saving it for one of the children, but Meri is already a good flier, and he can always find a new amulet. For you, this will stabilize you in the winds. Perhaps it will be enough so that you don¡¯t die.¡± ¡°Perhaps?¡± Rhae whimpered. ¡°Nothing in life is a given, child. That¡¯s what makes it so exciting.¡± Rhae hung the skull around her neck like a pendant. ¡°When I get back home, I think I will take a break from excitement for a long, long time.¡± She brightened. ¡°Do you think I could keep this, though? Maybe I¡¯ll write a song about flying that will help me continue to practice on the cliff by the Fair Haven school!¡± Shouts from outside interrupted before Thenxi could answer. They ducked outside of the hanging tent to see what was causing the commotion. Thenxi balanced on a narrow wire, barely even using her hands as she maneuvered toward a section of intact roadway nearly twenty feet long and fifteen feet wide. Rhae followed gingerly, clinging to the hand rope for support. She tried not to think about launching herself into the air without anything for safety. An idea hit her a moment later, and she let go of the guide rope. Taking deep, careful breaths, Rhae clutched the albatross skull in her hands. Just as Thenxi promised, the air around her seemed more solid, pressing against her in rising currents that kept her in place. Rhae whistled and skipped the rest of the way to the stable platform. Taras gave her a nod of approval, his arms crossed as he watched the proceedings. The three boys they¡¯d seen at the foot of the pillar when they¡¯d first landed on the Bridge stood next to Aravind, huddled close together as though they were lending courage to each other. Children ran in circles around them, whooping and cheering. Meri, the middle boy, still had the shield he¡¯d taken from Taras. Rhae scratched her horn. Why had Taras allowed him to keep the shield? Didn¡¯t the cleric need it to channel his power? ¡°Our visitors tell me that you were the first to greet them when they arrived on our shores a few days ago,¡± Aravind boomed. ¡°We¡¯re gathered here to thank Meri and the twins for their excellent reception of our guests!¡± Meri¡¯s already pale face drained of color. He looked like one of the spectres of death that were popular in the theater shows around Fair Haven. The twins edged away from him, since he had been singled out by name. Wind picked up. Sweeping through the tangle of cracked drainage pipes, torn up shards of paving, and twisted metal beams bent by forces beyond human comprehension, the wind bit into Rhae¡¯s soul, carrying the stench of rot. The wind made her shiver, like an icy finger against her spine. The others seemed to feel it, too, pressing together to share body heat and courage. Meri straightened his back and crossed his arms. Slight of stature with dark, mournful eyes, he carried an air of fatalism and charm. Rhae sensed that would grow into a powerful and carefully cultivated aura. Right now it was only half-formed, still dancing on the edges of youthful awareness. He bowed once. ¡°Apologies, Fathers. I did not offer the hospitality befitting our great Cr¨¨che. I¡¯m ashamed to admit that, rather than greet our deliverer, I ran in fear before her presence.¡± Rhae giggled. He had turned the situation adroitly to his favor, even while he condemned himself. Maybe he was already more self-aware than she¡¯d given him credit for earlier. When he grew up, Thenxi would have her hands full with that one. ¡°Rhae is quite terrifying,¡± Aravind said, nodding sagely at his son¡¯s declaration. ¡°Anyone can see she is almost as scary as the storm incarnate.¡± Several children stomped their feet and grinned at Aravind¡¯s pronouncement. More and more joined in, laughing, until the walls seemed to thrum with the resonant rhythm. Rhae felt herself swept along with the furor of it all. She slipped a flute from her pocket and matched the pattern of the claps and stomps, adding some depth and melody to the sound. The notes burst forth in shimmering shapes to Rhae¡¯s eyes; at least, they did in her imagination, and that was just as good in her mind. She willed the shapes to form into a pattern, overlaying the beat with subdued determination. ¡°You have heard the accused give an account. Shall we show mercy?¡± ¡°Toss him over the edge!¡± Thenxi called, cupping her hands to her mouth so the others could hear her dramatic faux-whisper. Meri ducked his head and blushed. His brothers hurled insults at him from the crowd in front of Rhae, then they dissolved into peals of laughter. They must take the pageantry of the trial very seriously, Rhae thought, but not the actual justice. Aravind held up his hands for silence. ¡°I have heard the fine counsel of the Cr¨¨che. Meri shall make restitution by returning the shield to the holy man, and by guiding the deliverer to the spirit of the storm. After he had done these things, we will embrace him back with open arms.¡±This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Taras took back his shield with feigned gravity, thanking Meri for his fine caretaking of his shield while he was otherwise indisposed. His eyes burned with an eager light. The shield shook and hummed, and a glowing barricade spun out from it, covering the Cr¨¨che. Inside the barrier of light, no winds penetrated. Meri stared in slack-jawed wonder. ¡°A fine gift indeed,¡± Taras said. Abruptly, the barrier dropped away. The winds seemed a little harsher, the cold more unrelenting, now that Taras had veiled the power of the light. Aravind pulled the three boys into the hanging tent for a moment while the other children clapped and bowed to Taas. He didn¡¯t raise his voice, but whatever he said must have hit home with the boys, who all exited the tent bleary eyed and sufficiently humbled. Rhae rushed over to Meri. ¡°Hi! You¡¯re going to guide me so that we can fix everything.¡± Pride and horror vied for control on his face. ¡°Will you write a song about me if we live?¡± ¡°Sure! I¡¯ll write a song about you even if you die. Don¡¯t worry about a thing,¡± she beamed at him. ¡°In fact, I¡¯ll get started right away. Do you want to hear the first lines? Or should I keep it a surprise? Maybe I¡¯ll enter it into the competition at the bard school if I do a good enough job. The deadline is a little tight, though. I¡¯m not sure I¡¯ll make it home in time.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about, but it sounds exciting. You have a talent for that. Can you teach me?¡± Rhae felt her horns pulse with pure pleasure. ¡°I¡¯ll do my best!¡± Thenxi placed a hand on her shoulder. ¡°Plenty of time for fun and songs later, children. The Mother waits for us; Rhae must be prepared if she is to survive.¡± =+= Errol kept his fingertips on the wall next to him, shuffling ahead a little at a time. He used his foot like a cane for a blind man, searching for obstacles or danger in the dark. The corridor seems to stretch on forever, although he knew it was only another mile until the next maintenance hatch in the ceiling. Darkness held a thousand unknown terrors, but none worse than the ones he imagined. His mind ran wild with danger and disaster. What if he wandered in here until he died, only feet from the exit? His ignorance could kill him. What if the Stormorb claimed his soul? What if¡ª Growling, Errol shut the door to that line of thought. He had a task to complete; he could not afford to falter. He¡¯d known the risks when he¡¯d signed up for the Bridge expedition. Had it all been empty bravado? Step after step, Errol moved closer to his goal. He swept ahead with his sensor field, but it came up quiet again. He was alone up here in the dark, with only his imagination to keep him company. Despite constant attention to his scans, he started to relax. The narrow maintenance hallway appeared empty of creatures, or at least none showed up so far. He hadn¡¯t encountered any obstacles or debris, either. Despite his discomfort, Errol started to jog, one hand on the wall. Quick steps, quick job. An hour or two later¡ªor perhaps twenty minutes; he couldn¡¯t quite tell¡ªErrol brushed up against a handle. He stopped running and backed up a few steps, but he couldn¡¯t see anything in the perfect darkness. He groped for the handle, grasped the metal, and pulled. Resistance to the tug suddenly gave was as he broke the seal. The hatch swung open. Once he emerged from the tunnel, a part of him wanted to go back inside. The Bridge twisted in on itself, like a snake crushing a victim. Immense chunks of road were missing, exposing a latticework of steel beams and stone slabs. Through the gaps, Errol could see mottled gray clouds; compared with the virulent black of the storm front, these looked lazy and bloated¡ªdiseased. Perhaps the corruption grew stronger the closer the clouds were to the source of the fey storm. Stomach rumbling, Errol began his climb. He wished he¡¯d eaten more than the paltry bit of drumstick from the bird Maeda had caught. He sighed. He even wished Maeda were here to help him. A sure sign things were desperate, if he¡¯d welcome her company right now. He swung himself up to another pile of rubble and climbed across a chasm on a cable as thick as his leg. At this rate, he¡¯d need to find food and water soon. His body couldn¡¯t push hard forever on just willpower, although Maeda might disagree. Where was she, anyway? What was taking them so long to reappear after they¡¯d weathered the storm? To distract himself from the unpleasant possibilities, Errol started counting each beam he stepped on during his traverse across the broken Bridgescape. He bet himself that he could hit one hundred before the sun reached its zenith. Somewhere around twenty-seven he gave up on the bet, telling himself it was an awful game and he should be ashamed that he¡¯d even thought of it in the first place. The longer the day stretched on, the heavier his pack felt. Did he really need the thieves¡¯ kit? Or how about the ominously-named Silver Amulet of Clarity¡ªsurely it was just another relic of the past, better fitted for a museum than a serious mission. Errol suspected that Maeda had simply chosen something that would put Vytautas on edge so that she could slip that chip in her pocket. What had she wanted from that creepy shop so badly, anyway? If he lived through the coming storm, he intended to ask her. Two cables twirled toward the summit of the Bridge, twisting up to where they anchored in the jagged cliff¡¯s edge. Each time he gripped another handhold, hauling himself skyward, his doubts cleared up a little bit. He was making progress. Now all he needed was food. Errol scraped his knuckles on a rough patch of the coiled metal fibers. He scowled, lips pressed against the raw flesh in his fingers. He was looking forward to a soft bed at a fancy inn when he got home; he¡¯d be able to afford an upgrade with his share of the payment. Again his stomach growled. He could probably catch a bird as well as Maeda could, or at least, he thought he could, if he managed to push his voltage stream to the next level. A strong enough lance of lightning could knock a dragon from the sky, the Eels claimed. He repeated the boast to himself like a mantra. Below him, the clouds thinned in patches, giving him a clear sight of the many islands that supported the Bridge. Black water crashed into a beach far below, but the wind shifted as he climbed over a gap, covering up the view again. It was just as well. He didn¡¯t like staring so far down, especially when he felt lightheaded. His sensor field flickered to life. Errol stopped climbing. Above him, he could sense the presence of at least a dozen men just past the rim where the cables emerged from their concrete casing. Maybe they hadn¡¯t seen him yet. He could climb back down and find another way around. An honest assessment of his situation stopped him. He looked up. A dozen feet to the top. He didn¡¯t have the strength to climb back down. If they didn¡¯t notice him, then he could slip by and continue toward the Stormorb. The plan seemed tenuous at best, but he couldn¡¯t survive a fall, and he could tell his grip was weakening quickly. His arms and legs started to shake. Out of options. He pulled himself up the rest of the cable, dragged his exhausted body over the edge, and collapsed like a pile of jelly. A boot nudged his ribs. ¡°Surrender or die,¡± the voice attached to the boot¡¯s owner said, menace lacing the words. Errol lifted his head and groaned. No chance of sneaking past them now. ¡°I surrender. I don¡¯t think I could run even if I wanted to.¡± Two men marched forward, swords and shields at the ready. They slapped manacles on his wrists, dragging him into a corner where they flung him down. He grunted. His bones felt like they¡¯d been flattened by a boulder. ¡°Keep him silent,¡± a rough, pockmarked man demanded. ¡°He¡¯s only the Mako¡ªwe have bigger fish to fry.¡± The soldiers chuckled at the bad pun, but Errol felt his heart lurch. This wasn¡¯t a random band of marauders hiding out on the Bridge. They knew about him. Just like the spear men back at the harbor, they knew about the mission. More soldiers for the scarlet woman? Who did she work for¡ªor was she the boss? He struggled to sit up. He had to warn the others. He just hoped they were still alive. Chapter Nineteen - Soulstealer Rashana screamed in frustration, snapping her whip against a boulder. The rock split it two with a sharp spray of fractured fragments. Needle-like slivers of rock sliced through the air, pinged on her body, and fell harmlessly to the ground. All that destructive force, and I still don¡¯t have a scratch, Rashana thought proudly. Despite her best efforts, the trail had gone cold. She couldn¡¯t find so much as half a boot print in the dust. Thirty soldiers and three prisoners¡ªthey couldn¡¯t just disappear into the ether, could they? Yet they were missing, sure as the storms above and the rocks below. If she could find a clue or locate their essence, then it would be easy, but a strange red dust floated in the air that blocked her perception, masking their trail. She¡¯d reached the end of this intact section of Bridge, however, and there was nowhere else to go. If she could fly, or transform into a bird like Gruvrik, then she¡¯d leap off the edge and explore what lay beyond, but even if she forged her arms into wings, metal probably didn¡¯t fly very well. Everyone knew that. Rashana stood on the crumbling edge and peered downward, studying the steel support system. A fine mist obscured the trusswork of the Bridge¡¯s underside, so she couldn¡¯t be sure if there were gaps that made climbing impossible, but it seemed likely that a determined enough group could climb down and hide from view. She reviewed her memories of spying on them, scanning for new details. They had each carried those strange, rolled mats and a coil of rope, just like the three children they¡¯d seen back on their first day on the Bridge. Perhaps the mats unfolded and could be used like hammocks to provide a quick shelter or place to sleep while they explored the underbelly of the Bridge. Rashana had no such limitations. She didn¡¯t sleep, didn¡¯t tire¡ªat least not in the human sense, she thought bitterly¡ªand she didn¡¯t need to use ropes to cling to the Bridge beams. She was growing fond of her whip, but she could always remake it later. If required, a piton or a long loop of cable could be more practical. She plunged over the rim of the world, prepared to follow her quarry to the bitter end. An instant transmutation of her arms into cables with grappling hooks let her swing like a monkey, or perhaps like a spider on its web. She liked that idea better. Rashana quickened her pace, imagining that she was a spider queen, ruling the Bridge from her web of steel. She latched onto one broken platform after another, each swing pulling herself further along toward her destination . . . wherever that may be. Energy burned through her. She didn¡¯t feel sensations in the same way that Indara said the humans did, through the tactile perception of their skin or the senses of the other organs, but at some soullish level, she perceived the world around her. Sure, she had haptic sensors, but it wasn''t the same as the memories from Indara''s childhood. Right now, the life-force of the man she¡¯d drained rushed through her, filling her with strength and ideas. She examined each of the memories, turning them over in her mind like shining treasures, and one of the fragments flared to life, opening suddenly to reveal new details. The war clan was taking them back home to the Eastern Cr¨¨che. That¡¯s where she would go, if she could find a way to follow. An image flashed through her mind unbidden: the rush of launching from a collapsed section of the Bridge on wings of leather, soaring through the storm clouds to reach the next stretch of tunnels and roadways. Next time she met one of the kidnappers, she decided, she was going to steal his wings if he fought back. Then she was going to steal his soul. =+= ¡°I¡¯m disappointed,¡± the soldier snarled, spitting at Errol¡¯s feet. ¡°We were promised a fight, a real fight, and instead you show up. It¡¯s an insult¡ªa waste of our valuable time. You know how long we¡¯ve been spoiling for a scrap?¡± Errol shrugged, as much as he could while hogtied, his hands behind his back. He made a muffled reply, the words lost in the gag in his mouth. The soldier kicked him in the ribs, flipping him over. ¡°And there you go again, wasting my time and scuffing up my boot. I¡¯m going to have to polish that in the morning. For each point off in my inspection, you¡¯ll earn a broken rib.¡± The wind howled around them, thick and dank with disease. The soldier cursed and spit at him again. ¡°I¡¯m trying to stand watch. Here I am, on guard duty in the middle of the Bridge, surrounded by cursed spirits, and there you are intentionally distracting me. Do the lives of your countrymen mean nothing? We might all get wiped out while you indulge. Selfish! Selfish.¡± The soldier kicked Errol again when he tried to answer, knocking the air from his lungs in a flash of pain. The Laurentum marine drew back for another savage strike. ¡°Stand down,¡± an older voice growled. The squad¡¯s sergeant stalked up, glaring around as though he were looking for the same fight the other soldier had complained about. He ripped out the gag and rolled Errol back to sitting.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. Errol chuckled. ¡°Sounds like your time wasn¡¯t too valuable after all.¡± The sergeant frowned down at him. ¡°You¡¯ve got spine for a Mako, I¡¯ll give you that.¡± ¡°He wouldn¡¯t last one week in the Shark Clan.¡± Errol laced the words with contempt, his eyes boring holes in the soldier. ¡°Mako is more illustrious than any of you could hope to attain, but go ahead and mock me.¡± ¡°Keep your mouth shut, or I¡¯ll let him start kicking again.¡± ¡°Fine by me. I¡¯ve seen harder kicks from two year olds getting their diapers changed.¡± The sergeant gestured toward Errol, and the soldier rushed forward, swinging with every bit of malice he could muster. Errol moved with the kick, letting it flip him over again. His hands brushed the soldier¡¯s leg. He grabbed hold as tightly as he could while constrained and drained his full voltage stream into the man. The smell was worse than he remembered. Bits of charred flesh splattered on the stone next to him. The soldier collapsed, falling over Errol and sprawling against a partially demolished wall. Errol absently noted that one of his boots had gone missing. The body felt heavy and dull on Errol¡¯s shoulders. A rush of footsteps, followed by a jerk; the sergeant hauled on the soldier, and the body fell off Errol, thudding into the dust next to him. Blood seeped from the ears. The eyeballs had ruptured, leaking vitreous fluid over the twisted snarl of the corpse¡¯s face. Errol had never seen anything so beautiful. The sergeant yelled in alarm, summoning backups. Ten of his troop circled Errol, swords drawn, a thin sheen of sweat on their foreheads. Outnumbered, tied up like a pig prepped for the slaughter¡ªand they were afraid of him. ¡°Freyman¡¯s intel was bad,¡± one of the soldiers spat. ¡°I didn¡¯t sign up to wrangle an Eel.¡± Freyman. Why was that name familiar? ¡°We¡¯ll deal with him once we¡¯ve got the others. Hold position. If he threatens you, kill him on the spot. If moves, kill him. If he talks, kill him. If he looks at you funny¡ªyou know the drill.¡± Errol felt drained. It wasn¡¯t hard to pretend to be the dejected, compliant prisoner that he needed to be to survive. Although his voltage stream had grown more potent, he still didn¡¯t have much stamina. His encounter with the Bridge spirit left him shaken and uncertain, but refreshed in a way he couldn¡¯t explain. She¡¯d empowered him. He could probably handle the trials for Bull promotion now, if he survived. If. ¡°Don¡¯t let down your guard, lads,¡± the talkative soldier said, licking his lips. The others all moved a step away from him, as if they were afraid Errol would lance him with lightning. ¡°This is only an appetizer to the main course. Big fish is still out there.¡± ¡°Shut up, Reuben.¡± ¡°Sarge put me in charge when he¡¯s gone.¡± ¡°Did not.¡± ¡°Did too! He looked right at me.¡± Errol shut out their bickering. He closed his eyes and evened his breathing, reaching out with his sensor field. Ten soldiers stood nearby, their signals strong enough that he could sense them without effort. At least a half dozen more wandered about on the edge of his field, perhaps as many as eight or nine, flickering in and out of his perception. None were potent enough to be the sergeant. Errol couldn¡¯t quite say how he knew for sure, but his awareness had sharpened; usually he could only differentiate between weak signals if he¡¯d profiled the person first. Now, he tracked the sergeant almost without thought. What strange gift had the Bridge given him? Two by two, the others faded away, heading in different directions. Scouts, most likely, all looking for his companions. Part of him wanted to struggle against his bonds, disrupt the parties searching for his little team, stop them from hurting anyone; but another, more calculating side that he¡¯d never expected, told him that the soldiers weren¡¯t ready to kill. They could be his eyes and ears. If only he had a way to help them gather his team. He wished he had the powers of a mage, to merge with their minds and direct their steps. Then he could sweep through the Bridge in hours and find them, bring them back here, figure out some way to liberate all of them¡ªhe cut off that line of thinking. A sudden thought chilled him. Indara was powerful enough to do all of that, he reckoned. Why hadn¡¯t she simply come herself? Why send this ragtag group? His first answer was that they were simply expendable, but that didn¡¯t seem to satisfy the itch. Something else made them stay away. What had Grimhilt said about the Stormorb? Be on guard; its power is tainted. If you give in to the temptation to touch the thing, you may find yourself twisted by forces far beyond your comprehension. Perhaps the siren song of power was too strong to resist. But in that case, how did they expect Errol to return to Laurentum with the device? They¡¯d told him not to touch it, but what if they were wrong about its operation? After all, the Bridge didn¡¯t touch the thing . . . did it? Errol reached out for the Bridge spirit, scanning with his sensor field. Nothing. She only seemed interested in talking when she had her own plans. The thought of her with the artifact grasped in ethereal hands made him chuckle. ¡°Something funny, boy? Want to share?¡± Reuben¡¯s voice, at once menacing and fearful. Errol looked up to see the man approach, his brows knit together, his forehead leaned down and forward like a boxer ready to trade blows above his weight class. He leveled his sword at Errol, and managed not to shake. Perhaps they were better trained than he¡¯d credited them. ¡°Sarge told you not to move, or we¡¯ll kill ya.¡± ¡°Freyman never struck me as the bloodthirsty type.¡± Reuben took a step back, the point of his sword wavering a moment before lowering to the ground. ¡°Don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about.¡± Errol grinned up at him. ¡°Oskar will be very unhappy if anything happens to me. You¡¯re a smart man, Reuben. You know how he likes his pets.¡± Reuben scrabbled backward, tripping over his feet in haste. He rejoined the soldiers on perimeter guard. ¡°We¡¯re wasting our time watching him. Might as well hack off our own thumbs as threaten that one. I¡¯m gonna get some grub; the Eel ain¡¯t going anywhere.¡± Errol settled back and closed his eyes, telling himself that he should catch up on sleep if they were going to leave him alone. Despite his exhaustion, he couldn¡¯t stop grinning. They thought he was an Eel. Chapter Twenty - Maeda The rain was falling the wrong way. Maeda groaned, trying to open her eyes. Her left eye was swollen shut, but she forced the right one to open, then immediately wished she hadn¡¯t. The whole world spun around her. And the rain was definitely falling the wrong way. The thought stood out like it was an important detail, but her eyes flickered shut again and she lost the idea before she could follow the thread further. She moved along in the darkness, blood rushing to her head, suspended in the rain . . . Maeda twitched awake again. She shook out water from her nose and opened her eyes. This time both eyes opened, but she blinked as water hit her, stinging her face. Where was she, and what was she doing out in the rain? Maeda swayed. She looked around and flinched as she swung toward a metal beam twice as wide as she was tall. A chaotic piece of memory washed over her. She was on the Bridge. Focus, she berated herself. What was she doing out here? Searching for something . . . ? Keeping Errol alive? Yes. That was it. Fool boy would ruin their one chance to . . . to . . . she couldn¡¯t remember. Snatches of memory crowded each other out in her mind. Covert meetings; plans within plans; a sudden, golden opportunity to ingratiate themselves with Indara. Chancellor Indara, she corrected herself, regaining a fragment of certainty. Maeda craned her neck, looking up¡ªno, down¡ªto take in her surroundings. Two others hung in the air near her, bound like flies in a spider¡¯s web. A few dozen dark shapes descended ropes, carrying the prisoners with tethers bound to their harnesses. As she watched, two groups appeared among the captors. One team of about twenty were dressed alike, or at least followed a color theme. The other eight or ten wore a hodgepodge of ragged scraps. They appeared to all carry bone weapons, however. The jagged edges gleamed with wicked intent. Wind gusted abruptly, pulling one of the climbers off the wall. Her weight tugged against the ropes, but the others clung tightly, absorbing the tug as her rope reached its end, and reeled her back up. They used crude climbing pitons to anchor themselves every few steps while two or three shimmied lower, staked in, and then belayed the rest of the climbers. The progress was agonizingly slow, but Maeda understood the wisdom in their approach when the breeze parted the clouds below her and she realized how high up they were. She bit her lip to keep from screaming. Likely not even a Free-Fall Ring would save her from this height. How many hundreds of feet still to go to the ground? The climbers must be in incredible shape if this was their daily routine. She lurched to a stop. The ropes tangled above her, and one of the climbers down below turned to unleash a torrent of oaths she didn¡¯t recognize. Cursing had a universal language all its own, however, so it was easy enough to guess the meaning. ¡°Are all the cr¨¨che-dwellers as slow and clumsy as you lot, or did they send their most annoying team just to mock us?¡± The uniformed climber from above spat before answering the man. ¡°Did your mother hook up with the storm spirit before you were born, or are Shrikes just naturally ugly?¡± The Shrike lifted a hand in another universal gesture. ¡°Watch yourself! The cr¨¨che doesn¡¯t need you. This alliance benefits you more than us.¡± Maeda stopped looking back and forth between the bickering pair. The pressure in her skull kept building, and the world blurred around her. She steadied her breathing, fighting off the lightheaded effect. A raindrop landed in her eye and she blinked, spluttering. The smartly-dressed climber adopted a condescending tone. ¡°Now they¡¯re awake! Good job yelling, Shrike.¡± ¡°They¡¯d still be asleep if you hadn¡¯t stopped our seer,¡± the Shrike snapped back. ¡°Want me to cut you loose? The cr¨¨che doesn¡¯t condone such cruelty. If our seer didn¡¯t intervene, that old crone would have killed them all.¡± The Shrike laughed bitterly. ¡°That whelp Telyim doesn¡¯t deserve to be called a seer yet. She¡¯s barely been out of the cr¨¨che alone before.¡± Maeda smiled to herself, despite the dizzying drop below her, as she listened to them squabble on and on. Factions under tension? A power struggle between two seers? She could work with that. =+= Maeda twisted away from her captor, snarling. She struggled against her bonds, straining to free her wrists so she could hit back. A burly man cracked her across the cheek with the back of his massive hand, snapping her head back in a blaze of pain. She staggered, lights bursting in her field of view, and dropped down to one knee. His huge, blunt face pushed up next to her face, cracked teeth bared in a savage grin. ¡°Five more points, and I win.¡± Why did I suggest this game again? Surely there was a better way to go about things. Maeda shut down her internal complaining. She quirked one side of her lips in response to the Shrike. ¡°And only ten more points until I win.¡± The dark-haired man sneered. A scar distorted the skin on the left side of his face into a whorl of ugliness that framed the milky white of his one blind eye. ¡°You¡¯re an entertaining one, I¡¯ll grant you that, but you won¡¯t win.¡± ¡°I¡¯m just woozy after your crone violated my mind. Nasty bit of work, but then, I¡¯d expect that from the old witch.¡± Silence fell around them for a moment. The big man turned his one eye toward the front of the group, but the old woman hadn¡¯t heard Maeda¡¯s insult. He licked his lips, suddenly uneasy looking. ¡°Don¡¯t let her here you say that.¡± ¡°Or what?¡± Maeda said, goading him. He shrugged. ¡°She doesn¡¯t like people much. You¡¯re lucky to be alive. Say, what did she mean, calling out an Outsider? Ain¡¯t never seen you before in the wilds. And I¡¯d¡¯ve remembered if you¡¯d shown up at a cr¨¨chemeet. Where¡¯d you shelter? You sound funny.¡± ¡°Not half as funny as you look,¡± Maeda spat. A woman wrapped in sealskin chuckled. ¡°Sounds like you¡¯ve got a fine catch, Khaada!¡± Khaada waved her away dismissively. ¡°You¡¯re just jealous that I won¡¯t let you scalp them. I don¡¯t think you¡¯ve ever met anything you won¡¯t skin for dresses.¡± Not sealskin. Actual skin. Maeda tried not to let herself dwell too long on the little white trinkets she¡¯d strung around her neck and ankles. They bore an uncanny resemblance to knuckle bones, but it could just be coincidence, she told herself.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. Undeterred, Khaada circled back to his line of questioning. ¡°Which cr¨¨che raised you?¡± ¡°I raised myself,¡± Maeda said, and that may have been the first truth she had shared with them for the last few days. They thought they were a hardy people, growing up in the shadow of spirits and storms, but at least they had each other to rely on. Maeda knew what it was like to be truly alone. ¡°No one makes it out here alone, especially strangers like the lot of you. Never seen such a short man as your loud friend over there, or anyone quite as big as the scaled man. Were you all cursed at birth?¡± Jarkoda hissed angrily, but any words he had died in his throat. They¡¯d soon figured out to keep a wet cloth shoved into his mouth so he couldn¡¯t burn them with flames. He didn¡¯t seem to have much trouble breathing, but they drenched him with water every time he looked a little too menacing¡ªwhich was often. Khaada whirled and lashed out a kick at Maeda in the middle of his next sentence. She¡¯d expected it, since he¡¯d gotten too talkative for anything other than a ploy, and a quick lean to the side allowed the strike to pass by harmlessly. ¡°I¡¯m a disgrace for letting you score five hits,¡± Maeda snapped. You¡¯re too slow to have a chance without these restraints. Untie me, and I¡¯ll take on you and your creepy trophy collector at the same time.¡± Khaada shrugged and drew a serrated bone knife. ¡°Fine by me. Nowhere to run.¡± Maeda rubbed the blood back into her wrists and ankles after Khaada cut the bonds. At a glance, she confirmed his statement: they were surrounded on two sides by the pounding surf, and behind them a snarl of rocks rose higher than the three-story accounting houses of the bank guilds back in Laurentum. They¡¯d been lowered to the ground, unceremoniously hanging from a rope upside down, Khaada roaring with laughter at the sight. Ahead, strange creatures flitted in the shadows, and given the uneasy looks that passed from hunter to hunter each time a beast roared in their direction. Maeda didn¡¯t want to take her chances with the vicious creatures. They trudged along on one of the many man-made islands that supported the Bridge. In times past, nothing but open sea had existed below her feet, but the builders had spent nearly a hundred years hauling rock and sand and silt into the middle of the vast harbor, mixing it in with cement, and building mountains in the sea. Strange to think that she stood on a mountaintop, although only the summit stuck out from above the water. Her old teacher, Isadora, would have called it a metaphor for life: an uncertain journey with dangerous, untrustworthy companions, overtop the unseen true foundations of existence, laid down by others she would never meet. The thought brought a familiar ache. Isadora would have loved this place. She was always on a search for the perfect ¡°crucible of the soul¡± that would properly test her mettle. Lost in her thoughts, she didn¡¯t see Khaada¡¯s blow until it caught her in the ribs, doubling her over, but this time she managed to keep her feet thanks to her newfound freedom. ¡°If I¡¯d any idea how easy pickings it is over here, I would have sailed to the Bridge years ago with a proper squad of death dealers. Creepy place, but the people are weak.¡± The bone-necklace woman stalked up to Maeda. ¡°I don¡¯t care if you¡¯re Khaada¡¯s prisoner instead of mine. Call me weak again and I will add your bones to my collection, Outsider.¡± Maeda punched her in the face, cracking her captor¡¯s cheekbone. The woman crumpled to the ground without a sound, the shock of the pain and the angle of the blow instantly knocking her senseless. Maeda nudged her with a toe, then shrugged and bent down to loot the body. She stripped off the necklace and put it around her own neck. ¡°Does that count double?¡± Khaada stared at her, mumbling a few words. Maeda¡¯s foot shot out in a straight kick, aiming for his solar plexus. He staggered back, slipping on the moss-covered trail, and went down with a thud. ¡°Three points,¡± Maeda declared, daring him to argue her scoring. ¡°You¡¯re only ahead by two, now. Not so tough.¡± The main group doubled back to surround them. A wiry man with knobby elbows pushed through the crowd and stood over Khaada. ¡°Enough! Your game ends now, or I take your claim. She¡¯s making a mockery of you two. You¡¯ll pay the healer for her injuries when we return home. Bind her and move out.¡± Khaada bowed. His jaw clenched and he narrowed his eyes, which tightened the skin on his face into a terrifying scowl. He drew his bone knife again, holding out the serrated edge. ¡°Do not try anything stupid.¡± Maeda flared her sensor field, gathering all its energy. She projected it toward Khaada, blasting him in the face with a disrupting array of sensations. It wasn¡¯t made for offense, but the weak pulse was still enough to disorient him. Khaada stepped back, blinking. In the space of a heartbeat, she kicked the knife out of his hands and shoved him down. He roared in anger, lunging at her. Maeda spun right, dodging his grasp, and scooped up the knife. She leaped onto a stone and launched into the air, slamming into Jarkoda¡¯s captor. Before the man could recover his balance, Jarkoda tore the rope free of his grasp. Together they ran back toward the rock pile, Maeda slashing at Jarkoda¡¯s restraints, hacking the twisted fibers apart until the halfdragon burst his bonds He clawed the wet cloth from his throat, coughing. ¡°Where is the dwarf?¡± ¡°Took ya knuckleheads long enough!¡± Gruvrik bellowed, barreling by with his human still attached to the rope around his wrists. He dragged the would-be captor like she was a feather, careening into boulders on purpose to bruise her, until she cried out and dropped the rope tied to his thick, hairy arms. Shouts rose from their pursuers. Maeda ran after Gruvrik, who stopped just long enough for her to saw off the rope. Jarkoda caught up and tossed a cudgel to Gruvrik. ¡°Took this from your former guard.¡± The dwarf grinned, experimentally swinging around the cudgel. It was nearly as thick as his own leg, but he handled it effortlessly. He gestured around them. ¡°Nowhere to run. Backs against the rocks and make a stand to be proud of when you die. Poets ain¡¯t gonna sing for the likes of us. ¡®Course, they won¡¯t know about us at all if we die, and if we live, they probably won¡¯t make a song.¡± He shrugged, then squirmed up on top of a boulder roughly head-height to Maeda. ¡°I¡¯ve got a great view up here! Must be nice, being tall.¡± Jarkoda finally ripped the last strip of damp cloth from his mouth, spitting out the fraying pieces of fabric to the sandy ground. ¡°I¡¯ll need a moment to fuel my flames. Guard me until I do, and then I¡¯ll end their entire existence in fire.¡± They formed up against the rocky cliff. Maeda didn¡¯t know how they would get back up if they survived. They had each ridden tandem between two other captors, gliding down through the sky from the Bridge proper on huge, leathery wings. It wasn¡¯t true flight, but it was the most exhilarating thing Maeda had ever experienced. Coming to the Bridge might almost be worth it just for that flight. Almost. The clansmen fanned out ahead of them, ensuring they had no escape to the sides. Two or three on either end started to climb the rocks, finding purchase in tiny crevices and cracks. If she hadn¡¯t seen them climb with her own eyes, she would have called the cliff impassable. They were trying to flank the runaways, and she wasn¡¯t about to let that happen. ¡°Gruvrik, I¡¯m going to throw you.¡± The dwarf¡¯s head swung around to glare, a look of panic etched into his face. Even his beard seemed to turn white with terror. ¡°You want to lose both yer hands, lass?¡± ¡°Fine! Then transform into some giant beast and stop those climbers.¡± Gruvrik cackled. ¡°Can¡¯t. Takes me days to build up the stamina for that, unless I¡¯ve got a stash of rum. Even with the entire cask, the last time will take me a week to recover from, and that¡¯s if I eat well and don¡¯t have to deal with the stress of listening to you.¡± Jarkoda caught her eye from behind the dwarf. She nodded. The halfdragon hefted the dwarf in both hands and let fly, hurling him twenty feet up the side of the cliff. Shrieking like he was going to die, Gruvrik caught the rocky crag at the top and pulled himself to his feet, then doded the cudgel Maeda threw after him a moment later. He shot her a dirty look, but he charged into the first climbing team, scattering them like a pile of dead leaves, not seasoned warriors. He saluted with a wink, then turned his attention to the attackers on the other flank. Maeda turned back to face the array of weapons pointed at her. Khaada shouldered his way to the front, panting. He eyed her warily, newfound respect showing on his face.. ¡°Last chance to surrender. We¡¯ll call it a win for me, and we¡¯ll let you live.¡± Maeda leered at him. ¡°I¡¯ve already won, Khaada. You just weren¡¯t paying attention. Walk away now, and I won¡¯t take your other eye.¡± He snarled and flung a knife at her, startling her with the quickness. She managed to turn to the side, but it still grazed her cheek. He smirked. ¡°Not so fast, Outsider. I¡¯ve won after all.¡± Maeda¡¯s limbs grew heavy. She adjusted her fighting stance, each movement sluggish. What had he done to her? She picked up the knife, grunting with the effort to stay on her feet. It was plain and didn¡¯t radiate any power. Fingers trembling, she put a hand to her face, feeling the cut. Just a scratch. Hardly worth considering. Pain blossomed in her head. Maeda collapsed, and the darkness consumed her. Chapter Twenty-One - Family Rashana didn¡¯t have to find the same path the humans took. The revelation dawned on her with such force that she almost lost her grip on the girder to which she clung, suspended hundreds of feet over dark green waves. True, she couldn¡¯t fly, but she could turn her body into a boat and float across the water. Or maybe sink beneath the waves and walk on the ocean floor until she reached the other island; she didn¡¯t have to breathe, after all. Visions of the Adaro butchering the kraken dissuaded her from that course of action, but she was determined to put her boat concept to the test. She¡¯d seen tin washbins float before, if they were thin and broad, spreading out the water across the water. Metal floating on the ocean seemed almost as strange as metal soaring through the air, but at least she had seen it happen before. No one would ever see metal fly. Lowering herself from ledge to ledge, Rashana finally reached the smooth stone surface of a support pillar. She found an access hatch off one of the girders with a twinge of annoyance. Too bad the stairs were blocked in the first tower. They could have all walked up together. They wouldn¡¯t have left her behind. She wouldn¡¯t have run out of energy. But then Jarkoda wouldn¡¯t have repaid his blood debt. She was determined to show him loyalty for all the days of his life. Indara hadn¡¯t talked about what would happen after the Bridge, but the way that Taras had looked at her with horror and resolve didn¡¯t bode well. She wouldn¡¯t be allowed to forge her own path. Her plan was to swear an oath to the halfdragon. The monks would take her in and shelter her under their supervision. But would they let her leave? Or would she trade one form of slavery for another? The fear gave her pause. She would have to simply trust Jarkoda¡¯s goodwill. A suspicion wormed its way to the surface at that thought. Was she trying to save him just so she could secure her own position afterward? It seemed unbearably selfish. Rashana shut down her processing abilities and ran down the steps as fast as her body would take her. Her mind slowly woke back up as she reached the bottom of the tower. The exit led her almost directly to the beach. Time to test out her boat theory. Standing knee-deep in the water, Rashana pulled her arms and legs alongside her shell. She directed her energy into the metal, melting it and fusing it together in a new form, shaping herself into a little round coracle. At the last moment, she pulled one arm free, fingers flattening into a fin-shaped paddle. Her new body bobbed on the waves, dangerously close to going under with each swell of water. She stretched herself a little thinner, raising the gunwales a few inches, and instantly felt more buoyant. She dipped her paddle into the water and set off across the short stretch of sea, directing herself toward the next man-made island. Halfway across, a bump underneath her announced the presence of fish. Or, at least, she hoped it was only a fish. A scaled arm lifted up out of the water a moment later. Taloned hands grabbed the side of her boat body and hauled. An emerald-hued creature with spiral tattoos lounged on her back, obvious that it rested in a living boat. Panic welled up in Rashana. She swung the paddle up out of the water and hit the beast in the head. It shrieked, eyes going wide in alarm, and started praying to the gods to save it from the witchery of a boat possessed by some evil presence. It dove into the water, swimming away with such power and grace that she felt a little sad to have scared the creature. But only a little. Her hull scraped up on the sand at last, and she let herself melt back into her usual form. A few strands of seaweed hung from her head, and she arranged it like hair. She liked the look. Satisfied she was fully restored to her sleek, beautiful body, she set off at a run, following the fading trails that had reappeared in the air above her, growing closer to the earth the farther she went. They must have flown down from the heavens, held aloft by those strange wings she had seen in the memory fragments. A pang of jealousy hit her at the realization, but she extinguished it and kept moving. The clan couldn¡¯t be too much farther ahead, now. The trails grew in vibrancy, although they were still only pale gossamer threads compared to the blazing white light that Taras had conjured for her to follow. She hoped that he and Rhae were faring better than these three. The clash of steel and roar of a dragon caught her senses a moment later. She broke into a full sprint, pushing energy into limbs designed for fast, fluid movement. The rush of exhilaration in her own strength filled her, and she flung herself off the top of a small cliff to join the fray below, a scream of vengeance rising from her soulbond. The shocked look on Jarkoda¡¯s face when she hurtled past him made the chase all worth it. Confusion registered in his eyes, followed by elation. He roared again, a warcry of victory, and unleashed a stream of fire at the enemy. They jumped back, avoiding the flames, in a dance she could see they¡¯d grown used to; scorch marks in the sand and a few traces of blood told the story that Jarkoda was formidable, even if he didn¡¯t have as much power or fine control over the flames as he would with another decade of training. The enemies wearied, but many of them were still alive. Rashana summoned her whip and short sword. She could fix that.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. The first warrior lifted a reinforced bone mace to block her sword. She sheared through the bone weapon, through his arm, and through his head, splattering the woman next to him. She screamed and leaped backward, eyes wide, calling out a warning to the others. They fanned out in a semi-circle around Rashana. The fighters with swords and knives stepped back, making way for a handful of spear soldiers to fill the gaps and level their blades at the new threat. Rashana snapped the whip in her left hand, severing the blades off two spears. She launched into the middle of the array, deflected a thrust with her sword, and slammed a metal elbow into a soldier¡¯s face. His head rocked backward, the cheekbones cracking under the force of her blow. Two spears jabbed her in the stomach. One cracked on the metal, while the other just pinged harmlessly to the side. A red-scarfed spearman gurgled as Rashana ran him through. He clutched at the blade in his stomach, a look of confusion on his face, and slumped to the ground, convulsing in his death throes. Screaming in rage, the soldier next to him blurred forward, slamming into Rashana with a burly shoulder. They went down in a tangle of flesh and metal, but Rashana threw him free as though he were a child. She cracked her whip arm, gouging out his eye. He stumbled back, clutching at his face, and she took off his head with a swing of the sword. The rest panicked and fled. Rashana chased the stragglers down, slashing down with her sword to cut their hamstrings and send them tumbling into the dirt. She reached the end of the line and sprinted back, blades flashing, beheading them all. She skidded to a stop in front of her team and saluted with the bloody sword. ¡°Bout time you woke up, rust-bucket,¡± Gruvrik grumbled by way of greeting. Rashana transformed the lower part of her face into a beard, mimicking the dwarf. She dropped her usual speech pattern to a lower register and stomped around in a circle, gesturing wildly. ¡°Bring me some rum!¡± Jarkoda managed a tight smile, but he still held Maeda in his arms. Rashana didn¡¯t know how to feel about that. He belonged to her, now, didn¡¯t he? She¡¯d chosen him over the rest of the team! What was he doing with that Hammerhead, anyway? When Maeda didn¡¯t move, she finally realized that he supported her limp body. Maybe something was wrong. Jarkoda stared at her, working his jaws for a moment before he spoke. His voice held a note of disapproval. ¡°We must find the antidote to the poison. If you¡¯d left any of them alive, then maybe they could have told us what to do to heal her. Otherwise, I fear she already has one foot in the grave and will follow the Bridge people soon.¡± Rashana shrugged. ¡°Telyim has the antidote. Go ask her.¡± Gruvrik tugged on her metal beard. ¡°Now that¡¯s creepy. Put it away. And tell us how you know who Telyim is, anyway. We just met her!¡± Rashana let the beard melt back into her face. She was showing off, she knew that, but she couldn¡¯t help herself. Drunk on the raw energy of her enemies, she fairly glowed with power. She stalked toward the unconscious woman, stopping to admire Maeda¡¯s handiwork. ¡°That was quite a punch.¡± Jarkoda and Gruvrik exchanged glances. The look carried with it the weight of exclusion, and it cut her in a way that a knife never could. It wasn¡¯t fair. They weren¡¯t fully human, either. They knew what it felt like to be ostracized. Yet here they were, staring at her like she was some demon who had crawled out of the Abyss. She grimaced. She was a hybrid, but she could make a good argument that she was more human than they were. Taras¡¯s voice echoed in her mind. She could still hear his relief as he said: Now we know her limits. Like he¡¯d been gearing up for a fight he wasn¡¯t sure he could win, but then he¡¯d seen a faint glimmer of hope. At least he¡¯d known he couldn¡¯t win against her. ¡°I feed on memory,¡± Rashana finally said. Her voice sounded flat, matter of fact. Jarkoda stared at her, transfixed, horror in his eyes. This wasn¡¯t how it was supposed to be. He was going to save her, help her live in a world without brief windows of wakefulness and long, dark days of dormancy. Rashana felt her anger rising. Perhaps she should just harvest the halfdragon. He could give her enough energy to stalk the Bridge for weeks, feasting on the remaining souls. Then she could return to Laurentum and track down Indara. If she grew strong enough, then perhaps she could sever their soulbond without losing her identity. She would drain Indara dry and usher in a new era, an empire of metal and machine¡ª Shuddering, Rashana pushed all the thoughts of madness away. She searched across the battlefield for Telyim. When she found the seer, Rashana crouched down in the dirt next to her, searching for her pouch. It was tied to a belt hidden under the first fold of her robe. Inside, she found a pungent smelling bit of dried herbs. She handed the herbs to Jarkoda. ¡°Mix them with a little water and heat them up. Your flame breath should do the trick. Feed it to Maeda, and she should live. Make sure to use it all, just to be safe. She should be fine in a few days.¡± ¡°And you, Rashana?¡± She could have kissed him for the tenderness in his voice, even as guarded as he was, but she settled for a smile. She was gaining better control over the metal face; the extra power helped her shape her expressions much more easily than usual. ¡°I¡¯ll recover soon. I drank too much, too fast.¡± He nodded and prepared the herbs, careful not to let anything spill as he poured the mix down Maeda¡¯s throat. She coughed and gagged, but kept it down. Anxious minutes passed, but finally her eyes fluttered open and the color started to return to her cheeks. Rashana smiled down at her, an epiphany dawning like warm sunlight on a shriveled soul. As jealous as she¡¯d been a few moments before, she still didn¡¯t want to lose Maeda, even if the woman was as prickly as a pufferfish. ¡°Took you long enough to show up,¡± Maeda rasped. ¡°I was . . . delayed,¡± Rashana said, looking away. It sounded lame as soon as she¡¯d said it, but it would have to do. Maeda chuckled. ¡°Glad to see you¡¯re pulling your weight around here. Lucky you can¡¯t be poisoned. We would have had them on our own if not for their cheating ways.¡± Rashana lifted her head and met Maeda¡¯s gaze this time. She offered a small smile as a peace offering. She didn¡¯t want to risk alienating them. ¡°I hear that¡¯s what family does.¡± Family. The word seemed foreign, but it felt right, somehow. Rashana forced away the madness and bloodlust. She¡¯d only known the team for a few days, but she already knew that she loved them too much to lose them again. They were stuck with her now, for better or worse. Chapter Twenty-Two - Flight & Fancy Rhae clutched the albatross skull in one hand and her favorite flute in the other, mentally going over the instructions for gliding between the sections of the Bridge on the wings that Thenxi had loaned to her. She peeked over the edge, taking in the vista of shattered stone and twisted steel below her until she grew dizzy and hopped back. No matter how many times she had rehearsed the next step in her head, launching herself into the void seemed overwhelming. Her teacher gestured at the scene, a grand smile on her lips. ¡°To the right, you¡¯ll see a crack five times as wide as you are tall, stretching four hundred feet from top to bottom. Use that to orient yourself in the air. The clouds may swirl and block out your vision, but stay calm and look for that landmark. You should still be able to see it from most places in the air.¡± Thenxi paused in her speech and patted Rhae¡¯s shoulder. "Don''t look so discouraged, child." Rhae didn¡¯t want to disappoint the older woman after she¡¯d put in so much effort to teach Rhae, but it was already mid-afternoon without much progress to show for their day¡¯s work. She leaned forward to look again, but backed away without even approaching the launching point. ¡°I¡¯ll bet it¡¯s beautiful once I¡¯m in the air!¡± Thenxi rubbed her temples. ¡°We¡¯ll take a break. Get some water and repeat the rules as I instructed. When we return, I¡¯m throwing you off the edge if you don¡¯t jump.¡± It was clear to Rhae that Thenxi had lost her argument with Aravind. The cr¨¨che father had warned Thenxi that Rhae wasn¡¯t ready for the heights. He¡¯d tried to convince her to let him travel below with Meri and Rhae to practice tandem flying, but she¡¯d chased him off and told him that Rhae was ready to dance with storms¡ªa little ride in the air would be nothing compared to the fight to come. As she chewed on dried fish and a green paste made from seaweed that only grew near the Western cr¨¨che, Rhae watched Taras and Meri practice with the cleric¡¯s enchanted shield. The Bridge boy was a natural, as far as she could tell, unlike her, but for some reason Taras kept making him repeat the same movements over and over again. They all looked perfect. Why was Taras so mean, sometimes? Meri was trying his best! Meri dodged a beam of light, stepping in a half circle to his left, crouched low. He balanced on the balls of his feet in a light, strong stance that reminded Rhae of adancer. He met the next blast of light with the shield, bracing himself to take the attack head on. The incorporeal blow slammed into him, knocking him backward. He buckled and went down to one knee, but didn¡¯t fall over. Taras clapped him on the shoulder and helped him back to his feet with a grim smile. Meri smiled back at the gruff Cleric. Rhae scratched her horn. She didn¡¯t know how he found the courage to keep training. If Thenxi pushed her the same way Taras pushed Meri, she would have quit already. The thought lingered in her mind for a moment, accusing her: she had quit already, she just hadn¡¯t admitted it aloud yet to Thenxi. But her heart wasn¡¯t it in, not since she¡¯d seen the ragged wings. Why did they have to look so plain? She¡¯d wanted to be a fairy. A wave and smile from Meri prompted her into action. Rhae jumped up from her snack, snatched the wings, and marched back to the cliff. She fastened on the contraption, tightening the straps and checking the balance just the way that Thenxi had showed her. ¡°Where are you going, child?¡± Thenxi called just then, approaching with a new basket of food for Taras and Meri. Rhae turned to her and waved, then fell backward off the rim of the world. =+= Grimhilt flipped through the pile of papers on his desk. Another late night, and still he couldn¡¯t keep up with the influx of responsibilities. Indara had him chasing shadows in three directions at once. He sighed and stuffed the records into a drawer. At this rate, he¡¯d have to hire an intern to take care of everything. Surely Indara had better things to do than drown him in paperwork. She knew when she had promoted him that he possessed a narrow array of talents: namely, killing things. Paper was already dead¡ªmay the trees from which they came all rest in peace. Grimhilt shook his head to clear the ridiculous thoughts and decided to compromise. He grumbled as he grabbed the remaining letters. One more go and then he¡¯d turn in for the night. That was his best and final offer. He thumbed through his final report for the morning, discarding anything mundane, which looked like all of it. When he reached the last paper, however, he sat upright, a bolt of awareness piercing through his haze of too-little sleep. Bless the Imperial prison warden; he had finally responded to Grimhilt¡¯s repeated requests for follow-up and included a list of the dead attackers and their responsibilities. The first few names on the list were minor offenders, but about a third of the way down, one name stood out like it was gilt in gold. He read it twice just to make sure that he wasn¡¯t imagining things, but the letters never wavered as he traced them with his finger: Councillor Oskar Freyman: Indara''s main rival before the purge. Grimhilt poured himself a nightcap and settled into bed. Sleep was overrated when he had a snake to behead, but he didn¡¯t feel like any more work tonight. Morning came with the next blink of his eyes, just the way he preferred. Dreams were a nuisance, as far as he was concerned. Better to get up and get on with things, once sleep was over, but he admitted the rest had proven most refreshing. Grimhilt shrugged on his uniform and belted his sword in place, practically strutting as he grabbed a sausage from the cold cellar and marched to the armory to begin training. As much as he dreaded dealing with politicians¡ªand Freyman was the worst of the lot¡ªnothing put him in a good mood as much as the prospect of a good fight. He waved over an aide when he reached the armory. If Freyman had a hand in the plot, then violence was all but guaranteed. He would need to put a plan into motion if he wanted to keep a step ahead of that snake. The soldier snapped off a salute. ¡°How may I assist?¡± ¡°I need to order a requisition for weaponry.¡± ¡°Very good, Sir. How many weapons will you need?¡± Grimhilt grinned. ¡°All of them.¡± =+= That night, Grimhilt rested his chin on his hand, pretending to gaze soulfully at the stage, all his earlier excitement and bluster long forgotten. He vowed that he would never attend the opera again after he was done with this artifice. Naira was beautiful, true enough, but he could only stomach so much dancing in one night. Freyman hadn¡¯t even showed yet, so Grimhilt was in it for the long haul. Perhaps the fat man wouldn¡¯t show up at all. That would be just his luck, stuck watching the theater without any payoff. He didn¡¯t belong here. But his informants were usually solid, and they insisted that Freyman made an appearance at the Savona Theater almost every night, just as Aruna had promised. If Grimhilt didn¡¯t run into Freyman now, there was always tomorrow. ¡°Perish the thought,¡± he muttered under his breath. Applause rippled through the audience around him. Grimhilt swore at his lack of focus. He ran his gaze across the crowd, forcing himself to pay more attention. On stage, Naira trailed a long, silk ribbon behind her as she spun in tight circles, clicking out a complicated polyrhythm with her feet while singing. The peers were taken with her, but he¡¯d seen similar shows from roadside buskers. Naira probably stole the act to begin with. None of these fops would know the difference¡ªor care.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. The song finished and the curtain fell to polite, scattered applause. As soon as the lights came on for the intermission, the nobility turned to each other in business discussions. Grimhilt chuckled. Had they lost their interest in the show so quickly? Where was the excitement? The allure of money exceeds the beauty on stage, eh? A disturbance at the side entrance caught Grimhilt¡¯s eye. Attendants scurried to set up a new viewing area, decorating the private opera box with flowers, lamps, and silver fruit platters. Moments later, the doors swung open and Freyman entered with his retinue. Freyman¡¯s arrival caused a stir in the crowd. Whispered conversations broke out around Grimhilt as they tried to figure out the once-powerful man¡¯s motives. Few of the nobility were as well-informed as they liked to pretend, apparently. Now the need to catalogue each other¡¯s responses would overpower their supposed love for the theater. If only he cared a little more about politics. Then he could report to Indara and they could put together a watchlist of potential allies and opponents. He shifted in his seat, wishing he could scratch his back without drawing attention. His stiff, starched suit aggravated his dry skin. The scent of some saccharine perfume assaulted his nostrils. He grunted, trying to push aside his frustration, but the second half of the show passed far too slowly for his liking. He should have sent a younger, more fashionable officer to scope out the place this evening; he stood out like a jagged scar on a lady¡¯s otherwise pretty face. A smattering of applause brought his attention back to the task at hand. He stretched, a series of pops in his back betraying his age, and dismissed himself from the box. Below him, on the ground level, Freyman pressed hands and smiled at old colleagues, while his servant bowed and excused himself. Grimhilt ran through his memory of Freyman. What was the servant¡¯s name? Sundial or something. No, that¡¯s a time measuring device. He sighed and slipped off through the crowd to tail the servant. Instead of returning to the coatroom, the man glanced about the theater lobby in a perfunctory sweep before trotting over to the performer¡¯s door and slinking backstage. A lopsided grin spread across Grimhilt¡¯s face. The evening was finally turning in a more familiar direction. He ducked inside the door, threw on a spare mask and robe hanging from one of the stagehand¡¯s carts, and tailed the servant. The thought struck him that Indara would laugh at his ridiculous disguise, but he didn¡¯t care as long as he got the job done. Maybe this would be a good story for his next batch of recruits. He found himself in a dingy hallway with faded stripes of red paint along the walls. Twin rows of plain, wooden doors led to what he presumed were private dressing rooms. At the end of the hall, a large door with a gold-gilt frame proclaimed its superior status. Freyman¡¯s servant stopped in front of the door and knocked. The destination bore no nameplate, but Grimhilt would wager his entire month¡¯s salary it belonged to Naira. No other performer carried that kind of prestige, not even here in the Savona Theater. She was nobility of a different kind. Bet that rankles some feathers around the roost. Grimhilt padded closer, put his ear on the door. Inside, he could just make out the lilt of muffled voices. Snatches of conversation filtered out to him, incoherent babble shot through with theatrical phrases and what he assumed was stage jargon. All this way for flattery? Since when did Freyman play the sycophant? He waited for nearly twenty minutes, listening to foreign-sounding terms, trying to get his bearings. Perhaps this had been a mistake. As he turned to leave, however, Grimhilt heard the last thing he expected: a marriage proposal. =+= Rhae shrieked in excitement. The rush of air and the pressure in her stomach made her hands shake, but she focused on the albatross skull in her grip and rolled over, catching a thermal lift with her wings. The sudden shift in momentum swept her sideways, knocking her out of the warm, rising current. She mastered her panic and leaned her body left, just as Thenxi had taught her, slowly regaining equilibrium. The skull seemed to have less effect out here than she¡¯d expected, but Rhae hung on and willed herself to slow down and control the fall sideways. Bit by bit, she shifted back toward her target, using the fissure for a guide. Fear melted away when she looked down this time. A faint ray of light shone through the clouds above her, playing on the water below. The light might be weak sometimes, but it was still there, painting the waves even in the gloom. Rhae smiled, imagining that she was that ray of sunlight: smaller and weaker than the other members of the team, true, but she lifted everyone¡¯s spirits at just the right time, shining into the darkness and telling everyone it would be all right. She laughed in wonder. What had taken her so long to jump? She¡¯d always dreamed of flying in her childhood, and now she was soaring above the ocean, drifting in dark storm clouds between ruined sections of the Bridge. What a story to tell when she got back to Fair Haven! A shape flitted past her. Rhae turned her head to see Thenxi flying by, smiling at her like a proud grandmother. Another shape joined them, and then another. Meri, zipping about with an enthusiastic, nearly reckless abandon. Aravind, graceful despite his bulk. Others she didn¡¯t even know yet¡ªalthough their presence with her in flight made her like them instantly¡ªfilling the sky until she was certain the entire Western clan had turned out to fly with her. Together they twirled through the sky, looping and spinning until they reached a landing spot on the island below. ¡°Wait! How do I land?¡± Rhae screamed at the fliers around her, but no one answered. The wind snatched away her words. She watched the others spread their wings wide, slowing the descent, and bending their knees when they touched down to absorb the impact. For once it didn¡¯t look that hard. Rhae lifted her arms to the sides, opening the wingspan as wide as she could. Cold air rushed across her face, catching the wings, slowing her down, but it wasn¡¯t enough¡ª ¡°Ahhhhhh!¡± Rhae screamed, thudding into the sandy ground a tangle of limbs. She rolled across the beach and face-planted into a sand dune. Groaning, she examined her body for injuries. Nothing seemed broken, but already a few bruises announced themselves when she prodded tender spots. A whoop of victory sounded beside her. She turned to see Thenxi touch down gracefully and come over to pick her up from the sands. Breathless with wonder, Rhae hugged Thenxi as soon as the woman helped her back up to standing. Rhae planted her feet on the ground, shaking from the adrenaline, but she couldn¡¯t stop grinning at Thenxi. ¡°That was amazing!¡± ¡°Looks like you had it in you after all,¡± Thenxi said, smug satisfaction on her face. ¡°You came all this way for me. Thank you. You all came! It was incredible to watch you fly. ¡± She hugged Thenxi, then stepped back as a thought struck her. ¡°It was so beautiful to see, but how are we getting back up to our camp?¡± ¡°You are staying down here with me. Usually it¡¯s not safe on the ground for long, but you will be under my protection while we continue our training. The boys will climb back up and bring down our supplies. The exercise will make them strong.¡± Rhae hugged Meri and the twins and waved goodbye to Aravind and Taras, who¡¯d been ferried down between several tandem fliers. They waved back, even serious old Taras, which made her giggle. He was strange sometimes. Soon they were all alone on the edge of the sandy beach. High tide showed in a line of smooth, black pebbles interspersed with dozens of huge, jagged rocks. Nestled inside the shelter of these standing stones, the wind didn¡¯t cut quite as bitterly, and Thenxi could speak at a normal volume and still be heard. She resumed her instruction. Rhae leaned forward, determined to soak in every word. She hummed a remembering song so that she wouldn¡¯t forget, although she couldn¡¯t imagine ever forgetting a day like this. She might not be a fairy, but flight had been magical after all. ¡°We¡¯ll rest for the night,¡± Thenxi finally allowed. ¡°You¡¯ve done well today, and we¡¯ve got a long march tomorrow to reach the temple climb.¡± Rhae gasped, her horns lighting up, then covered her mouth quickly. Humans didn¡¯t always like the ways that she expressed excitement¡ªTaras said they that her mannerisms made people think her immature. ¡°You have a temple on the Bridge?¡± Thenxi snorted. ¡°You always sound like you¡¯re shocked that we have civilization here. Do not think that we can¡¯t hear you and Taras marvel at our strange ways.¡± Rhae felt her horns grow hot as she blushed furiously. ¡°Forgive! We¡¯ve only ever heard of the monsters and terrors that lurk on the Bridge. No one knew that anyone lived here.¡± Thenxi loomed over her suddenly, standing with her arms straight out to her sides. ¡°And are you so sure that I am not a monster, child?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure!¡± Rhae giggled. ¡°Or if you are, then you¡¯re the kind of monster that I like.¡± ¡°A good answer. That is what I strive to be.¡± ¡°Really? I never would have guessed,¡± Rhae said. After a long moment she frowned. ¡°You¡¯re teasing me.¡± ¡°Humor is another sign of civilization.¡± This time they both laughed until Rhae felt shaky and drained. It had been a long day of emotional highs and lows, and she needed to rest. She pulled out her bow harp and strummed a few simple chords, then picked her way through a little dance piece that was popular back home in Fair Haven. Thenxi took a few moments to get the feel of the song, then nodded along. ¡°Thank you for remembering to bring my instruments when you followed me down here. I can¡¯t believe I left them!¡± ¡°I am the cr¨¨che mother, after all,¡± Thenxi said. ¡°I look after all my children.¡± Rhae settled down into the blanket Thenxi had brought and let out a long, deep breath. It felt good to belong somewhere. Drowsiness threatened to pull her under any moment, but Rhae fought it off for a little longer. ¡°I didn¡¯t think I could do it at first, but that albatross skull helped me fly. Thank you so much for your gift.¡± Thenxi stroked her hair. ¡°Want to know a secret?¡± Rhae sat up and nodded. ¡°Yes, please!¡± Thenxi chuckled at her. ¡°It was only a skull, child, nothing more. There¡¯s no enchantment on it at all.¡± ¡°But I felt it,¡± Rhae insisted. She frowned, faltering. ¡°I couldn¡¯t have flown without it.¡± Thenxi shook her head. ¡°I built up its fable a bit in the retelling. You didn¡¯t need it to fly. The courage was all you.¡± Chapter Twenty-Three - Meanwhile Taras hunched his shoulders against the hunger, against the cold, against the dark. Along with the others in Western cr¨¨che, he¡¯d marched to a secret passage of ladders and tenuous holds in the rock, climbing and scrambling all the way back up to a watchtower on the very top of the Bridge itself. From there, they had a vantage point over their original camp, and they¡¯d flown to the landing spot through the night to collect their things and watch over the youngest children, who had stayed behind on their own when the rest of the family flew with Rhae. His head sagged. He allowed himself the momentary weakness. Clearly, he would have to improve his training regimen when they returned to Laurentum. He was accustomed to hard work, but that climb¡ªand the nerve-wracking sensation of gliding into the unknown on a frame of sticks and rags¡ªhad beaten down his resolve. The price of growing old. Thankfully, he had his shield back. The reserve of power he had imbued within it before the Bridge expedition could give him just enough strength to keep from collapsing. He resisted the urge to draw on it now. Exhaustion nearly crippled him, but a few aching muscles didn¡¯t warrant dipping into the emergency reserves. Who knew what horrors awaited on the morrow? More life flourished in this place than he¡¯d expected, but that didn¡¯t mean the worst wasn¡¯t still to come. The storm surrounding the Bridge wouldn¡¯t relinquish its hold without a fight, which was fine by him. He¡¯d welcome the challenge. It was the only way to grow. His conscience needled him every time his thoughts turned back to Rhae, alone down by the water with Thenxi. For all her good intentions, the Seer was holding something back. She had swept along Rhae in her plans, preying on the Qeren¡¯s natural inquisitiveness and trusting nature, but to what end Taras wasn¡¯t certain. A forty-year old prophecy seemed far too young to be believed, too contrived. Perhaps it had been in motion longer? Even so, it was convenient. He clicked his tongue and stretched out on a mat. He was a traditionalist, but sometimes that blinded him to good sense. He knew that about himself. Not all truth needed the weight and pomp of centuries behind it. One of the Bridge sages could have foreseen this expedition. Their goals aligned with the outsiders, after all. It was not entirely unreasonable. Outside, rain pattered on the Bridge, pinging on the metal beams¡ªadding counterpoint in a softer, more subdued tattoo on the massive outcroppings of stone and cement¡ªand Rhae¡¯s smiling face instantly came to mind. She would have enjoyed the song in the water sounds. As he listened to the rhythm, Taras let his mind wander back over the last several days, searching for clues about their hosts. Thenxi and Aravind spoke about a day of deliverance, of freedom from the darkness and death that surrounded them, but when Taras closed his eyes, all he could see was the skirmish that had cut off Rhae from the group. He¡¯d charged after the little Qeren, and been caught up in the pageantry of prophecy and new beginnings, but human nature had made him cynical. What if seizing the Stormorb and crushing Eastern cr¨¨che was the real goal? Rhae might not even realize that the efforts fit together like two hands grasping to seal a pact. Could he allow Thenxi to use the Qeren¡¯s naivete and joy against her? With a heavy sigh, he realized that it was their best option. His mission from Indara was paramount. What was the life of one girl in comparison to saving an entire city? Sleep was a long time coming. =+= Freyman tapped his pheasant drumstick on the table, gathering his thoughts before he spoke to Lieutenant Lasgaard. The man¡¯s late night appearance at his palace had come as a shock, but Freyman had mastered himself and commanded the guards to see Lasgaard to the banqueting room, as though two-o-¡¯clock in the morning were a normal hour for receiving dinner guests. Of course, he could get used to a snack in the middle of the night. The cold meat and warm mead improved his mood, and he allowed Lasgaard a reasonable approximation of a smile.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°We can¡¯t win every gamble, I suppose. We¡¯ll find a new method after a good night¡¯s rest. Do try to look at least a little crestfallen, though; you¡¯re so pleased with yourself that I¡¯m having serious doubts about your appetite for adventure.¡± Lasgaard shifted his feet, left hand resting on the hilt of his sword. ¡°The soldiers made it through, Excellency. I had something of a . . . misunderstanding . . . with the mage, however, so I was prevented passage.¡± Freyman bit off a chunk of the pheasant, chewing deliberately while Lasgaard waited for a reply. He wiped his hands on a scented hand towel. ¡°Hmm. I think it worked out rather well in your favor. Strange, that. Most magical misunderstandings make for messy mopup.¡± ¡°I regret that I am unable to carry out my duty, Sir.¡± ¡°Never fear, Lasgaard. I¡¯ve always got plans within plans. ¡®A single point of failure is the single best way to ensure failure.¡¯ Do you like that saying? I just made it up, I believe. Aha! I will need to remember that one tomorrow.¡± Lasgaard bowed, a little too crisply. ¡°As you say.¡± ¡°Now listen, whelp. You¡¯ve made a hash of things. I¡¯ve half a mind to make an example of you over this. Instead, I¡¯ll give you a chance to redeem yourself. That¡¯s far more pleasant, don¡¯t you think?¡± ¡°You¡¯re the expert on redemption, I hear.¡± ¡°He finds a backbone at last. Bravo, Lieutenant! Yes, I¡¯ve managed to rise from my dank cell like a phoenix. A chance to redeem myself, to make good on my mistakes.¡± Freyman picked a sliver of bone from his teeth. ¡°And do you know what my chief mistake was, Lasgaard?¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t presume to rank them, Sir.¡± Freyman chuckled. ¡°You¡¯re far better company when you¡¯re irritable, did you know that? I never did like the overly-polished facade. I¡¯ll make sure to poke the bear, as it were, before each of your future audiences.¡± Lasgaard¡¯s knuckles tightened on his hilt. Perhaps his nerves were more frayed by whatever had happened with the mage than he was letting on. That was a story Freyman would like to hear¡ªhe scratched a quick note on his official letterhead, and handed it to a servant. He had ways to get the unvarnished truth. ¡°I¡¯ve forgotten myself. Do forgive me; it¡¯s so late that my manners are slipping. Sit, eat. I have a story to tell you, Lasgaard.¡± A servant stepped out of the corner with impeccable timing to furnish Lasgaard with a chair. Freyman couldn¡¯t countenance servants who weren¡¯t on the spot. Three more servants ghosted in with a platter of pheasant and sliced pears, lightly sugared, and a flagon of the mead Freyman had recently taken a liking to. Despite the late hour, Lasgaard fell on the food with a voracity that surprised Freyman. He considered himself a true gourmand, but Lasgaard¡ªhe could eat like his life depended on it. ¡°Now, where was I? Ahh, yes. My first folly, my fatal foilable, my fundamental flaw! If you had asked me a decade ago where I¡¯d gone awry, I would have humbly parroted the words of a certain justicar who banished me from the light and life of society: namely, that I¡¯d defrauded the common man¡ªhoodwinked the horde! He took exception to my generosity. Can you believe the temerity of that small-minded penny pincher?¡± Freyman shook a second drumstick at Lasgaard. ¡°What good was my exalted position if I did not raise up a few friends alongside me to share in the bounty of my office? Yet he defrocked me for stealing from the people!¡± Lasgaard studiously buried himself in his cup. ¡°Now that I am older and wiser, I¡¯ve come to realize that my error was not in taking from a few outraged nobles, but in not daring to dream. What is the wealth of Laurentum? A bauble! There¡¯s a wide, wide world out there begging for someone with the vision to care and cultivate, to reign and rule. I will be like a god among men, Lasgaard, once I¡¯ve subjugated the Stormorb. A future awaits you by my side, if you¡¯re brazen enough to take it.¡± Freyman smiled when Lasgaard put down the goblet and looked him over shrewdly, as though he had a new respect for Freyman¡¯s greatness. ¡°Well, Lieutenant? I take it that you want your chance to redeem yourself.¡± ¡°I await your orders, Sir,¡± Lasgaard replied, his oily tone back as he leaned forward in his chair and spread his hands apart as if to assure Freyman of his sincerity. ¡°Command, and I shall obey.¡± Chapter Twenty-Four - Hailstorm Rashana stood watch over her companions all night, staring out into a bleak hellscape. Dark, rocky projections jutted up from the earth every few dozen feet. They looked like pillars from an ancient temple, but too haphazard for human construction. Fog wended through the slight valley they¡¯d chosen for their campsite, hanging heavy in cold, dull-gray clouds that looked like apathy incarnate. Even in her metal body, Rashana didn¡¯t dare touch them. In the morning, when the others woke, they had encouraged her to rest, but she waved them off. Once they realized she had no need of sleep, unlike other creatures, they¡¯d relented, although Rashana suspected that may have had to do with the rations she¡¯d laid out for them to eat. What would they think of her bloodlust now? Would they bury the corpses? ¡°I don¡¯t know much about rustbucket emotions,¡± Gruvrik said, crunching on a condensed bar of oats and dried fruit, ¡°but you look miserable for such a fine morning.¡± ¡°I must bear witness to my crimes,¡± Rashana said softly. Gruvrik shrugged. ¡°Us or them. I¡¯ve been there plenty of times, Rashana. Turns out, I still prefer us.¡± Maeda coughed¡ªa weak, wet sound¡ªand tried to laugh. ¡°Well said, dwarf. Remorse is only for the living. Funny twist of fate there, huh?¡± ¡°There are times when we must oppose evil,¡± Jarkoda said. He stopped packing up and clasped his muscular, scaled arms in front of him, as though preparing for a lecture. ¡°Master always said that we pray those times are few and far between. But there is never a time when we do not oppose the evil within. Perhaps you can visit my monastery one day. We will help you tame the cravings.¡± ¡°You would help me?¡± Rashana asked. Hope flashed in her mind. A snort of flames met her question, but the spark of golden light in Jarkoda¡¯s eyes flared into a dance. ¡°I¡¯ve given my word.¡± Rashana took that to mean yes. But she had bigger problems, if they survived the Bridge and returned to the mainland. ¡°When we leave this place, it¡¯s not likely that Indara will allow me to persist. She provided the seed for the bond, so in her eyes I am an extension of her, a plant growing into something useful to be harvested.¡± ¡°What kind of fruit are you?¡± Gruvrik asked, combing out his beard with a knife he¡¯d lifted from one of the Bridge bandits. ¡°Something rotten,¡± Rashana said, a good deal more bitterness in her voice than she¡¯d intended. Maeda eyed her from beneath the layers of blankets they¡¯d piled up to keep her warm. If the poison didn¡¯t kill her, the shakes just might as the drug wore off. ¡°You don¡¯t have to be there when we present the Stormorb to the Chancellor. We¡¯ll say you say you didn¡¯t make it¡ªmaybe you met some heroic end¡ªand you can slip off to the docks and join the Sharks. I¡¯ll be happy to put in a good word for you. Errol will do the same, if he¡¯s still alive.¡± ¡°But I¡¯ve . . . consumed more soul fragments than I should have. Taras will never allow a creature like me to go free. You know that he called me an abomination against the light. No use denying what I am.¡± Jarkoda¡¯s nostrils dilated. ¡°You are what you choose to be, Rashana.¡± ¡°And what if I choose wrong?¡± The halfdragon narrowed his eyes. His nostrils closed back into slits, leaking smoke. His face took on the appearance of armor, of something hard and unyielding and built for violence. ¡°Then I will personally dismantle you, blood debt or no.¡± Rashana scooted over to sit next to him. ¡°Did you really mean it that you¡¯ll take me with you? Taras will allow that, perhaps, as a compromise. I could train at your monastery.¡± ¡°And how would you sustain yourself? What if the urge to feed became too great?¡± ¡°I do not know,¡± Rashana admitted. The ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. ¡°Good answer. Perhaps there is hope for you, Rashana. If you had told me that you were confident you had it all planned out, all under control, then I may have taken you apart piece by piece right now.¡± She grinned. ¡°I¡¯ll have to find some seaweed to defend myself. I¡¯ve heard you struggle with magical nets.¡± Gruvrik cackled and slapped her shoulder. ¡°Ain¡¯t gonna let him live that down, eh? Good! A mighty dragon, tangled up in a net of weeds.¡± Smoke curled out of Jarkoda¡¯s nostrils, carrying a strong, oily stench. ¡°That net was enchanted!¡± ¡°All the more reason to tread lightly next time,¡± Maeda said. She coughed again, pulled the blanket tight, and fell silent for a long moment, an ashen tint to her face. When she stirred, a bone necklace emerged from beneath the covers. ¡°I have a ward that can protect you. Didn¡¯t do Telyim much good against a punch, but sorcery dies a hissing death when it touches this bone ward. Useful item.¡± Next to her, Telyim strained against her bonds, shouting muffled curses into her gag. Her eyes grew wild as she thrashed, fighting against the restraints with savage abandon. Her head caught the edge of a rock, spraying blood, but she still sawed her teeth into the gag. ¡°Might as well hear what she has to say,¡± Gruvrik grunted. ¡°Maybe then she¡¯ll stop trying to streak the sand with her lifeblood.¡± ¡°Give it back, invaders! You¡¯re not fit to touch such holy gifts. Only a Seer of the Eastern cr¨¨che may possess the key. The Storm take you all¡ª¡± Gruvrik shoved the rag back down her throat, tossing the crazed Bridge woman against a rock with more force than Rashana thought necessary. ¡°Heard plenty of talk like that in my day from more intimidating folk than you. Wanna know where they are now, lass?¡± Gruvrik made a chopping motion across his neck. ¡°We should gut this one,¡± Maeda croaked. Rashana stepped between the two women. ¡°No. Enough blood on our hands already.¡± ¡°She¡¯ll only slow us down.¡± ¡°So will you,¡± Rashana snapped, gesturing toward the blankets wrapped around Maeda. ¡°You¡¯re welcome to share a grave together.¡± Jarkoda waved a hand. ¡°No more bickering. Better we learn more about what she knows of this accursed place. She mentioned a key. Maybe that unlocks something important¡ªa clue to where we can find the Stormorb once we reach the target location.¡± Gruvrik stuck out his tongue and blew. ¡°Or maybe it¡¯s just a key to their outhouse.¡± Telyim stiffened at his insult, turning her head as far as she could while bound up to glare at the dwarf. No one needed to remove the gag to hear the threat her muffled, indistinct words implied. ¡°We¡¯ve farther to go if we want to make it to our destination before we run out of supplies for the return trip,¡± Jarkoda said. He hefted his pack, frowning. ¡°Rations are already almost half gone, and who knows what we¡¯ll find here that¡¯s edible.¡± Maeda shook her head. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t be a problem. Lots of birds and fish. And obviously a tribe of bandits manages to survive here, which implies both sources of food, and the presence of other people. Cowards like her need others to prey upon.¡± ¡°Clever,¡± Gruvrik said. He stamped out the dying embers of the fire where they¡¯d roasted the last of the birds Maeda had caught a few days ago. ¡°She did mention an Eastern cr¨¨che; we came from the west, so perhaps we went right past the Western cr¨¨che?¡± At that name, Telyim started thrashing again, eyes wild with hatred. Jarkoda slung Maeda over his shoulder, holding her in a makeshift sling they¡¯d made for her until she could walk again. Rashana took the prisoner, content to let her twist and scream. Telyim tried to gouge her with fingernails filed into points, but Rashana just laughed when one snapped against her metal skin. The pushed forward against a headwind, tracking cautiously around razor-edged shale and shattered debris from the Bridge. Chunks of stone and twisted lengths of steel littered the beach, many embedded deep in the sand. Short scrub brush grew through the cracks, pushing its way toward the meager light. Decades of scouring winds left most surfaces smooth and regular, except for the keen edge of rocks. The others complained when the wind whipped up fine granules of sand, stinging their eyes, but Rashana pushed onward, unaffected. Still, she shivered internally, in the human fashion, when she considered the awesome force required to rip sections of the Bridge into broken pieces as large as the Imperial palace. One gnarled obstruction took nearly twenty minutes to circumvent. Indara¡¯s entire chambers could have fit inside three times over, with space to spare. Jarkoda settled into an easy lope next to her. ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about the possibility of a Western cr¨¨che. There¡¯s a chance we could barter with them for supplies on the way back. That would give us breathing room, since we¡¯re eating into our margin for rations.¡±You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. ¡°Or they could tear us all into pieces.¡± ¡®They could try,¡± Jarkoda said, shrugging. Rashana laughed, short and uneasy. ¡°At least that would save you the trouble of doing it yourself if I go rogue.¡± Telyim¡¯s eyes darted back and forth between them as they spoke. Her struggles seemed to take on a cursory nature, her focus shifting from escape to interest in the foreigner¡¯s presence on her lands. Perhaps she had something worth hearing to add to the conversation. Rashana sharpened a finger and slit the gag. ¡°Don¡¯t make me regret that.¡± Telyim spat. ¡°The Western cr¨¨che is weak. They will not fight.¡± ¡°Why should we believe you? Only a few moments ago you were cursing us to die. How can we trust anything you say?¡± Telyim¡¯s shrugged, as much as she could with the ropes binding her in place. Her anger had diminished some, but Rashana could still see evidence of her mood in the creases around the mouth. She would not hesitate to kill them all if she could get free. And unlike Rashana, Telyim would feel no remorse. No seconds thoughts with that one. Rashana leaned closer, examining her captive. ¡°Tell me, Telyim, would you rid this world of the storm, if you could?¡± A hiss escaped Telyim¡¯s jaws before she clamped down. ¡°Without the storm, what would keep us strong? Even the Westerners know this truth. I¡¯ve heard their elders claim that we could live happy and free in a paradise without the storms, everyone at peace and unafraid to walk up topside at night. We could see the stars, they say! But do they act on that dream? No.¡± A moment of longing seemed to tug at Telyim¡¯s soul when she mentioned the stars, but she hardened herself against it and glared up at Rashana. ¡°Is that why you are here? To make us weak so that you¡¯re able to conquer us?¡± Gruvrik elbowed her as he trotted by. ¡°Riddle me this, lass. If you¡¯re so strong, how come you¡¯re all tied up?¡± ¡°We are hardened by the storm, not trained to fight demons and machines,¡± Telyim said. She twisted her neck to stare down at Gruvrik. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with your legs, anyway? Why are you so short? You don¡¯t seem to fit with the mighty warriors of your clan.¡± Gruvrik ducked and ran under Rashana¡¯s legs. ¡°Can you do that?¡± Telyim pursed her lips. ¡°I have my dignity, short man.¡± ¡°Ever considered that your elongated limbs are the real problem? I¡¯m stronger than two of ya, and I fit into little places you can¡¯t reach,¡± Gruvrik replied, undeterred. Telyim weighed the statement, then gave a curt nod. ¡°The last Seer before me went blind toward the end of his life. Afterward, he claimed he could hear the rustle of an ant¡¯s antennae at a dozen paces. I didn¡¯t know him to be the lying sort, although I think he exaggerated a few details. Perhaps you are right, short man. You lose one thing, but you gain another. The weak die, but the strong adapt.¡± ¡°I guess she¡¯s all right,¡± Gruvrik said, scampering up ahead to perch on a gnarled tree no taller than he was. ¡°As she says, we¡¯ve all got our ways to balance out the hand life dealt. I¡¯ll let her live.¡± ¡°Tell me more about the storm. Don¡¯t you feel its malevolence?¡± Jarkoda prompted. ¡°We have forbidden travel to the Bridge for generations due to this evil presence. You¡¯re living in only a tiny slice of a vast world, cut off from the rest of your kind. In my experience, that doesn¡¯t make you strong; it just makes you lonely.¡± The wind picked up again, drowning out conversation. They trudged on in silence for a while, leaning into the biting teeth of the upcoming tempest to keep their footing against the powerful headwinds. Up ahead, Rashana could finally make out the faint outline of another support pillar. This one seemed twice as wide as the usual pillar, and square instead of round. It was blackened in irregular streaks, like a pan left over a fire too long, or perhaps a tree struck by lightning. She didn¡¯t have to consult the map. Instinctively, she sensed that they would find their prize inside. Thunder cracked overhead, followed an instant later by a freezing rain so violent that it seemed to carry the signature of sentience, as though the torrent was an intentional attack against all living things in the Bridge¡¯s domain. They ran for cover in a shallow cave in the rock, where they huddled against each other for warmth. Despite high summer¡¯s heat in Laurentum, the storm cut like a blade of ice. Each breath from her companion¡¯s lips formed puffs of fog in the frigid air. They shivered and swore at the cold. She wondered again if she seemed strange to them with her metallic body and lack of need for air or warmth. Sometimes it was a boon to be untouched by the fickle elements.. Frost soon formed on the ground. Hail pounded from the heavens, mixed in with the rain, ricocheting off the stony ground. At first the random ping of ice on her body made her smile, but the others covered their faces and grunted at each impact. As the pieces grew bigger and more jagged, the others covered their faces, protecting their eyes and mouths against the blunt, heavy trauma. Rashana motioned them to press back against the rock wall. She flattened her frame to create a thin dome to cover the entrance of the cave, blocking off the spray of hail. Her new form plunged them into darkness, but no one complained. They huddled together, shaking and shivering in the cold, waiting out the violence of the storm. =+= Thenxi grabbed Rhae¡¯s cloak at the shoulder and dragged her faster. ¡°Storm¡¯s coming, as bad as I¡¯ve ever seen. We need shelter before we¡¯re shredded¡ªI can feel it in my bones that hail is on its way. The cold doesn¡¯t bode well for our survival.¡± Rhae panted, running as quickly as she could. Sprinting had never been her strong suit. She tripped on a root and fell into Thenxi, knocking them both down in a tangle of legs. Thenxi snarled in frustration and hauled Rhae to her feet. ¡°We¡¯re running too slowly! Keep up, or I go on alone. I believe in you, but I¡¯ll not die for nothing.¡± They staggered onward, slipping on the icy rocks and treacherous sand. Rhae gauged the time required to make it to the dark tower far in the distance. She gulped, forcing herself to run faster, despite the pain in her sides. Ice-infused wind bit into her, tearing through her narrow tunic and slicing her face, swirling along her arms and chest with debilitating cold. She gasped as the frost hit her lungs, burning her from the inside out. Flecks of blood traced into eyes. She blinked, dashing the back of her hand across her eyes to clear her vision, and stumbled again. She had to keep going. Rhae tripped. She let go of Thenxi¡¯s hand and slammed into the sharp shale, rolling on the loose scree until she collided with a rock. The cr¨¨che mother hunched against the wind and kept running. She did not look back. Rhae cried out, covering her arms and huddling into a ball. Numbness entered into her bones. Even her horns felt the chill, though they sputtered like a lamp almost out of oil. Normally they were the warmest part of her, pulsing with light and heat. Shivering, she reached into her pack and pulled out her harp. Maybe she could use firesong to warm herself up before she froze to death. Her fingers fumbled, too cold to pluck the strings. In desperation, she grabbed her horns, hoping they still had enough warmth to thaw out her hands. Heat flowed into her fingers, stinging like a swarm of bees. The agony in her horns was excruciating where her cold fingers touched, like her life-force was draining out. She held on as long as she could, then tried the harp again. A chord rang out, pure and true. Flames ringed the air above her, weaving into a small barrier of fire that extinguished the hail and sleet. Every time she stopped playing, the wreath of flames died down and let through a gust of bitter cold and ice. Arms shaking, she played as often as she could in between the pain. Numbness crept up her limbs. She fumbled at the strings, losing all feeling in her hands, but the song still came out strong now that she¡¯d found the melody. The longer she played, the warmer she became. She was accustomed to playing all day for practice at the bard college, but hunger became a factor after a few hours. They had almost been ready for breakfast when the storm broke. No time to snack now, so that meant she hadn¡¯t eaten since the night before. How long could she hold out? A wry smile split her face. At least the gnawing pain in her tummy kept her from thinking too much about her raw fingers and the endless hunger of arctic blasts that stalked her above the shield of fire. After another hour of playing, the water she¡¯d gulped down the night before started made its demands on her system. She stopped playing for a moment to make preparations to relieve herself, but as the fire faded, hailstones the size of her thumb pelted her face, bruising the skin and cutting her cheek. Better alive and embarrassed than dead with her dignity intact. She let nature take its course, trying not to think about it. The ache in her hands grew worse and worse. She shook, her fingers stiff and wooden, like tiny sticks for kindling. The flesh shredded and peeled away at her fingertips, raw and tender from sustained contact with the harp strings, but at least she couldn¡¯t feel them anymore. The frigid air chilled her bone-deep. She cried then, struggling to keep playing, soaked from the rain and her own waste. Rhae dropped the harp, whimpering. Exhaustion sapped the strength from every limb. The fire shield above her diminished, misting away in a hiss of steam. Rhae covered her eyes and face with her forearms to protect herself from the pain. Maybe she could still survive. She curled into a ball, sobbing. Abruptly, the hail stopped. Rhae turned over, opening her eyes. Only a steady drizzle drenched the land, but a little water didn¡¯t deter her. The unnatural, biting cold had lessened as well, although the wind still carried a slight chill. Rhae pulled herself over to a small stump near where she¡¯d fallen, sagging back against the wood. She rested her head on the tangled roots and wiped her nose with her sleeve.. As far as pillows went, it wasn¡¯t her favorite, but right now she didn¡¯t care. The fell storm had tried to kill her, but she still drew breath. The rain faded, replaced by a heavy fog. Rhae squinted. She couldn¡¯t see the command tower anymore, but knew the general direction. Thenxi had led her Eastward. Maybe she could still catch up if she walked all day and night. She trudged along the small footpath, dragging her feet through the mud. The cr¨¨che mother would have food in her pack, and a change of clothes. They wouldn¡¯t be helpless or stranded, although the rest of the climb looked difficult. The thought of Thenxi hit her like a punch to the gut. How could the woman just abandon her to the storm? She¡¯d warned Rhae once, then just left her on the ground, pelted by hail and screaming in pain. Rhae had trusted Thenxi. She¡¯d believed her that together they would defeat the storm and restore the Bridge to its glorious past. Rhae had dared to dream that this must be what it was like to have a mother. She sank to her knees, hugging herself to stay warm. What if the woman had lied to her about needing her? She fumbled at her neck, feeling for the leather thong. Where was the key? It had either gone missing in the storm, or else Thenxi had taken it. Maybe she didn¡¯t need Rhae at all, anymore¡ªmaybe it was all a lie, just like the deception of the albatross skull. Maybe she had only wanted the key; Rhae was only useful until she wasn¡¯t. I¡¯m such a fool, she berated herself bitterly. No would wants me just for me. Her natural optimism kicked in a moment later. Why would Thenxi have left her alive, not to mention spend all that time practicing with her, if she didn¡¯t want Rhae¡¯s help? Maybe running was the only way to ensure that she could defeat the storm. It wasn¡¯t personal. They could still be reunited soon. Rhae sniffed and put her forehead down on her knees. It wasn¡¯t personal, she kept telling herself, but the problem was that she wanted it to be personal, just in the other direction. She wanted Thenxi to adopt her into the cr¨¨che. Even though she knew it was selfish, when the storm hit, she¡¯d wanted Thenxi to cover her with her own body, protecting her from the rain and hail, to tell her that it was all going to be okay. She had wanted to feel like part of a family again. Still sniffling, she stood up. Rashana or Errol or Jarkoda¡ªthe others wouldn¡¯t have left her. She didn¡¯t know Thenxi, not really, and she might never get the chance to reconcile. But the others were still out there. She¡¯d keep going, for their sake. Forget Thenxi. Forget the quest. They were her family now. Chapter Twenty-Five - Vengeance Errol dreamed of the Bridge, gleaming white with pennants fluttering in the breeze, still pristine. She was the pride of Laurentum, the greatest feat of engineering the world had ever seen, and she was glorious. Her spirit danced above the Bridge in the skies, flitting from cloud to cloud in a rush of golden light, free from fear. This was a glimpse back to her happiest memories, to a time unfettered from the storm and its corruption. He hadn¡¯t felt her presence in his dreams since he was only a small child. After his father died, the Bridge seemed far away, just a whisper in the back of his mind. Once, he¡¯d made the mistake of telling another street urchin about the Bridge. An older kid had overheard, and soon a rumor spread that he was crazy. The insults weren¡¯t the worst part. The beatings had followed in short order¡ªno one had dared to lift a hand to stop the older kids from taking scraps of food or what little money Errol could beg. He was crazy, so he wouldn¡¯t last long. Might as well get while the getting was good. Rough hands shook him awake. He instinctively reached for his voltage stream, ready to teach the bullies a lesson, when the sergeant''s face floated into view. Memory rushed back over him and he realized that he was sitting on the top of the Bridge, hands knotted behind his body. The days of running for his life in Laurentum¡¯s back alleyways were over, but he still had to deal with a dozen soldiers milling about. ¡°We¡¯re moving camp. I¡¯ll cut you free and let you carry your pack of tools as long as you can behave. If I see one thing I don¡¯t like, you¡¯ll go back to hands tied. Got it?¡± Errol frowned. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I like that arrangement. Someone else carrying my pack, and the freedom to do what I want¡ªnow that sounds like a good deal.¡± The sergeant¡¯s rough breath bathed Errol, almost choking him with its pungency. ¡°Listen, boy. Rueben here tells me that you know Freyman. That¡¯s a story I¡¯d like to hear. But he¡¯s a long way from the Bridge, and no one here would gainsay me if I tell him that you were working with his enemies and died during our attempts to stop you. You ain¡¯t special; you won¡¯t get any offers better than the one I already gave ya.¡± ¡°Fair enough, Sarge. I¡¯ll carry my pack. Expect a bill when I¡¯m back home having tea with Oskar.¡± The tall, pockmarked man grunted, then waved for his soldiers to undo the knots. A hand shoved his pack to him, and another pushed him down a trail, farther into the broken landscape on top of the Bridge. Above, the sun was just visible enough in the early morning gloom to tell direction. Errol smiled. They were still heading East, then, toward the tower circled on the map. He reached out with his sensor field. None of the scouts had returned yet, or if they had, then they weren¡¯t in range. He urged them onward, although good hunting in this case meant a live capture, not a kill. He cleared his throat. ¡°I can tell you where to find them.¡± ¡°Already know where we¡¯re headed. Don¡¯t think you¡¯re privy to classified intel.¡± Errol stopped a sigh from escaping his lips. If the sergeant knew that he was frustrated, his gambit was up. They¡¯d never trust him if he looked too eager, or too disappointed when they rebuffed his offers. They marched all day across a broad road that was surprisingly well preserved. Unlike the other sections of Bridge that Errol had seen, this stretch of highway was largely intact. Many small houses lined the way, interspersed with larger inns and a few stables. He tried to imagine the bustle of business in the Bridge¡¯s heyday. Carts and wagons flowing in an endless line, all heading across the bay. Going straight across turned a dangerous, three-week trek through an always snowbound mountain pass into a two-day jaunt across level ground, with shops along the way and entertainment of all varieties¡ªand legalities¡ªat night. Now it was barren. A wasteland full of haunted memories. The ghosts of yesteryear were nothing compared with the terror of the storm itself, however. Errol shuddered, thinking back to the fury of the weather the day before. They¡¯d huddled in a caved-in old outpost that looked like it had once been a lighthouse or watchtower. The roof leaked, but the steady drip was tolerable even when the ground outside was razed by hailstones. They hail started small, but shards of ice the size of his head had smashed through a stone wall that had stood for centuries, driving him into the basement for shelter. A faint pulse in his sensor field alerted him to company ahead. He signaled the sergeant discreetly. ¡°Look lively, lads!¡± Reuben shoved him from behind. ¡°Keep quiet, eh?¡± ¡°He¡¯s right. Someone¡¯s on the road,¡± the sergeant hissed, motioning downward with his palms to command them to keep quiet. Errol glanced up at the sergeant, who had crouched behind a collapsed wall to peer down the street from behind cover. Rubble spilled out across the road where ancient houses had long since collapsed. The whole place looked like a child had kicked over a house of sticks, then tramped back over them in anger, snapping them into pieces. The sound of laughter echoed toward them, carefree and out of place. Errol tiptoed over to the sergeant and peered around the corner of the low, moss covered wall. A group of children kicked a hidebound ball back and forth over the dusty cobblestones, chanting in a rhythm that tugged at the corner of his memory. He finally recognized the cadence of a street game he had played as a child, though the words were out of sequence, jumbled up like someone couldn¡¯t quite remember the original. Their accent reminded him of Mikhail, the old builder he''d spoken with at the tavern last week. Only last week. It may as well have been a lifetime ago. Errol was about to slip away and suggest that they try to find a path around the gaggle of children when the light glinted off a round, glistening white object one of the kids wore on his back. He squinted. The immaculate surface and exceptional craftsmanship left no doubt: the Bridge child had Taras¡¯s shield. Indignation and grief blazed through Errol. Somehow they''d come across the old cleric and managed to pry his weapon away. And now this boy carried his shield like some perverse trophy, like a spoil of war. Righteous fury boiled over at the implications. He dashed down the street with a bellow of anger, gathering his voltage stream and forging it into a lance. Taras had supported him when no one else would; it was time to return the favor, even if it simply meant honoring the dead through vengeance. =+= Taras gripped his staff, watching the boys kick up clouds of dust. They chased a hidebound ball, half of them trying to keep it from the other half, although the teams seemed fluid. Mostly, the kids ignored the rules, such as he''d been able to suss out. Children just liked to run and whoop and holler. After the fell storm yesterday, he couldn''t blame them; the icy wind tried to flay the skin from flesh, and he¡¯d sensed a darkness in it that hungered for his soul. Overcast skies today shone with the brightness of a high summer day. Only one week in the darkness of this place, and already wan light took on the weight of rare luxury. He crossed his arms, breathing deeply, and formed fire in his hands. The ruddy glow limned his fingers in a wash of purifying heat. The cracks and calluses smoothed over with fresh flesh, feeding on the flames. The forces of life and death, balanced on his fingertips. Jagged ruins surrounded them. Tumbled homes and decaying walls jutted at odd angles; the cracked teeth of a humbled beast. He kept his gaze steady, back toward Laurentum. Behind him, far toward the east, a dark-stained tower stretched toward the sky like a broken blade. Cold emanated from its heights. He burned the flames a little brighter, drawing them across his body, and the chill could no longer touch him.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. He didn¡¯t want to turn around. All his life he¡¯d faced evil head on, but suddenly in his old age he¡¯d allowed a young child to take up the mantle. The guilt ate like a worm, consuming him from the inside out. He forced himself to turn, to look, to take responsibility for what he¡¯d done, for what he¡¯d allowed. He¡¯d failed Rhae. He¡¯d sent her to her doom. And for what? Because the Bridge dwellers seemed so sure they could do his job for him this once? Taras growled, disgusted with himself. It wasn¡¯t too late to venture out after her. They would give him a set of wings and grappling hooks so he could glide across the last break in the Bridge and lash himself to the support structure. The climb would be arduous, and she might not even be alive after the pounding hailstorm, but Taras had forged himself in fire. He was a living blade of the light, sworn to execute vengeance against evil. Taras turned back to the group. Meri wore his shield, though he certainly hadn''t earned it yet. Taras would never hear the end of it if his temple cohorts saw him. He was going soft. Time to take back what was his and right this wrong. ¡°Meri.¡± The boy turned toward Taras. He reminded himself to smile to try to take the edge off the boy¡¯s disappointment. ¡°I need my shield back. We can resume training another time.¡± Meri unslung the shield, movements hesitant. He touched the shining alabaster, longing in his eyes, and grinned at Taras as he held up the shield in a guard position, catching the light. The movement saved his life, deflecting a lance of lightning that crackled in the morning air. The shield spun sideways, ripping from Meri¡¯s grasp in an explosion of sound and color: the wards on the shield activated, tearing apart the lightning and releasing the energy into the sky. Another bolt followed almost instantly. Taras formed a prismatic barrier in its path, intercepting a stream of electric energy. Taras dashed toward the child, picking up the shield to mount a proper defense against the Eel. He stumbled over an upturned paving stone, and the temporary shield of light blinked out. A third lance caught Meri in the chest and slammed him down, ribs cracking with the force of the hit. The boy screamed, back arching as he spasmed, and then another lance hit and the primal howls cut off. Meri crumpled, his head lolling to the side. Taras lunged forward to meet the attacker, still too far away to see clearly. Light burning around him in a nimbus of justice, Taras ran up the road. The scraggly looking Eel held up his hand, shouting, but white hot anger surged through Taras, fueled by the righteous fury of grief and a life snuffed out too soon. A sharp, sudden paternal affection he didn¡¯t even know he had pierced his soul as he glanced over at Meri¡¯s mangled body. Fire formed, flickering from his fingers, flying forward to finish the fight. A big man in the battle garb of a Laurentum soldier tackled the Eel before the fire struck, flattening him to the ground below the torrent of flames. They scrambled behind the shoulder of a stone wall, which exploded a second later as Taras launched another fireball at their location. Shrapnel flew in all directions, but he couldn¡¯t see his targets. Drawing in so much fire that he trailed smoke, Taras sprinted forward, shield held out in readiness. Another strobe of light rent the stones, fusing the walls of the houses together with its fury. Stab after stab erupted from Taras, chasing the murderers. Scores in the roadway blistered over, instantly transformed into glass by the searing light. Ten or twelve soldiers emerged from an outcropping, fanning out into battle formation. Two stepped forward to sling javelins, then fell back to the shield wall held up by their comrades. Taras ducked behind his own shield, deflecting the barbs, briefly losing track of the Eel. He growled and switched to the new threat, forming three fireballs above them, then smashing them down into the middle of the formation. They scattered sideways before the fireballs hit, shields angled to absorb the worst. The explosion still launched them off their feet, and one of the men squealed like a slaughtered pig, rolling on the pavement, burning away while his entrails spilled out. Four more javelins flew toward Taras, staggered apart by a split second. He batted three to the side with his shield, but the fourth sneaked through low and hit his thigh. Grunting, he put his hand over the shaft, shoved the blade all the way through, and broke the wood. He pulled on the front end, withdrawing the javelin from his leg, guarding himself with his shield. Laurentum elites were famous for their barbed, twisted javelin tips. If he¡¯d tried to simply pull the javelin out, the resulting wound would have been far more difficult to heal. Pounding feet announced their approach to finish him off before he could go back on the offense: standard procedure with a mage for the elites. Taras fired blindly, laying down a sheet of fire to wall off his would-be attackers. His power flared, and light flowed into the leg, sealing off the bleeding. He limped back a few steps, throwing out a stream of fire that caught one of the soldiers by surprise.That would have to do for now. He couldn¡¯t afford to give his full attention to a proper healing, although the throb of pain in his thigh warned him that he would pay for it later. Foul black smoke billowed everywhere he looked, streaked with dirty gray. The stench of burning hair coiled around Taras, all pervasive in his senses, but he pushed onward, undeterred in his righteous task. The heat from the fire had ignited even the air itself. Scorch marks traced pale, sickly lines in the ether. Images wavered around him; the battleground grew unsteady and rippling in the oppressive heat. Taras was the heart of the flame. He hurled another white pillar into the twisted warren of bricks, steel, and cobblestones where his original quarry had fled, searching for a hit. A burst of flame licked at the ground around his heels, spreading outward in a slow, incinerating march. An answering rain of rocks hit him from the rest of the soldiers. He managed to lift up the shield in time to avoid serious injury, but one grazed his cheek and drew blood. He spat, pushing outward with the groundswell of fire, and the world around him ignited. Flames rose as tall as trees, shooting out from the epicenter of his wrath, consuming four of the Laurentum elites instantly. The others ran after the Eel and the sergeant. He hurled more bolts of fire after them, catching one in the back, kindling him into a human torch. Crouching behind his shield, Taras advanced on their hiding hole, still wary for the bolts of lightning that he expected any second. Why the Eel hadn¡¯t counterattacked when his soldiers had momentarily incapacitated him was a mystery that he didn¡¯t have time to unravel, though he was thankful for their stupdity. Two soldiers faced him, back to a low wall, spears at the ready. Laurentum elite training did them credit; they stood their ground, faces grim, prepared to fight to the end. Taras lifted his free hand, conjuring a ball of light, and he flung it forward, surrounding the soldiers. He clenched his fist and the ball collapsed into an ember, shearing through the men like a bonfire consuming dry parchment. Guttural shrieks of pain cut off almost as soon as they began. Taras turned back to the maze. Tongues of fire winked into existence on his fingers and erupted forward, burying into the rock walls. They exploded, torn asunder by his anger. He had them pinned. No one would escape his justice. They would pay for their crimes, flesh for flesh, burn for burn. Again he drew on the light, pushing back on the darkness around them, and a sphere of pure white flame spun into existence around him, pulsing with power. He strained, willing it to grow and quicken, but he''d drawn too much attention. Storm sickness reached down from the sky, ragged tendrils of dark clouds, roilling with malevolence. It stained the light in streaks of pale green and mottled brown, severing his control over the spinning ball, which crashed away from him toward the last soldiers with a clap louder than thunder. Reverberations shook Taras until his legs gave out. He sprawled, writhing around on the ground, the shockwaves a resonance that he felt even more strongly than he heard. The sphere collapsed in on itself, sucking in the air from around the former village square, then exploded in a chaotic rush that sent pain twisting through his gut. Wave after wave of power pounded him in unrelenting horror. Taras struggled to his feet, trying to throw his shield back toward the remaining Bridge boys; he couldn¡¯t reach them, but he hoped to cast a barrier from the shield to protect them from the stormfire¡¯s ill intent. The rushing wind slapped him back down, knocking him to his knees. The tainted power clashed against his shield. It clawed at him, insatiable desire hungering for his mind. Lightning split the air, shattering the corruption, and the thunderclap boomed about him. Taras staggered back to his feet, wobbling. Bodies of Laurentum soldiers were strewn all about the road ahead of him. Why had they attacked the boys¡ªwhy were they even here at all? Had Indara gone rogue, or had some new player entered the fray? Questions tumbled through his mind, but his concentration broke, and they swept away half-formed, bouncing like boulders crashing through a gully in a flash flood. He surveyed the destruction. Not a single stone stood on top of another. The little village square had witnessed centuries of trade and traffic, falling into disrepair as time spiraled on, but he¡¯d leveled all the buildings and torn up the streets for hundreds of yards around. He picked his way over broken shards of stone, slipping on the scree, and climbed out of the shallow crater he had formed around himself when he¡¯d incinerated the area. An eerie silence covered the battlefield like a shroud. Taras picked up the pace when he reached level ground, searching for signs that the boys had survived. A head popped up from a depression in the ground a few dozen yards away, and then the boy stood up and whistled. The rest of the children emerged from hiding places in the rubble. Taras sank to his knees in relief at the sight. His conscience was heavy enough without more lives to add to the tally. A hoarse cry of desolation drew his attention. Aravind knelt next to Meri¡¯s body, wracked by sobs. He lifted his face to the sky, lamentation ululating up from his throat, eyes pressed shut as if to block out the reality of death. Meri¡¯s charred body didn¡¯t move. Chapter Twenty-Six - Rhae Rhae stumbled down the thin path toward the tower. She imagined that she could see Thenxi¡¯s footprints, but she knew the hail and wind had scrubbed the entire area clean. Tall, yellow grass swayed on either side of the path, whipped about by the breeze, obscuring vision of the beach. The pounding surf grew fainter and fainter the farther she walked, so she figured she must be getting close to the tower, if she remembered the map at all. Night was falling¡ªin Bridge terms, the darkness just became less restrained and more hostile, almost alive. Rhae quickened her steps, tripping over hidden stones and old roots from long-dead trees. Soon she¡¯d be forced to stop for the night. Her fingers were sore from playing so much earlier, but she was still tempted to take out her bow harp and play a lightsong. It would be so cheery to have a little orb of light guiding her way, not to mention she could really use a friend. Rhae sighed at the thought. Friendship might need to wait out here. Survival came first. She hated it, but the shock of Thenxi¡¯s abandonment had been a harsh gift, a lesson in staying focused no matter what the situation. A rustling in the grass made her stop. It sounded too regular for the wind, too large for a human, and too intentional for Rhae to ignore it. She crouched down and started to crawl, still on a mission to reach the tower, but now she couldn¡¯t make any noise. Every little shriveled up leaf on the ground seemed to become an enemy. One misstep and the crunch would draw the attention of . . . whatever that thing was. A new thought popped into Rhae¡¯s mind, and her horns pulsated with faint light. What if it could smell her and didn¡¯t care about the sound? She clamped her hands over the horns. What if it could see the flashes of light she emitted when she was agitated? The sounds of crushed stalks of grass and broken brush picked up, accompanied by a low, guttural voice. The tremor of heavy footfalls reached her. A whimper escaped before she could stop it. She just wasn¡¯t cut out for adventure. Once this was all over, she was going to find a nice city square with fruit trees and gardens, and she¡¯d busk for the rest of her life, playing happy songs for cute children who would laugh and dance to her music. Somewhere deep inside, however, Rhae¡¯s resolve hardened. She was going to climb to the top of the tower. She was going to find Thenxi and use the key. She was going to complete the mission, with or without the rest of her team. Rhae slid one foot forward, then another, groping with her hands for a patch of solid rock to bear her weight, then shifted and repeated the process. The wet, heavy snuffling grew closer. Rhae imagined she would feel acid saliva dripping on her head any second, but she wriggled down the path anyway. Better to die trying. Abruptly, the beast ran off in the other direction, howling a hunter¡¯s cry. Seconds later, a shrill note of panic rose into the sky and was cut short. Bones crunched, grinding under enormous pressure. Rhae jumped up to her feet and ran. She¡¯d never considered herself particularly fleet, but as her feet slapped against the dirt trail, exhilaration surged through Rhae. This felt like flying all over again. She charged ahead, bathed in the gloom of twilight, skimming over the rocks and roots, tripping and stumbling, but she managed to keep on her feet and continue running. Her pack bounced off her back, and she almost slowed down for the sake of her instruments, but the roar of the creature feeding in the darkness drove her onward, reckless with a desire to live. The monsters wouldn¡¯t catch her tonight. Rhae ran until her legs shook and her lungs burned. She stumbled to a walk, tripped, and sprawled facedown. Panting, she rolled over to take in her surroundings. Tiny flies rose in a cloud around her, biting and buzzing. Their green, iridescent bodies lit up the area for a moment, enough for her to see the next steps. She waved her hand through the swarm, dispersing the irritating little insects, and scrambled to sit up. The tower seemed to loom higher than before, but she still couldn''t see any way inside, though Thenxi has assured her that the temple entrance was the easy part of the trip. Perhaps tomorrow, when the wan glow of a reluctant dawn illuminated the structure, she could find a way inside. She scrunched up her nose. Staying outside all night didn''t seem like much of a plan, especially if that monster still felt hungry. What had it snacked on, anyway? Chances were good that even the prey animals here would terrify her. She needed to find cover as soon as possible, find food, find water¡ª "First things first!" Rhae piped up, drawing strength from saying the words aloud. She felt invigorated at the sound of a real, living person, even though it was her own voice. "Let''s reach the tower, Rhae, then worry about a way in once we''re there. You can do it!"This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. She pulled out her hand-sized pan flute and played a marching tune to accompany her steps, combined with a lightsong. Violet phosphorescence bloomed in a small shape, hovering next to her horns. Rhae giggled and walked onward, tilting her head so that her little guide could dance in a new orbit, spinning in figure eights between the whorls of her horns, then darting up ahead to illuminate the way. Together, they travelled through the foreboding landscape, a beacon of defiance against the dark. Rhae was done with hiding. She had faced the certainty of her own death and refused to give in¡ªmaybe she was an adventurer after all. She pushed past a row of prickly scrub, and saw the entrance to the tower, broad and muscular, jutting out like the shoulder of a draft horse ready to work, gleaming with a dark, flickering light that appeared to have no source. ¡°Thank you, little friend,¡± Rhae whispered, dismissing the conjured luminescence sprite. She padded over to the door and pushed. Nothing happened. Rhae bent her knees and threw her shoulder into the door, straining until her ankles hurt from the pressure. The stone pushed back, immense and unyielding. She scratched a horn, catching her breath, and studied the door to see if she could find any weak points. ¡°I¡¯m not much of an architect or engineer,¡± Rhae muttered to herself. ¡°It¡¯s to be expected! I¡¯ll have to find my own way inside.¡± Behind her, a growl rumbled, so low she felt it in her horns first, then heard it as it turned into a rising shriek that made her clap her hands over her ears. She spun around, and a wave of rotting odor hit her, rank and redolent with death. Gagging, she clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from throwing up, her stomach knotting in protest. The beast from before hauled itself into view on hooked talons, each as long as a reaper scythe. Black blood oozed from between its yellow fangs. Its eyes were round, as wide as Rhae was tall¡ªpale, luminous globes that took up half its head. Tufts of fur stuck out from its ragged, bat-like ears, which twitched back and forth, scanning for prey. Shrieking, it reared itself up on hind legs, its segmented body swelling until Rhae feared it would explode all over her in a burst of slime and stomach acid. It lowered its triangular head and opened articulated mandibles that looked like they could swallow a hog whole. Rhae forgot how to be afraid. She was an adventurer now, an important part of the team on a secret mission for the imperial chancellor. Fear could wait its turn in the corner. She pulled out her harp and started playing, weaving deceptionsong as fast as her fingers could fly over the strings. ¡°I come from the land of dragons! I¡¯m not afraid of an oversized caterpillar.¡± The bloated creature charged, its massive body swaying and hissing as steam escaped its carapace. It chittered and shook its head violently, twitching as it ran toward her at impossible speed for its size. Rhae stood firm, pouring all of her energy into crafting her illusion. She covered herself in darkness, sucking the ambient light from around her and spinning it into an image that looked like a Qeren. With a last, authoritative strum, Rhae broke off the fortissimo song and dove to the side, rolling away from the monster¡¯s charge. She slithered through the dying grass, hidden in her cloak of darkness, and angled behind a small rock, craning her neck to watch the impact. The beast roared and slammed its pincers through her effigy, cracking the door behind the illusion. It screamed in agony, holding up a broken forearm. It hunched over by the doorway, shaking its mangled, useless limb, and lashed out again at the image of its prey, striking with its jaws. The stone shattered, detonating inward, filling the tower with a spray of black granite and sparks of silver that Rhae thought might be metal veins for reinforcement. A death wail rose from the monster as it thrashed about, flattening the stunted trees and tearing up great mounds of dirt. Its head had split when it collided with the stone doors, cracked like an egg dropped from a height. Pale green pus seeped out, sizzling against the ground and burning holes in the fractured stone wherever it touched. A final, keening note reverberated from the distended body of the monster. It shuddered, talons twitching, and lay still. The figurine she¡¯d spun into existence faded, dissipating in a mist. An echo of her song still hung in the air. She tiptoed around the globs of blood and acid and ducked through the door to the tower, one step closer to her goal. Stairs curled up around the inside of the wall, looping over and upward for as far as she could see. Torch stones in the walls at regular intervals gave off the same ghastly, unnatural light that had illuminated the exterior entrance. She started up the stairs. At least she could save her strength and didn¡¯t need to play to summon more light. That was already a positive. Rhae fell into a slow, steady rhythm, regrouping at every other torch stone to hum and recover her spirits. The place was oppressive with the power of the storm; it ripped away at her soul and tried to stir up a hurricane inside her head. Each step grew more difficult the higher she climbed. A vision pressed against her psyche; she was marching into the eye of the storm. The ascent promised greater danger at the top. Rhae nodded, her horns buzzing and glowing. Let the storms come for her. She was an adventurer; she could handle a little danger. Even so, she clutched her harp a little closer, ready to play just in case. She tapped the wall as she walked and sent peals of laughter echoing up toward the top of the tower. She might not fight like Jarkoda or have great wisdom like Taras, but adventurers all did things a little differently. Rhae did things her way, with music and determination. She trudged on, toward the top of the tower. Let the storm come. She had friends to protect. Chapter Twenty-Seven - The Executioners Blade Rashana collapsed into the mouth of the cave, too exhausted to reshape her body. The tempest had roared with so much force that she¡¯d had to drain nearly the entire energy reserves in order to survive the hail and shearing force of the winds. The metal of her shell had stretched as thin as she could flatten it, just to cover the cave¡¯s opening, but it had made the metal too fragile to withstand the pounding of hail, so she¡¯d been forced to imbue it with extra energy to hold off the raging storm. Telyim kicked against her ropes, shimmying farther into the cave. ¡°What is this sorcery? Keep the metal demon away from me.¡± ¡°I just don¡¯t have the energy to eat you,¡± Rashana said. She¡¯d meant it as a joke, but the words hung in the air. Jarkoda frowned at her. She¡¯d need to recharge again soon, or else she would power down, and he¡¯d guessed that Telyim was the easiest target to drain if they needed to re-energize Rashana before another fight. Rashana gathered herself off the floor and reknit her body to appear more human. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll only take what I¡¯m given.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± Jarkoda said, inclining his massive, scaled head toward her. ¡°For saving us, and for your restraint. I will lend you what strength I can.¡± ¡°Not a drop from me, mini-Chancellor,¡± Gruvrik grumbled, but he winked at her. For the first time, she envied mages. They could project power out from their bodies and manipulate the very nature of reality. She could only stretch and morph her own being. She was a good melee weapon, but that didn¡¯t make her much different from a halberd or morning star, and that was less flattering than she¡¯d like to think. Mages didn¡¯t fall prey to the temptation to steal life force, either, because they were human. Rashana was simply an executioner¡¯s blade. She pressed against the far wall of the cave, away from Telyim¡¯s terrified, accusing stare, but she breathed in a small stream of life force that Jarkoda radiated toward her. ¡°We should get moving while there¡¯s a lull in the storm. No saying how long we¡¯ll have traveling weather.¡± Gruvrik popped up and trotted outside the cave. He stopped and let out a low whistle at the devastation the hail had wrought. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen the ground torn up like this since I threw a tantrum as a wee baby when my mum wouldn¡¯t give me ale for breakfast. I broke my toe kicking down stalagmites in our cavern. Got a paddling afterward like you wouldn¡¯t believe!¡± Maeda shuffled after him, much improved in her recovery from the poison after sleeping in the cave. ¡°Must have been some woman to paddle you. Me, I wouldn¡¯t want to get that close to your backside.¡± She pinched her nose and waved her hand in exaggerated motion. Gruvrik flicked a pebble at her and ran off chortling. He soon dashed back and scooped up his pack. ¡°Almost forgot my moonshine still.¡± Maeda threw a pebble back at the dwarf. ¡°You brought a still?¡± ¡°Course I did. Once we take care of that storm-ball doodad, I¡¯ll set up shop and start on my new concoction. Bridgestorm Brewery, I think I¡¯ll call it. Nice ring, don¡¯t you think?¡± ¡°If you keep me away from the metal demon, I¡¯ll show you the best seaweed to use for brewing your drink,¡± Telyim said. She made a warding sign against Rashana. Gruvrik spat. ¡°Seaweed? What kind of amateur do you think I am?¡± Telyim¡¯s eyes grew cold. ¡°As the Seer of the Eastern cr¨¨che, I¡¯m also the brewmaster of the region. My seaweed rum is the best drink you¡¯ll ever have, dwarf.¡± ¡°No offense, but ya ain¡¯t exactly seen much of the world, now, have ya?¡± Gruvrik crooned back at her. ¡°I¡¯ll be happy to judge your statement, however.¡± ¡°Take me with you,¡± Telyim blurted out. ¡°I¡¯ll be disgraced forever if I¡¯m brought back to the cr¨¨che alive after my entire squad died. If there¡¯s a bigger world out there, like you claim, then I want to see it.¡± ¡°Sure thing,¡± Gruvrik said, grinning. ¡°We¡¯ll have Rashsana carry you on the way back.¡± Maeda joined in the laughter, but Rashana pulled away from the group as they gathered up supplies and marched away from the cave, toward the command tower. She knew it was all in good fun, but the fear in Telyim¡¯s face haunted her. Maybe it would be best to return to Indara after all. She didn¡¯t belong in this world. She was still indulging in a luxurious bout of self-pity when a scream filled the air, rising in a cacophony of dissonant notes and shrieks. Telyim jerked at the sound, writhing in the sling Jarkoda wore around his shoulders. ¡°Run!¡± Rashana lifted her head just in time to see a monstrous set of pincer jaws crest the rise of the gentle slope in front of them, followed by a spearhead-like face. The long teeth snapped in machine precision, and then the creature opened its maw wider than she thought possible, sucking in air into its distended body. It unleashed another banshee howl, and even from two dozen paces the breath rippled by, hot and foul. Rashana disliked the feel in her sensors. ¡°Run,¡± Telyim screamed again, panic distorting her voice. ¡°Squashed bigger bugs than that,¡± Gruvrik said, unhitching his pack. He sat, folding his hands together. ¡°Go on. I¡¯ll take care of this.¡± Maeda hobbled away as fast as she could, her stamina still low after the brush with the poisoned throwing knife. Jarkoda shifted Telyim to one shoulder and lifted Maeda over the other, running back along the path to give Gruvrik room to fight. Rashana hesitated. She was nearly spent already, and Jarkoda hadn¡¯t yet had a chance to let her siphon off more energy. But as she watched Gruvrik¡¯s eyebrows draw together and his beard shift as he muttered to himself, she got the sense that he didn¡¯t have the strength for a full transformation. He¡¯d had nothing to drink since the kraken, and since then he¡¯d suffered through capture and forced marches without rations. She merged her fingers together, forming a blade. ¡°Save your strength, mischief maker. They will need you for the storms to come.¡± She sprinted past Gruvrik, toward the monster. He didn¡¯t protest. A dark purple light formed, spinning around the monster, ruffling its mottled patches of fur with an unseen wind. It slammed its claws into the ground and sent out a shockwave. Thick pillars of stone punched up in an irregular row from the rocky ground, knocking her into the air. It lunged forward, rows of razor teeth clicking shut on her ankle. Rashana twisted into the air, slashing at its eye. The monster recoiled, chittering in pain, but it didn¡¯t release its grip. She forged her other hand into a battle hammer and slammed it into the monster¡¯s jaw. Teeth cracked and a gout of blood drenched her. She drove the blade into the wound, sending a thrust of energy into her attack. The bite broke loose. The monster whirled as she fell, smashing her with its tail, which snapped in the air like a whip. Her body splintered and one leg hurtled away. She flipped through the sky and drilled into the ground headfirst, demolishing a rock formation in a spray of sand and dirt. Shaking the ground with every step, the monster lurched after her, roaring a battlesong. It knocked her free with a blow that dented her chest in, nearly crushing the breastplate. Rolling and bouncing, she banged into an old tree stump and abruptly stopped, shaking her focus and sense of orientation. She dropped her arms, the weapons melting back into hand and fingers, her concentration shattered. Rashana struggled to stand on her one remaining leg, bracing herself with the opposite arm. Dissolving the metal shell took a burst of energy, but she tried not to calculate how little she had left. She was cutting it close, but she had enough for one last attack. The monster roared, circling her with its big, bloated body. More talons unfolded from a set of arms she hadn¡¯t seen previously. They hovered over her, poised to strike. Rashana launched upward, toward the most bulbous swell of its body, transforming into a long, curved blade. She pierced through its hide, through a chitinous shell, and buried herself in its heart, expanding suddenly into a wire-thin ring of death, forcing energy through her narrow, circular frame. The carcass quivered and fell apart, sliced completely in half. Rashana dropped to the ground, gouging the earth. She rolled like a runaway hoop at a cooper¡¯s shop, spun on her axis, and tipped over. Energy bled out of her from a hundred leaks in the soulbond, but she felt no panic, only a steady sense of peace as she drew her metal body back into its original form. Running feet announced the return of her friends. She sat up, tilting to the left side where her leg was missing, and waved as they approached. ¡°What are you?¡± Telyim asked, voice soft with wonder. Rashana collapsed, the last dregs of her energy spinning out, but she managed a smile. ¡°I am the executioner¡¯s blade.¡± =+= Jarkoda combed through tall, yellow grass, looking for Rashana¡¯s leg. He found the fractured bit of machinery at last, wedged between two boulders. Twice, this metal monstrosity had sacrificed her consciousness for him. Twice now, she¡¯d risked her very existence to save not only her squadron, but also an enemy combatant. He owed her. He yanked it free, marveling again at how heavy the metal was for its size, and picked up the little leg. Rashana was made of some material he didn¡¯t recognize. Its toughness gave him a new appreciation for the awesome power of the monster she¡¯d slaughtered. For all his battle training, he wouldn¡¯t have lasted long against its fury.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. ¡°Fool little bucket of bolts,¡± Gruvrik muttered from the campsite. He cradled Rashana in the crook of his arm, her metal head motionless in his lap. ¡°How did she wake up last time? We need the whole team for the final climb up that tower. My gut tells me it¡¯s the hardest challenge yet, and no mistake.¡± He fell silent, rubbing his nose and sniffing every few moments. Jarkoda let him be. Guilt had settled on him like an ill-fitting cloak. He blamed himself for not recovering enough energy to shift into a mighty beast more quickly, and nothing the others had said could assuage his sense of blame. ¡°We ran,¡± Jarkoda said, snorting steam through his nostrils. ¡°You were the only one who was willing to stand and fight. Does that not count for something?¡± Gruvrik shrugged. ¡°I sat down, actually, but point taken. I¡¯d still feel better if she woke up. Indara¡¯s puppet or no, we need her out here, much as I hate to admit it.¡± Jarkoda lined up the splintered bits of Rashana¡¯s shell. He unwound the straps of leather he wore on his wrists and bound the leg and torso together, using a few relatively straight sticks to fashion a rough splint. ¡°Gather around. We must share our blood to revive her.¡± Telyim, now unbound, shuffled forward. Her face was bruised and swollen where Maeda had struck her, but her spirits had improved since he¡¯d cut her shackles. She knelt down. ¡°I owe her, life for life. I volunteer for sacrifice.¡± Jarkoda jerked back as though struck. ¡°A drop only! We do not steal lives.¡± Telyim spared a furtive glance toward the monster. ¡°She stole the Dhambro Shade¡¯s life, and I¡¯m grateful for it. I did not know that it could die.¡± ¡°You run into these critters often?¡± Gruvrik asked. ¡°Seems like hunting a beast like that is an easy way to stay tough. I don¡¯t think you need the storms to forge yourselves into steel.¡± Maeda raised an eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯ve come a long way from wanting to gut her and dump the body.¡± Gruvrik cracked the first smile Jarkoda had seen since the fight. ¡°Well, I¡¯ve noticed the way she admires my magnificent beard. I¡¯ll keep her around.¡± Jarkoda slid his finger along the sawtooth edge of Rashana¡¯s broken leg, catching a barb and splitting open his skin. He squeezed the finger, inscribed a rune on her cheek with the blood that flowed out, and bowed to her still form. Gruvrik joined him, biting down on the fleshy part of his palm below the thumb until it bled. He smeared a shapeless blob on her other cheek, and motioned for Maeda and Telyim to take their turns. The Bridge woman added her tribute, but Maeda hung back, a sickly pallor on her face. Jarkoda stepped toward her, but she flung out a hand at chest level, cutting him off. ¡°Rashana said she gains our memories. I have things I cannot¡ªwill not¡ªshare.¡± He considered for a moment, then nodded. ¡°She would not wish to impose. Freely given, freely received. Any other way leads to corruption.¡± Telyim wandered over to the monster¡¯s remains, stepping around a puddle of its blood to poke it with a stick. ¡°What about the Dhambo Shade? Could she feast on its energy?¡± Jarkoda shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s not a sentient being, at least not that I can tell. She needs the soul¡¯s life force to feed, not just blood.¡± Telyim retreated, shuddering. ¡°It is better that way. But I did not want to waste a potential gift, especially when it was so costly.¡± The sat around Rashana¡¯s body for an hour, waiting for her to rise. ¡°Now what?¡± Gruvrik finally growled, arms crossed. ¡°Time¡¯s wasting.¡± Jarkoda gathered flame in his throat. He knelt and breathed out the fire onto a stack of grass and twigs. He¡¯d spent the hour breathing on them with heat to dry them in preparation for a campfire, and his patience was rewarded when they kindled into a cheery blaze. ¡°Cook dinner. Prepare for a rest. We should spend the night and recover our energy. None of us are fit for a fight, and that tower looks like a long climb.¡± Gruvrik grinned. ¡°From a baby shark to a half-grown dragon. I¡¯ve got the worst luck in picking my leaders.¡± Jarkoda bowed over his fist, accepting the honor¡ªand burden¡ªof leadership. ¡°We need to ready ourselves as though the others didn¡¯t survive the storm. I want to find them, but I¡¯m not naive, despite my youth.¡± ¡°Ah, wise beyond your years,¡± Gruvrik said, elbowing him in the ribs. Jarkoda¡¯s ears twitched. ¡°I try. But as I was saying, we need a plan. We can¡¯t charge into the command center at the top of the tower and expect to simply take the Stormorb and leave.¡± ¡°Why not? That¡¯s pretty much my plan,¡± Gruvrik said. Maeda elbowed Jarkoda from the other side. ¡°Mine, too.¡± The banter continued into the evening. Jarkoda struggled to take it in stride, as befitted a dragon, but inwardly, he seethed at the lack of reverence. Couldn¡¯t the Chancellor have chosen more serious companions? He shouldn¡¯t have to be the voice of reason. Night fell in earnest. He extinguished the fire and meditated before sleep, clearing out his mind and restoring order in his body. They had made good progress today and fought a terrible enemy. He couldn¡¯t ask for much from life. His teacher had recommended him for this adventure because he¡¯d grown discontent with the vanity of daily training, with no goal in sight. He snorted. Now he¡¯d seen enough to last a lifetime. The quietness and consistency of training seemed like paradise. Perhaps he was just as foolish as the rest of the team, always looking for something that he didn¡¯t yet have. For once, the thought he might be foolish was vaguely comforting. Jarkoda rested his head on his arms and slept. =+= The ground shook. Jarkoda sprang into a crouch, prepping fire. Waves of dark purple energy pulsed over him, tugging at his soul. He resisted the pull, but turned to measure his opponent. At the epicenter of the rolling mass, the Dhambro Shade twitched and writhed, lifting into the air on the strange currents. Its limbs straightened. The severed halves of its body reached out tiny tendrils, groping through the empty space between them. The filaments knit together, binding the monster into a grotesque, unified whole. Telyim shrieked and ran for the tower, begging them to follow. Her words devolved into a steam of gibberish, fear ruling her mind. Maeda lurched after her; the shark seemed protective of Telyim, perhaps because she was responsible for her predicament. "Ready to transform, dwarf?¡± Gruvrik shook his head. He stuffed equipment the packs. "Right idea to run. We might make the tower before it recovers." Jarkoda shouldered his gear, hesitating only a moment before placing Rashana in the sling. Who else would need a ride before this madness was over? They started off after Telyim, who was already disappearing from view over the next small hill. Jarkoda hooked his arm under Maeda¡¯s shoulder and helped pull her along. It couldn¡¯t be comfortable, but speed was mercy in this moment, not gentleness. A wave of power nearly knocked them off their feet. Behind them rose the hideous shriek of the shade, now reconstituted from its brief brush with death. Jarkoda urged them faster, but a ripple of the bruised purple energy tunneled past him in the air, leaving behind a rancid trail of singed air. A bulky shape rampaged through the tunnel and emerged ahead of them. The Dhambro Shade, its stitched-together carapace barely visible in the gloom, loomed up fifty paces away, on a warpath that would cut in front of the team. Telyim sank to the ground, both hands over her face. Jarkoda set Maeda and Rashana on the ground and sprinted forward, hoisting Telyim up and running back to the other injured women. He piled them up, one in the sling, the other two over his shoulders, and cut left, hoping to lose the shade in the maze of brambles and rivulets in the rock formation. Water had flowed there once, long ago, cutting a labyrinth in the stone. They might find a place to hide. How had he collected this little band of patients, anyway? Taras should have been here to heal them, or perhaps Rhae. He only knew how to fight. The ground trembled as the Dhambro pounded toward them on clawed feet, tearing up a broken path of destruction. The Dhambro scythed through the underbrush with its long, powerful front talons. Brambles and twisted trees flung into the air. Jarkoda pushed the wounded team members into a cleft in the rock and pulled a boulder in front of the crack, leaving a few fingers of airflow. ¡°Stay still. Keep quiet.¡± He sprinted off in the other direction, no longer caring about stealth. He couldn¡¯t outpace the shade with the others in his care, but he might be able to lure the creature off if he struck out solo. Shouting, Jarkoda veered from the gully and bounded from rock to rock, fluttering his short wings to keep his balance. Ahead, a small, slag-covered hill appeared to end in an abrupt cliff. He scrambled up the slope, claws digging into the dirt as he fought to keep his footing. Maybe he could reach the top and glide to safety, at least long enough to sketch a quick plan. A blast of acid breath tore a chunk from the red rock a few yards to the left, scoring stone with deep purple striations. The sludge sizzled and hissed. It ate into the side of the ravine and dissolved. Any contact and Jarkoda knew it would sear even his scaled skin. Jarkoda glanced over his shoulder every few steps, beating the air with his stubby wings to lift up higher and twist around. The Dhambro Shade had already half-closed the gap between them, lurching forward on its multi-jointed, unsteady legs. It crashed through a bramble, swayed, stumbled, and managed to catch its balance, lumbering sideways. When it realized Jarkoda was almost to the top of the hill, it sucked in a breath, swelling its already bloated body, and heaved out the air in roar. The air grew solid and pushed forward from the beast in a wave of power. It rippled around Jarkoda, spinning him off course, and then exploded. The waves slammed into his eardrums, deafening him. The sonic blast slapped him out of the sky. He crashed into a thornbush, ears ringing, and tumbled over the little spikes, tearing his tunic. A tree stump arrested his progress, knocking the air from his lungs, and spike of pain rammed through his chest, accompanied by a crack in his right side. His legs splayed and he tumbled to the ground, clutching his broken ribs. Hot, foul air flowed over him. He pushed aside the pain and crouched, ready to run. The Dhambro Shade bunched up its long, voluminous body above him, lidless eyes burning with a pale flame. The sky darkened, stormclouds twisting down to wreathe the monster in a crown of aubergine. The shade inhaled tendrils of the dark smoke, the flickering burning brighter behind its eyes. The Dhambro erupted in a torrent of darkflame. Jarkoda ignited his own flames, breathing out a volcano. The fires collided in mid air, molten red and deep, sickly purple, consuming each other in a shockwave that stunned the Dhambro Shade, driving it to its knees. Jarkoda staggered, but did not fall. ¡°I summon the fury of the dragon!¡± Halfdragons lacked the awesome, destructive power of the full bloods, but Jarkoda had never believed in boundaries. He summoned fire again, but this time he held his flame inside, growing in strength until it devoured him from the inside out. Agony lanced through him, but Jarkoda pushed on, gathering his wrath. He called on his heritage and training, twin disciplines united in hatred of evil, and just before he split in half with the strain, he felt a surge of vitality fill his body, resetting his broken bones, knitting new skin and forging new scales. He lifted off the ground, glowing with righteous anger, and unleashed the full force of his fury. An inferno exploded outward, cleaving the Dhambro Shade¡¯s head off its body. It writhed on the ground, its severed head crackling in the flames, body twitching and flailing with spiked limbs that would kill Jarkoda if he got too close. He pushed more fire into the body, trembling as he wrestled with the flow of power coursing through him. It burned at him, demanding freedom, threatening to unchain itself. Jarkoda growled and bent the flames to his will. He didn¡¯t fight the power raging inside him, seeking to burst from his control. Instead he simply commanded it to obey, and it relented under his unyielding demands, leaping out to lick up the body of the Dhambro Shade, tongues of fire lapping up the remains of the monster. Its hunger grew the more it feasted, until Jarkoda shouted and let it die out. He trembled with a desire to destroy everything in sight. He staggered toward the scorched earth where the fiend had stood. Nothing was left of the shade, only furrowed earth and melted slag where he¡¯d immolated the creature. He stood in the middle of the smoking rock and nodded in satisfaction. His spirit felt lighter, and this time he knew that it would not return. The stain of the abomination was gone. Time to recover the others and continue on to the tower. They were free of the ghoulish monstrosity, but something warned him that it was only a watchdog. The storm itself would not die so easily. Jarkoda shuffled back to where he¡¯d left the wounded, triumph buoying his steps, but he tripped and nearly fell over when he found the spot. The stone was rolled away. The cave was empty. Chapter Twenty-Eight - Survivors The children streamed past Taras, joining the Aravind around their cr¨¨chemate. Despair seemed palpable, pouring off them. The pressure pushed againsthis soul. They blamed him for this tragedy, and he knew that they were right. Feet heavy with regret, Taras dragged himself over to Meri to witness the destruction he had caused. If he hadn¡¯t stayed behind with the people of the Western cr¨¨che, if he had gone with Rhae like he should have, then the soldiers would have passed by. Meri would be alive. Aravind gasped in shock. ¡°He still lives! Vasi, Ayis, run and find Thenxi¡¯s apprentice. We might be able to keep him breathing until she returns.¡± Taras slid down to the ground next to Meri. His belt and tunic had been burned off by the explosion, and underneath, Taras could see a snarled network of burns radiated out from his chest, where the lance had struck him. The skin had melted off in the very center. Patches of raw flesh alternated with ugly welts. His left arm bent backward at an unnatural angle, and bone stuck through the skin. Blood stained the ground underneath him. He lay still, but Taras could feel a faint pulse of his spirit when he leaned close. Frayed and almost extinguished, but still holding on to life. ¡°Let me make restitution,¡± Taras said, holding out his hands toward Meri. ¡°Only a Seer has a chance to save him,¡± Aravind said, each word cold and clipped. ¡°You have done enough here. Go.¡± Taras turned a stern gaze at him. ¡°That was a command, not a plea. Stand back and see the power of flame; it can kindle life as well as burn it up.¡± Aravind stepped away, panic widening his eyes. He didn¡¯t have a chance if Taras wanted to consume them all. Then he bowed, concern for Meri overriding his fear, his duties as cr¨¨che father paramount. ¡°Save him, Taras. Please save my son.¡± Taras retrieved his shield, lost during the final battering he¡¯d taken, and tapped into the energy reserves. He was nearly spent, but the rush of power hit him like a healing balm. Taras placed his hands over Meri¡¯s chest, concentrating on the light of life. He couldn¡¯t prevent Meri¡¯s death. He didn¡¯t have enough energy left, despite the extra he pulled from the embossing in the shield. He¡¯d refill it later, but in the meantime, he¡¯d need a new plan. Casting such a powerful ability was impossible with his current energy levels. A thin trickle of light formed in the air around him, passing from Taras to Meri. As he dug deeper, reaching for the last of the uncorrupted reserves in the shield, the light strengthened, almost congealing in front of him, until it glowed like a bar of molten gold. With a last gasp of power, he plunged it into Meri, connecting his soul to Meri¡¯s, lending him vitality and wholeness. New muscle and skin formed, knitting itself across Meri¡¯s body. Scars faded, though the widest, most jagged burns didn¡¯t fully disappear. Bone retracted within the elbow, skin growing back over the jagged puncture wound. The arm twitched back into place, as normal looking as the other side. Meri opened his eyes. He lips trembled, then he threw his arms around Taras. ¡°I owe you my life. I can see you, but from the inside. Is that . . . normal?¡± ¡°You are linked to him now¡ªa soulbond,¡± Aravind said, brows knit. ¡°Is it safe?¡± Taras shrugged. ¡°Not safe.¡± Aravind gripped Taras by the shoulders. ¡°What have you done to him?¡± ¡°As long as I live, so will he. That is the only gift I can offer.¡± Meri gasped, covering his eyes. ¡°What is happening? You look like the sun itself, shining so bright I can barely stand to look at you, even though I¡¯m not using my eyes anymore. Will I always be able to see you like this?¡± ¡°Reports vary, although I may fade at great distances. I¡¯ve never performed a bond such as this¡ªusually it is forbidden to our sect¡ªso I can¡¯t say for sure.¡± Meri¡¯s face grew pensive. When he spoke, his voice was tight, husky with raw emotion. ¡°Forbidden magic?¡± Taras let a ghost of flame flicker across his hands. ¡°You would prefer to die?¡± ¡°No! I . . . I have a blood debt to you, Seer.¡± ¡°I¡¯m no Seer, just an old man who likes to keep things in order. My mistakes led to your trouble, so I have restored the balance.¡± ¡°Will you face trouble for your actions?¡± Aravind asked as they slowly made their way to the campsite they¡¯d set up earlier. He met Taras¡¯s eyes, concern etched on his face. Taras wiped blood off his forehead, staggering over to a small pillow on the ground. He slumped down on the makeshift seat, groaning with the effort. His bones creaked; his body dry and weak like an old rag with the water rung out. Who knew what the future might hold?Stolen story; please report. ¡°Trouble? We shall see.¡± =+= When the flames finally stopped, Errol clawed his way out from under the corpse of the sergeant who had saved his life. His con had paid off; they¡¯d thought he was part of Freyman¡¯s circle and should be kept alive at all costs. He felt a twinge of guilt. The deception had cost the men their lives. Although, if they had died facing him in battle, then it wouldn¡¯t have bothered him, he realized, and that bothered him. Disregard for their lives shouldn¡¯t depend on whose side they signed up for it, should it? But the worst guilt of all came from the sight of that boy, burned alive, chest ripped apart by the lance. He¡¯d been so proud of finally creating his first lance, even if wasn¡¯t as strong as a full Eel¡¯s, and what had he done with it? Attacked a child, unprovoked, because he¡¯d convinced himself that a small boy could take out a justicar of the light! Taras had probably just let the kid wear the shield to earn favor with the group. Errol didn¡¯t know who they were, or why the boys played in the streets like this was their home, but Taras had clearly been friends with them. And he had killed the boy and turned Taras into an enemy. One stupid presumption, and he¡¯d destroyed his chances with the only important ally he had . . . He blocked out the accusing thoughts, pushing a pile of rubble off him. He¡¯d managed to dive under a steel beam the construction crew had left along the village¡¯s trading route, although the sergeant¡¯s corpse had done most of the hard work, acting as a gruesome meat shield while Errol had curled up into a ball and begged not to die. All that was left was a shriveled husk, half burned away by the fires. Errol buried him next to the melted steel beam, covering him one handful of slag at a time. He tried to stand up and finally noticed that his right leg had been burned so badly that he couldn¡¯t even feel the pain; the knee and ankle were locked into place and his toes didn¡¯t respond anymore, a revelation that panicked him more than he thought rational. Surely he could relearn the use of his legs. Or perhaps he could find a healer, someone other than Taras. They probably wouldn¡¯t be on speaking terms for the rest of their lives¡ªand for Errol, that might not be much longer. The skin on his right side had melted from the chest down, fusing with a layer of fabric he wore under his tunic. He couldn¡¯t tell how he was alive, much less strong enough to excavate himself from the pile of bodies and split-open builders, but he had a strange suspicion that the Bridge itself had revitalized him. After the first stream of fire, Errol had locked onto Taras with his sensor field, tracking the surge of energy that tipped him off to subsequent fire blasts. The energy pattern¡¯s signature was slight and unremarkable, but once he¡¯d identified Taras in the chaos, Errol felt confident that he could recognize him again once he was in range. Errol dragged himself over another burnt body. It crumbled away beneath him, already burned to ashes. He crawled back toward where they had first seen the boys playing, where he had shrugged off his pack and attacked without thought or reason. Part of him wanted to crawl over to Taras and beg his forgiveness, to explain that it had all been a tragic misunderstanding of the highest order, but Errol had a feeling that Taras would cremate him on sight. He wouldn¡¯t blame the man if that¡¯s how it ended for him. He had blood on his hands and didn¡¯t know how to make atonement. Worse, if the scouts returned soon, while Taras hunted him down, they¡¯d all end up as crisps on the ground too. A gentle rain opened above him, like the Bridge was apologizing for its bad manners the day before. The water washed away the dust and blood stains, but Errol still felt dirty. The path swerved upward and to the north, forcing Errol through more broken terrain. He started to run out of breath. Each movement sapped his strength almost immediately, prolonging the three-limbed crawl on his hands and one good knee. Serrated edges of broken stone cut his hands and tore away the fabric of his clothes, but he dug his hands into the rubble and inched forward, arms shaking. The slope grew slick with rain and blood. Errol ripped off the rest of his tattered tunic, wrapping the strips around his hands for meager protection. A slab of rock shifted ahead, sliding into the rubble like an iceberg from Wyvern''s Gate, shaking the ground. The tremors passed over him and he sagged down, his face scraping against the jagged rocks. What was the point of continuing? Even if he reached his pack, what good would a few lockpicks and a silver charm do? His leg was useless, he was out of food and water, his team scattered and possibly dead, and he''d managed to make a mortal enemy of the only friend near enough to help. Even if could hold out until the scouts returned, there was no guarantee that they''d be duped by the same fiction he''d spun for the sergeant. Worse, they might believe him, but decide they liked the taste of freedom and remove his meddling from the chain of command before returning to Laurentum. They could blame him and the Sarge and go free. Errol tried to reach out for the Bridge spirit, but she¡¯d gone strangely quiet since the last bout of storms, as though her communication had been cut off. He took a rest break, gasping for air, and turned the information over in his head. He had been building up a theory about the way the Stormorb drew power, and this sudden silence seemed to confirm his suspicion. Maybe he¡¯d be able to help, if he could reach the temple in time; but first he had to crawl another twenty-five feet. He looked over at his pack, so close, and squeezed his eyes shut against sudden tears. Breathing slowly, in what he hoped resembled a calming rhythm, Errol stretched out his arm, trembling with effort, and pulled himself forward. He paused, rebuilding his strength, then repeated the crawling motion with his other arm, pushing with his good toe to assist. His head felt light; the world spun around him, and he blacked out. When his senses came back, Errol reused to open his eyes. Instead, he pushed forward again, a little less vigorously this time, and took longer to rest. He didn¡¯t want to know how much farther he still had to go. He would make it, or he would die. The distance didn¡¯t matter, only the attempt. He coughed, sputtering, and hacked up something wet onto his hands. He didn¡¯t have to open his eyes to know it was blood. The faint tang of iron was confirmation, but he instinctively realized that his body was rebelling against him, shutting down. Errol didn¡¯t bother to clean the blood, saving his strength for his next tortured round of dragging himself forward. He didn¡¯t want to die alone. Chapter Twenty-Nine - Guilt Icy water splashed on Errol¡¯s face. He spluttered and gasped, swallowing a mouthful that went down wrong. Rough laughter greeted his panic. He rolled over to his side to shield his face from the assault and coughed up blood. ¡°Got some mighty powerful luck, shark boy.¡± Errol groaned and tried to lift up to see his tormentor. His burnt, broken leg gave way and sent him sprawling in the hard mud, facedown. He spat out dirt and lifted his head, moving more slowly this time. ¡°Doesn¡¯t feel like it.¡± Two groups of scouts had returned. That left four others still roaming around the Bridge. A burly, dark-skinned man with a broken nose¡ªtwisted and flattened multiple times, Errol guessed¡ªshoved him with his boot. ¡°The light mage did this?¡± ¡°Sure wasn¡¯t Sarge.¡± He rested on his forearm, gritting his teeth against the assault of pain in his hip and knee, fingernails digging into the ground as he fought to keep from collapse, and attempted a smile. ¡°Don¡¯t act like you knew him,¡± the scout said, but he scratched his chin and stepped back before he continued. ¡°He untied you, huh? Maybe you did know him.¡± ¡°Sure you can you trust me? I could have simply cut the bonds after the fight,¡± Errol said, fishing for information. Broken Nose man shook his head. ¡°Magic ward. Only Sarge could undo it. If you want us to keep you alive, better start talking.¡± Errol lowered himself back into the dirt, arms shaking with exhaustion. He finally croaked out one word. ¡°Oskar.¡± The scouts exchanged glances, eyes narrowed. ¡°A friend of yours?¡± ¡°Could say that,¡± Errol said, pausing to lick his lips. Despite the water they¡¯d poured on him, he suddenly felt parched. ¡°He put me in the group. Backup. Security in case you couldn¡¯t stop them.¡± One of the scouts spat. ¡°A Mako as an insurance policy? I think not.¡± Errol sent a lance through the scout¡¯s shoulder, careful to keep it weak enough and far enough from the heart not to kill him. The man quivered and collapsed, his eyes rolling back up into his head. He¡¯d be out for a while. A twinge of regret at his callousness almost tripped up his words, but Errol steeled himself and injected disdain into his voice. ¡°I only need one of you alive to help me return. Next bolt will be lethal.¡± "We''ll get you out, sir." Broken Nose saluted. The other scouts fingered their weapons, but they nodded. "Mission is unchanged," Errol grated, desperate for more water on his dry throat. "We¡¯ll keep moving forward. The others can''t be too far ahead, although this fight slowed them down and announced our presence. Now the element of surprise is dead and buried. No use hiding anymore. Call in the others and march." Broken Nose balked. "You sure you can move? We won''t be able to carry you if we have to climb." "No medic?" Errol asked. He laughed bitterly and turned to one of the other scouts nearby. "Hey, Percy, we got a miracle worker since you last checked?" A lean, pale man with curly black hair shook his head at Broken Nose. "Can''t recall one, Merv. Kenyon was promising, but he''s one of those crispy ash piles over there, so he ain''t likely to do you much good these days." Merv shrugged at Errol. "Out of luck." "Used it all up staying alive," Errol agreed. "Fair trade," Percy said, flashing a smile. He and Merv shared a quick chuckle¡ªErrol got the sense that dodging death was an old habit for those two. They made camp, scrounging through the packs until they found provisions. Another pair of scouts returned soon, one of them dragging a large carrion bird he''d shot with his crossbow. Some of the other had bandages and basic salves. Errol filled his belly while they stabilized the worst of his various injuries. The look they gave him when they treated his mangled leg killed his appetite, however.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Crippled. No way around it. On the cusp of qualifying for Eel training. . . . He shook his head, refusing to let bitterness poison him. Survive. Finish the mission. That was his goal now. Only then would he worry about placements. They would probably turn him away, but no sense culling himself from the rank of applicants. Force them to make an exception¡ªshow them why he was worth the investment. Errol spoke up. "Time''s wasting. Prepare to leave as soon as the last team returns." "Don''t take orders from a civilian," Merv muttered. He polished a long blade. "And don''t even think about frying any more people. We need rest if we''re going to haul you with us, shark bait. Final word." Errol relented. Even a true Eel had no military standing, just an aura of danger. He had made his point. They weren''t going to kill him, so that was a good start. Between the food and the herbal painkillers, he almost felt fit enough to face the truth of his diagnosis. After eating, Errol asked for his vital ring back. Merv dug around in the Sergeant''s pack and found the magical jewelry. ¡°This? You can get a better bauble in the gambling dens dockside.¡± Errol snatched at the ring. Merv laughed and handed it over with only a brief glimpse of greed. ¡°It¡¯s a family heirloom,¡± Errol said to cover his panicked response. The lie sounded lame to his ears, but if the others noticed, they didn¡¯t say anything. Errol took a deep breath. He gripped the ring in one hands, the other closed over his fist to keep his fingers from shaking. What if the damage to his leg could be reversed? He slipped the ring on his finger and twisted, activating the remote scan. His health showed dangerously low. Another hit and he would have died out there on the battlefield. He probably deserved it. The thought struck him that eating should have restored his vitality, at least a little; perhaps he¡¯d truly been halfway through death¡¯s door.
Vitals Affiliation
Name: Errol Diplomacy: 13 Shark Clan
Level: 2 Strength: 7 Mako (Tier V)
Class: Hunter Acuity: 12 Ray Division
Health:2 /52 Inner Fortitude:12 Reputation: rank & file
Lifeforce:15 / 75
Abilities Items Favor
Sensor field: Adept, Tier V Voltage lance: Adept, Tier III Belt Knife Thieves'' Kit Silver Amulet of Clarity Bridge Spirit unknown entity
Two! How is that possible? Errol licked his lips and swallowed twice, trying to wet his parched mouth. What was I before, if I¡¯m only up to two now? Did I hit zero health and still live, or did I just hover at one for a while, teetering on the brink of death? Despite the pain, Errol grinned at the results. Mako, tier five. Voltage stream: Adept, Tier III. He was close to challenging for the next level, and with the increased power of his lance, he might be able to make Eel. The burns he¡¯d suffered in the fight were terrible, but he''d take that trade any day. The useless leg was another matter, however. The warning messages indicated that he wasn¡¯t likely to walk again, at least not without reaching Bullshark. I need to rank up. I¡¯ll heal if I can push through to the next level. The increase in his inner fortitude surprised him at first; it seemed like too big a jump for just surviving through a hailstorm, but as he thought back over their trip, he picked out times he had willed the crew onward or fought for survival. Maybe he was growing up, after all. This time, at the end of the readout, Errol noticed a short note from Captain Grimhilt. He didn¡¯t know they could send letters through the testing stone, even if his ring was linked. What other secrets had the Shark Clan kept from recruits?
I¡¯ve uncovered some disturbing details about a former adversary who may have sent his soldiers to stop the team. If you¡¯re still alive, be on guard. It¡¯s going to get rough over there.
Errol bit back laughter. The warning was a little late. He wondered, though, if there was a way to reverse the flow of information. They hadn¡¯t told him about any methods, so he assumed that sending notes was a one-way trip. Maybe if he coordinated with the others, however, they could encode a message to send through their vital stats¡ªbut how they would communicate in code without first providing a key was beyond him. Maybe someone else from their group had a history in cryptography. A scout hawked up mucus and spat, grinning in satisfaction. Errol sighed. He missed his own team. He only hoped that they would give him time to explain the situation once he found them. If Taras told them about that poor boy he¡¯d murdered . . . he squeezed his eyes shut to try to block out the image of the shock lance slamming into the boy¡¯s chest. None of this should have happened. ¡°Can¡¯t believe we¡¯re taking you with, but can¡¯t risk leaving you,¡± Merv grunted, crouching down next to Errol. ¡°Time to move out.¡± They formed a travois for him. Merv was the biggest and sturdiest, so he dragged Errol. They soon reached the end of the broken roadway and rigged a series of pulleys to lower their packs to platforms far below. They hooked up Errol and ferried him down last. The process took all day, platform to platform, just to reach the ground, but Errol didn¡¯t care. He was just happy to get away from the worst of the storm. Away from the charred battlefield. Away from the memories. Chapter Thirty - Dangerous Games Rhae crouched on the steps, chest heaving. Hours bled into each other until she wasn¡¯t sure if she had been in the tower forever. She dragged one foot up to the next step, resting periodically to hum and clear away the cobwebs in her mind. She drew in a deep breath and hopped up the next three steps to collapse on a narrow landing. ¡°Sixty-two!¡± she shouted up into the darkness, challenging the storm to stop her. She¡¯d started counting the flights after her second rest, but she estimated that she¡¯d climbed at least a few dozen more flights of stairs on top of the sixty-two that she¡¯d verified. The tower showed no signs of ending. Just how high up was she, anyway? The pressure on her head told her that she had to be close to her goal. Surely the storm couldn¡¯t get much worse, or else Thenxi would have passed out from the strain, unless she had a way to combat it like Rhae did with her music. Rhae glanced around again, keeping an eye out for her erstwhile companion. Humans were bigger and stronger than Qeren, but they didn¡¯t seem to have quite as sturdy of a constitution, particularly not against the spiritual forces that assaulted the tower. Thoughts of Thenxi almost brought tears, but Rhae blinked them back. If the woman had tried to help her through the hailstorm, then they¡¯d probably both be dead right now. Probably. In a tiny corner of her mind, she protested that it was still mean to leave her, but Rhae knew that if she hadn¡¯t been forced to improvise, then she wouldn¡¯t have discovered firesong. It was harsher than her usual compositions, born from a desperation to fight back against certain death. In a way, she owed Thenxi. Rhae brightened at the thought. ¡°I forgive you!¡± she whispered into the dark tower, and she meant it. They were both better off because Thenxi had run to the tower. Unless. Unless that awful caterpillar monster had eaten her, and that¡¯s why Rhae couldn¡¯t find any sign of the cr¨¨che mother. After all, the door hadn¡¯t been open when she¡¯d reached the tower. Had Thenxi even made it inside? Her horns pulsed, protesting against the horrifying thought. She scooped up her pack and ran up the stairs, brandishing her flute in front of her like a little club. If she ran into any enemies, she¡¯d hit them before making them listen to her songs! As her anger petered out, she slowed, stumbling onto the fifth landing. Once again, the storm tried to push its way in, but this time she growled audibly and forced the headache away. Up above, a new light flickered. It was warmer than the ghostly glow of the inset lights in the walls. That must be the top. It had to be. The tower couldn¡¯t go on forever. Rhae pushed up the last few stories, suddenly reinvigorated to reach her goal and find Thenxi. A large archway led into a round room, wider than Rhae had expected. It seemed farther across than the diameter of the tower, but perhaps she had only climbed access stairs, and the rest of the tower was supported by a structure she hadn¡¯t seen. For all she knew, an entire mountain could be hidden away in the clouds and deep gloom, veiled from her sight. In the center of the room, huddled in a heap, Thenxi moaned feebly. Rhae rushed forward to help her, but the woman shouted her back. ¡°It¡¯s a trap! Come no closer!¡± She skittered to a stop. ¡°Are you hurt? I can play you a healing song!¡± Thenxi put her head in her hands, groaning. ¡°I don¡¯t deserve your kindness, child.¡± ¡°Nonsense! You got us to the tower, just like you promised.¡± ¡°I left you. That was wrong of me,¡± Thenxi whispered. Bitterness threatened to poison her words, but Rhae shook her head and delivered the speech she¡¯d prepared. ¡°If you hadn¡¯t forced me to improvise, then I never would have learned firesong or deceptionsong. My tutors will be so pleased when I return to the college! They¡¯ve all tried to get me to branch out from healing and finding songs, but I was always too shy. Without your help, I wouldn¡¯t have found out that I do belong on an adventure after all.¡± Thenxi struggled upright, revealing a twisted rope that bound her wrists together. People on the Bridge were so quick to imprison others! ¡°Deception song? What¡¯s that?¡± Rhae brightened. ¡°I¡¯ll show you!¡± She stretched her hands, opening and closing her fingers and rolling her wrists to warm up, then put the harp in her lap and started playing. Little tendrils of light wove around her head, hovering in the air. She pushed out toward Thenxi, and they rushed over form a pattern, twisting and interlacing to create an image of Aravind that fit into her hands. The creature of light bowed and winked at Thenxi, then dissolved into colored motes. Thenxi cried, holding her fist to her lips to mute the sound. ¡°My thanks, child. I¡¯ve stayed awake all night wishing I could just see his face one last time before I died. Now I am at peace.¡± ¡°Who said anything about dying? Tell me about the trap and we¡¯ll get you out!¡± ¡°I¡¯m afraid that I can¡¯t let you do that,¡± a new voice interrupted, a hint of threat sheathed in soft, silky tones, like a dagger gilt in gold and rubies¡ªa ceremonial piece, but still sharp enough to kill. Rhae turned to find the speaker. A slender man of just over medium height stood by the archway across from the one she¡¯d entered. He held himself with the practiced refinement of an aristocrat, unless she missed her mark, but his clothes were tattered and any color in them had long since faded to a dull, dingy gray. ¡°Stefano,¡± he introduced himself, bowing. ¡°I¡¯m Rhae!¡± she replied with a curtsey, since he seemed friendly enough. ¡°Forgive my forwardness, but what is a Qeren doing out here on the Bridge? I don¡¯t see many of your clan in Laurentum.¡± ¡°Oh, I figured you were used to meetings with the Chancellor,¡± Rhae said, feeling proud of her clever test. If he didn¡¯t seem surprised, it would confirm her suspicions that he had been part of the nobility. Well, maybe. She sighed. She actually wasn¡¯t quite sure how to interpret the various possible outcomes. She wasn¡¯t good at reading people like Taras or Errol, but she was trying her best. Stefano lifted one hand, palm up, and tilted his head. ¡°Indara is a bit of an anomaly.¡± ¡°An odd bird,¡± Rhae agreed, nodding sagely. So he was a nobleman! ¡°And no, she¡¯s not a relative, before you ask. Qeren aren¡¯t all just one big clan.¡± ¡°She¡¯s a friend, though.¡± Rhae took a step back and crossed her arms. ¡°Maybe.¡± ¡°Definitely,¡± Stefano said, walking forward. A grim expression replaced his earlier smile. ¡°Your horns took on her color signature when you said her name. You¡¯re acquainted with each other, which means that I can¡¯t trust you, not here.¡± ¡°What are you doing here, anyway?¡± Rhae asked, pushing down the discomforting idea that someone found her untrustworthy because of her company. She¡¯d thought she was finally moving up in the world, associating with the chancellor. This was supposed to be a real success story for the bard college. ¡°I could ask the same of you, Rhae. The Bridge is no place for children.¡± ¡°Did you know that her children live here?¡± Rhae said, gesturing toward Thenxi. ¡°They¡¯re wondering where their mother is right now. Don¡¯t you care about that?¡± Stefano frowned. ¡°She¡¯s not much of a mother if she brings her children to the Bridge.¡± ¡°They were born here,¡± Thenxi interrupted him, a rough edge to her voice. ¡°Just as I was, and just as my mother was¡ªwe¡¯ve been here for generations, yet you sweep in with your grand ideas and think you know everything. How or why you came here, I do not know, but it¡¯s not your homeland. You don¡¯t belong here.¡± Stefano took a step back at that. ¡°You . . . live here? But this place is cursed!¡± ¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯m here, to break the curse. But you¡¯ve shackled me like an enemy and now you¡¯re lecturing me like a child. If that¡¯s how the outside world treats people, then go back where you came from and leave us alone.¡± Stefano cackled and slapped his hands together. ¡°You really believe you can do it.¡± Rhae tugged on her horn. ¡°Can¡¯t we talk about this after you untie her?¡± ¡°Only if she promises not to touch the Heart of the Storm.¡± ¡°I thought you agreed it was evil,¡± Rhae complained. ¡°You¡¯re not making any sense.¡± ¡°It is. That¡¯s why none of you can go near it.¡± Thenxi barked out a bitter laugh. ¡°We can¡¯t, but you can, I suppose? The great savior! You can touch corruption and stand strong! Once you have it in your possession, no one can stop you. Is that the plan? Take it from me and rule this place?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not stupid,¡± Stefano said. ¡°Of course I won¡¯t touch the cursed thing.¡± Rhae tilted her head. ¡°What do you mean take it from you? And no one could stop him if he had it?¡± Stefano sat down next to Thenxi. ¡°Have you not told the little Qeren your plan?¡± Thenxi scooted away from Stefano. ¡°Ah, the poor child is used by Indara, used by Thenxi. So trusting, so naive.¡±The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. Rhae unslung her harp and started to play softly. She struck up a new rhythm, searching for the notes she needed. In a rush, truthsong came to her, pouring through her fingers, ringing out true from the harp. ¡°Tell me the plan, Thenxi. What are you really doing here?¡± ¡°Fulfilling your destiny, as I told you!¡± Thenxi said in a rush, struggling to pull as far away from Stefano as the rope would allow. The song pushed back on her words. She didn¡¯t know quite how, but she understood the woman wasn¡¯t telling her the truth. Rhae sighed, but kept playing. ¡°I¡¯m disappointed in you. Why would you tell me that I could deliver you? I was so happy to be useful!¡± Stefano narrowed his eyes at the harp, but said nothing. He stood just outside the circle prescribed by Thenxi¡¯s rope, tapping his toe. ¡°Stopping the storm is our mutual goal,¡± Thenxi began again. The song seemed mollified, but Rhae probed further. ¡°What else?¡± ¡°Helping you, saving my people¡ªis it so hard to believe that is my plan? What happened to the sweet, gentle girl who came to us?¡± ¡°You left her in a storm,¡± Rhae said softly. The music swelled dissonant, and she blushed as she realized that she was lying. ¡°I am the same girl. But I¡¯m wiser now, too.¡± The harmonic hum approved. She really had gained wisdom! Thenxi looked at her hands, clenching her fingers tight. ¡°Saving my children.¡± This time the music responded with soft, stirring notes. True, then. Rhae let out a breath in relief. Thenxi wasn¡¯t a monster, even if she¡¯d held something back. ¡°What else?¡± Rhae prompted. ¡°Ensuring that the Western cr¨¨che stays strong. Eastern has been gaining strength and moving against us more aggressively.¡± ¡°You see?¡± Stefano interrupted, arms wide. He gave Rhae a sad smile. ¡°No one is pure. She wants power over her enemies, and the storm calls to her.¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t that why you¡¯re here?¡± Rhae demanded. ¡°No.¡± The music accepted his words. Panting with the exertion of maintaining truthsong, Rhae stopped playing. She felt drained, but wiser, as though she¡¯d traded energy for insight. Another great achievement to bring back to the college! Thenxi turned to glare at the tattered man. ¡°Then why are you here?¡± =+= Errol didn¡¯t like the look of the raft the scouts had lashed together. The trees down here were stunted, gnarled affairs that didn¡¯t create good planks or sizeable logs. They¡¯d cut down a few bushes and some shrubs that barely qualified as trees, but the result looked more like a pile of driftwood than a seaworthy vessel. If any more Adaro showed up . . . Percy gestured at the first of the three rafts. ¡°Send him out first. That way if there are any sharks in the water, he can tell them we¡¯re on their side.¡± Merv rolled his eyes. ¡°This is why you¡¯re a soldier, Percy.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°They pay ya to kill things, not to think.¡± ¡°Good point,¡± Percy said, drawing his knife and brandishing it at Merv. The others hooted and circled up, urging them to fight. ¡°At least I¡¯m smarter than the lot of them,¡± Percy snickered. He tossed the knife to Merv. ¡°Can¡¯t believe they think I¡¯d tussle with my mate.¡± As Merv caught the knife, Percy tackled him. He dunked the big man into the water and they went under in a splash that soaked Errol¡¯s bandages. They came up spluttering, laughing as they traded half hearted blows. The other scouts kicked sand at them and hollered, cheering on the roughhousing. Errol picked at his bandage, trying to tuck in an errant roll of gauze. He wiped off the sea water and smiled along with the soldiers, but he couldn¡¯t muster up much mirth. An intense and sudden longing for his fellow Makos washed over him. As much as he complained about fitting in or wanting to become an Eel, Shark Clan was the closest thing he¡¯d had to family since his early childhood when his dad had still been alive. Would he even see the other recruits again? The soldiers weren¡¯t his friends, but his throat still closed up when he thought about what would happen if he was forced to fight or even kill them. He held no ill will for them. Even if they were here to stop them, he knew it was only because of Freyman. They¡¯d all joined in the splashing and play fighting. Wind whipped the waves into stinging drops of water, hitting Errol in the face like tiny knives, but he couldn¡¯t shift out of his travois to get into a better position. He shielded his forehead with his arm and held off a sigh. If he hadn¡¯t ruined things with Taras, then maybe he could have received a healing touch, but he may never again have a chance at this kind of camaraderie. A chilling thought struck then. What if they reported him to Grimhilt? Forget the team; he could end up before an execution squad of mages if they ruled against him. And the worst part was that he wouldn¡¯t even have an excuse. He didn¡¯t want to die, but deep down a part of him screamed that he deserved it, that it would be a sweet release from the guilt he was drowning in every time he saw the look of horror on that boy¡¯s face, saw his lance explode through the boy¡¯s chest, flinging him backward like a rag doll¡ª Movement in the water broke Errol out of his spiral of pain. Something rippled just below the surface, moving toward the shore faster than a sloop under full sails, no doubt drawn by the soldier¡¯s shenanigans. ¡°Get out! Sea monster!¡± Merv glanced over his shoulder and shouted in alarm when he spotted the creature. He grabbed Percy and hauled him back toward the shore, screaming for the others to get out of the water. They screamed and splashed, jumping to the shore and dragging Errol further away from the waterline. The last soldier didn¡¯t make it to the rocky beach quickly enough, however. Water turned into a spray of fine mist as a dark, massive form lunged from the sea and pulled the scout underneath. He didn¡¯t even have time to scream before he disappeared. Blood rose in the gray-green water, little ropes of deep red that soon dissipated, borne away away by the waves. After a few heartbeats all evidence that a man had been there¡ªa being of flesh and bone, with dreams and ambitions and faults¡ªwas washed away by the pounding surf and the hissing wind that carried the ever-present threat of storm. Percy shouted for the others to fall back. He held a short spear in his hands, braced for a fight if the creature returned, but the blank look in his eyes betrayed his sudden lack of confidence. Monsters simply didn¡¯t lose to men with sticks. Merv shouted down one of the soldiers who had started to drag the rafts up the shallow incline. He dropped Errol on top of a freshly-cut stump and ran back to argue that the water was too dangerous to risk a crossing. They yelled back and forth for a moment before agreeing to do things Merv¡¯s way. Errol had assumed Merv was next to the sergeant in the chain of command, but they seemed unsure who to listen to after the attack. ¡°We have no choice but to go through the water,¡± Errol said, casting his voice across the beach with as much confidence as he could muster while hunched awkwardly on his splintered throne. Not being able to walk certainly hampered his authoritative aura. ¡°You¡¯re welcome to an ocean grave,¡± Merv said, arms crossed. ¡°But you¡¯ll have to paddle on your own. I¡¯m not going near that thing.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t you have boats from the original passage? We would probably lose two days to the extra travel, but we could loop back around to find more sturdy craft.¡± Merv exchanged glances with Percy. ¡°Oskar didn¡¯t exactly fill you in, huh? Thought you said you two were friends.¡± ¡°Last I heard, mages can¡¯t open a portal here,¡± Errol said, wondering what he¡¯d missed. ¡°True enough. We dropped from the sky above the storm and parachuted down.¡± ¡°Clever.¡± Merv grunted. ¡°Not interested in repeating that experience.¡± Errol¡¯s stomach twisted in fear, but he tried not to let his anxiety show. They were stuck here after all. Of course no mage could extract them. Getting out relied on waiting until his team deactivated the sorcery powering the storm. Until then, they were at the mercy of the monsters. Some leader he¡¯d turned out to be. Crippled and stranded, far away from the others, pretending to work with the enemy. He tugged at the bandage on his leg, wincing at the tenderness of the blistered skin as the gauze chafed. Mission success was entirely out of his hands now. If he could manage to be honest with himself, he¡¯d probably never had much of a chance to help out the team in the first place. But now he was worse than useless. He¡¯d savored the feeling of command, let it go to his head, and in the process he¡¯d sabotaged their survival. ¡°We can¡¯t just sit here staring at our toes until someone comes to save us,¡± Errol said, an acute sense of guilt driving his words. He couldn¡¯t just leave his team to die, even if the scouts gathered here weren¡¯t his real team. The rest of them still needed him, too. ¡°Water isn¡¯t an option,¡± Merv repeated, his voice flat. He stared at Errol, his muscular arms still crossed, a challenge in his gaze. ¡°Unless you¡¯d like to volunteer to feed that thing so the rest of us can get across safely.¡± ¡°You¡¯d like that, wouldn¡¯t you, Merv?¡± The big man shrugged. ¡°Can¡¯t say I¡¯d shed any tears.¡± Something like a plan clicked into place in Errol''s mind. Maybe he could still finish the mission. "Deal. Float me out on that raft and get ready to follow." Percy started to speak up, but Merv silenced him with a thrust out palm. "Do as the Eel commands. Either his gambit works and we move onward, or he''s eaten and we haven''t lost anything of value, eh boys?" ¡°Sure, boss,¡± Percy said, throwing a mock salute. Errol gritted his teeth but otherwise ignored Merv¡¯s insults. He hobbled down toward the shoreline, dragging himself on one leg until it shamed the scouts into action. They propped him up on the raft, waded out to proper depth for it to float, and shoved him across the dark waters. He bobbed out into the waves, praying that his plan would work. Water crashed over the sides of the makeshift craft, soaking him with salty spray. Errol wrinkled his nose at the stench of rotting seaweed. He had to stop getting himself into this kind of predicament. Working the paddle as well as he could with his crippled legs and torn-up stomach, Errol moved into the middle of the channel between the two man-made support islands. Without the ability to brace his legs, he found any attempts at rowing in a straight line almost impossible. He flailed, listing to the side, but he managed to right himself with effort. Slowly, stroke by stroke, he was making progress in an erratic zigzag, growing closer to the opposite shore. So far, no sign of the sea monster. Perhaps it was sated with the flesh and blood of the man it had drawn under a few minutes earlier. He cast out with his sensor field and found nothing. Becking back toward the beach, he motioned for the others to follow him. To his great satisfaction, they dutifully put out to sea. Three-quarters of the way across, a roiling maelstrom appeared to his left. He drew in as much electrical power as he could, turning off his sensor field and devoting his entire life force to powering a supercharged lance. He should be able to channel both abilities simultaneously, but he couldn''t afford the possible distraction. He needed to overcharge the damage if he wanted to survive. Their lives depended on his focus right now. Potent energy crackled through hm. Errol resisted the urge to pull up the vital ring and double check the power of his shock lance. Live or die. No sense in worrying about numbers now. False hope was just as dangerous as despair if he lost his focus. They could be equally fatal to the team; distraction was the true enemy here, not the creature below the waves. He squeezed his eyes shut, seeking the power of the lighting storm above him. It fulminated within him, shaking his body to the marrow. Splintering timbers and cold water hit him just as he heard the monster explode up from the depths. Errol channeled every bit of hatred and hope and shame into the bolt, unleashing a lance more powerful than any he''d ever created. It arced out from his fingertips, crackling with raw, electric energy, and sparked into the hideous beast¡¯s side. The air clapped like thunder. Searing flesh assaulted his nostrils and he was flung backwards into the water as a sheet of white lightning split the sky. Thrashing in the ocean, Errol screamed for help, unable to kick his broken legs. He treaded water as well as he could, all-too-aware of how weak his leg had become. Sharp agony blossomed in his side. Every movement felt like a little death. He swallowed a mouthful of bitter, oily water, and gagged, his coordination breaking down as he fought to clear his lungs of the salt and filth. He flailed and went under, the dark water pulling at him with hungry currents, chilling him with preternaturally icy waves. A quick stroke brought him bobbing up above the surface. He gulped in a lungful of air, waving at the rafts behind him, begging for rescue, but they had turned back to the shore, fear fueling their retreat. They disappeared, swallowed up in a thick, dark mist that had crept in to cover the water. Errol sputtered and sank again. He couldn''t see the monster anymore, but fear clung to him, weighing him down. Any second he would feel the burning snap of jaws closing around his body, sharp claws tearing him to pieces before he could drown. The barrage of hyper-realistic images sapped what little strength he had. Why keep fighting the inevitable? He struggled to the surface, desperate for air even as he embraced the certainty of his death. Limbs stiff and heavy, his strokes slowed until he couldn''t keep his head up any longer. He slipped beneath the waves, calling out to the Bridge in a last, desperate attempt for salvation, and knew no more. Chapter Thirty-One - The Watchers ¡°She¡¯s back!¡± Grimhilt shouted, relief washing over him. He crouched over the Testing Stone in the antechamber to Indara¡¯s offices, reviewing the readouts floating in front of him. Indara rushed to his side, a small retinue flocking behind her. Four spheres of gold, orbited by one silver globe, hovered just above her head height, pulsing with soft light. ¡°Energy looks low,¡± an aide muttered, darting a look at Indara. He licked his lips, backing away from the chancellor, as if concerned that he¡¯d misspoken. ¡°Dangerously low,¡± Indara agreed. ¡°Rashana shows signs of instability. We may need to consider executing the failsafe when she returns. For now, let¡¯s hope she accomplishes the goal without feeding too aggressively.¡± She tilted her head toward him. ¡°Grimhilt, report?¡± ¡°The others seem to be improving, but Errol blinked out an hour ago. Given the injuries he¡¯s sustained, I¡¯m not sure he makes it.¡± ¡°He¡¯s surprised us a few times already.¡± Grimhilt rebuttoned his epaulet, which had somehow come loose during the long night of monitoring the Golden Sphere¡ªa specialized module from the Imperial capital that interfaced with the Testing Stone. He straightened his uniform and sighed. ¡°He certainly has.¡± ¡°But?¡± Indara prompted. ¡°You saw his most recent ability upgrade. It¡¯s probably better for us all if a newly-formed Eel doesn¡¯t return to the city in triumph.¡± ¡°I promised him such a promotion.¡± ¡°The others don¡¯t know the initiation rites. What do you think will happen when the truth gets out?¡± Indara waved her hand, dispelling his concerns like so many biting gnats. ¡°By then we¡¯ll have the Heart of the Tempest under our control. We can make an army of Eels if we wish.¡± Grimhilt lowered his voice. ¡°And do we wish to make an army of Eels? I thought this was simply about preventing the coming storms, not bolstering your military might. An army of Eels sounds like a strike force for¡ª¡± Indara caught his eye, frowning. He swallowed his words, berating himself for speaking up in front of the lower ranks, but she waved them out of the room and turned on him. ¡°Have you ever turned down a conscription of weapons at the armory?¡± ¡°Point taken,¡± Grimhilt grunted. ¡°I¡¯d ask if you agreed with my assessment of Cyneburg, but I don¡¯t think you read my last security briefings,¡± Indara snapped. ¡°Our position is more tenuous than you realize. You¡¯ve been distracted, but that needs to stop now.¡± Grimhilt saluted. ¡°As you command.¡± Indara¡¯s horns pulsated. ¡°Don¡¯t dismiss me like that. Other officers might buy the act, but we both know you don¡¯t let go once you latch on to something. What¡¯s piqued your interest?¡± ¡°A friend of ours seems up to his old tricks. But nevermind that right now. Do you really fear a Cyneburg invasion?¡± A smile twitched on Indara¡¯s lips. ¡°Who said anything about fear?¡± ¡°Someone always profits from chaos,¡± Grimhilt finally said. ¡°Might as well be you.¡± A soft golden light winked out above him, distracting Indara from whatever reply rose to her lips. They rushed back to the Testing Stone. Grimhilt scanned the vitals. He slammed his fist against the wall. ¡°Gruvrik¡¯s out. We''re down to three, plus the soulbound.¡± Indara''s laugh caught him off guard. "Count again, dear Captain. Eels are too slippery for death to catch them so easily." Grimhilt raised his head. Four lights. And then, with a weak, guttering effort, a fifth flared. He waved his hands in a control sequence, pulling up the status of the two new ring bearers, and tilted his head toward the readout shimmering in the air between him and Indara. "New player enters the scene." "Not a signature I recognize," Indara muttered, skimming through the vitals. She tapped the globe, querying the Sharks for their database entries. "No known match, but she''s strong, even though she''s injured. On the verge of leaving behind the third level. Do we pry?" "I can send a message over," Grimhilt offered reluctantly, "but we''ll tip our hand. We don''t know if we''re dealing with friend or foe." "Message Rashana. She knows the imperial code. It''s slow, but she can deactivate and reactivate her ring in patterns to send us an emergency response." Grimhilt barked a laugh. "Always with the stacked deck. Shame you don''t have a bigger audience to applaud your cunning plan." "Sycophant is an ill-fitting suit on you. Take it back to the tailor." Grimhilt didn¡¯t answer, turning his attention to the task at hand. He composed a question to Rashana and fired off the missive. Now they just had to wait and hope. =+= Pain skittered across Errol¡¯s body like an army of spiders. Spasms shook him like he¡¯d turned his shock lance inward. Every tremor reminded him of long-overlooked muscles. He groaned with the agony and tried to push himself up to sitting. Hands caught him and lifted him from the ground, setting him on his own two feet. Blinking against the light, Errol turned to look at his helpers. Half a dozen scouts stood around him with solemn countenance, hands folded in front of them as they looked on. No, not solemn, he realized a moment later. Something about their bearings¡ªall straight backs and squared shoulders¡ªbrought back memories of his induction into Shark Clan as a boy. Eager recruits, plastered wall to wall in an abandoned warehouse, all jostling for the privilege of being the first to see one of the Great Ones, faces shining. They were filled with anticipation. Awe. Errol wanted to ask what had happened, but instinct warned him that he would lose the good standing he¡¯d earned with whatever he¡¯d done. Instead, he saluted like an Eel, watching as their eyes lit up with pride and affirmation.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. How am I even alive? The pain diminished, replaced by a pleasant burn as his muscles and bones repaired in a heartbeat. Somehow, he¡¯d managed to gain a new rank. The fatigue and aches washed away. He could sense the newfound potency of his lance, but he twisted his ring and connected to the Testing Stone anyway to reassure himself. There, in bold letters, proof that he¡¯d fulfilled his dreams: Eel.
Vitals Affiliation
Name: Errol Diplomacy: 14 Shark Clan
Level: 2 Strength: 9 Mako (Tier VII)
Class: Shock Trooper?? Acuity: 13 Eel Division
Health: 65 / 65 Inner Fortitude: 15 Reputation: Strike force
Lifeforce: 100 / 100
Abilities Items Favor
Sensor field: Adept, Tier VI Shock lance: Adept, Tier VII Belt Knife Thieves'' Kit Silver Amulet of Clarity Bridge Spirit unknown entity
Errol glanced up, taking inventory of the beach where they¡¯d set up camp. They¡¯d made it across the water after all, although their numbers had diminished, unless he missed his count. Merv and Percy stood a little apart from the others, but they should have been joined by at least two more. He sighed and added the names to the death tally. Indara had best be right about the importance of this adventure. A long stretch of pebbled beach curved away to either side. Behind the men, grasslands gave way to a low rise of rocky hills, and beyond them stood the central command tower. After a solid breakfast, Errol meant to make toward the tower with all haste. He turned slowly, admiring the barren beauty of the place. Plants and creatures clung to the land despite the storm. It wasn¡¯t some lush, tropical paradise, but it still gave him a sense of pride to consider how his little slice of the world flourished against the odds. You have that in common, a voice whispered in the back of his mind. He shuddered and ignored the Bridge, continuing his survey of the beach where they¡¯d landed. He probably should be thankful, but the accusing words that showed his favor with the Bridge spirit terrified him. How could a simple boy from the streets earn that kind of affiliation? A monstrous, crippled form at the water¡¯s edge elicited a scream, but Errol clamped his mouth shut before he sounded like a raw recruit, and mercifully the sound came out more like a hunter¡¯s cry than wounded shock. Telltale scoring crisscrossed the still-smoldering hulk. Errol let out a soundless whistle. Had he slain that monster? ¡°I told you the water was the only choice,¡± Errol joked, pasting a smile on his face. The smell was horrendous, and the missing men tugged on his conscience, but a flash of pride still made him hold his head a little higher. He squared his shoulders and nodded toward the men again. ¡°Good work, soldiers. Remember that an important mission means an important reward. I won¡¯t forget your sacrifices when we return.¡± They saluted back, and Errol felt a pang of longing for his own team. They¡¯d needed him to stay true to his word. And, worse than simply abandon them to their fates, he¡¯d replaced them wholesale with their enemies. Stuffing the shame into a sack to dissect later, Errol turned toward the tower and began to march. A pang of emptiness and a growl from his stomach brought him up short. He sank back down to the sandy pebbles. ¡°Think that thing is edible? Got a powerful hunger right about now.¡± Merv broke into a chuckle. ¡°Considering by all rights you should be dead, a bit of hunger is reassuring that you¡¯re human. We¡¯ve got actual victuals. I think we can manage to whip up something tasty.¡± ¡°If that thing can¡¯t kill me, then I suppose your cooking can¡¯t, either.¡± Percy shot him a look, but got started on a small campfire. ¡°Never seen anything like that back there. Don¡¯t know if anything can kill you. That some kind of Shark Clan wizardry?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not supposed to talk about clan secrets,¡± Errol said with a helpless shrug. ¡°Not even a friendly chat with the man who makes your breakfast? Errol patted his stomach. ¡°I suppose if it stays on the Bridge, though . . .¡± ¡°Thought that may sway your mind,¡± Percy said. He pulled a bundle of provisions from a waterproofed pack and set up a skillet over the campfire. ¡°I did a lot of things today,¡± Errol said, scratching his nose and trying to sound as casual as he could. ¡°What are you referring to? I might be able to bend the rules a little.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t even know what happened, do you?¡± Percy breathed. He glanced about the beach, ensuring the others hadn¡¯t overheard. ¡°I won¡¯t tell; the secret is safe with me. They think you¡¯re some demigod. I know different now, but even so, you¡¯ve been blessed, child.¡± Searing meat from the skillet carried an aroma that drove conscious thought from Errol¡¯s mind. He floundered for a response, swallowed to clear out the drool pooling in his mouth, and finally said, ¡°I¡¯d like to hear the tale, right after I eat. Smells delicious, Percy.¡± ¡°Thought about opening a restaurant when I¡¯m out of the force someday. A lot more fun than worrying if some Eel is going to blow your insides right out your eyes.¡± ¡°Sorry about that. Guard wouldn¡¯t stop kicking me.¡± ¡°No one liked him anyway. Nasty streak. We¡¯re soldiers, not inquisitors.¡± Errol nodded, trying to remain patient. The seasoning Percy had added reminded him of the fancy meal Cedric had made for him when they got the news the Shark Clan had accepted him into training. A meal like that, out here on the Bridge, seemed like paradise. In his haste, Errol burned the roof of his mouth on the thin shaved beef. He sucked in a lungful of air, directing the cool stream over the tender flesh in the top of his mouth. Patience is only a virtue when you¡¯re not hungry, he realized. As he ate, he reviewed his new skills. He¡¯d earned a Blessing, but he didn¡¯t know where to best apply it. At a thought, the Testing Stone opened to other possibilities beyond the few Shark Clan offered. The sheer array of options left Errol feeling faint-headed. He¡¯d been dreaming far too small when Eel was his only goal¡ªas far as he could tell, that was simply a class, not even a rank. He browsed through entirely new skill trees and wondered about life beyond Laurentum. If the Testing Stone was right, then he might be better off without the Shark Clan in the long run. Freyman¡¯s men had already packed by the time Errol finished eating. Wiping grease off his lips with the back of his hand, he stood and scurried over to watch for their advance scouts. ¡°Movement ahead!¡± One of the scouts ran back to the path, gulping air. His entire body shook with the exertion of a long, hard run without food or water. He waved a hand back in the general direction of the tower, then crouched down to catch his breath. Errol sprinted over to the scout. He knelt in the gray, dusty dirt to look him in the eye. ¡°What did you find out there?¡± The scout''s head lolled to the side. He slumped forward. Errol caught him and propped him back up. Color slowly suffused the man''s pale cheeks. He drew in a ragged breath and his eyes fluttered open. He steadied himself on the ground with one arm. ¡°Fire, raging up into the sky like I''ve never seen before. An enormous monster. Savages with spears. Should run.¡± Bits of gravel dug into Errol''s knees, but he stayed down next to the man and spoke in an even, level tone to calm him. ¡°I¡¯m a match for any monster out there. That¡¯s why I was sent to the Bridge.¡± The scout nodded and repeated his report when Percy jogged over. They conferred for a moment, then Errol called all the scouts together. ¡°Catch your breath. Get something to eat. We march out in five minutes, double-time. Enemy combatants spotted. Be on guard.¡± Errol fell back to mid-pack when they struck camp, letting Merv take the lead. They took off at a fast march as soon as he joined them, heading for the tower. There was no telling when the others had reached the control center, but they needed to make haste if they wanted to have a chance of catching up. The burly fighter swept his head back and forth as they trudged, scanning the pale plains for any signs of monsters or spear-wielding enemies, but they didn¡¯t encounter anyone. No sounds of distant battles filtered through the waving grasses. Thin fronds of fern and sage grass wavered in the chill breeze, shaking gently as their team passed by. In the wan half light, the scout group reminded Errol of a company of ghosts, all muted hues and solemn visages, trudging through forgotten places in a haunted world. Wind gusted again, cutting through his layers of clothes, but it wasn¡¯t the cold that made Errol shiver. He couldn¡¯t leave this blighted land soon enough. Chapter Thirty-Two - The Shrike (part one) After nearly half an hour of fast, forced marching, Merv called a halt. Percy and Errol joined him at the front of the formation, where he crouched down, jotting notes in a small tactical journal. The terrain changed ahead. A series of rivulets split the ground into a criss-cross patchwork of gnarled ridges and deep crevasses, like an above-ground rabbit warren. Smoke billowed up from the still-smoldering earth. ¡°We¡¯re approaching the monster corpse Ferid saw earlier. We could use your firepower in case there are more, Eel.¡± Errol shrugged. ¡°I know my place in a fight.¡± Merv scratched his jaw. ¡°Was hoping you¡¯d take point. Leave the rest of us for scouting. We don¡¯t have your firepower.¡± Errol hitched up his backpack, trying to find a more comfortable position. He slipped to the front of the team as requested, sensor field scanning below the broken ground for threats. If he¡¯d learned anything on the Bridge so far, disaster could strike at any second. He couldn¡¯t trust his eyes alone. The scouts weren¡¯t infallible, either. An extra second or two of warning might be enough to survive. Crumbling clay gave way beneath his boots. He staggered, throwing his arms out to the side for balance, but without anything to brace against, Errol tumbled down into a shallow rut and plopped into a soft mound of dirt. He dusted himself off, climbed back to ground-level, and cast a quick glance toward the scouts. No one snickered or made a comment. A bad sign, Errol mused. They¡¯re too scared now to even laugh at my bumbling attempts to scout. I may be on my own in a fight if morale is this low. Half an hour passed in agonizing slowness¡ªtesting out footing, constructing makeshift rope bridges to cross crevasses, scurrying for cover at every gust of wind. Something had them well and truly spooked. Errol spat and pushed past the scouting line that marked a semi-secure position for their operations. He jumped across a narrow gap, hacked down a twisted clump of brush with a short machete he¡¯d borrowed, and prepared to assault the rest of the thicket when a scream stopped him cold. The scouts scrambled toward the direction of the cries. Merv arrived first, with Errol fast on his heels. The big man recoiled as he crested a small rise and found the source of the panic, clutching at Errol¡¯s shoulder for support. ¡°Dear gods, what is that thing?¡± Errol peaked over the ridge. A massive, mangled maw met his sight, threatening even in death. Tongues of fire played across the ripped-open corpse of a monster unlike anything he¡¯d seen before. His stomach lurched as his mind tried to categorize the twisted, horrifying anatomy of the beast. Bloated sacks of greying flesh bulged from between segments of purple carapace, leaking a pale yellow ichor. Razor-like talons stuck out at odd angles from far too many limbs, each claw as long as his machete. Three rows of black spikes jutted out across its armored top in asymmetrical projections. Sparks occasionally crackled and leaped between them, like tiny versions of Errol¡¯s own shock lance, but without much potency. Even singed and decaying, the monster corpse emanated danger. Errol waved the men back¡ªthey seemed only too happy to comply¡ªand approached the monstrosity, scanning with his sensor field to ensure that it was dead. He picked up no signal to show it still counted among the living, but the thing still gave off a heavy aura of darkstorm. A beast born of storms? Inching forward, a shock lance prepped, Errol finally reached the monster and nudged it with his toe. He gagged at the soft squelch and sudden release of redolent fumes and lurched away from the carcass, curiosity satisfied. ¡°You can come down now. It¡¯s definitely dead,¡± he called out to the scouts, trying to cover his trepidation by threatening their pride. The scouts streamed down the slope, forming a half circle in front of the beast. A few jeered at the creature, but Percy and Merv pulled away from the pack. They leaned their heads together, whispering intensely. Even if he focused, Errol couldn¡¯t quite make out their words, but a glance at the other scouts made it easy to pick up the context. He didn¡¯t like the unease written on their faces any more than they did. Time to move away from the monster. They would have to give the men a compelling reason to keep from deserting. Tracking down a few mages was one thing; finding evidence of storm-touched monsters was quite another. ¡°Footprints,¡± Ferid announced. He motioned for the others to follow, and they all scurried to fall in line. No one appeared eager to linger by the smoldering corpse.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Ferid led them uphill, tracking the footprints across sand and over pebbles. Errol couldn¡¯t see the prints, but the others seemed to trust Ferid¡¯s skills implicitly. They filed around a pile of rocks and through a dry arroyo, half-submerged beneath a scraggly forest that obscured the dark, angry sky. Ferid held up a fist to stop them as they reached the edge of the low, rambling thicket. He pointed to an empty campsite in the middle of a small clearing. ¡°Looks fresh. A few hours old, at most. We¡¯re closing in on our quarry.¡± Errol jogged up to peer at the campsite with the advance scout. A hulking silhouette loomed in the mists, emerging next to the ashes of an extinguished campfire. Smoke trailed behind its head. Ferid¡¯s hands started shaking; he reached for his bow, but Errol laid a hand on his arm before the scout could shoot. ¡°A colleague of mine. Hold fire.¡± As predicted, the monster materialized into a familiar, draconic form, although a deep frown transformed Jarkoda''s face into a mask of fear and fury. He paced, snorting flames as he talked to himself, seemingly unsure of his next steps. No one else showed up, prompting Errol to wonder if Jarkoda had been travelling alone since Errol had lost the rest of the group, but the extra bedrolls belied that idea. Errol sneaked back to tap Merv on the shoulder. ¡°One of my companions is up ahead at the campsite. He¡¯s covered in smoke and dried blood. I think he killed that creature we found. We should tread with caution. ¡°Which companion?¡± Merv pulled out his notebook. ¡°I¡¯ve got a list of the members.¡± ¡°Jarkoda, the halfdragon. He¡¯s alone, but he looks angry. Stay back while I talk with him.¡± ¡°If he¡¯s alone, this is our best chance to take him out¡ªespecially if he¡¯s still weak from a fight with a monster like that thing back there.¡± ¡°I need to find out where the others went. And even weakened from a fight, Jarkoda is a match for your squad. Give me five minutes; I¡¯ll signal once I have the information I need.¡± Merv squinted and gave him a look, but finally shrugged. ¡°Have it your way, Eel. I don¡¯t want to get in the middle, anyway. Fire and lightning don¡¯t mix well with my constitution.¡± Errol squared his shoulders, breathing deeply to calm himself. If Jarkoda was looking for a fight, he wasn¡¯t sure he could take the halfdragon, even after his Eel transformation, but perhaps he wouldn¡¯t blame Errol for the team fragmenting during the sleet storm. ¡°Hail, Jarkoda!¡± Errol called, waving as he walked down toward the campfire. He smiled, projecting confidence and friendliness. Jarkoda¡¯s head snapped up, ears drawing flat against his skull, nostrils flared, but when he saw Errol, he returned the smile and ran to greet the man, clutching his shoulders with both massive hands. ¡°You¡¯re alive! We thought the storm winds knocked you off the Bridge. I never thought I¡¯d see you again after that disaster.¡± ¡°Likewise,¡± Errol managed, returning the awkward embrace. ¡°I¡¯ve been tracking the team ever since, but I didn¡¯t expect to take so many days to catch up. Where are the others?¡± Jarkoda withdrew a step, growling. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± ¡°They weren¡¯t with you?¡± ¡°Did you pass through the gulley?¡± Jarkoda asked, jerking his chin toward the place Errol had found the dead monster. ¡°I did. Your handiwork?¡± Jarkoda nodded. ¡°Took every last bit of fire and vengeance in me. I¡¯m still lightheaded. I could barely stand for an hour, though I¡¯m starting to recover now. They disappeared right after I fought the Dhambro Shade. I hid them in a cave for the fight, since they were injured, but when I got back, they were all missing.¡± ¡°What did you call it?¡± ¡°The Dhambro Shade. Guardian of the control tower.¡± ¡°Where¡¯d you learn the beast¡¯s name?¡± Errol asked. Jarkoda tilted his head. ¡°That¡¯s your takeaway, that I know its name? The others are all missing; I can¡¯t find them anywhere, not even their scents. Something strong and foul interferes with my nose.¡± Errol latched on to the wording. ¡°Something not the Dhambro Shade, you mean?¡± ¡°Correct. I can¡¯t place this smell. It¡¯s not natural, the way it permeates the entire area. As for the Shade, I¡¯ll tell you about it once we¡¯ve found the others. We need to look in a wider circle. With your help we can cover twice as much ground.¡± Errol shook his head. ¡°No more splitting up. We¡¯ve got to stick together.¡± He paused to lick his lips and cast a glance over his shoulder toward the hidden scouts. ¡°We¡¯ve got company hot on our heels. I convinced them to let me talk to you before they attacked, but if we don¡¯t give them a good reason to walk on by, they¡¯re going to ambush you.¡± Translucent, protective lids slid over Jarkoda¡¯s eyes. He inhaled roughly and unhinged his jaw, kindling a flame deep in his throat. ¡°Let them come.¡± The scouts emerged from the thickets on all side, bows drawn. They¡¯d flanked the two while Errol had spoken with his teammate. Fanning out, they set up in a simple double-rank of archers to provide covering fire, while Merv strode forward with a standard-issue shortsword, a buckler strapped to his other arm. ¡°Strike a blow or move away from the halfdragon. We¡¯ve got a mission to finish, Eel.¡± Chapter Thirty-Three - The Shrike (part two) ¡°Do you trust me, Jarkoda?¡± Errol whispered. ¡°I don¡¯t have much choice, apparently,¡± the halfdragon replied, a ghost of a chuckle in his tone. ¡°No, I suppose not.¡± Errol channeled his shock lance, dialing back the power but letting it crackle ominously in the air, and slammed his fist into the side of Jarkoda¡¯s scaled skull. The halfdragon staggered back, roared, and swung a clawed fist at Errol, who ducked underneath the blow and snapped off another underpowered lance. This time Jarkoda stiffened when the bolt hit him. His eyes fluttered for a moment before he dropped to the ground, sprawling in the ashes of the doused campfire. The scouts cheered, lowering their bows, but Merv still held his sword in a guard as he approached the two. ¡°It¡¯s done? That fast?¡± Errol nodded. ¡°Give me a few moments. We were friends, for a time. I¡¯ll see to the burial. Push on toward the tower; the rest are inside already.¡± Merv quirked an eyebrow, but didn¡¯t comment. He circled his hands and the scouts lined up in formation behind him, marching toward the command center, while Errol made a show of digging in the dirt with a camp shovel until they passed out of sight. Errol tracked them via his sensor field to ensure they hadn¡¯t circled back to spy on him. They were scouts, after all. He crouched down next to Jarkoda, slapping him awake. ¡°Hurry. We need to move if we¡¯re going to find the others before Freyman¡¯s scouts do. Ferid, one of the advance scouts, told me he saw a group of spearmen in tattered furs and feathers. Have you encountered any local forces?¡± Jarkoda coughed, hacking up a bloodied tooth. He rolled over, groaned, and got to his feet unsteadily. ¡°Next time just let me burn them all. Ugghh. That hurt.¡± ¡°Sorry. I tried to take the edge off.¡± ¡°Sure you did,¡± Jarkoda grumbled. He stretched, shouldering his pack. ¡°We ran into the cr¨¨che-dwellers, but I¡¯m more concerned about the Shrikes. The others would leave us alone, especially after they¡¯ve seen Rashana in action. I suspect she¡¯s become a local legend.¡± ¡°Sounds like you have stories to tell.¡± Jarkoda grunted. He pushed a pile of bedrolls at Errol. ¡°You do, too. What¡¯s with all the scouts? When did they show up?¡± ¡°Freyman sent us a welcoming committee once he caught wind of our mission. After my level and class change to Eel, I convinced them that I was a double-agent and tagged along.¡± ¡°You really did become an Eel?¡± Jarkoda asked. ¡°How?¡± ¡°Pain and suffering,¡± Errol said with a snort. ¡°Let¡¯s just find the others first. I don¡¯t feel like telling this story twice.¡± ¡°Suit yourself,¡± Jarkoda finally grunted again, apparently still reticent to trust Errol. They set out, marching further inland¡ªthe opposite direction from where Errol had first arrived, since the scouts had already scoured the countryside in that area, working the ground for clues as they walked in increasingly bigger circles. Using the campsite as a central point, they investigated in long arcs across the dirt and stone, looking for clues. After expanding their circles three times, Jarkoda stumbled on a divot of earth that looked like the result of a careless boot. No other prints accompanied the torn-up bit of dirt, but they didn¡¯t have anything else to go on yet. ¡°Search this way for twenty minutes,¡± Errol suggested. ¡°If we don¡¯t find anything, we¡¯ll reset and try a new vector. But I¡¯ll wager we¡¯ll turn up something before long.¡± Jarkoda swung toward the new path and took off at a trot. He and Errol ran in silence for almost half the allotted time until the halfdragon called his attention to a bit of bone in their path. The polished white stood out against the dull, brown dirt. Jarkoda bent down and recovered a piece of scrimshaw, holding it up so both he and Errol could both see the intricate runes carved into the otherwise smooth surface. ¡°Telyim must have dropped this. I can¡¯t read the runes, but I don¡¯t think that¡¯s important. She¡¯s giving us a trail to follow.¡± ¡°Who¡¯s Telyim?¡± ¡°A local seer. She was hostile at first, but if the Shrikes took her, along with Maeda and Rashana, then I believe she¡¯d rather work with us against them.¡± Errol nodded slowly, turning over the information as they spoke. ¡°You only mentioned two. You haven¡¯t seen Rhae, Taras, or Gruvrik?¡± ¡°Gruvrik was with us. I assume he went with the women.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t know what happened with Rhae and Taras?¡± Jarkoda¡¯s shoulders slumped. He shook his head. ¡°We haven¡¯t seen them since the storm split us up. I¡¯d hoped you might bring news.¡± Errol pocketed the scrimshaw. ¡°We¡¯ll find them. Keep moving; they¡¯ve probably got a few hours on us still.¡± They trudged onward through the deepening gloom, past the control tower, and farther into the hills of the main island that served as the anchor for the bulk of the Bridge¡¯s construction in the middle of the bay. The waving fields of grasses gave way to scrub trees and twisted rock formations. The higher they moved into the hills, the more punishing the wind became, cutting through their cloaks and chilling them to the bone as they lost the protective cover of the rows of hills shielding the low-lying grasslands. As the ground grew rockier, Errol called for them to halt more frequently, bending down to comb through the pebbles with his fingers, looking for tracks or disturbances to point them in the right direction. After a third unfruitful examination, Errol swore and kicked a pile of scree down the hill. He slumped down, sitting heavily on a rock just tall enough to function as a chair, and put his head in his hands. Jarkoda snorted flames at Errol, making him jump. ¡°You just gonna sit there and rest your sore legs?¡± Errol glared at him. Jarkoda never accepted his leadership. ¡°Unless you¡¯ve got a better idea. Admit it. We¡¯re lost.¡± Jarkoda chuckled. ¡°Just because you can¡¯t track in this environment doesn¡¯t mean that I¡¯m useless, too. We¡¯ve closed the gap; their trail is recent enough that I can smell them now.¡± ¡°Seems like I¡¯ve found fresh energy,¡± Errol said, flashing a grin at the halfdragon. ¡°Lead on. And Jarkoda?¡± Jarkoda turned, a scaled eyebrow raised as he regarded Errol. ¡°Yes, O fearless leader?¡± ¡°Good work. Sorry I haven¡¯t appreciated your skills enough.¡± Jarkoda nodded in acknowledgement. He took off at a quick lope, his long, powerful strides forcing Errol to break into a run. Human jogging speed wasn¡¯t sufficient to keep up with a halfdragon¡¯s ground-eating canter. Breathing in a rhythm, Errol dipped into his newfound stores of energy, finding that he wasn¡¯t lagging behind as much as he¡¯d expected. Without his recent level, he¡¯d never be able to maintain this run for more than a few minutes. They ascended a hill, navigated a twisting valley, and crested the final ridge in the range of short, rolling peaks. Below them spread out a warband, clustered around what appeared to be a large watering hole. Roving cougars wandered between the warriors, clad in thick leather cuirass and studded straps that suggested an uneasy domestication. ¡°Fighting familiars, perhaps?¡± Jarkoda speculated. ¡°I don¡¯t want to tangle with them if we can. Do you see the team?¡± ¡°Negative. Let¡¯s try to circle over to the hillock to our right. Might give us a better vantage point. You sense any guards?¡± Errol quested out with his sensor field but didn¡¯t find anyone between them and the hill that Jarkoda had pointed out a moment earlier. He gave the all-clear and the two slunk from stone to stone, trying to keep to the shadows¡ªnot a difficult proposition on the Bridge, where everything hid in a half-haze. Stealth was simply a way of life, not an acquired skill, out here on the Bridge. They set up on the far hilltop, again scanning the crowd for any familiar faces. This time, the change in perspective afforded them a view of an enormous iron spike driven into the ground in the back of the camp. Four massive chains, bolted to the spike, led to the four prisoners. They slumped on the ground, huddled together for warmth. Rashana wasn¡¯t moving. ¡°This is going to turn ugly,¡± Errol hissed. ¡°Can you melt those chains with your fire?¡± Jarkoda hummed to himself for a moment before answering. ¡°I¡¯ll need time. That means you¡¯re going to need to distract the fighters. Even for an Eel, that¡¯s a tall order.¡± ¡°If it has to be done, then it has to be done,¡± Errol grunted. He sparked his shock lance in the air between his hands, building up its intensity. ¡°Prepare yourself to move when you see the fireworks. I¡¯m sneaking back around to the front. I¡¯ll launch an attack in about five minutes.¡± Jarkoda saluted with a grim, determined look. Errol matched his expression and returned the salute, then sneaked back through the rock piles and underbrush to begin his assault. He tried not to think about how much blood he¡¯d have on his hands after this was over. His team came first. Errol shook with the effort required to hold back his charged-up attack. He experimented with splitting the shock lance as it flew, striking three of the cougars with a bolt that splintered like a fulminating trident. Even divided three ways, the energy impacted the beasts with enough power to kill them instantly. They spun down to the ground in front of their handlers, burnt tufts of fur standing on end from the electric discharge. Shouts went up from the crowd of fighters. Errol stepped out from his hiding spot behind a stone and blasted two more bolts in quick succession, taking down the rest of the cougars and impaling a shaman through the chest. He screamed, clutching the bone charms around his neck with a look of betrayal on his face, and collapsed in a gurgling mess of blood. A handful of hunters drew short horn bows and unleashed a barrage in Errol¡¯s direction. He hurled his body at the ground to avoid the arrows, knocking the wind from his lungs when he hit the stony outcropping. Ululating war cries rent the skies, announcing the warband¡¯s answering attack. A rush of feet pounded up the slope toward him, accompanied by further suppressing fire from the horn bows. A spear thudded into the dirt a foot away from Errol¡¯s face. Errol sprinted back the way he¡¯d come, gasping as he tried to force the air back into his chest. He turned on his sensor field, tracking the enemies. They flickered in and out like fireflies, lighting up his senses, scurrying into position so quickly that Errol worried he might not be able to get a targeting lock on them, so he spun and fired blind, trading upfront intensity on the shock lance for the ability to cast in sheer numbers. Two of the entities in his sensor field winked out, signaling hits. The rest swarmed uphill too erratically for him to get in another attack. He fell back at an angle, hoping to get in range to check on Jarkoda¡¯s progress. The interference from so many strangers made it difficult to zero in on his allies, and he hadn¡¯t memorized their energy signatures in the few days they¡¯d worked together before the storm split them up, but if he could thin the ranks then it should be easier to get a bead on the team. A soldier launched over a boulder to Errol¡¯s left, bounding toward him with a spear. Two feathers streamed from just below the spearhead, a splash of color in an otherwise drab slice of land that was barren even by the Bridge¡¯s standards. The spearman shrieked in anger, shaking his free hand at Errol in a vulgar taunt, and launched an attack. Errol ducked under the first thrust, quick-stepping to the side to give himself a better angle of attack to fight back. He drew his belt knife and lunged, hoping to drive up under the man¡¯s ribs before he could get the spear into a defensive guard. Instead, the fighter twirled the spear shaft around and slammed it into Errol¡¯s head, sprawling him across the rocky ground. Biting back a curse, Errol rolled away from the follow up attack. The spear bit into the side of a brittle rock, splitting it in half. For a second Errol stared at the curved, jagged edges of the spear blade, the raw metal flashing in the distinctive half light of what passed for day on the Bridge; how had they forged such a thing out here, in the wilds? He shoved a raw, unshaped burst of voltage at the man, bursting open his chest before the spearman got any ideas about more dangerous attacks. Two women shoved past the man as he died, brandishing clubs. Errol dodged back from the woman on the left and parried with his knife, turning away the second blow from the warrior on his right. She screamed an unintelligible threat, the club over her head, streaks of mud in her hair¡ªthe perfect picture of a berserker, Errol mused as he punched her stomach. She bent in half, eyes wide with surprise at the power in his strike, but managed to swing her club even as she stumbled backward, catching him in the chin. Errol flipped backward, crashing into the ground and dropping his knife. He jumped away from the other woman¡¯s swing, spat blood, and scrabbled for purchase, scrambling up the loose shale earth to the top of another short hill. Praying he wouldn¡¯t lose a tooth, Errol threw himself to the side, dodging a bone javelin intended for his face, and uprooted a scraggly bush. He spun around in time to knock aside a spiked club, laughing with his newfound strength. Before his last level, he would have died to the first spearman. How did they ever agree to follow me here? I was so weak! More fighters streamed over the ridge, armed with an assortment of studded clubs, bone spears, and daggers. A few had metal weapons, but none of it matched. Maybe they don¡¯t forge it on the Bridge, after all; maybe it¡¯s all just scavenged from shipwrecks. Channeling his shock lance through both arms, Errol built up a multipronged charge that he hoped would chain between his enemies. He roared out a challenge as they poured forward, too many to isolate and snipe one at a time. Power rushed through his hands, splitting the air like a proper thunderclap. Bolts of lightning branched out from each fingertip, searing flesh and cutting holes in the meager bone armor some of the fighters sported. As he¡¯d planned, the lance jumped from target to target, lashing out with the fury of the storm. A dozen fighters convulsed and dropped to the ground, accompanied by the nauseating smell of burning flesh. A few fighters faltered, falling back before his heavy shock lances. One stalwart attacker in a black fur cloak and a huge cougar skull for a helmet leaped forward, however, wielding a giant axe covered in dried blood like streaks of rust. He dove and rolled underneath the last shock lance, which fizzled as Errol¡¯s power drained, and kicked Errol in the chest, sending him flying down the slope, arms windmilling for balance.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. ¡°Die, stormborn!¡± the fighter roared in guttural tones, leaping down the hill after Errol with a carved bone upraised in one hand. He swung the totem at Errol, snickering at the pulse of power. ¡°Can¡¯t win a fair fight, eh shaman?¡± Errol tried to summon his shock lance, but the fighter was quicker, shaking the length of bone at Errol and disrupting the channel, closing in with each foiled attack. He caught up before Errol reached the bottom of the ravine, turning to ram his shoulder into Errol. The two crashed into the side of a low cliff wall, dislodging stones in a spray of dust and debris. The fighter slammed into him with studded pauldron, knocking him down to one knee at the side of the stone wall. The huge, bloodstained axe appeared suddenly, just in front of Errol¡¯s face, swinging with startling speed. With a strangled cry, Errol twisted away from the ferocious attack, flinging himself to the ground. The fighter kicked him in the chest twice, roaring with the fury of battle. Ribs cracked with each heavy blow. Errol screamed in agony. The fighter drew back for a third strike, but Errol lashed out with a kick and caught the man on the knee, causing him to stumble. Before the Shrike could recover, Errol whirled to his feet and battered the massive axe to the side, lodging the edge in the cliff face. He punched the fighter in the face as fast as he could, not letting him regain his balance, then grabbed him by the fur vest and yanked forward. Errol headbutted the Shrike, knocking the bit of carved bone out of the man¡¯s hands, and summoned a reserve of power to finish the kill. The shock lance sputtered and almost went out, like a flame burning too low on the wick, but Errol called on the power to survive. He willed it to cover his hands with lightning, sneering at the enemy champion, and howled in victory. With a final surge of power, Errol drove his fist through the fighter¡¯s skull and unleashed the pent-up shock lance, splattering the man¡¯s brains across the cliff face. Shaking, Errol collapsed against the wall, his fingers scratching the stone as he tried to stay upright. His breath tore from his lungs in ragged gasps. His legs gave out, and his hands failed to find a grip. He slid to the ground, panting, and turned to look back over the battlefield, taking in the carnage. No more warriors pursued him. Piles of broken, bleeding bodies dotted the hillside. Past the hill, in the Shrike camp, a flurry of activity lit up his sensor field, but in his immediate vicinity, an eerie peace had descended over the corpses. He shuddered, holding back tears. He¡¯d torn them all asunder. This was the price of protecting his friends. The thought of the rest of the team jolted Errol back to the task at hand. He pushed himself up to his feet and stumbled toward the campsite, leaning on his sensor field for more information. People pinged in and out of the field, scurrying in chaotic disorder, except for a group of four that moved in formation at the edges of his awareness. Good work, Jarkoda. Errol congratulated him mentally, sprinting toward the ridgeline to loop around and rejoin the group. He stopped to snatch up the belt knife he¡¯d dropped earlier. It wasn¡¯t anything special, but he hated the thought of losing it on the Bridge. A leader should keep hold of his weapons. A column of flames burst up into the sky, washing over Errol with its heat even from a distance, leading him right to the halfdragon like a beacon. He dug in and ran harder, although his stamina had fallen off precipitously. He was made for frying things with lightning, not running hills. As he reached the top, the battle came into view. Rings of Shrike warriors faced off with the three escapees and their halfdragon rescuer. Jarkoda had slung Rashana¡¯s immobile shell over his shoulder. The Shrike fighters hemmed them in with spears and bone walls. They have a mage? Errol hadn¡¯t expected this level of sophistication from a group stuck on the Bridge. He¡¯d witnessed firsthand the efficiency of the bone charm, and he recalled seeing a man dressed like a tribal shaman, but he¡¯d gone down early in the fight. Yet there he was, staff in hand, waving the etched-bone around like an imperial attack mage. Errol scraped the bottom of his reserves, trying to muster up enough power to launch one more attack, but he came up empty. The rebound shot through him, robbing his lungs of air. He staggered, clutching at his heart. They¡¯d have to fend off the shaman without his help¡ªor at least without his shock lances. The Shrikes noticed him then, standing at the top of the ridge with his hands on his knees, silhouetted against the wan sky. A chorus of curses barked out, followed hard by arrows and javelins. The shaman pointed his staff, eyes lit up with malice. Lighting crackled around its bony projections, exploding outward toward Errol. Errol dove forward, underneath the deadly barrage. He rolled down the hill, bouncing off mounds of dirt. Scrub brush tore his shirt. He managed to jump to his feet before he smacked into a boulder at the fringe of the Shrike camp, striking a pose that he hoped looked menacing. The Shrikes stepped back, exchanging glances. He waved his fingers at the shaman, who flinched and covered his face with the bone staff. Before the man could recover his nerve, Errol dashed over to the rest of his team, drawing his recovered knife. He flipped it from an overhand grip to icepick style, then back again after he weighed it in his hands, opting to wield the knife like a short sword. He turned to place his back toward the little group, facing out against Shrike arrayed with hostile intent. ¡°Got any tricks, fearless leader?¡± Gruvrik asked, elbowing him in the thigh. ¡°Yeah. Use you as a meat shield, then blast my way free.¡± Gruvrik chuckled. ¡°I like you better than I remember. Sounds like you found a sense of humor after we all split up.¡± An enterprising warrior lunged forward, spear in hand. In a blur of speed, Errol deflected the thrust with his knife, snatched the spear, and kicked the legs out from the Shrike, his newly acquired Eel prowess emboldening him to act more decisively than when he was merely a weak Mako. He felt twice as strong now. ¡°Halt!¡± the Shrike bone shaman cried, holding up his staff above his head in both hands. He knelt on one knee, blood still leaking from his chest wound. Apparently he was tougher than the other fighters, if he¡¯d survived a direct hit from the shock lance. ¡°Do not fight the stormborn any further. Find out what he wants.¡± Maeda quirked an eyebrow at Errol. ¡°Fancy new title.¡± Errol sheathed his knife and stepped forward, holding up his empty hands. ¡°Stand down, and we¡¯ll talk.¡± The shaman nodded. He motioned for the others to move back, strode into the empty clearing between them, and folded his robes. He crossed his legs and balanced his staff across his knees. ¡°Good. Let¡¯s talk.¡± Errol mimicked the shaman¡¯s posture, though he sat down out of reach of the man¡¯s staff just in case of an attack. Out of habit, he scanned the crowd for signs of movement, but his field didn¡¯t detect any motion out on the edges. Now would be his most vulnerable, sitting down in full view of the remaining Shrikes, but their pattern didn¡¯t appear to indicate that they were planning any subterfuge. ¡°How did you gain the storm spirit¡¯s favor?¡± ¡°What?¡± Errol said, surprise making his brain slow down and his tongue react before he could think of something more clever to say. ¡°You wield the power of the storm itself, outsider. How have you learned this sacred art?¡± Errol crossed his arms and sat up straighter. ¡°I¡¯ve always had a voltage stream.¡± ¡°Then why do you fight the servants of the storm? You bear the mark of the storm spirit¡¯s blessing. You and I are allies. We applaud your strength. Now join us.¡± ¡°What do I have to gain from this alliance?¡± Errol asked, buying time. The more he could prompt the shaman to talk, the more likely he could come up with a plan, or regain enough of his energy to chain his shock lance through the most intimidating warriors. His crew should be able to cut their way free after that. ¡°You¡¯ll be a prince in your true home. We can wipe out the cr¨¨che-dwellers if they resist. We¡¯ll rule the world.¡± Errol shrugged. ¡°The Bridge isn¡¯t as big as you think. Even as a simple foot soldier back home, I¡¯ve got more prestige and power, not to mention far less work in a place that¡¯s not trying to kill me several times a day. I don¡¯t think that¡¯s going to happen.¡± ¡°How could you wish to be a foot soldier so far from home? You belong here. You know it since you¡¯ve been marked by the storm.¡± ¡°What is he talking about?¡± Jarkoda growled. Errol turned to look at his team. His shoulders slumped. ¡°I was born here. That¡¯s why I¡¯m able to hear the Bridge¡ªand, most likely, why I have the abilities of an Eel.¡± Jarkoda shuffled closer, twin ridges of his scales pulled down in a menacing scowl. ¡°That doesn¡¯t make sense. Shark Clan has plenty of Eels, and they weren¡¯t born here.¡± Maeda chuckled softly. ¡°That¡¯s where you¡¯re wrong, dragon boy.¡± Errol stood and turned to look at her. ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡± ¡°Shark Clan brings any likely candidates out here to the edge of the Bridge for training,¡± Maeda said. ¡°They enter the darkstorm alone If the storm accepts them, then an Eel is born. If not, well, they don¡¯t need a burial when the Bridge consumes them.¡± Errol spat. ¡°So that¡¯s why you insisted on joining us, to protect your Eel hatchery?¡± ¡°Hardly. Remember when I told you that Shark Clan needs new blood? I¡¯m here to usher in a new era, not to help them continue to build an army so Indara can challenge the empire.¡± Errol slipped the silver amulet of clarity from his pack and willed it to activate, focusing on Maeda. An interface popped up, similar to the one he had grown accustomed to seeing with his vital ring.
Vitals Affiliation
Name: Maeda Diplomacy: 27 Shark Clan
Level: ?? Strength: 23 Great White (Tier VIII)
Class: High Inquisitor Acuity: 31 ???
Health: ??? / ?? Inner Fortitude: 37 Reputation: Hidden
Lifeforce: ??? / ???
Abilities Items Favor
?? ????? ??? ??? ??? ???? ???? ??? ???? ??? ?????
Errol whistled long and low when the information pulled up. Maeda wasn¡¯t a Hammerhead at all. No wonder she had flown up through the ranks. But how had she hidden herself so thoroughly from the rest of them? Surely the instructors had known something of her true power. They must¡¯ve had an inkling of who she was. And did Maeda really posses double digit levels? As he thought back to his many petty interactions with Maeda, Errol buried his head in his hands, groaning. ¡°I apologize for my insolence, Great One,¡± Errol said, prostrating himself on the ground. The shaman started to speak, but a held up hand from Maeda cut off voice. He gasped, a hand to his throat, eyes wide. Spittle dribbled from his lips. His eyes rolled up and he slumped forward, face digging into the dirt. The Shrikes fell back as soon as their shaman passed out. Now the team stood alone in an empty campsite. The enemy warriors scattered, fleeing into the underbrush and rocky hills as fast as they could. Maeda walked over and held out a hand to Errol. ¡°Oh, get up, little Eel. You¡¯re one of the few sharks I¡¯ve investigated who still has a positive write up in my review book.¡± ¡°Me?¡± Errol squeaked. ¡°Yeah, you,¡± Maeda said, chuckled. She hauled him to standing. ¡°You care. You¡¯re willing to tackle problems bigger than you are, even if you have no idea how you¡¯re going to solve them when you agree to take them on. You¡¯re annoying sometimes, but some resentment is normal if you¡¯ve worked hard your entire life just to watch a newcomer pass you seemingly without trying. Don¡¯t think I didn¡¯t notice your envy.¡± ¡°And to think I suspected I could pass your warfare skills in a few more years, if I could become an Eel,¡± Errol mumbled. ¡°I¡¯m so stupid.¡± ¡°No, don¡¯t feel stupid about that; you¡¯re right. My skills lie elsewhere. You¡¯re already a stronger shock trooper than I¡¯ll ever be. You¡¯ve grown up with the latent ability and now you¡¯re blessed by both the Bridge and the storm spirit. In time you could be the most dangerous Eel in the clan.¡± She stopped and clasped his arms. ¡°But now you have a decision to make. I¡¯m afraid you won¡¯t like the news.¡± The team moved closer. Jarkoda snorted flames as he leaned close to Maeda, looming over her. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°We¡¯re here to stop the darkstorm. Do you think Errol will retain the storm¡¯s favor if he¡¯s instrumental to ending its reign?¡± ¡°That doesn¡¯t make sense,¡± Errol objected. ¡°You said Indara was trying to build an arm of Eels. But she¡¯s the one who commissioned this quest!¡± Maeda smacked him on the shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t make me rewrite my review, Eel.¡± ¡°Ha! She never told us to destroy the Stormorb,¡± Jarkoda said, thrusting a scaled fist in the air in victory. ¡°She told us to find and retrieve it since it, but not to touch since its corruption would destroy us. Perhaps she expected us to fear its tainted nature too much to ask any real questions about its origin and intent?¡± Maeda nodded once. ¡°Good. Now you¡¯re thinking along the right lines.¡± ¡°So why send me?¡± Errol said. He crossed his arms and took a half step away, hoping to project an air of dignity in the presence of one of the clan¡¯s Great Ones. ¡°If she¡¯s got a deal with the clan, or at least the Eels, then why not send an entire expedition to the Bridge to recover her precious Stormorb?¡± ¡°Take it as a compliment,¡± Maeda suggested, gracing him with a smile. ¡°You¡¯ve spent the last few years studying the Bridge. You¡¯re a dutiful scholar and good at finding things. They¡¯re a strike force, not hunters. They¡¯d never last in the command center, despite all their firepower. If my suspicions are correct, we¡¯ll need your favor with the Bridge itself to survive up there.¡± ¡°And I¡¯m expendable,¡± Errol muttered. ¡°Yes. That too. So why not show the world how irritating you can be and survive just to spite them all?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a several-hour march to the command tower. Wake Rashana. Gather your supplies.¡± Maeda dragged the shaman over to Rashana. She slit the man¡¯s arm open and dribbled blood on Rashana, but not enough to bleed him dry. Several moments later, the soulbond stood up, snapped into a defensive position, and scanned her surroundings, ready to fight. ¡°Errol! You came back for us.¡± Errol smiled in greeting. ¡°Good to see you, too, Rashana. But Jarkoda and Maeda did the hard work.¡± Jarkoda snorted, shaking his head. ¡°Modesty doesn¡¯t become you, Errol. At least three dozen Shrike warriors chased you over that ridge and you fought them off solo. You¡¯re possibly on par with Taras, now. You should be proud of your progress.¡± Errol flinched at Taras¡¯s name, reliving the battle over the poor Bridge child. He waved off Jarkoda¡¯s compliment and turned to Rashana. ¡°Are you stable? I don¡¯t know if Maeda gave you enough blood.¡± ¡°I suppose it will have to be enough,¡± Rashana answered carefully. ¡°I can soak in some of the ambient fragments from the camp. I don¡¯t want to drain this man any further.¡± ¡°Do what you have to do. We need to march as quickly as we can. Freyman¡¯s scouts are most likely already in the tower by now. We can¡¯t let them reach the Stormorb before we do. Be on guard; they¡¯re hostile.¡± ¡°Take me with you,¡± a new voice piped up. The seer Jarkoda had mentioned¡ªTelyim, if Errol recalled correctly¡ªstepped forward and bowed to Errol. Covered in cuts and bruises, she looked like the Shrike had used her as target practice, but her eyes held steady as she stared up at him. Errol offered a hand and pulled her to her feet. Her pulse fluttered unsteadily under his fingers. ¡°You¡¯re injured. Are you sure you can make it to the tower with us? It¡¯ll be a hard march, seer. I won¡¯t carry you if you fall behind.¡± ¡°Scan her with the amulet, or give her your ring,¡± Maeda suggested. ¡°See which tier she is; if she¡¯s close to leveling, we could probably force her to move up. That will heal her wounds and make her a stronger ally for the fight to come.¡± Errol offered Telyim his ring. She took it and slid it on her finger. ¡°What does this do?¡± ¡°It¡¯s connected to a Testing Stone. It should show your level and abilities.¡± She scrunched up her forehead as she regarded the artifact. ¡°What are levels?¡± Gruvrik chuckled. ¡°Some newfangled invention among the city folk. We¡¯ve gotten on just fine before they decided to weigh and measure us. Numbers are treacherous little liars, anyway. Best to ignore ¡®em.¡± Errol lifted up his amulet and scanned her. If he¡¯d known how useful this trinket was, he¡¯d have used it on the team and the scouts every chance he got. Wasted opportunities. He sighed, looking over her vital statistics. She was even lower level than he¡¯d been when he¡¯d volunteered for this Bridge adventure. Why did the others insist on bringing her along?
Vitals Affiliation
Name: ?? Diplomacy: 6 Eastern Cr¨¨che
Level: 1 Strength: 9 Stormwalker (Tier V)
Class: Seer Acuity: 9 ??
Health: 7 / 32 Inner Fortitude: 10 Reputation: rank & file
Lifeforce: 17 / 51
Abilities Items Favor
Prophetic Moment Siphon Life Flint knife Bone charm Bridge spirit
¡°She¡¯s tier five in something called a Stormwalker. I don¡¯t think she¡¯s close to leveling.¡± Maeda grunted. ¡°Worth a try. Any way to heal her?¡± ¡°Yeah. She has a siphon life skill. She and Rashana must get along.¡± Rashana elbowed Errol, giving him an arch look. ¡°What? You can¡¯t deny you both need it to function,¡± Errol said. Maeda smacked him again. She held out her hand to Telyim. ¡°Drink, but only a little. You must recover strength. I have the most to give.¡± ¡°How come you wouldn¡¯t let Rashana do that?¡± Gruvrik butted in. He threw Errol an exaggerated wink, looking to stir the pot. ¡°Telyim doesn¡¯t take memories.¡± Errol chuckled. ¡°More secrets?¡± ¡°I¡¯m a high inquisitor for Shark Clan. I¡¯m entitled to some secrets¡ªparticularly when they may find their way back to Indara if I don¡¯t stay on guard.¡± Rashana tilted her head in an eerily human fashion. ¡°You know I¡¯m a separate entity? I¡¯m not Indara, even if we share some memories and a fragment of her personality.¡± ¡°Not worth the chance,¡± Maeda said. Errol let them continue their mostly-friendly banter while Telyim siphoned off enough life from Maeda to jog unassisted again. They packed up, still keeping a wary eye out for stragglers from the Shrikes, then set off for the tower, chasing after the scouts. Errol only hoped that they weren¡¯t too late. Chapter Thirty-Four - Unwelcome Encounters Taras ignored the biting wind. The others with him pulled their cloaks tighter against the storm, but he embraced the challenge. Suffering was good for the soul. It made him strong, disciplined, determined. In the future he would recommend more outdoor training for his acolytes. A cleric¡¯s strength of body and clarity of mind went hand in hand. At first Aravind had balked when Taras suggested that they should all follow Thenxi and Rhae, but his concern for Meri outweighed his misgivings about their destination. Even with the soulbond, the boy wasn¡¯t quite right. His spirit and stamina were . . . broken . . . somehow. Even simple tasks left him reeling at times. Physically, there wasn¡¯t anything too concerning. The child had been grievously injured, but the wound would heal now that Taras had stabilized him. Inwardly, however, he carried trauma that only a Seer¡ªor a mother¡ªcould address. The scent of death reached Taras¡¯s nostrils, carried on an ill wind. Something rotten and old had died nearby, right at the foot of the tower where they would find the Stormorb. Despite himself, he shivered, closing his senses off when he smelled the fetid air. Ice seemed to creep up his bones, freeze him into an immobile statute, and melt into water, taking his strength with it. Beside him, Aravind slowed, shoulders hunched as he stared into the ruined doorway of the tower. ¡°We shouldn¡¯t be here.¡± ¡°Steady, man. We are exactly where we should be. It¡¯s not a place anyone should desire to visit, but we come here with holy intent. Steel yourself.¡± Aravind didn¡¯t respond, but he pushed onward, ushering Meri and his friends within. The boys whispered back and forth in excitement, pointing up into the darkness. If they only had an inkling of what awaited them, perhaps they would act with more decorum. Bringing Meri¡¯s friends hadn¡¯t been part of his initial idea, but the boy did seem in better spirits with them around to cheer him up. Taras hoped they wouldn¡¯t be collateral when he faced down the Heart of the Tempest. The slow march up the winding staircase did little to dampen their enthusiasm, despite the growing pressure of evil. Perhaps he should bring them back to the temple after wrapping up this unpleasant business. Taras suspected they were made of sterner stuff than many of the acolytes he¡¯d worked with recently; perhaps he¡¯d been led to this place of evil for just such a moment as this. They may be just what he needed to reinvigorate his waning order. Pounding footsteps gave Taras scant seconds of warning to throw up two barriers of holy light above and below them, just before a small mob of uniformed soldiers dashed into view, one group waiting up above them in the tower, the other hemming them off from escape back to the ground. They advanced with weapons raised. Taras frowned, calculating the odds if it came to a fight. They looked seasoned and coordinated, but if they actually had a mage in the group, he¡¯d be surprised. I didn¡¯t think Meri¡¯s friends would already face mortal danger. I must prevent this from devolving into blows. The largest of the men stepped forward, brandishing a knife with the practiced familiarity of a lifelong fighter. He pointed a hand at Taras and barked out an ultimatum. ¡°High Cleric Taras, we¡¯re here for your surrender. Step away from the natives, and we¡¯ll let them go.¡± ¡°You have me at a disadvantage,¡± Taras replied, modulating his voice to keep his temper from coloring his tone. Interference with children didn¡¯t sit well with him. ¡°You know who I am, but I don¡¯t believe I¡¯ve had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.¡± The big man bowed with a mocking grin. ¡°Merv, scout for esteemed Lord Freyman.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t say it¡¯s a pleasure. He should still be rotting for his crimes.¡± Merv shrugged. ¡°Maybe, but coin is coin. Please come with us.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t listen to him, friend,¡± Aravind cut in, keeping his voice low. ¡°We¡¯re not afraid of a fight with Outsiders. I¡¯ll keep the boys safe if you burn away the rest.¡± ¡°No bloodshed if I can help it. There may be a way to resolve this peacefully.¡± One of Meri¡¯s friends drew a knife. Taras struggled to remember his name, hoping to talk him down from doing anything rash. Meri beat him to the lecture, snatching away the weapon and whispering harshly to his friend. A scowl crossed the boy¡¯s face, but he sheathed the knife and stepped back, muttering to Meri. ¡°We gotta do something,¡± Meri spoke up, appealing to Taras. ¡°I don¡¯t want you to go with them. Please. Don¡¯t leave me all alone.¡± The big scout, Merv, tapped the point of his dagger against the barrier of light. ¡°Drop the prismatic shields, Justicar! We will be forced to engage if you don¡¯t cooperate.¡± ¡°Sounds like a man who¡¯s afraid to fight me,¡± Taras said quietly. ¡°If you were confident of your position of power in this standoff, you wouldn¡¯t resort to negotiation.¡± One of the scouts spat. ¡°Enough, Merv. Let¡¯s just take them down and get this over with. I¡¯m tired of this place.¡± As soon as he finished speaking, he sprinted forward and dove at Taras, a knife in his upraised hand. The man slammed against an invisible barrier, coughing as the wind left his lungs and his knife clattered across the floor. It slipped off the edge of the steps and plummeted down the center of the tower, falling far enough that they couldn¡¯t hear when it landed. Taras flicked his hand and a flame shot out, engulfing his body. The other scouts rushed over, dampening the inferno. They dragged him back down the stairs once the fire extinguished, to put some space between him and Taras. ¡°Anyone else?¡± Taras taunted them. ¡°Or should we do this my way?¡± The scouts shared nervous looks, the first sign of their composure cracking. Before any of them could speak up, however, Merv waved them back. ¡°We¡¯re listening now. What do you propose, Justicar?¡± Taras readied his shield just in case they were planning an ambush. ¡°I¡¯ll hold the barrier here for ten minutes. My friends will make their way further up the tower unimpeded. Then I will surrender myself if you honor the agreement not to pursue them.¡± A slim man stepped forward to argue with Merv in hushed tones. Finally they turned to Taras and nodded. ¡°We have no quarrel with children. I¡¯ll tell the advance scouts to move aside and let your friends go by. Ten minutes to the second, then you drop your barriers and promise not to kindle any flames¡ªor else we attack immediately. We know what you¡¯re capable of, Justicar of Flame.¡± ¡°An old title. I¡¯m hardly worthy of it anymore,¡± Taras said more bitterly than he¡¯d intended. ¡°A story to tell on your way home,¡± Merv said, a smirk playing on his lips. He turned his glare toward Aravind, Meri, and their friends. ¡°You¡¯ve already used up thirty seconds. Run!¡± Aravind herded them upward, despite Meri¡¯s protests. They dashed up the stairs, their footfalls soon fading from hearing. The dark tower swallowed them whole. Taras switched his gaze back and forth between his retreating allies and scouts who¡¯d demanded his surrender. The group stayed still as they waited. That wasn¡¯t a good sign¡ªa bit of nervous energy or dissension in the ranks would improve his chances. This wasn¡¯t going to be pretty. As the time ticked down, Taras reluctantly relinquished control of the barriers he¡¯d set up to protect the cr¨¨che-dwellers. The scouts lowered their weapons, but not a single one sheathed a blade. He kept his hands upraised, visible at all times, movements slow. The scouts produced a pair of manacles, easing them over Taras¡¯s wrists. He wondered if they¡¯d jump if he barked at them like a dog, but he resisted the temptation. After he was restrained, they started to march upward, following Aravind. Taras strained against his bonds, hissing at Merv to release him. ¡°You gave your word! They¡¯re ignorant of any schemes back in Laurentum. Let the innocent go.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not about them,¡± the man next to Merv answered. He glided over to Taras, his feet not even making a whisper. While the bigger man looked like a brawler, this one seemed more dangerous to Taras. ¡°The rest of your team is up there already, minus the halfdragon. He¡¯s been dealt with already. And if you don¡¯t want to join him in an unmarked grave on the Bridge, then you will cooperate.¡± ¡°Jarkoda was a good kid,¡± Taras growled, pulling his arms apart to no avail. The bands on his wrists held fast. ¡°That¡¯s the problem,¡± Merv replied smoothly. ¡°Our dossier on the monk made it clear that he was likely the most idealistic and least flexible of your team. Can¡¯t be reasoned with, unlike Errol. Now he¡¯s a good kid. Understands the big picture. He¡¯s been a great help to us so far.¡± The image of Meri¡¯s mangled body flashed through Taras¡¯s mind. ¡°He¡¯s been working for you this entire time?¡± ¡°Either that, or your Eel sweet-talked the Captain into taking off his manacles for no good reason. Or explain why he helped us hunt down your halfdragon if he wasn¡¯t playing both sides? We watched him take out the monk with two point-blank shock lances to the face. Nasty way to go.¡± Taras hung his head for a moment, mourning the monk. He was young, overly idealistic, and brusque, but Taras recognized something of his younger self in the halfdragon. Anger rose, closing off his throat. If he lived long enough to find Errol, then the arrogant young Eel would see firsthand why Taras had earned the title Justicar of Flame. Heat started to writhe along Taras¡¯s wrists. He quenched the fire. Time for that later. A door slammed shut somewhere far above them, echoing through the staircase. Merv swore and yanked on the chain connected to Taras. They ran up the remaining stairs, pushing themselves onward. Foul air pressed against them, but Taras drew on a tiny trickle of the power reserve he kept in his shield. He¡¯d refilled it last night while the others rested at their camp, but he¡¯d hoped to save it for the fight to come. The stairs ended abruptly, giving way to a glimmering gateway. Purple tendrils of power pulsed over them, gut-twisting and unnatural. Merv shouted for the men to enter. Taras called out a warning, trying to dig in his heels, but it was too late. They plunged through the portal and the entire world flashed white. =+= Rashana flickered in and out of existence. Somewhere, an echo of her human side struggled to correct the thought: she flickered in and out of consciousness. Rashana rejected the concept in the interest of truth. She ceased to be when her life force drained. She was either alive, or she was swallowed up in oblivion. Strength returned to her, but in a slow drip when she needed a flood. Here in this casing of steel, within this fleshless body, she found her entire universe bound up in the margins of her morality. Rip into the soft beings next to her and she could roar back into her power . . . she felt a cold, crippling fear that she¡¯d suffer a fate worse than oblivion if she betrayed them, however.Stolen story; please report. The sensation of going in circles cracked her self-restraint. She dipped a little into her reserves to open her eyes and look around her new surroundings. They trudged up steps built into the wall of a dark, spiraling tower. Faint purple light from wall tiles broke up the monotony of the inky-black, in-between spaces. Jarkoda carried her in a sling. He stretched his scaled hand, palm up, toward Rashana when he noticed that she was awake. "Drink," his sonorous voice commanded. Rashana consumed the little trickle of his offered life force, savoring the temporary surge of power and recovery. She slipped out of the sling, almost tripped on the stairs, and slammed a hand into the wall, fracturing the stone as she righted herself. ¡°Welcome back,¡± Telyim said, passing her on the steps. The Seer¡¯s vitality had returned. She sprang up three stairs at a time. ¡°Not a drink from me, rustbucket.¡± ¡°I¡¯m glad to see you¡¯re recovering,¡± Rashana finally managed. How had Telyim bounced back from death¡¯s door overnight? Oh, right. Siphon life. Maeda caught her gaze and tsked her tongue. ¡°Not everyone''s a vampire, Rashana, but Teylim is closer than you are.¡± ¡°But can she do this?¡± Rashana teased, fashioning her teeth into fangs. Jarkoda held up a hand, cutting off Maeda¡¯s retort. He pointed above, eyes narrowing to slits in his scaled face. Voices echoed in the sudden silence, muffled and unintelligible. Rashana focused on the timbre of the muted tones, searching her memory for a match. ¡°Rhae¡¯s up there. We¡¯re close to rejoining the rest of the team.¡± ¡°March quickly,¡± Errol commanded, ¡°but watch for Freyman¡¯s scouts. They¡¯re likely still ahead of us, since we didn¡¯t encounter them on the trail back here.¡± They ran up the stairs, trying to catch Gruvrik. Despite his short stature, he managed to set the pace. Jarkoda and Maeda followed close behind. The inquisitor winked at Rashana as they passed by. Rashana edged away from her. Based on the information she¡¯d gleaned from Errol, Maeda was likely the most dangerous individual she¡¯d ever encountered. As they neared the top of the stairs, Gruvrik skidded to a halt. Jarkoda pirouetted out of the way, narrowly avoiding a collision with the wall. The dwarf growled low in his throat, tensed and ready to move. His hand twitched to the cudgel he¡¯d acquired in the fight with the warriors of the Eastern Cr¨¨che. Jarkoda joined him, staring at the swirling void of empty air in the center of the gateway, his short wings half unfurled as though prepared to flee¡ªor fight. ¡°Warded, and with a nasty aura,¡± Gruvrik rumbled as quietly as he could. ¡°Smells of rotting things,¡± Telyim agreed. She quested forward with her fingertip, recoiling with a sour look when she touched the edge of the doorway. ¡°This is an abomination. We should destroy whatever we find within.¡± Errol poked at it and shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ll defer to your expertise. I¡¯m not skilled with this sort of arcane investigation.¡± Gruvrik paced back and forth in front of the gate, muttering under his breath. He clapped his hands together suddenly. Waves of leaf-shaped lights grew toward the gateway, encircling it like a laurel wreath; it shimmered and warped away from view, revealing a doorway behind the strange portal. He drew his cudgel and jutted out his chin, a grim look replacing his usual smile. ¡°After me, lads and lasses. Strike hard, strike true.¡± They rushed into the room at his heels, fanning out and turning as they ran to protect their flanks. Telyim wove her hands in the air, fingers clutching bones, although Rashana didn¡¯t see any tangible result. Gruvrik paced the pack again, cudgel at the ready, while Jarkoda spun a staff he¡¯d unfolded from his pack. Rashana hummed to herself in approval. If she didn¡¯t have the ability to change her form, a folding weapon would be useful. Rashana forged her hands into twin rapiers and sprinted forward, scanning the room for threats. At first glance, the long, open room appeared mostly empty, but then Rashana noticed Rhae sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, strumming her harp and humming along to a song. A thin, scruffy man she didn¡¯t recognize clapped to keep the rhythm. Between the two, a woman with gray streaks in her hair sat in chains, a bemused expression on her face. Rhae glanced up just then. She squealed when saw them enter, jumping up to wave with one hand. ¡°Uncle Gru! Come sing with me!¡± Telyim lowered her bone charms. She turned back toward the group, her brow furrowed. ¡°This horned child is your relative, dwarf?¡± ¡°One of the less attractive members, on account of no beard, but we claim her anyway,¡± Gruvrik said. ¡°I question her choice of company,¡± Telyim said, gesturing toward the chained woman. ¡°Thenxi is my, ahhh, counterpart in Western. How she came to be in this place is a tale of great interest to me.¡± Rhae giggled. ¡°I¡¯ve had such an adventure! I can¡¯t wait to tell you all about it after I meet you. I¡¯m Rhae¡ªwhat¡¯s your name?¡± ¡°Telyim. I, uh, work with Thenxi.¡± ¡°¡®Work¡¯ is a rather charitable way to put it,¡± Thenxi snorted. ¡°But we are drawn here by forces we cannot withstand. For once, I am glad of your presence. Unchain me and we¡¯ll begin.¡± The rat-faced man stepped in between the two women. ¡°That¡¯s not possible, unless you each swear to leave this place. Your lives hang in the balance.¡± ¡°Who are you?¡± Telyim demanded. ¡°You stand in our sacred space, chain my sister, and dare to command us¡ªby what right?¡± ¡°My name is Stefano. I guard what cannot fall into mortal hands.¡± Telyim spat. ¡°Except yours?¡± Stefano¡¯s face contorted into a grimace. ¡°I won¡¯t touch that wicked thing. But I am one of the few who can withstand its corruption, so yes: I have appointed myself to stand guard.¡± Jarkoda stepped forward and bowed. ¡°Thank you for your service. Your guard has come to an end. We will rid the world of its tainted presence.¡± Stefano shook his head, an eerie look on his face. ¡°With respect, you¡¯re more likely to be consumed and cast aside like an empty husk. You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re up against.¡± ¡°And you don¡¯t know me,¡± Jarkoda replied, bristling. ¡°I am the envoy of dragons. We will not permit such an abomination to master us.¡± ¡°You¡¯re the Dell¡¯Atti heir!¡± Maeda blurted out. ¡°There¡¯s a price on your head, you know. We could solve all of this trouble nicely by taking you back with us. No one standing in our way, and a tidy payout at the end.¡± Stefano stepped away, hands held out chest high, palms facing Maeda. ¡°My father sent you? He¡¯s always ruining everything. You don¡¯t know the disaster that will be unleashed if we¡¯re not vigilant.¡± ¡°I¡¯m getting tired of all these arguments,¡± Gruvrik grumbled. He knelt down and placed a seed on the stone. He breathed on the seed, and it sprouted, growing up into a vine. Humming, he closed his eyes. A tendril reached for Thenxi¡¯s chains. The scandent plant reached into the links and swelled, flush with living power. The vine grew in size, its green skin gaining vibrancy. Chains broke off Thenxi¡¯s wrists as the threads intertwined with the metal and reduced it to dust. Thenxi stood and rubbed her arms, staring at the dwarf. ¡°A friend of Rhae¡¯s is a friend of the Western Cr¨¨che. I thank you, little man.¡± Gruvrik shrugged and said, ¡°The storm¡¯s coming. Can¡¯t waste time bickering.¡± He turned on Stefano. ¡°That goes for you, too, ya runt. You think you¡¯re special or something? Ya ain¡¯t. We need to retrieve the Stormorb before the big storm hits. You can help us with that, if you¡¯ve got resistance like you claim. Or I can squash you like a cockroach. Up to you!¡± Rashana stifled her laughter. A note of such sheer joy had crept into Gruvrik¡¯s voice by the end of his speech that she almost hoped Stefano gave him problems just so she could see the dwarf let loose. He deserved to have some fun. Stefano swallowed twice. His breathing grew quick and shallow. ¡°I knew this day would come. You¡¯re full of righteous intent, certain of your path forward. But you¡¯ve got it wrong. This is the same problem that Indara had. Every time we argued about the Bridge, she was so sure she prevent the evil from taking over. But she can¡¯t do it! I know her too well; she¡¯s burning up with insatiable ambition. It will gnaw away at her until her resolve gives way. No. I¡¯m staying, and you¡¯re leaving.¡± Jarkoda chuffed, blowing smoke from his nostrils. ¡°You¡¯re like a child trying to hold back a flood with a dam made of mud and sticks.¡± ¡°Mud and sticks works pretty well for beavers,¡± Gruvrik said, elbowing the halfdragon. Jarkoda hunched his shoulders. Flames grew cloudy in his eyes. ¡°That¡¯s not my point.¡± "We get it,¡± Gruvrik said. ¡°The problem is too big for just one man. Question is whether the rich boy gets it." "I''m not rich," Stefano said. "I forfeited my position when I left. Father was furious, and I¡¯ll never see a coin¡ª" "Congratulations. You''re back in favor," Maeda interrupted. "Now let''s get moving before this place splits my skull. The pounding is almost unbearable." Rhae strummed her harp. "I can help with that." Lights bloomed above her head while she played, darting and bobbing in playful patterns of lurid polyrhythm. Rashana studied her companions. Their faces smoothed, creases fading as tension lifted. Even the set of Stefano¡¯s shoulders seemed to relax. The oppression of the place didn¡¯t affect her quite the same, so she assumed their weakness was related to flesh. Still, some unknown weight pressed down against her spiritual senses. In her weakened state, she had to fight the temptation to feed on her companions. Gruvrik strode over to Stefano, somehow managing to look dignified despite their height differential. He took the man¡¯s hands in his own. ¡°Come. It¡¯s time to share your burdens.¡± Stefano nodded and let Gruvrik lead him meekly away, across the room from where they had entered. Rhae¡¯s music seemed to calm him. They all huddled together instinctively, keeping close to the illumination provided by Rhae¡¯s lightsong. The tiled floor didn¡¯t click or echo with their steps; it seemed to absorb the sound of each footfall, lending an eerie, preternatural air to their passage. Even with the harp driving away the darkness, the weight of the place pushed down on Rashana more strongly with each step. A quick glance at her companions confirmed that their hands had found their way to knife hilts and cudgels. Even Jarkoda struggled to put one foot in front of another, his powerful frame swaying slightly with the effort of forcing himself deeper into the Darkstorm¡¯s inner realm. He gripped Maeda¡¯s shoulder; she nodded back at him with a grim set to her jaw. Sweat beaded on Stefano¡¯s brow. Maeda leaned over to take Rashana¡¯s forearm. She¡¯d allowed the limb to revert back to a roughly humanoid arm shape instead of a sword. ¡°I don¡¯t trust Telyim or this Thenxi. When we reach the temple sanctum, follow my lead.¡± Rashana probed the situation in her mind, turning it over and running simulations with an eye toward survival. ¡°Too many variables at play currently. Reducing complexity will work in our favor. We are in one accord.¡± With a nod, Maeda drifted back to Jarkoda, presumably to repeat her appeal. Jarkoda leaned close as she spoke and seemed to murmur in agreement. Good, they had avoided a power struggle. Gruvrik may have taken a shine to the Dell¡¯Atti heir, but the others all saw what she saw: no one here could be trusted. Rhae and Thenxi led the way forward, drawn by the power of the command center. The young Qeren¡¯s light shone on a strip of red bricks that lined the pathway deeper into the maw of the maelstrom. Gruvrik and Stefano pressed close at their heels. As they approached the archway, Stefano cried out and broke away from Gruvrik¡¯s grip. He sprinted ahead of them into an alcove near the door and slapped his hand against a script carved into the wall with some crude instruments¡ªprobably some failsafe he¡¯d invented. Power flowed through the rune script. Although the lines were crooked and poorly drawn, they did their job. A heavy door slammed shut across the archway, cutting off the stragglers from the others who had gone ahead. Rhae and Gruvrik and Stefano simply disappeared. Meada rushed forward with a curse, smashing her fist into the wall, but it was too late. They were locked out. =+= ¡°I¡¯ve lost Rhae and Gruvrik,¡± Grimhilt announced. Indara snapped her fingers, a habit that Grimhilt only observed when she was agitated about something. She spun to glare at him. ¡°Status?¡± ¡°Alive, as far as I can tell. No death reports, no injuries¡ªan abrupt end of transmission.¡± ¡°Something¡¯s interfering with the signal,¡± Indara said, tapping her finger against a horn. ¡°I suspect they¡¯ve reached their destination, in that case. The only question is what happened to the others. Did they split up?¡± ¡°Sounds suicidal. A squad needs to stick together,¡± Grimhilt said. Indara shook her head. ¡°Better this way. More chances of success. We¡¯re likely to lose a few of them, as much as it pains me to say it, but perhaps the rest will pick up the slack.¡± ¡°You should have let me send a bigger force. What if they fail? We should have shipped an entire regiment to the Bridge.¡± ¡°They won¡¯t fail,¡± Indara declared, her jaw set. Grimhilt had seen that determination from her before. Arguing wouldn¡¯t win him any favor, but worry compelled him to speak. He commanded her guard, after all. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. ¡°But if they do?¡± ¡°Then we¡¯ll reassess. We can¡¯t let the news get out yet. If we ship off a battalion, like you want, then there¡¯s no way to hide our intentions from the Archduke. We¡¯re not yet ready for war. I¡¯m confident in Rashana, however.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not well suited to cloak-and-dagger operations. Sometimes secrecy simply adds an unnecessary layer of complexity. And I hope you know what you¡¯re doing, Indara. Treason isn¡¯t what I signed up for.¡± Indara reached up to pat his shoulder. "Your time will come. We''ll need to draw swords before this is over." ¡°You sound excited.¡± ¡°Oh, yes, I am. My dear Captain, you have no idea.¡± Grimhilt grew still. ¡°Should I be worried? I was joking about treason.¡± ¡°You know I serve the empire. Trust me on this, captain.¡± ¡°Of course, chancellor,¡± Grimhilt replied, bowing stiffly. ¡°I trust you.¡± For now, at least,he added silently. What had she gotten them into this time? The Archduke would find out, one way or another. When the day of trouble arrived, he''d simply have to do his best to keep her safe. Chapter Thirty-Five - Memory is Treachery Gruvrik growled as the door slammed shut, cutting off Errol, Maeda, Rashana, and Telyim behind them. He rushed over and smashed his cudgel into Stefano¡¯s thigh. The man buckled and collapsed in a heap on the floor, where he curled into a ball to deflect the rain of kicks from the burly dwarf. He moaned in pain, but didn¡¯t defend himself. ¡°Pull a stupid stunt like that again, and I¡¯ll bash in your head,¡± Gruvrik roared, slapping Stefano¡¯s shoulder to punctuate his words. Idiot man child is gonna get us all killed. Rhae grabbed Gruvrik¡¯s arm. ¡°Stop it! He¡¯s just trying to do what he thinks is right.¡± Gruvrik shrugged her off, but didn¡¯t hit the man again. ¡°Aye, so am I.¡± ¡°Let him be, child,¡± Thenxi said. ¡°This man hasn¡¯t shown himself trustworthy in anything he¡¯s done, but your uncle has. I¡¯ll side with him.¡± Stefano struggled to his feet. ¡°I bear you no ill will, but I cannot allow you to reach your goal.¡± Gruvrik pulled on the tufts of hair sticking out above his ears. ¡°Why don¡¯t you explain it to me again? Pretend I¡¯m a five year old. Why can¡¯t we reach the Stormorb?¡± ¡°As I¡¯ve said, it will corrupt you¡ª¡± Gruvrik raised his cudgel, and Stefano clamped his mouth shut. ¡°I¡¯m not exactly the type prone to corruption, youngin. Let¡¯s skip that part. What happens if it reaches out toward me with its vast and evil powers, and I do a jig and stick out my tongue, sling it in a sack, and haul back to Laurentum with my loot in tow?¡± ¡°Then Indara gets her hands on the device.¡± ¡°And that¡¯s worth your life to prevent?¡± Stefano nodded warily, eyeing the cudgel. Sweat dotted his brow. ¡°I like you, lad, despite your daft notions,¡± Gruvrik said, and he realized he meant it. ¡°I¡¯m not opposed to updating mission parameters on our return, if that makes ya feel better. But even if Indara can¡¯t be trusted¡ªand that ain¡¯t too hard for me to believe¡ªshe¡¯s right that the storm¡¯s changing. This noble guardian shtick might have been a good idea years ago, but right now it¡¯s liable to get us all killed, and I take umbrage to that sort of notion.¡± A weight seemed to slough off the dingy-faced man. He nodded, motioned for the others to follow, and turned on silent feet to pad toward another narrow doorway. The whole place was filled with far too many doors and hallways, as mazelike as a rabbit warren. Gruvrik shivered at the thought. He¡¯d been stuck in a warren once. Took him weeks to get out. He¡¯d only survived by gnawing on dried carrots and drinking¡ªwell, nevermind. Not a pleasant memory. ¡°Finally getting somewhere, eh?¡± Gruvrik said to Rhae, winking at the Qeren. She was a proper height, unlike the spindly humans who tottered around too far off the ground. Good girl, if a bit soft in the head. He could forgive a little compassion, seeing as she called him Uncle. Kind of nice to have a little family vacation on the Bridge. Gruvrik stopped counting twists and turns once he ran out of fingers. Book learning was all fine and good for others, but he couldn¡¯t be bothered to keep track of numbers this big. Sure, he¡¯d figured out how to read when he had to, but as treacherous as words were, they weren¡¯t as bad as numbers. ¡°How about after?¡± Gruvrik asked Rhae. ¡°Does my niece have any big plans when she¡¯s back home?¡± She skipped a step, almost tripping, then flung her arms around him and squealed. ¡°Are you really going to be my uncle? Da used to ask me all sorts of silly questions like that before he passed, but now I don¡¯t have anyone to check up on me. Will you come back to the Bard college and talk to my teachers when I¡¯m in trouble? I get in trouble a lot, but I don¡¯t know why.¡± Gruvrik extracted himself from the hug and nodded sagely. ¡°I have no problem believing you get in trouble. Right from the start I picked you out as the mischief maker of the team.¡± ¡°No!¡± He broke into a laugh at Rhae¡¯s crestfallen face. ¡°Oh, aye, lass.¡± Rhae brightened. ¡°You¡¯re teasing me.¡± ¡°So I am.¡± ¡°You¡¯re a good Uncle, Gru.¡± Beside them, Thenxi was as silent as a tomb. Gruvrik had been keeping an eye on her as they followed Stefano deeper into the tower. Dread seemed to build up on her face the longer they walked. She worked her jaw from side to side, not meeting his gaze. Her eyes flicked up and down the hallways, like she was looking for something. He didn¡¯t trust her one bit, even though Rhae liked her. Guilt made people do funny things. He knew that from experience. Up ahead, light marked the end of the dank passageway. The pearlescent floor tiles took on a new hue, changing from the color of crushed mulberries to a soft, pale amber. Dark stones formed the lintel and supports of the doorway. He squinted at the construction as they passed to the next room. The walls and doorway were completely seamless, like glass blown into a shape by a craft worker. He got the sense that the building had been grown, not built. They emerged into a circular room with flowing scripts ringing the walls. Across from him, a round portal glowed with dark, virulent light. That must be the target. It reminded him too much of the maw of that Dhambro Shade. Above, softer, more natural light emanated from the ceiling, which curved in a golden dome, streaked through with flecks of fire. Wherever a crystalline line of light appeared, like a vein of golden ore, the darkness of the tower shrank back, peeling away as though burned by the amber lights. They appeared to be embedded in the original structure of the tower, not the purple coating of the darkstorm¡¯s corruption. Gruvrik combed his thumb and forefinger through his beard, weighing the possibilities. He tapped into old memories of evil, of parasites that grew up around their host. If he was right, then the dark, glass-like structure was simply a chrysalis surrounding the ancient control tower. This was the locus of the storm¡¯s power; most likely it was why the Shade only haunted this part of the Bridge, and why it had resurrected after they killed it. For the first time, he worried that Stefano might be right. He thumped the scrawny man on the back and jutted his chin toward the gaping portal. ¡°We gotta go through there, huh?¡± ¡°I will take the lead,¡± Thenxi said, unfolding her hands from within her robe. She lifted a pendant and held it before her as she approached the entrance to the heart of the storm. ¡°Rhae, please come with me. You have a role to play in this before the end.¡± An intimation of unease slithered in Gruvrik¡¯s gut, but he waved the girl onward. ¡°Best do what we came for, lass.¡± The two walked hand in hand to the other side of the room. Thenxi raised the pendant up to the rippling surface of the gateway and thrust out her hand. Gruvrik braced himself for a surge of power, but nothing happened. The trinket bounced off the portal, denied entry into the control center. Thenxi swore and tried again. Again she failed to enter. A cloud passed over her face. She handed the pendant to Rhae. ¡°Perhaps you must use the key. It seemed to quicken when you sang in its presence.¡± Rhae unslung her harp and struck a few chords. She lifted the pendant while the sounds reverberated and tried to walk through the portal. She collided with it and grunted like she¡¯d run into a brick wall. Brave girl. Not always the brightest, but brave. Gruvrik could respect that. She had a good future, He¡¯d make sure she lived to enjoy it. Stefano cackled, a touch of mania slipping through the cracks of his composure. ¡°All this time, you didn¡¯t even know how to get in? You just thought you¡¯d waltz up and open the door?¡± Thenxi spun to face him. ¡°This key is a treasure of my people. We have handed it down for generations, waiting for the day when we would take the power of storms. This is our destiny, our bloodright. What do you know of such things?¡± ¡°That¡¯s rich, Bridge Seer. What do you know of the outside world? Far less than what I¡¯ve learned of your little Bridge, I assure you. Years of study led me at last to a clue about the storm. When I took my findings to Indara, she threatened to execute me to keep the truth of Elumunor a secret,¡± Stefano said. He paused, frowning at Thenxi. ¡°I see from your face that you know that name. Was he the one who passed down your heirloom?¡± ¡°He was the greatest Seer in our history. He helped us survive the storm¡¯s arrival and the schism of the tribes. Thanks to him we have the power of seers, the cr¨¨che system, our wings, moveable platforms¡ªand hope.¡± ¡°What¡¯s this about Indara?¡± Gruvrik demanded. ¡°What did she know that she didn¡¯t tell us before sending us out here? I don¡¯t like secrets.¡± ¡°Probably not much,¡± Stefano admitted. ¡°I may have been overly theatrical.¡± He turned to Thenxi and shrugged. ¡°But you¡¯re wrong about Elumunor. He didn¡¯t help you survive the storms. He made the storm.¡± =+= Rashana leaped forward and struck the door with a fist. It flung her backward in an arc of power that left her dazed. Roaring, she transformed her hand into a mallet and tried again. This time she lost the hand, a shower of sparks exploding into the air where the metal sheared in half with the force of the feedback from the warding.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Jarkoda sprinted over to the arm, retrieving it for her. Anger swirled in his eyes. Already a flame gathered in his throat. He drew in a breath and unleashed it at the door. The fire spent itself against the barrier, sputtering into smoke. Maeda growled and punched a fist into her other palm. She scrounged through her pack, pulled out a flint and lantern, and struck a light. ¡°That Qeren is useful in this wretched place. If I have to walk by the light of those purple lamps, I¡¯ll claw my eyes out before we reach the end.¡± Rashana melded her severed arm back together, taking inventory of their situation. Their reunion had been short lived, but she already felt wistful at losing Rhae¡¯s companionship. They shared a bond of otherness that their humans teammates couldn¡¯t understand. ¡°We¡¯ll never get through that directly,¡± Maeda said. She pointed toward the protective line around the lintel. ¡°Better to destroy the ward instead.¡± As they gathered to examine the flowing words, Rashana realized that Errol and Telyim had gone missing. They hadn¡¯t passed through the doorway. Rashana was certain of it, but just to be sure, she replayed the memory, confirming that both the Eel and the Seer had been trapped on their side of the arch. So where was she now? Maeda and Jarkoda were arguing over the best method to break the ward, so Rashana left them to their endeavor. She loped around the perimeter of the room, scanning for the Seer. If Telyim had a way out¡ªor ulterior motives, particularly against their leader¡ªthen Rashana wanted to keep an eye on her. She came up empty and rejoined the other two. ¡°Telyim slipped off while you two were busy screeching about who¡¯s got the bigger weapon.¡± Maeda flushed. ¡°Why¡¯d you let her get away?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t deflect blame just because you¡¯re scared. She took Errol with her; I''m worried about him. She shouldn¡¯t be strong enough to overpower him, but who knows in this cursed place? She is a Seer, and he¡¯s young and impressionable.¡± ¡°Our circle of allies grows smaller,¡± Jarkoda sighed. ¡°Let¡¯s not cut each other, too. We¡¯ll get through this if we work together.¡± Rashana relented and allowed him to guide her through their thought process so far to destroy the ward. She made a slight alteration to the plan, then forged her blades again to cut into the wall at just the right spot. She steeled herself against the possibility of further feedback and thrust the sword arm into the stone. Putrid smoke bled from the rock in great mottled gray gouts. With a whine and a pop! the ward shattered, bleeding power. The fractured script lashed out, shaking the walls around them. The stone tower rocked and shuddered around them, then grew still. The pressure emanating from the doorway lessened a little, although Rashana could detect it with her instrumentation augments. Now she could risk another assault on the archway. This time the ward didn¡¯t activate. She touched the door with tentative fingers, searching for purchase so she could haul it open. Nothing. The dark hull felt like polished glass, smooth and unrelieved. No time to fool around with deciphering the scripts, she decided. Rashana willed her fingers into needleblades. She pierced into the slick surface, pushing against a network of resistance. The stone appeared to be reinforced with wire netting. Rashana attuned to the alloy, shifting the edge of her cutting implement to deal with the tougher materials. She pressed her weight against the door, shoving through the outer shell of stone and into the reinforced cabling. Internal klaxons sounded. Her energy reserves were fading, reaching danger levels. ¡°Jarkoda . . . do you have any more strength to spare? I¡¯m afraid that I¡¯m more parasite than friend.¡± Jarkoda rested a hand on her shoulder. ¡°I will do what I can, but we¡¯re all struggling right now. Give me a moment to meditate.¡± Breathing deeply, the halfdragon slipped into a seated position, legs crossed. He closed his eyes and held his hands out in front of his chest, palms facing. A low thrum filled the air, and a trickle of spirit spun into existence between his long, black talons. Jarkoda sang in deep tones. Though the song was wordless, an image sprang into Rashana¡¯s mind of fire and the relentless march of time. The energy coalesced in a ball of flame. Jarkoda¡¯s eyes snapped open, blazing with the same fervor. He stood, arms shaking with the strain of restraining the power, and presented her the concentrated dose of his life force. Maeda drew in a sharp breath between her teeth. ¡°You offer too much.¡± Jarkoda¡¯s ignored her, unrelenting in his focus. The energy rushed into Rashana, refilling her stores, flowing through her limbs with potential. She checked her power meter and laughed incredulously. The gauge had only moved a few percent, but she felt stronger than ever as the fire took on shape and solidity. In a surge of joy, she flung the door aside. ¡°Follow, friends. We have a storm to wrestle.¡± The dank, narrow passageway beyond proved less exciting than she¡¯d hoped after her grand announcement. She searched for traces of the others, but she couldn¡¯t detect their trails of life force residue. It was like a spirit custodian had mopped the place clean. Twice now that had happened here on the Bridge¡ªperhaps it was some property of the place? She took off down the hallway at a sprint, leaving the others behind, eager to catch up to the team and settle things with Stefano. The way forward split into two passages. Without a trail to guide her, she veered right and kept running, relying on her memory modules to map where she¡¯d been and how to get back if she took a wrong turn. Moments later, she skidded to a stop, facing a glossy black stone wall. Rashana retraced her steps, meeting Jarkoda and Maeda at the fork. They were locked in a heated debate, trying to figure out which way was the correct course of action. ¡°Not the right passage,¡± Rashana called, winking at Maeda. Jarkoda puffed fire, but turned to the left and started to trot. Fifteen or twenty paces later, he slowed, facing another set of branching hallways. This time five options faced them, although the two archways on either end led to stairs up and down; Rashana was fairly certain the control room was on this level, although she couldn¡¯t quite explain why. It just felt right. ¡°Left again?¡± Jarkoda suggested with a smile at Meada as a peace offering. Maeda clapped him on the shoulder to seal the treaty. ¡°We¡¯ll do it your way this time, but for the record, I think the middle passage is the one we want.¡± The left passage turned sharply to the right five times. Rashana¡¯s mind map clanged out a warning at her, displaying an error that the input was logically invalid. Jarkoda agreed at once to abandon the impossible hallway, but he couldn¡¯t resist a barb at Maeda that this time the right door would be the right choice. Sure enough, after trying Maeda¡¯s suggestion to take the middle tunnel, they reached another dead end only moments into the passage. Jarkoda snorted flames as he laughed. Rashana snarled and smashed a fist into the stone wall, cracking it under the force of her enhanced blows. ¡°Maybe we can just beat our way inside. That¡¯s my kind of problem solving in action.¡± Maeda took her elbow and led her back to the small room they¡¯d just left. ¡°We¡¯ll figure it out soon. If that crazy man could find the Heart, then we will, too.¡± Rashana turned toward the third tunnel, and drew up short, alarms blaring. The tunnels were gone, replaced by a single ladder leading down into an unlit hole. Jarkoda made a sign to ward himself from evil. ¡°This place preys on our minds. We are playing into the illusions. Let me meditate again to find clarity.¡± Maeda rolled her eyes. ¡°If it were an illusion of the mind, chances are that it wouldn¡¯t be able to affect Rashana. Chances are good this is a straightforward enchantment. If we can find the script Stefano used to set it up, we can disable the defenses.¡± ¡°Wise counsel,¡± Jarkoda said. He bowed to Maeda. ¡°I concede.¡± The human smirked at the halfdragon. She opened her mouth, no doubt to fire off a barb at Jarkoda, then turned back to Rashana, eyes snapping wide open. ¡°Any clues from Indara? If you share any of her memories, perhaps you can see if she knows something about Stefano.¡± Rashana delved into her memory cores. She could only see fragments, disjointed pieces of life back in Laurentum¡ªImperial events, the occasional ball, functions of Empire¡ªbut none of it fit into any semblance of pattern. She shook her head, adopting the human¡¯s mannerisms. ¡°No coherence. It¡¯s all just a jumble.¡± ¡°Know anything about his family?¡± Meada asked. Rashana ran another query, but her local memories didn¡¯t turn up much the others didn¡¯t already know. The Dell¡¯Attis were wealthy, an ancient family with only moderate political power; traditionally, they were patrons of the arts, not bureaucrats. On a whim, Rashana quested out through her ring, reaching for the Testing Stone¡¯s library. A torrent of details assaulted her. She refined her search parameters, trying to focus on anything related to magic or the arcane, but the results trickled away to nothing. Apparently, Stefano had kept his interest in the esoteric a well-guarded secret. Unlike some of the fashionable aristocrats in his social circles, he had no history of joining a mystic cult or commissioning a flattering bit of prophecy from soothsayers. Still, everyone had a tell. Something had to be useful in the piles of information. Rashana projected some of the scenes into the air in front of her for Maeda and Jarkoda to review. ¡°Help me find a clue. I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m looking at, honestly.¡± Maeda whistled. ¡°What other tricks you got? ¡°That¡¯s . . . that¡¯s it.¡± ¡°Well, it¡¯s a nice trick. Handy having you around,¡± Maeda said, staring at Rashana as if to suss out her secrets. They skimmed over the information, looking for anything that seemed portentous, but the sheer volume of possibilities soon proved overwhelming. Rashana turned off the projection. She folded her legs underneath her, sitting in a meditative pose. ¡°Perhaps I can match the schematic that Indara provided us against the maze I¡¯ve mapped out so far.¡± Jarkoda growled. ¡°We¡¯re wasting time. Our minds have been deceived, so any map you try to make will be corrupt. Let¡¯s just try each possibility. And if that fails, we¡¯ll burn our way into the control center.¡± ¡°We¡¯re just as likely to break open a hole to the outside and fall to our deaths as we are to find the control room,¡± Maeda said. ¡°I suggest that we form a real plan.¡± Reality flickered around them in waves of violet and silver. When the lights settled back down, Rashana found herself staring at a wall a few inches away from her face. Cracks marked where she¡¯d punched the wall¡ªapparently they hadn¡¯t even moved when she thought they were exploring. She bumped into Jarkoda when she tried to turn around in the confined space. Maeda laughed at her, pulling her out of the small closet she and Jarkoda now occupied. ¡°Burn our way into the control room, eh?¡± Jarkoda hung his head sheepishly. ¡°I¡¯ve never had an experience like that. Imprisoned in my own mind¡ªit¡¯s a sobering reminder that the world is bigger than I realized.¡± ¡°Stefano is a good deal more dangerous than you thought,¡± Maeda said. ¡°I should have warned you that if he could ensnare the Bridge Seer, then you probably didn¡¯t stand a chance. I suppose I should have anticipated that myself. I¡¯m guilty of dismissing her competence, too.¡± Footsteps sounded against the tiled floor. Rashana recognized the cadence. ¡°Telyim¡¯s on her way. Suspicious timing?¡± The Seer walked around the corner and hailed them. ¡°The way is open now. Once I saw what that little bird-like man could do to Thenxi, I went in search of his lair. The walls of his room were covered in strange words, so I cut them to pieces. I¡¯d like to get my hands on him, next. He has no right to this sacred place.¡± Rashana hissed, extending a bladed arm. ¡°Where¡¯s Errol?¡± Telyim held her hands up and took a step back. ¡°I don¡¯t know for sure. He told me that he sensed people coming from below. Enemies, I think. He told me to find the others, then ran back to the stairs. He looked worried.¡± Maeda clapped Rashana¡¯s shoulder, stepping between her and her prey. No, not prey. Not yet. Just Telyim. ¡°Errol has his own plans,¡± said Maeda. She turned toward Telyim with a gracious smile. ¡°Excellent instincts. We¡¯ve been trapped in some sort of mind-altering maze until you destroyed the runes. Welcome back.¡± They all stared at each other, silent. Tensions finally ebbed when Jarkoda chuckled. He shook his angled, scaled head and padded to the end of the hallway. Carefully, he cracked open the door, movements slow and stealthy. He shut it just as gently and trotted back to the others, his slitted eyes hooded in pleasure. ¡°We¡¯ve found them. Let¡¯s finish what we began.¡± Chapter Thirty-Six - Some Right Strange Skulduggery With a sound like shattering glass, the illusions imprisoning them fell away, releasing Taras and the Scouts from the mind magic that had held them fast. ¡°That''s some right strange skulduggery,¡± Merv muttered. He stared at the next flight of stairs suspiciously, swearing under his breath. ¡°The way is clear,¡± Taras replied. ¡°No more odd wardings.¡± ¡°You sensed that and didn''t warn us?¡± Merv snarled. Taras fixed him with an imperious glare.¡°Warn you? Why? I''m not inclined to help you track down my team.¡± Percy shouldered his way between them with a flat, annoyed look. He started up the stairs. A heartbeat later, Taras fell in behind him, leaving Merv to stew. An ominous echo rumbled through the tower from above them. The scouts broke into a measured jog, taking the stairs three at a time. Merv loped by Taras, humming to himself, his previous rancor apparently forgotten now that he had the anticipation of a fight to look forward to shortly. Taras sprinted up the stairs behind the scouts, doing his best not to stumble. Running with his wrists bound together wasn''t conducive to either speed or balance. He craned his neck, searching for the source of the bang he''d heard earlier. Someone had slammed shut a door, as best as he could tell. A battle raged from further inside the tower. Pulses of magic played over his senses; his hackles stood on end. The Seer must have started the rites without them¡ªhe couldn¡¯t really blame her. She didn¡¯t know he was here. Would she stop ever if she knew? Given the stakes, Tara''s knew he wouldn''t stop for her if their situations were reversed. She had to do what she believed was right. He respected her commitment. She''d earned his grudging admiration, in a way. The stairs stretched on. Taras continued to run, despite the difficulty of pushing through the growing density of the mental fog. Finally they reached the top, where he found Aravind and the boys, locked in a desperate fight against a swirling creature of mist¡ªa shard of the storm made manifest. The scouts had joined the fray, hacking at the arcane beast ineffectually with swords and knives. Taras shot forth flames, engulfing the mist monster. The fire raged across the surface of the apparition, blazing brighter the longer it burned. Wisps of smoke rose, merging with the mist, as the heat discharged across the entire specter, dissolving it into the air in a sudden whoosh of dark purple sparks. Taras unslung his shield, pouring his power into the holy symbol engraved on the boss in preparation for entering the fray. ¡°Aravind, keep the children safe. This fight is beyond you.¡± ¡°My thanks,¡± Aravind said, inclining his head. ¡°I will help them hide, but I cannot leave my wife to battle alone.¡± Taras nodded curtly in acknowledgement. ¡°Good hunting.¡± He followed the scouts as they entered an oval room with a large archway on the other side. Thunder rumbled from the opening, as though the storm itself had concentrated into this one spot. A shriek of pain keened in the air, too shrill for a human. The wailing rose and thinned away, replaced by a deep roar. Taras shut the sounds from his mind, calling upon his clerical discipline to maintain a shield against the sounds of strife. He sprinted into the hallway, seeking the heart of the storm. Taras drew up short, a frisson of shock shooting through his chest. There, right in front of him, was the traitor Errol. Rage coursed through Taras, igniting his body with righteous flames. He started to raise his hands to incinerate the boy, but strong hands gripped his arms on either side, pinning him in place. The cold sting of a blade pricked the base of his neck. Percy¡¯s voice whispered in his ear, soft and smooth as silk, dripping with the poison of an asp. ¡°Ah, revenge will have to wait until you¡¯re out from under my watch. Freyman won¡¯t be pleased to lose his inside man.¡± Taras opened his mouth to argue, but a loop of wire slid around his neck, tightening into a deadly noose. He relaxed in their grasp and the wire loosened slightly, allowing him to breathe again. Two scouts dragged him to the back of the formation. He could only watch helplessly as the rest advanced toward Aravind, who stood in front of the boys with an upraised knife in hand, desperation etched on his face. =+= ¡°On me,¡± Errol called out in command as soon as he saw the scouts enter the room. He strode across the chambers at the top of the stairs, relieved that he¡¯d arrived in time. When he¡¯d picked them up on his sensor field, he had backtracked to meet the scouts before they attacked his real team. How had he gotten ahead of them? Perhaps they¡¯d gotten stuck in that unnatural doorway Gruvrik had forced them to circumvent. If so, they were now freed from the strange compulsion that held them there. Merved shot a look toward an open doorway on the far side. ¡°You found the others, eh? They¡¯re inside already, I¡¯ll wager.¡± Errol nodded, not denying anything. ¡°Remember, we need the Stormorb; don''t interfere until their mission is a success.¡± ¡°Not the way I heard it,¡± Merv said flatly. Percy saunted forward, stroking his chin. ¡°Me neither. Sounds like something an Imperial operative would say. Sure we can trust this fellow?¡± Errol shrugged. ¡°Go ahead and take the Stormorb yourself. Not my problem if you die to its poisoned power.¡± Percy looked to Merv, who sighed, motioning them onward. ¡°Got permission from your handler?¡± Errol teased. Percy scowled at him, a brooding expression twisted his face into a grimace. ¡°Freyman isn¡¯t going to be happy if we don¡¯t bring it back. Doesn¡¯t mean I want to touch the foul thing. We do it your way, Eel.¡± ¡°Good. Then let these people go,¡± Errol demanded, gesturing toward the boys huddled behind a man with a knife. He assumed they were Bridge people. They looked similar to the boys he¡¯d seen playing in the streets. One of them peeked out from behind his guardian, eyes wide, and Errol recoiled as if he¡¯d been burned. That¡¯s the boy I thought I killed. He¡¯s alive! The scouts drew weapons. One of them in the front summoned a weak energy barrier, a one-time shield against arrows or a surprise attack. It wouldn¡¯t hold back much, but it might give them a few extra seconds to defend themselves against an ambush. The sudden movement shattered Errol¡¯s thought. Numbly, he fell in line as they rushed forward in a tight formation, ready for violence. They didn¡¯t ask Errol to scout ahead; Merv simply took the lead. He didn¡¯t know whether to feel slighted at the decision, or to appreciate the chance to stay safe a little longer. After a few twists and turns, they burst into what Errol assumed was the central control room of the Bridge. Fierce battle raged within. Suddenly, he was glad he was in the back. Tendrils of dark smoke reached toward the scout team, twisting into vague, featureless human shapes of mist and magic. The storm-warriors braced spears and charged. The first spear shattered on the magic barrier, dissipating into an inky splotch. The next struck home, however, and one of the scouts cried out in agony, staggering back and collapsing to the ground. He clutched his stomach, crying out as he tried to stem the flood of blood gurgling around his fingers.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. Errol stepped forward. He formed a shock lance and hurled it into the middle of the pack. It branched apart in mid flight like a lightning strike, searing the air with the smell of ozone. The soldiers swelled in size wherever the lances struck them, absorbing the energy hungrily. The lightning crackled inside their incorporeal limbs, sparking out to drop another scout instantly. Horror tightened Errol¡¯s throat. He¡¯d fed the storm, and now they might all pay because of his stupidity. Merv howled a battle cry and leaped into the middle of the storm, slashing in a wide arc. He cast a cleave ability, slicing three of the warriors in half with one stroke, then threw himself into a roll to avoid a counterattack. Beside him, Percy conjured another weak shield to give them more cover. He scowled at Errol. ¡°You¡¯re supposed to be the expert here. Protect us, Eel!¡± Errol opened his sensor field, questing toward the enemy. The storm-warriors glowed in his mind¡¯s eye, wreathed in fire. He reached out and touched one. The power of the storm laced through him, crackling like a lightning strike, overwhelming his ability to identify each individual. On a hunch, he opened his sensor field further, pushing it past its limits. He peeked at his ring¡¯s readout, confirming his suspicion that his energy stores were overflowing their boundaries¡ªthe storm-warriors power seemed to temporarily overcharge his own strength. Focusing on the fight, he dropped the connection to the vital ring. Errol drew in as much power as he could from the manifestations of the storm, draining the storm-warriors into a vapor that soon evaporated. They misted away into nothingness. Merv nodded at him, knife at the ready. ¡°Nicely done. Let¡¯s finish this mission.¡± Errol trembled with energy. He turned and raised his right arm, pointing at the remaining scouts. ¡°No. Life for life. I saved you. In turn, you¡¯ll stand down. Tell Freyman you ran into the storm itself. You were outmatched. Feed him any story you want, but stay away from my team or I¡¯ll put you down like dogs.¡± Merv spat to the side. ¡°That¡¯s not going to happen. Orders from on top. Last chance to walk away from this.¡± Percy shoved the big scout back a half step. ¡°Listen to him, Merv. We aren¡¯t getting out of this one alive if he decides to duel. We¡¯re alive three times over thanks to his abilities.¡± The two glared at each other for a moment before Merv relented. He sheathed his knife and glowered at Errol. ¡°Don¡¯t track us down later. Cross paths and you die, Eel or not.¡± Percy rolled his eyes, but let the statement stand. He bowed slightly toward Errol. ¡°Your people are in good hands. Thank you for traveling with us a little way.¡± Errol nodded at Merv, still channeling a shock lance just in case. ¡°I can live with that, Merv. We don¡¯t need to see each other again.¡± He turned back to Percy. ¡°I¡¯ve got no quarrel with you. It was good to meet you, friend. If you ever want to seek me out when we return to Laurentum, I won¡¯t turn you away. Stay safe on the way home; the Bridge is still a scary place.¡± The few remaining scouts fled, nursing wounds. Percy paused, however. ¡°Beware, Eel. The Justicar of Flames seeks your life. I cannot restrain him any longer.¡± Errol nodded in acknowledgement, but Percy was already gone, ghosting away to rejoin the ragged remnant of the once-proud elite scouts. Shouts and the clash of arms demanded his attention. He pushed farther into the room, clearing through the haze of thick, dark smoke, and almost collided with Jarkoda. The halfdragon greeted him with a clap on the back, rolled under a blast from a storm-warrior and launched forward with a flurry of triple-strike claw slashes, slicing his attacker into nothingness. Rhae poked her head around the corner of a desk and waved at him. She started to rise, smiling despite the chaos surrounding them. Fear suddenly flickered across her face. Her horns pulsed red then went bone-white. Her eyes widened and she gasped, flinging her hand over her mouth. A moment later, Errol¡¯s world erupted in flames. =+= It wasn¡¯t supposed to be like this. Flames roared by her head. Thenxi panted, pressing herself against a wall in the antechamber to the central control room, dodging a column of white-hot flames. The fire painted the walls, staining stone. She ducked lower to find fresh air below the layers of plasma and smoke polluting the room, gasping for oxygen. The temperature in the chamber rose higher and higher as Taras lashed out over and over again at a dark-haired young man. The newcomer ducked and twisted, one step ahead of the fiery darts, no matter how fast they flew. He always seemed to sense the incoming attack and take evasive action, but the terror in his wild eyes betrayed him. He couldn¡¯t keep this up for much longer. The others snatched at Taras¡¯s robes, holding him back, trying to talk him down from any further violence. Rhae had collapsed on the floor, sobbing, screaming for Taras to stop, to leave Errol alone. Ah, so that was the missing leader Rhae had mentioned. Strange that his own clan disapproved of his claims of justice. What happened between those two? Why is he trying to murder this man? Taras shoved aside the Halfdragon, who stumbled but held fast. The old man screamed at the interloper. ¡°Traitor! Murderer!¡± They seemed to know each other¡ªthe boy fought defensively, calling for the older man to listen to his pleas for mercy. He didn¡¯t attack, although Thenxi could sense immense power within him, crackling like a living shard of the storm itself. How had an Outsider become storm touched? It¡¯s my people¡¯s birthright, not theirs! Maybe this thief deserves to die. ¡°Ach!¡± the short, burly man roared, his voice shockingly powerful for his small stature. ¡°It pains me to admit it, but that coward Stefano may be right about the corrupting power of this place. No wonder he scurried off again. The lot of ye are infected with madness! Stop fighting each other and focus on our mission.¡± Despite his loud, booming voice, no one paid him any heed. To her right, Telyim crouched beside the locked control panel, hair plastered to her head with sweat. The younger Seer¡¯s labored breathing betrayed her fear. She stared at the fighting and the swirling mists, eyes growing wider. Something inside her seemed broken by the horror all around her. Thenxi padded over to the young woman. She took Telyim in her arms and sang an old chant, imploring the Mother to intercede on Telyim''s behalf. The Seer flinched away, glaring at her. Memories of Eastern¡¯s predations on Western paraded through Thenxi''s mind. Telyim couldn¡¯t be held personally responsible for her ancestor¡¯s actions, but her undisguised hostility even now, when they should be allies, sent a spike of resentment through Thenxi. In a heartbeat, she remembered why she hated Eastern. She slammed Telyim''s head against the wall until the younger woman collapsed. This was Western¡¯s best chance at flipping the balance of power. Thenxi clenched her fist. She only needed Telyim¡¯s key, not her allegiance. Thenxi slid her hand around to the back of her rival Seer''s neck, feeling for the knot in the leather strap Telyim used as a necklace to hold the key. She fumbled with the tight knot and finally settled for drawing one of Telyim¡¯s bone knives and slicing the strap. A quick yank and she pulled out the key from within Telyim¡¯s robes. She retied the knot and slipped the key over her own neck as she sneaked toward the control room. With any luck, they won''t notice me. Help me, Mother. This is our chance at salvation. Errol crashed into the floor in front of Thenxi, trailing fire as he skidded into a doorway. His body twitched, smoldering in half a dozen places, but he hauled himself to standing upright, his hands still held out in a conciliatory fashion. Words rasped out of his throat a few at a time. ¡°Forgiveness! I beg. Taras.¡± He wheezed and lurched forward, trying to catch his balance but crashing into the corner of a desk. ¡°Please. Believe. . . . Mistake.¡± A stream of flames roared toward Errol. He flung himself sideways, barely evading the worst of the heat, but his hair was singed off the side of his head. He coughed and spat blood, crouching unsteadily. ¡°Stupid boy. He¡¯s blocking off the door,¡± Thenxi muttered to herself, edging toward the conflagration. She didn¡¯t want to get caught in the crossfire of a battle between these terrifying monsters; their magic far exceeded her own. A stray fireball would kill her instantly. Taras drew himself up, shaking off Jarkoda and Maeda. He raised both hands, shouting as a pure-white orb of glowing fire coalesced in front of him. He shook with the effort, struggling to control the power. The incandescence magnified, shining brighter and brighter until Thenxi flinched away with a cry, squinting her eyes shut against the brilliance of a naked sun. Thenxi clutched Telyim¡¯s bone knife, her knuckles cracking with the intensity of her grip. She whipped her hand forward, whirling the knife at Taras in a blind attempt to stop the ferocity of the fire. He cried out in sudden pain. The fervent heat winked out of existence. Still blinking from the afterimage of the blazing corona, Thenxi stumbled toward the arch, determined to enter while the others still fought. She¡¯d try both keys together. The portal would open this time. It had to. She couldn¡¯t fail now, not so close to her journey¡¯s end. A hand clutched her ankle. She shuddered and pulled away. Errol held on tighter as she kicked. She tried to run toward the portal, dragging him with each step, but he refused to let go, looking up at her with pleading eyes. Blood streaked down his narrow face, which had taken on a skull-like, unsettling gleam since his eyebrows had burned off completely. She kicked him free with the other foot and plunged forward to the portal, thrusting out the keys in front of her. The keys hit the surface and rebounded, flinging Thenxi away. She cried out as she tumbled across the stone floor, crashing into Taras in a tangle of limbs. She landed on top of him, slamming him into the floor. Taras absorbed most of the impact. She rolled off, extracting herself from the jumble of legs and arms, and turned to look at the old man. He lay unmoving, a trickle of blood seeping across his forehead. ¡°It¡¯s not fair!¡± Thenxi screamed, slumping back against the wall. ¡°The way should not be shut to a child of the Mother. I¡¯ve served her my entire life!¡± Rhae rushed over, already strumming a song on her harp. She touched Taras¡¯s temple, her brows furrowed in concentration, and his cuts closed over. He coughed, chest heaving. His eyes opened. ¡°You fool,¡± he spluttered, glaring at Thenxi. ¡°You don¡¯t know what he¡¯s done!¡± Chapter Thirty-Seven - A Mother鈥檚 Love Cannot be Silenced Rhae shook all over. Where was the kind and gentle Thenxi who¡¯d given her wings and taught her to find her courage? Maybe she was only a mirage. Maybe the woman who left me to die in the storm is the real Thenxi, the one who beats a friend senseless just to take a key that doesn¡¯t even work. She crept away from the shouting and arguing, scrubbing tears from her eyes. Taras and Errol will live; they¡¯ll have to work out their differences later. In the meantime, I have work to do! Rhae stepped closer to Telyim. The bleeding, unconscious Seer lay twisted in a heap on the ground. Her fingers twitched feebly, then grew still, already bone-white from the cold and blood loss. Rhae knelt down next to Telyim and put her hands on either side of the woman¡¯s face, cradling the Seer¡¯s bruised head in her lap. She squeezed away tears pooling in her eyes and started to sing¡ªa low, somber hum that solidified in the air into a barely-visible, diaphanous bubbles. The pearlescent shimmer spread out to cover the two of them in a fragile, protective space, dampening the sound of battle around them. The silvery notes floated in the air above Telyim. Rhae lowered her pitch, moving the notes downward. She intensified her humming, willing the quicksilver motes to suffuse Telyim''s body. They danced along her frame, melting into one another whenever they met. The longer Rhae sung, the more notes sparked into existence, until they encased Telyim¡¯s body in liquid metal¡ªa suit of armor distilled from the essence of music itself. Rhae clapped three times and the silver constricted, disappearing into Telyim¡¯s body. Telyim gasped and arched her back, eyes wide as healing surged through her. She lifted up in the air, impossibly high, only her tiptoes and the back of her head touching the floor. With a final rush of power she collapsed bonelessly to the ground, huddled in a ball. Her wounds were gone. Her breathing stabilized. Soon, her eyelids fluttered open again and she sat up, staring around the room in confusion. ¡°Welcome back!¡± Rhae chirped as cheerfully as she could, trying hard to lift everyone¡¯s mood. ¡°We beat the storm-warriors. Soon we¡¯ll open the portal and finish the mission. I¡¯m glad you¡¯re okay now, Telyim.¡± Telyim blinked. Her eyes still looked glossy and unfocused. She leaned against Rhae, sighing contentedly, and closed her eyes again, like a kitten curling up to take a nap. Rhae patted her shoulder and shifted her head so she could call to the others without yelling in Telyim¡¯s ear. ¡°Taras, can you help? Your healing is more advanced than mine!¡± No one looked at Rhae or seemed to even hear her. The rest of the team yelled at each other, locked in their angry confrontation, flinging spiteful words back and forth like stones and arrows. She whimpered and sat down, her head between her knees. Why couldn¡¯t everyone just be friends? =+= Thenxi glared as Taras continued to snarl at her. ¡°You fool! You take his side and prevent justice for your own child.¡± Errol shuffled over to them, kneeling down to join the wounded. The young man opened his mouth to say something to her, but then seemed to think better of it when Taras locked eyes with him and growled. Their eyes bored into each other¡ªtoo exhausted to keep fighting, but still glaring in defiance. Thenxi took in their ruined clothes and utter exhaustion. She laughed bitterly. What a mess we make. Who are we to defy the power of storms? Errol swallowed once, then gestured toward Thenxi. ¡°The boy. Her son?¡± ¡°Indeed, traitor. Look upon the face of your enemy. Was it worth it?¡± Taras demanded. Errol shook his head. ¡°He lives?¡± ¡°No thanks to you!¡± Taras spat. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Errol murmured. ¡°I thought he¡¯d killed you. He had your shield and I couldn¡¯t see you anywhere¡ªI was only trying to avenge you.¡± ¡°Thenxi! Get away from that man. He tried to kill Meri!¡± Aravind¡¯s voice hooked through her heart. Thenxi whirled, staring as her husband came into the room with Meri and his brothers in tow. He rushed forward, clutching her shoulders with both hands, tears in his eyes. Tenderly, but with inexorable strength, he pulled her away from the two adversaries.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Errol pressed his lips flat and bowed toward Thenxi and Aravind until his head touched the ground. ¡°Forgive me, child. Meri, is it? I beg for mercy.¡± Thenxi reached for Meri. She squinted, scanning him with her eyes as well as spiritual senses, and hissed sharply. His body had been torn apart, ravaged by the power of the Storm. And deep within, pulsing with a small, white light, was a fragment of Taras, bound to his soul to keep him alive. She bared her teeth at Errol, suddenly ashamed she had doubted Taras. How could I have been so blind? I sought power, while this outsider defended my son. She fed the shame into the fires of her anger, pushing away the blame, turning the heat of her wrath toward Errol. She lunged forward, clawing at his throat. He would die for what he had done. Her hands closed around his neck. No one could save him now. Her fingers dug in deeper. She screamed as he choked and struggled in her grasp. A mother¡¯s love cannot not be silenced. =+= Errol struggled to think. He regulated the flow of oxygen in his body, just like when he was a kid diving for pearls. He could do this. First he needed to break free, stop the damage to his throat. He needed to breathe¡ªand soon. He beat his hands the Seer¡¯s arms, flailing uselessly. No. Not useless. He could do this. Thenxi¡¯s vengeful grasp constricted. White hot heat skewered his neck. Errol kicked at the floor but couldn¡¯t find purchase. His movements slowed as the airflow cut off to his brain. He was too weak to stop her, too exhausted from his fight with Taras. Too weak. I don¡¯t deserve to live for what I did to that boy. This is justice . . . ¡°Stop!¡± Telyim¡¯s voice rang through Errol¡¯s head. The shrill noise seemed to reverberate through his skull. His sensor picked up movement. Telyim dashed forward and tackled Thenxi, breaking her death grip on his throat. They sprawled across the floor beside him. Gratitude flashed through him, but black spots swam across his vision as he fell back, his head smacking into the floor. Dully, as though from a great distance, he registered the pain in the back of his head. Errol sucked in a deep breath, tears in his eyes. Air had never tasted so sweet before. He sat up, gathered his feet under him, and scrambled away from the Seers like a crab fleeing from an Egret. Telyim flung Thenxi away, knocking her into Taras. ¡°How dare you claim justice after you attacked me?¡± ¡°I took the key and tried to end the madness! You heard what he did,¡± Thenxi hissed, her chin jutting toward Errol. ¡°It¡¯s nothing alike. Besides, you don¡¯t even know this man.¡± ¡°Errol saved us when the Shrikes held us captive!¡± Telyim snapped back. ¡°We¡¯d be dead if not for him. Would Western have intervened on our behalf?¡± Thenxi clamped her mouth shut. Errol guessed the answer readily, even though he didn¡¯t know the women or the politics of the Bridge. Errol looked around at his team. They stood in clumps of twos and threes, separated by fights and alliances he hadn¡¯t noticed before. Taras had thrown in with Aravind and Thenxi¡ªand Meri, the boy he¡¯d tried to murder. Rhae leaned against Gruvrik¡¯s chest, weeping inconsolably as the tough dwarf patted her shoulder and looked around helplessly. Jarkoda glanced back and forth between the other team members, a sickened expression on his scaled face, completely frozen. He and Rashana huddled by the far entrance, observing the fight between the Seers but not intervening. Could he ever bridge the gap between them, after he¡¯d betrayed their trust, left them to die in the storm, and almost killed Taras¡¯s friend? The citizens of the Bridge aren¡¯t the only ones who fight amongst themselves. And where was Maeda? Why didn¡¯t the Great One step in and save him? Twice attacked and not a single finger lifted to help me! She was going to leave me to die. Telyim strode in front of him on her way to the portal to the control room, breaking into his thoughts. She lifted a finger to her neck, feeling at her missing necklace, and barked out a laugh. ¡°Thenxi, you¡¯re too focused on your goal to even check whether you¡¯d taken the actual key. That¡¯s just my bone charm. All that rage over nothing.¡± Thenxi blanched. ¡°Give it to me, sister. Let us drive away storm, then we¡¯ll deal with the Shrikes.¡± ¡°No. Eastern will rise. For too long has Western dominated our world. Give me your key, and I¡¯ll forgive you for trying to murder me.¡± The two Seers stared at each other, locked in a battle of wills. Errol scooted as far away as he could, not eager to get caught up in more crossfire. A plaintive, halting melody cut through the tension. Rhae struck another chord on her harp, sending shimmering, golden notes into the air. She sniffed, wiped away a tear, and walked into the middle of the room, placing herself between the argument. Her playing picked up speed and vibrancy, no longer wavering. Errol followed her with his eyes. He reached out for one of the glowing manifestations of magic, closing his fingers over the golden speck. Warmth filled his chest. A slow smile split his face. The knot of guilt and fear in his chest loosened. ¡°Swear to each other that you will be sisters in truth,¡± Rhae whispered, still playing. She turned to each one, giving them a stern glance. They looked away from her gaze. Errol couldn¡¯t suppress his chuckle. The cheerful little Qeren probably couldn¡¯t manage to truly look cross with anyone, but she was trying her best¡ªand it seemed to be working. The two Seers shuffled over to Rhae, leaning close to whisper furiously. Several gestures and grunts later, Telyim pulled something out of a pouch at her waist and handed it to Thenxi. Together, the Seers approached the portal. ¡°Hold,¡± Maeda interjected. All eyes turned toward her, compelled by the sudden rush of power in her words. They didn¡¯t move as she stalked into the center of the room. ¡°You are about to face something beyond you. Open that portal by yourselves and we all die.¡± Chapter Thirty-Eight - Storm Sovereign Thenxi rolled her eyes. ¡°You outsiders are all the same. You all think you know our own home better than we do.¡± ¡°You need me if you want to live,¡± Maeda reiterated. ¡°If you don¡¯t wish to bring me with you, then I will remove the keys from your possession. I¡¯d rather we all stayed friends, however, if it¡¯s not too late for that.¡± Maeda glided across the room to stand in front of Errol. ¡°It¡¯s time to use the silver amulet of clarity.¡± ¡°How?¡± Errol asked, pulling it from his pouch and putting it over his neck. He didn¡¯t know what he was doing, but he didn''t dare countermand a Great One. ¡°Focus your will through it,¡± Maeda commanded. ¡°Reach out to the Bridge¡ªand to the Storm. You alone are touched by both.¡± Errol closed his eyes, imagining his consciousness pouring into the amulet. It emitted a soft glow in his mind, pulling up a sheet similar to the testing stone. He reached outward, toward the Bridge, questing for his self-proclaimed ¡°mother.¡± She shimmered into existence in his mind, her incorporeal spirit clothed in a semblance of flesh and blood, a gentle smile on her lips. She hovered over to Errol, placing a hand on his cheek. Welcome, child. A long, golden tendril trailed out behind her back, disappearing into the mists. Where it merged into the shifting twilight of the Storm, the tether thickened and twisted, pulsing with virulent, purple veins.
Vitals Affiliation
Name: ?? Diplomacy: ??? Builders
Level: 19 Strength: ???? Presence of Place (Tier VIII)
Class: Spirit Acuity: ??? Unknown
Health: ????? / ?????? Inner Fortitude: ???? Reputation: World Wonder
Lifeforce: SOULBOUND
Abilities Items Favor
Blessing of Presence Reinforced Roads Command Tower Causeway Builders
Errol sucked in air between his teeth. ¡°She¡¯s soulbound!¡± Maeda narrowed her eyes. ¡°As I feared. Can you confirm the darkstorm is the one bound to her?¡± Errol nodded. He closed his eyes again to block out distractions. Focusing on the bond, he pursued the tether tying the Bridge to the soulbond. Violent, surging clouds of purple and green and black, like an agonizingly deep bruise, swirled around him. He stood firm, demanding entrance into the chaos of the darkstorm, and it parted before him, drawing him into its inner sanctum. A torrent of lightning pierced Errol, shaking his body like an alley cat worrying a mouse in its jaws. A monstrous form the size of a small mountain loomed in his consciousness, dripping malice like brackish blood. It chuckled, a guttural, rusty rumble that reminded Errol of hammers on anvils. Thunder warped the air around him. The Storm shook with fury; the archetype of his childhood midnight terrors made manifest. Errol scanned it with his amulet, probing its essence. Disjointed images and harsh, dissonant sounds burst into his mind¡ªa panoply of violence and the overwhelming urge to dominate¡ªsending him staggering him to his knees. Power flooded Errol in a familiar, relentless onslaught. My lance! He wields it, too? Pressure built up in Errol''s mind. He pushed back, but his internal levees broke. A deluge crashed over him. In an instant, he knew the truth of Maeda''s warning. The Storm had gifted him the power of lightning; it could take it back as it pleased. Rage erupted from the Storm.
Vitals Affiliation
Name: ?? Diplomacy: ?? Darkstorm
Level: 20 Strength: ???? Malignancy (Tier VII)
Class: Spirit Acuity: ?? Unknown Division
Health: ?????? / ?????? Inner Fortitude: ??? Reputation: Terror of Nations
Lifeforce: ??????
Abilities Items Favor
Greater Chain Lightning, Master Tier VIII Mist Warriors, Master Tier III Fearmonger, Master Tier I Darkstorm
¡°Get back!¡± Errol screamed. ¡°Run, all of you! The Storm is angry. He¡¯s coming in all his power. He¡¯s level twenty, fed by centuries of fear and siphoned souls. Maeda, beware his chain lightning! It¡¯s magnitudes greater than my shock lance.¡± He fell to his knees, clutching his head. ¡°We have a job to do, but if we open that portal, the final barrier will be gone. We''ll all die.¡± Meri stepped forward. Trembling, he offered a hand to Errol, pulling him to his feet. ¡°We''ll settle our differences later. The Storm has enslaved us for far too long.¡± He put a hand on Taras''s shield. ¡°We have the weapons we need. Taras can protect us.¡± The old cleric started, as though awakening from a dream. ¡°Very well. I will stand against the darkness.¡± Rhae rushed over and hugged Taras and Meri in turn. ¡°I''ll keep up everyone''s spirits! You''ll stay strong and happy while I play.¡± Jarkoda and Rashana strode toward the portal together, marching in lockstep. Blades adorned Rashana''s arms. Bowing low, the halfdragon spoke for both of them. ¡°Live or die, we fight.¡± ¡°I''ll take the children to safety,¡± Gruvrik said. ¡°Who knows where that trickster is. He ran off first sign of trouble. I can handle him and see through his illusions if something goes wrong.¡± Taras reached out his hand, clasping Errol''s wrist. Healing poured into Errol. ¡°Lead on, Eel. We''re behind you¡ªat least until the job is done.¡± Errol shivered at the ice in Taras''s tone. He looked each one of them in the eyes. ¡°As Jarkoda said: ¡®Live or die, we fight.¡¯¡± He nodded to Thenxi, who thrust the keys into the portal. The way opened. And the Storm poured forth.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. =+= Maeda wove a barrier in the air as Thenxi activated the portal. Her heart thudded in her chest. This was it; this was the reason she had forced her way into the mission. I pray I''m equal to the task. Storm warriors rushed in like the tide, crashing into her barriers. Their vanguard hit first, vanishing in bursts of multicolored light. The rest formed ranks, weapons at the ready, wary of the obstacle in their way. Taras unleashed fire on them, melting a hole through the middle of their formation, and the Bridge Seers, Thenxi and Telyim, followed up with their own esoteric attacks, crippling one of the fighters and dissipating another. The doorway yawned farther open behind the storm warriors, growing impossibly wide. It stretched on and on like an inscrutable expanse of open sea, shifting and mysterious, filled with hidden dangers below the surface. Jagged streaks of violet light illuminated the room, strobing painfully. The room spiraled out, walls misting into nothing, the horizon expanding until the darkstorm filled Maeda¡¯s senses. She could barely locate the team around her. The storm¡¯s presence pushed on her sensor field with overwhelming pressure, blotting out the others with its vast and terrifying power. Here in the heart of the storm, a battle raged. Faceless forms of dark soldiers incorporated around her, spawned from the foreboding clouds. She struck out with a Shark Bite execution technique, stolen from years of observing the First Knife at work. The energy blade sliced through the melee, eviscerating all the swirling mist soldiers in a single slash. More formed almost instantly, taking their place. Maeda sprinted away, new tactics spinning in her mind. She couldn¡¯t face all of the storm warriors if they could simply reappear after she vanquished them. Speed was her ally. Questing out, she located the faint signature of the Bridge itself, locked in struggle with the Storm spirit. It seemed to be waning, losing strength the longer it held off the storm spirit. ¡°Absorb them with your sensor field,¡± Errol yelled, struggling to stay upright. The Storm buffeted him with a deluge of wind and hall. He stumbled under the savage attack and went down to one knee. With an experimental draw on their power, Maeda confirmed Errol''s suggestion. A plan clicked into place. Perhaps she could delay the storm, divert its attention long enough to waste its power on a secondary fight. She turned back toward her pursuers, scything through them with an electric blast of power. She didn¡¯t have an Eel¡¯s lightning lance, but she¡¯d developed exemplary control of her sensor field. Maeda siphoned off their power, draining the soldiers into nothing. Gathering their stolen energy, she reversed the field, unleashing another blast at the remaining enemies. This time, the new storm guardians took several times longer to re-form. Jarkoda blasted them with a breath attack, evaporating a pair in the front line. He blinked forward, closing on the fighters in a flurry of strikes. His staff blurred like a whirlwind of death, but it passed through their bodies with little effect. His claws pierced their stormy centers, rending and tearing. They simply morphed back into shape and fought on until he melted another with his flame breath. Alternating between draining and blasting, Maeda fought past Jarkoda, stopping only to siphon a bolt of lightning from a storm warrior that had incapacitated Rashana. Her bladed arms were ineffective against their arcane, storm-fueled lightning power, but she seemed particularly vulnerable to their attacks. Maeda gripped Rashana and shouted to be heard above the howling winds. ¡°Fall back! Help Gruvrik, or go find the heir. This fight is beyond you!¡± Rashana dashed back toward the entrance, dodging stray blasts. She disappeared as she reached the portal, her metal hull warping out of sight. A pair of the storm warriors followed her, but Maeda trusted that Taras could burn them away like the sun vaporizing the morning mist. Thenxi and Telyim would have to prove their mettle again, assuming they had any strength left after all the infighting. End this. The mission comes first. Putting aside her fears for the rest of the team, Maeda advanced, cutting a swath through the storm warriors with her drain. Stormclouds rose, twisting and twining around her feet, slowing her down. She imbued her body with energy, breaking free of the dark, grasping tendrils around her legs. Every step required her full concentration. Hail pelted down on her, bruising her skin and stinging against her face. She lowered her head, hunching her shoulders and covering her face with an arm to protect herself, but Maeda didn¡¯t stop her slow march toward destiny. Wind swirled around her, knocking her back, lifting her off her feet. She slammed into unseen rocks, shrouded by mist. One of her ribs cracked at the impact. Maeda hissed in pain, but she struggled to her feet and raised her hands up, forming a cone-shaped barrier to cut through the wind. Fighting to keep her balance, she made her way forward one step at a time, cutting off grasping tendrils and absorbing blasts of lightning that would kill a lower-level mortal. A dozen Eels couldn¡¯t output this kind of firepower. Above her, the Storm raged. Its fury at her relentless assault radiated outward. At last, she reached the center of the storm, breaking through a wall of chaos to find a sudden haven of calm. A mottled-gray collosus with lighting for hair wrestled with a massive, black-granite lady. She looked like a more lithe version of the Builders who had created the Bridge. A thick rope of golden light tied the two together, just as Errol had told her. Cracks showed all over her surface. Lightning sought out the crevices, trying to force its way within, to dominate and to feed on the Bridge¡¯s strength. Maeda charged forward, pulling a short dagger with a stone blade from her belt. She had taken it from Vytautus on a hunch that now proved correct: the Bridge had been soulbound. She hadn¡¯t wanted Vytautus to record the transaction. Errol¡¯s amulet was suspicious enough, but any more fuel for the fire¡ª The Storm spirit whirled then, its full malevolence focused on Maeda. It unlatched claws from the Bridge and loped toward her, a crown of fire and lightning crackling on its brow warning her that this monster was true royalty of the spirit world¡ªfar beyond even her prodigious power. Roaring, it launched chained lightning strikes at her in a constant barrage, forcing her backward until she reached the barrier of the eye of the storm. Jarkoda broke through the edge of the stormwall, bleeding from gouges in his scales. He toppled onto the ground, his chest heaving. The fires blazing in the depths of Jarkoda¡¯s slitted eyes dimmed, flickering as he struggled to hang on to consciousness. ¡°Errol . . . on his way.¡± ¡°Rest, child of dragons,¡± Maeda whispered as she knelt down. She placed a hand on his forehead, easing him into stasis to keep him safe. He was in no condition to lend her aid in this fight, let alone defend himself. ¡°One shot,¡± Maeda hissed to herself. Win or die. She dug her feet into the ground, bent her knees, and launched herself at the Storm spirit as it drew near, slashing with the stone knife. She reached inward, quieting her mind and focusing on her opponent. She shut out everything that competed for her attention, searching for the bond. It blazed like the sun in her mind. Her hand snaked out faster than her eyes could track, her strike enhanced by a Shark Clan ritual that cost nearly half her lifeforce to enact. The enchanted blade sliced at its target, quick as a predator pouncing on bleeding prey. The stone blade clanged against an upraised shield of condensed darkstorm, chipping from the force of the impact. The beast¡¯s claws pierced her shoulder and raked across her stomach, tearing apart her flesh and breaking ribs. She shrieked in agony, her concentration shattered. Her body bounced as she was flung from the circle of calm, back into the raging tempest, and her wrist cracked on a rock. Her grip instantly went limp. She dropped the stone knife, screaming in protest. Lightning ripped along her body, searing her skin and rupturing blood vessels. Maeda threw up, trembling as waves of agony washed over her. For once she was glad that she didn¡¯t have a vital ring to check on the severity of her damage. She spat the bile out of her mouth and searched around the ground, looking for the stone knife. The mist thickened, covering her eyes, obscuring her sight. She groped about, down on her knees, using her one good hand for balance. Shocks shot through her every few seconds as the Storm discharged its wrath. Her head pounded. She whimpered, feeling around and finding nothing. Despair settled over her like a mantle. She couldn¡¯t find the knife. And even if she did, in her weakened state, what good would a second try do? Her strike hadn¡¯t been fast enough the first time. How? No one could possibly match the speed of the signature strike of Shark Clan. Designed as a last-resort, impossible-to-defend killing blow, it had been entrusted to the Great Ones for one-time use in a crisis. She couldn¡¯t even use the attack again without a new ritual. A familiar presence brushed against Maeda¡¯s mind. She latched on to Errol¡¯s approach in her sensor field, lifting her head to look toward his direction. Summoning her strength, she called out. ¡°Find the knife. Sever the bond.¡± Errol darted over to her side. He knelt down and ripped off a strip of his cloak, fashioning a makeshift tourniquet to stop the worst of the bleeding. ¡°Forget the knife. This is beyond us. We have to get you out of here.¡± ¡°No! We¡¯re so close, Errol. You can¡¯t give up,¡± Maeda pleaded. ¡°Find the stone knife.¡± He shook his head, his face set like flint as he bound up her worst wounds. ¡°Taras and Rhae can heal you if I can get you to them quickly enough.¡± Maeda lifted her good arm, grabbing Errol by the tunic. She pulled him close, hissing in his ear. ¡°It¡¯s too late for me. Don¡¯t make me waste my life. Let it count for something. Find. The. Knife. Now.¡± The force of command hit Errol like a kick to the face. He shot to attention, scrambling on his hands and knees just like Maeda had a moment earlier. He widened his circle, searching frantically, panting with added exertion of the compulsion. A storm warrior materialized in front of him, spear raised to strike him down. Errol drove a lightning-wrapped fist through its head, dissolving the stormcloud instantly. Energy crackled all over his body, sheathing him in lightning. Maeda grinned at the sight despite the pain. He looked like an avatar of the tempest. If they survived, Shark Clan¡¯s strength would grow. More warriors appeared as the Storm threw more of its soldiers against them, renewing its efforts to sweep them from its locus of power. Errol abandoned the search, cutting them apart by draining them with an overcharged sensor field and bolts of lightning. The longer they fought, the more his lances resembled the purple, fulminating attacks of the darkstorm. Telyim appeared suddenly in their midst, phasing in and out of vision. She blinked from one fighter to the next, siphoning life, though not as quickly as Errol could. ¡°Go! I¡¯ll hold them off as long as I can,¡± she shouted to Errol. So that¡¯s a Stormwalker. Maeda grunted, nodding her thanks at the Seer. Errol resumed his search. He straightened suddenly, crowing in triumph as he lifted the stone blade above his head. He streaked toward the eye of the storm, disappearing through the stormwall with a battlecry. Maeda motioned Telyim closer. ¡°Get me inside. I¡¯m almost spent, but I have one last trick to spare.¡± Telyim bowed low and half-carried, half-dragged Maeda toward the towering stormwall of cloud and lightning. She shouldered her way through the stormwall, setting Maeda down next to Jarkoda. A bolt of lightning arced toward her, jagged and crackling with power. Maeda lunged, clutching Telyim¡¯s wrist just before the moment of impact. She shunted the power into her own body, shaking as her heart and lungs sizzled within her. With a cry she fell back, knowing she breathed her final few breaths. Maeda fumbled at her belt, withdrawing a pouch. Hands trembling, she unrolled a scrap of paper and spoke a code word. Script flowed across its surface. Two names and a sketch of a map revealed themselves on the paper. ¡°Give this to Errol.¡± Teylim nodded and tucked the paper into the inner pocket of her robes. She opened her mouth and drew in a sharp breath, but Maeda held up her working hand to silence her, pointing toward Errol, locked in battle with the Storm. ¡°He needs to make a hard choice. Help him afterwards. He''ll sacrifice himself; he''s a good kid.¡± Telyim gripped her hand. ¡°Let''s get you to the healers.¡± ¡°No time. Move back.¡± A fit of coughing interrupted her words. Maeda sucked in a ragged breath. ¡°Last gift.¡± Madea amplified her voice. ¡°It''s not every day I get to witness the death of royalty.¡± The Storm broke off from trading blows with Errol and whirled to face her. Anger and an unsettling intelligence gleamed in its purple, swirling eyes. Darkstorm, corrupted by centuries of feeding off pain and fear, lurked below the surface. It hurled a bolt of arcane power at her as thick as a ship''s mast. Maeda threw her sensor field wide open. She drew in as much power as she could, not caring about the damage as the energy tore her body to shreds. Lacerated internal organs hemorrhaged. She latched on to the Storm''s signature and yanked, absorbing as much of its strength as she could siphon. Errol lunged forward then, slashing at the bond with the stone blade. The Bridge spirit twisted to meet him, drawing the tether into the path of the enchanted weapon. The knife struck true, snicking through the bond and severing it completely. Madea clawed at the last pieces of her life as the seconds ticked down, but in the recesses of her mind, victory resounded. Peace rushed over her, despite the banshee howls of the Storm¡¯s fury. They''d done it. The Bridge was free. She fought to stay awake, waves of nausea passing over her with each breath. Her ribs protested when she rolled over, looking at Errol, still locked in the struggle with the Storm. Its power waned, but he needed help, needed¡ª The shaking stopped. An endless cold took its place. Numbness followed. Her vision dimmed. Then nothing. Chapter Thirty-Nine - Sacrifice Errol screamed. Maeda''s signature in his sensor field winked out. She was gone. Just like that. If she couldn''t stand up to the Storm, what chance did he have? He threw himself sideways, dodging a blast that tore apart the stoney ground. With a start, Errol realized the mist had melted away, evaporating as the Bridge spirit joined the battle in earnest. She waded into the fray with her full and unfettered power, no longer vying with the Storm for supremacy. Errol sprinted toward the Bridge, ducking under blasts and scattering storm warriors with his lightning-empowered fists. He skidded to a stop next to her. They turned to face the Bridge, fighting side by side. Focus your attacks against the Storm. Ignoring its minions for now. The words echoed in Errol¡¯s mind. He sent back a fleeting thought, acknowledging their strategy, and unleashed a shock lance at the Storm. It sheared through a cloud-like limb, but the Storm shook off the attack and instantly re-formed its body. If anything, it looked stronger where he¡¯d struck it. The Bridge spirit stomped the ground, flinging heavy stones into the sky. The massive chunks of rock hurtled through the air, crashing through the center of the Storm¡¯s lightning and cloud battle form. It spun around with the force of the impact, limbs flailing to regain its balance, a grimace on its strangely-humanoid face. Roaring, it leaped forward, thudding into the ground. A shockwave rippled through the rock, buckling the ground like a wave in the sea. The earth shook, knocking Errol over, his ears still ringing from the powerful creature¡¯s voice. You can¡¯t hurt it with its own power, child. Errol flinched at the Bridge¡¯s sending. If she was right, then he¡¯d need to win without the offensive firepower of an Eel. And if Maeda¡¯s hints proved true, he¡¯d have to divest himself of the Storm¡¯s influence completely to conquer it in its own domain. ¡°Cage it!¡± Errol yelled to the Bridge, miming his suggestion by interlocking his fingers to create an enclosed ball. Stone extruded from the ground, pushing up to create a grid pattern. The crudely-formed bars meshed together, closing over the top of the Storm, imprisoning him. I can¡¯t hold back the Storm forever. Go, finish this. Errol charged toward the prison, shooting lightning into the ground as he ran. The power flowed out behind him, igniting the air in brief, brilliant bursts of light. He drained his entire pool of energy, discharging until his shock lance wouldn¡¯t form at his fingertips, then he switched over to his sensor field. He flung open his field, draining as much power as he could from the Storm as he could redirect into the ground without exploding. Quickly! The Bridge sent, her voice wailing in his mind with naked terror. The force of her demand fueled him. He reached deeper within, searching for the nexus of power gifted by the Storm. Each pass of his scan twisted his insides. He shuddered, fighting the rising tide of nausea, and quested internally with his sensor field, reducing its size to fit his body. Condensed down to this size, the field¡¯s sensitivity increased. He zoomed in, narrowing his search to a tiny, pulsing ball within his chest. Errol visualized a knife stabbing into the sphere, cutting it out from his body. Agony shot through every nerve, immolating his body with excruciating pain. He stumbled, collapsing to his knees. He grabbed hold of the lightning, preparing to rip it out, and froze. Could he really give it up? He¡¯d always dreamed of upgrading his voltage stream, of earning the right to join the Eel attack squads. Though small in numbers, the powerful shock troopers demanded respect in the Shark Clan. The Eels topped the ranks of prestige, other than the Great Ones, even if they had a low level like Errol. The designation was so rare, so powerful, that other rank was irrelevant. He crawled forward toward the prison, too exhausted to stand back up. The adrenaline of the fight had worn off, and now he felt like an old, leaky rowboat¡ªtoo many holes to plug up; easier to simply sink. He groaned and lifted his head, staring at the quickly-growing web of cracks forming on the outside of the stone-crafted prison. How could they possibly hope to win? Even if he gave up his newfound power, what would it change? The front pillars of the prison¡¯s stone wall exploded, shattering in a spray of sharp-edged shards that cut Errol¡¯s face and arms. He screamed, huddling into a ball. Low rumbling filled his ears, resonating and vibrating until even the ground shook. The rest of the prison disintegrated, bursting outward in a shower of dust and debris. The Storm roared forth in fury. Lightning fulminated across its body, chaining slowly to create a powerful attack. The violet energy swirled, growing into a huge sphere that expanded out from the Storm. The energy from the Storm fed the ritual, its body shrinking as it poured power into an artillery-level attack. A menacing tug at his chest demanded Errol¡¯s power, pulling him toward the Storm. He wrestled against the compulsion, clinging to his shock lance. He¡¯d always dreamed of the day he would become an Eel. He refused to give it up now. Even if the Storm gifted him this power in the first place, it was his now. Telyim cried out and was suddenly silenced. Errol spun to see her borne down by storm warriors. One stabbed a spear through her leg, pinning her to the ground. The others misted away, joining the maelstrom above the Storm¡¯s physical manifestation, adding their power to its ritual. Errol focused his sensor field on the storm warrior, reversing its function and drawing in its energy. It struck out before it disappeared, a wild, off-target blow that cut deep into Telyim''s shoulder instead of her neck. She would live, even if they couldn''t save the arm. The energy shot into Errol''s chest, filling him with the potency of the storm. He breathed in, savoring the surge of lightning one last time. He made his choice then; he couldn''t stand by and risk any further carnage. If divesting himself of Eel power and prestige saved his team, then the way forward was clear. No sacrifice was too great¡ªthat''s what it meant to lead. With a shout of defiance, Errol ripped out the nexus of power from his heart. He flung the gift of lightning back at the Storm creature, tears coursing down his cheeks. The fiery sensation in his veins flared and winked out, taking away the pain¡ªand his power. Again the artillery ritual swelled in size, consuming his offering and folding it into its own power. It launched forward, toward the Bridge spirit''s black granite form Errol grimaced. He reached out a feeble hand toward the Storm, a sinking feeling in his gut. Have I made the wrong choice? The Bridge spirit sank into solid rock just before impact, phasing through earth and stone to avoid the destructive maelstrom. The whorl of purple and black exploded, flinging apart the colossal rampart on which they stood in a flash of blinding heat. Errol tumbled through the void in sudden silence. Up and down lost their meaning. Time itself dilated, slowing as he spun. Through his sensor field, he picked up Jarkoda and Telyim, likewise tossed about like dry leaves on the autumn wind. He hoped they would survive. Flight ended abruptly. He crashed into a stone buttress, cracking ribs. His body slammed down into the ground, throwing up a cloud of dust. He groaned, not daring to check his vital ring. He didn''t want to know how close to death he''d come this time. Ringing in his ears announced the slow return of his hearing. Along with the assault on his ears came an ocean of pain, drowning him in sensory overload. Fractured bones cried out. Melted skin exposed his tender flesh to agony as jagged shards of stone and debris from the explosion pelted down on him. His shredded muscles quit on the job. He collapsed in a heap, limbs askance, watching helplessly as the Storm advanced. It had stolen his dreams; now it came for his life. The ritual has taken most of its power, but even diminished, it was stronger by far than anyone on his team. ¡°This is how it ends,¡± Errol muttered to himself. He barked out a short, bitter laugh. ¡°I tried, but it wasn''t enough.¡± He coughed, spraying bloody spittle all over his body. ¡°Why did they send me? I never really had a chance. I know that now.¡± Hold fast, child. Vengeance comes! The Bridge spirit''s granite manifestation shot up, rising through the broken landscape like lava erupting from beneath the Storm. She struck it from below, wrapping powerful arms around the Storm and tackling it to the ground. Her massive fists¡ªsquare boulders the size of Errol''s body¡ªpummeled the Storm, breaking off chunks of ice and tearing away swirling lengths of darkstorm cloud. An icy fragment of the Storm¡¯s corporeal form smacked against Errol''s leg. He squinted, trying to place the object. The mental strain brought on a wave of nausea. He threw up, then took another look. Not just any ice¡ªa chunk of hail. Elements of the Storm clattered down all around him as the Bridge continued to batter the Storm with savage strikes. Her entire shape seemed to swell and grow, gaining strength as the Storm''s influence fell away. She rammed into the Storm and its chest exploded. Errol cheered her on with ragged voice, not caring about the damage to his throat and lungs. The Storm evaporated bit by bit with each blow, struggling to maintain its physical form. With a deafening clap like thunder directly overhead, the creature burst apart, leaving only tendrils of mist behind. A burnished metal sphere, just over a foot in diameter, dropped from the empty space where the corrupted Storm Sovereign had been a heartbeat earlier. The orb clattered onto the stones, rolling toward Errol. It thrummed with an all too familiar arcane power, calling out a siren song of seduction.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. Errol shuddered, tearing his eyes away from the tainted artifact, barely resisting its pull. The Bridge spirit kicked it, knocking the orb behind a pillar and out of view. The imminent danger has passed, but you must stay on guard. Do not usher in a new era of oppression! Errol tried to reply, tried to reassure the Bridge that he wanted nothing to do with the forbidden power, but his teeth chattered from the cold spreading through his body. His life bled out. He clawed at life, not ready to die. Through their link, now strengthened by proximity and no longer blocked by the Storm''s interference, the Bridge''s panic and affection inundated Errol. She lumbered over to his side, dwarfing him with her sheer bulk. Tenderly, she knelt down beside him. I will do what I can. My power wanes. Too many cracks, too many breakdowns . . . The twitching tendrils fulminated behind her. Energy gathered as the incorporeal echos of the Storm coalesced. They sucked in all the light, drinking the wan sunshine. Writhing with the furious aftermath of the Storm, the wisps of darkstorm formed a ball shot through with purple streaks. Errol pointed in warning, unable to form words in his dying stupor. The Bridge spirit trampled the remnant of the darkstorm''s body, tearing it asunder. Her destructive power ripped open the dark, swirling sphere of residual darkstorm. It fragmented, shattering into an arcane shockwave. The rapidly-expanding, gaseous ring of static and pressure¡ªthe ghost of the Storm¡ªdetonated, rocking Errol back in a final blast of discharging lightning. The untamed energy rushed through his body, crackling with malice. His eyes burst from the sudden surge. He screamed into the void as torment wracked his body. His life threads came undone, unraveling in his mind, fragmenting in his soul. Ripping, tearing, burning out¡ª Errol blazed with sudden white-hot light, visible even without eyes. A glowing nimbus of fire and glory he perceived through his spiritual senses covered him in rejuvenating power. His eyes re-formed in their sockets. The healing light cascaded throughout his newly-leveled, reborn body. Bones reknit. Skin regrew. He breathed in, savoring the sweetness of air, and laughed. His voice rang out, fresh and clean, like a child''s peal of innocent joy. The Bridge chuckled along with him, a deep sound like rushing waters filling his mind. We are free, my child. For too many years, I''ve been neglected, ravaged, dominated¡ªbut never broken. You share that indomitable spirit. He smiled up at the Bridge. ¡°Flattery? I''ll take it after a day like this! Thank you for saving me. Again. I''m indebted thrice.¡± Nonsense! the Bridge rumbled. This is your victory, child. ¡°But I didn''t do anything!¡± he protested weakly. ¡°You destroyed that monstrosity.¡± Your sacrifice tipped the scales. Without your help to overload and destabilize the ritual, the Storm would have killed me and escaped into the world, no longer constrained by our bond of mutual imprisonment. You have repaid your debts ten thousand times over. Errol sank down to the ground, sick to his stomach as he processed her words. ¡°You¡¯re saying we almost destroyed the world, tampering with power we didn''t understand? We thought we''d free you and return with the Stormorb. Instead, you''ve been preserving us all this time.¡± They couldn''t give the Stormorb over to Indara. She wouldn''t heed their warnings. If he claimed it now, however, he could bind to it, like the Bridge, and keep it under control. He licked his lips, suddenly panting with desire for power. He may not be an Eel anymore¡ªan emotional wound he wasn¡¯t ready to deal with yet¡ªbut he could still be preeminent in the clan. He shook his head, clearing away the twisted logic; already it had its hooks in his mind. Errol pushed away the temptation to take the artifact for himself. He knew the Stormorb tainted everything it touched. He would start with the best intentions, but if he took a single step down that path, a new darkstorm was all but guaranteed. He broke off. Maybe Stefano was right. The power to summon Storms wasn''t meant for human hands¡ªor Qeren hands, either. Indara shouldn¡¯t possess this power, even if she¡¯d paid for their services to recover the device. Errol clenched his fists. They would fail their mission after all, but this time for all the right reasons. So be it. At the thought of their quest, Errol shot to his feet. He sprinted to the last place he''d seen Jarkoda, moving faster than he¡¯d ever run in his life, each stride powered by upgraded muscles and enhanced lungpower. He prayed they were still alive. His strength and agility had leaped forward, but his triumph over the darkstorm would turn into ashes if his friends hadn''t survived the blast. Jarkoda came into view at last. The big monk hovered in the air, wreathed in the same golden light that had surrounded Errol moments earlier. His scales brightened in shade from rust red to almost golden. He shone like a temple statue. Behind Jarkoda, Telyim also grew in power. Her light faded as Errol watched. The Seer touched back to the ground, a soft smile on her previously-harsh face. ¡°Hail, deliverer. You have taught me the gift of the gods!¡± ¡°Your first level?¡± Errol asked cautiously, unsure how the newfound system worked on the Bridge without Imperial oversight. They¡¯d invented the distribution of magic, after all. Hadn¡¯t they? Errol clicked his tongue. Maybe they¡¯d simply uncovered some universal law. Telyim shook her head. ¡°My second. But I thought I''d only reach another through a ritual. If I had known that overcoming a challenge with teammates was sufficient, I would have fought the Dhambro Shade alongside Rashana!¡± ¡°That hideous beast below the tower?¡± Errol guessed. ¡°I didn¡¯t even know it could die. We¡¯ve always avoided the tower. This is our most sacred space¡ªand our most deadly.¡± Warm, amber light flared around them, followed by a bellow of triumph. Errol whirled and ran to Jarkoda, clasping his shoulders. ¡°We did it! We won!¡± ¡°I thought I was going to die,¡± Jarkoda replied gravely. ¡°So did I. I¡¯m glad you made it out.¡± Jarkoda clapped his shoulder. ¡°Have you checked your ring? My vital stats show that I probably should have died. If you¡¯d taken any longer to destroy the Storm sovereign, then we wouldn¡¯t have been credited with contribution toward the kill and leveled up in time to survive. I didn¡¯t even know that was possible; I guess we simply haven¡¯t challenged ourselves enough to find out.¡± Errol chuckled. ¡°I¡¯ve been a poor leader, but l¡¯m good at escaping certain death.¡± Jarkoda shared his laugh. He clenched his fists together in front of his chest and bowed. ¡°Thank you. I owe you my life.¡± ¡°Thank the Bridge. She did most of the work.¡± Errol turned to gesture toward the massive granite form, but she¡¯d disappeared. ¡°I saw her battle form,¡± Jarkoda said. ¡°It was a rare honor.¡± ¡°The mother has blessed you,¡± Telyim agreed. A warm cluster in Errol¡¯s chest still connected him to the Bridge spirit. The bond pulsed as she sent a burst of approval. Then she seemed to turn inward, focusing on . Portions of the Bridge shifted, straightening slightly, but she couldn¡¯t repair all the damage. Perhaps Mikhail would welcome a reunion¡ªa chance at redemption. Telyim gasped, pointing up at the sun, her eyes squinted against its brilliance. ¡°So bright! So beautiful! Is this what the sky is like, outside?¡± ¡°When it¡¯s not raining,¡± Errol said, eliciting a snort from Jarkoda. They all lifted their eyes up to the heavens, enraptured by the light and warmth. Sunlight burst through a suddenly clear sky, dissolving the last stubborn vestiges of the darkstorm into thin air. The heavenly beams bathed them in golden radiance. Summer heat washed over Errol, thawing his frigid body. He laughed, drinking in the warmth greedily, not wanting to turn away even though the dazzling white seared his vision. He blinked, eyes watering, overwhelmed by the intensity of the light. Little by little, he opened his eyes, re-acclimating to life apart from the storm. After days of relentless grayscale grinding down his morale, the vast freedom of bright, azure skies nourished his soul. ¡°Thank the mother,¡± Telyim whispered. ¡°I¡¯ve always wished to see the sun, but I¡¯ve never dreamed it was so bright! Even a campfire reflecting off burnished bronze pales in comparison. And the sky! Is it all right to admire it and not be afraid of wind and hail, lightning and frost?¡± Telyim stopped to wipe away the tears forming in her eyes. ¡°Indeed!¡± Jarkoda laughed, patting her shoulder. ¡°Storms still arise, but they simply clean the air and replenish the ground. But come, let¡¯s not keep the others in the dark down below. We should bring them up here to experience the sun for themselves.¡± Errol motioned for the others to follow. He jogged back to where he thought they¡¯d come through the portal, but everything looked so different now that he couldn¡¯t be sure if they had the right spot. Had they battled the Storm in the same dimension as the Bridge proper? Just as he made up his mind to ask for help, Telyim called them over to the opening. A landslide of rocks covered the door. Errol hefted a rock and staggered a few feet away, dropping it with a thud. The others joined him a moment later, clearing the blockage. Even with their upgraded strength, it took the three of them almost half an hour to haul the boulders away, clearing a dusty, ragged hole into the command center. Inside, the rest of the team waited with their hands and weapons raised, grim determination written in their stances. Errol waved, smiling. ¡°The battle¡¯s over, friends! Come, see the sky!¡± He leaned against a wall, running his fingers over its pitted surface while he watched the survivors emerge into pure sunlight, some for the first time in their lives. Thenxi stepped out of the ruined doorway, glanced up at the sky, and burst into tears of joy. Aravind followed, hugging her and dancing. Their tears transformed into laughter. The smell of blood and ozone still lingered in Errol¡¯s nostrils. He wiped sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. Every muscle trembled after clearing the boulders. Looking around at the carnage, Errol slumped against the wall, unable to join the others in laughter. They¡¯d won, but the cost was too great in Errol¡¯s opinion: the strewn, mangled bodies of eight dead scouts, whose names he didn¡¯t even know; the charred remains of Maeda, a Shark Clan Great One; countless gouges and craters in the Bridge itself; the shattered trust of his teammates. He slipped inside while the others celebrated, walking back through the tower. Gone was the slick black sheen of the Storm¡¯s tower overlay. The violet veins of pulsing power had burst, revealing the original, natural stone. Now he stood in the control center for the Bridge, a strange stillness hanging in the air. He finally twisted his vital ring, morbid curiosity driving him. A pulsing light announced a notification. He selected the message with his mind. A new display filled his consciousness, offering details of his contribution to the fight. He swallowed nervously as he pulled up the screen to read through the combat log. Without the triumph of his team over a sovereign, no healer could have reversed the extensive damage to his body. As expected, Eel no longer displayed. Tentatively, he tried to channel a shock lance, or even his old voltage stream, but nothing happened. He¡¯d really done it. His lifelong companion, his secret trick, was gone. A part of him had hoped its potency was simply diminished, that he¡¯d managed to hang on to the power of lightning. ¡°It¡¯s better this way,¡± Errol said aloud, steadying himself with the sound of his own voice. ¡°A clean break.¡± ¡°Looking to run off again?¡± Taras demanded from behind him. Errol flinched, whirling around to face his unasked-for nemesis. He tried to reply, but his mouth had gone bone dry. He knelt down on the ground, hands clasped, and bowed his head to Taras. Trembling, he licked his lips and found the courage to speak. ¡°You should have led this team. All I did was cause death and misery. I wanted to be just like you. I tried so hard to copy you as much as possible¡ªto be strong, respected, full of nobility. But I simply don¡¯t have what it takes. If you need to pursue justice, so be it.¡± Errol rested his forehead against the cool stone. He¡¯d freed the Bridge. The others could complete the mission. If he accomplished nothing else in life, he could be proud of his last act to fight off the Storm. Maeda had started the fight, and the Bridge itself had done the hardest part, but he was satisfied with his contribution. Taras would do what had to be done. They could take Meri back and heal him in Laurentum. Maybe the rest would think of him kindly for his role in the fight, despite what he¡¯d done. Footsteps echoed through the chamber. Errol raised his head, just in time to watch Taras walk away, his robes swirling around his old, gaunt frame. What is this? Mercy from the Justicar of Flames? Errol cradled his head in his hands and cried. He didn¡¯t deserve to live, but maybe this was the dawn of a new day for all of them. Chapter Forty - The End Pure sunlight streamed through a few light clouds, high in a pristine blue sky. Gruvrik stared up at the picturesque scene, pretending he was back in the forested hills of his homeland. He enjoyed quiet moments of rest under the summer sky. Gulls called out in shrill tones, shattering Gruvrik¡¯s carefully-constructed, fragile peace. He swore and kicked the side of the tiny skiff, where he huddled as far from the water as he could. He licked his lips, grimaced at the taste of salt, and grabbed Taras¡¯s arm. ¡°We almost there yet?¡± ¡°Aren¡¯t you the oldest one here?¡± Rashana teased, poking him in the ribs with a sharp, metal toe. ¡°You¡¯re acting like you¡¯re only four! Another hour and this will all be over. You¡¯ll never have to set sail again.¡± Gruvrik groaned. ¡°An hour!¡± ¡°I agree with the dwarf,¡± Taras said, staring out over the water in the direction of the city. Gruvrik stopped moaning for a moment and sat up, squinting one eye at the old justicar, as though he could draw out the man¡¯s secrets if he stared long enough. Why speak up now? He¡¯d barely spoken the entire way back, taking up the rear guard to ensure that he was as far away from Errol as possible. At least they¡¯d agreed to settle their differences after they reported back to Grimhilt, but their argument had dragged down everyone¡¯s mood. Hails from a ship brought a rush of relief. Gruvrik stared at the approaching vessel. Best not sink before it reaches us! As soon as the sailors tossed ropes over the sides of the ship and secured the skiff, he scrambled up to the larger vessel. The rest of their passage across the water went smoothly enough, but the rocking motion made his stomach lurch with every wave. Errol gathered them into his cramped cabin once they¡¯d stowed their gear. He gestured to their newest member, the heir to the Dell¡¯Atti fortune. ¡°Stefano¡¯s offered to help us convince Indara of the dangers of the Stormorb. Before we report to Grimhilt, however, I¡¯d like to ensure we¡¯re all of one mind.¡± Gruvrik bristled. ¡°She cannot expect us to just give over this power.¡± ¡°Agreed,¡± Errol said. ¡°But we need a plan. Otherwise, they¡¯ll split us up when we arrive, whisk away the Stormorb, and ensure we never get to lodge a complaint. What do you think will happen to us if we protest? They¡¯ll make sure no one ever finds us.¡± ¡°They wouldn¡¯t dare!¡± Jarkoda growled. He clenched his fists, snorting a puff of flames from his nostrils. ¡°Stefano is a peer of the city. Taras is a famous retired justicar. They can¡¯t just make us disappear.¡± Stefano shook his head sadly. ¡°No one even knows if I¡¯m still alive.¡± ¡°And we venerate heroes after they¡¯re dead,¡± Taras interrupted, ¡°but not when they¡¯re old and inconvenient. As much as I hate to admit it, the Shark is right.¡± Gruvrik snorted. Taras wouldn¡¯t even look at Errol. As far as he was concerned, all¡¯s well that ends well. He shrugged. ¡°She can¡¯t have it. Simple. Don¡¯t need much of a plan.¡± ¡°What¡¯s going to happen to us if this goes wrong?¡± Aravind asked. He stood nearby, his hand on Meri¡¯s shoulder. The two had accompanied their team at Errol¡¯s instance, since he had offered to pay for whatever healing Meri required to safely undo the soulbond and restore him to good health. ¡°Cedric can help,¡± Errol replied at length. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen him since I entered Shark Clan and he started up that newspaper venture, but he¡¯s your best chance to spread the story.¡± Aravind¡¯s brow furrowed. He pulled Meri closer protectively. ¡°And why would we want to spread the story? I¡¯d rather keep quiet, in case we must flee. From what I¡¯ve heard, your Seer is likely to claim this power for her own. If she¡¯s as ruthless as Stefano claims, then we may need to go into hiding.¡± To Gruvrik¡¯s surprise, Taras stepped into the conversation, taking up Errol¡¯s position. ¡°He makes a decent point,¡± the old justicar grumbled, gesturing toward Errol. ¡°It¡¯s difficult to move against someone in the public eye.¡± ¡°Forgive my ignorance, but what¡¯s a newspaper?¡± Aravind asked. ¡°Well, it¡¯s a big sheet of paper with . . . news . . . on it,¡± Rhae supplied, beaming up at the perplexed-looking man. Aravind shook his head, muttering. ¡°I see that I have much to learn. Only our Seers even know how to read, but they inscribe runes on bones. Sometimes they write on hides. This paper you¡¯ve shown me, with your maps drawn on top, must exist in abundance.¡± ¡°Nothing to worry about,¡± Jarkoda said. ¡°It¡¯s a big world out there, but you¡¯ll learn quickly. I suspect you¡¯ll do better than we did when our situations were reversed a few days ago. We¡¯re lucky to be alive after our time on the Bridge.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t read the paper,¡± Taras interjected, ¡°but I¡¯ve heard from others that it has gained popularity¡ªeven among the nobility, although they might deny that they subscribe until it¡¯s more fashionable to admit that they share an interest with commoners. Cedric will turn Meri into the face of the Bridge: an entire people we all thought long-dead, now rediscovered and returned to the fold. People love hearing about survivors. Who¡¯s a more unlikely hero than a child who¡¯s not supposed to exist? Yet he survived an attack from an Eel and is journeying to a strange land in the company of famous warriors. That¡¯s a story that will sell!¡± ¡°I¡¯ll talk with Captain Shiori,¡± Errol volunteered. ¡°She¡¯ll hide you when we reach port.¡± Aravind crossed his arms. ¡°What if she gets in trouble on our behalf with this Indara? It¡¯s not worth the risk to involve another person.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll ensure she¡¯s compensated for her role,¡± Errol said. He looked away, staring out over the water, and whispered the next words so softly that Gruvrik barely heard it, even with his big, sensitive, Dwarven ears. ¡°It¡¯s the least I can do.¡± The team dispersed to prepare for disembarking at the docks. Errol led Aravind and Meri toward the captain¡¯s quarters, along with Stefano, who also preferred to remain hidden from the public eye until he decided if he wanted to meet with his father and rejoin society as the heir to House Dell¡¯Atti. When they disappeared below deck a moment later, Taras sighed and leaned up against the railing. He gripped the wood hard with strong hands, but his body sagged. His jaw clenched and unclenched, as though he was wrestling with something. Gruvrik sidled up to Taras, grateful that the railing was tall enough to prevent him from a direct sightline to the sea down below the boat. ¡°You like the boy, despite everything.¡± ¡°We asked too much of him. It¡¯s a wonder he did as well as he did,¡± Taras growled. ¡°His mistakes will haunt him until his dying days.¡± ¡°Aye, I have a few of those, too,¡± Gruvrik said softly. Taras let out a heavy exhale. ¡°We all do. Right or wrong, I made the choice to believe it will make him a better man in the end. He¡¯ll do his best to make amends, but who knows what the future will hold.¡± ¡°You made the right decision. Never regret mercy.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve regretted it more than a few times. I¡¯d never admit it to anyone else, but there¡¯s the truth of it, from one old codger to another.¡± ¡°Then make sure this time is different. Become his ally, not his enemy.¡± ¡°Aye, maybe,¡± Taras said. ¡°Maybe. But where is the justice in all this?¡± Gruvrik clapped Taras on the back. ¡°Questions for a wiser man! Let¡¯s prepare to leave this oversized, floating coffin. I¡¯m going to kiss the ground when I¡¯m back on the shore.¡± =+= Errol had rejoined the Captain on deck, his crew in tow. The ship slowed, barely drifting in the water now as it approached the quay. Dockworkers hailed the ship and secured the hawsers. A bustle of activity cut off any chances at conversation as the sailors readied the ship¡¯s gangplank and scurried up and down the rope ladders, rolling up and tying back the sails. They¡¯d docked at last, but Errol couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that the most difficult encounter was still to come. He inspected the team, ensuring that they¡¯d collected their items, and proceeded down the ramp. Two ornate carriages awaited them at the docks, surrounded by a detachment of guards in heavy plate and halberds, decked out in Indara¡¯s personal colors. Captain Grimhilt sat astride a big chestnut stallion, which stamped at the ground and wickered with barely-contained animosity. Errol strode to the front and bowed. ¡°Captain Grimhilt! You flatter us by bringing Indara¡¯s honor guard instead of the city watch for our escort.¡± ¡°Indara has instructed that I bring you to her private palace at once for a celebration and a retelling of your adventure. We wouldn¡¯t want to misuse the city watch in such fashion. Now, if you¡¯ll please board the carriages, we¡¯ll be off at once.¡± ¡°I¡¯d rather hoped to stop at the bathhouses first,¡± Errol quipped. Grimhilt gave him a tight smile, one cheek twitching slightly. ¡°It¡¯s imperative that we join her with all haste.¡± Errol made a show of looking around. ¡°Are you worried about prying eyes, Captain? Who would possibly be on the lookout for your humble servants?¡±Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. Gruvrik walked up and kicked him in the shins. ¡°You¡¯ve made your point, lad. Let¡¯s get on with it.¡± ¡°Very well,¡± Errol sighed. ¡°Load up! We¡¯ve got one more responsibility to take care of, my friends. Let¡¯s hope we¡¯ve earned our keep.¡± He climbed into the carriage, noting that a contingent of guards sat inside each carriage. Was this escort a show of honor, or a prisoner transport? He stuffed his concerns deep inside. The ride to the palace passed in tense silence. Once everyone arrived, Grimhilt ushered them inside to meet Indara. A banqueting table with a lavish spread of seared meat, roasted vegetables, and piles of pies and pastries captured the team¡¯s attention, but Gruvrik and Taras hung back with Errol. They all locked eyes, frowning, confirming a shared sense of unease. Gruvrik edged in their direction, speaking in low tones. ¡°Trust the plan a little longer, but be ready for a fight if it all falls apart. No one wants to give over that artifact to her.¡± Indara rose from an engraved throne on the dais, resplendent in a shimmering dress of black silk shot through with silver. ¡°I¡¯m dying to hear about your adventures! But first, please eat. You must be tired of the rations you carried with you on the Bridge.¡± Servers led them to their seats. Gruvrik shrugged at Errol and bounded over to his seat. He tore into a perfectly-cooked turkey leg, dripping with glorious gobs of grease. Errol crossed his arms and refused to allow himself to be seated. ¡°If you please, Indara, I¡¯d like to get straight to business.¡± Indara graced him with a dazzling smile, her laughter bubbling up like a garden fountain. ¡°Ah, but you¡¯ve grown, little shark! Very well, let¡¯s hear what you have to say.¡± Errol strode to the center of the room, angling his body so that both Indara and the team could see and hear him as he spoke. He paused, back straight as a spear, meeting eyes without flinching. ¡°You¡¯ve all seen the breaking of the Storm. We have succeeded in freeing the Bridge from the tyranny of its oppressors. Yet I cannot call this mission a success.¡± He let the words hang in the air, staring straight at Indara in the sudden silence. The chancellor leaned forward, an eyebrow quirked. Her horns pulsated rapidly for a split-second, but she soon brought the color under control, barely giving away her distress. ¡°All right, you¡¯ve piqued our interest. Go on!¡± ¡°We made quick time traveling back to the landing zone once the Bridge¡¯s structure was no longer shrouded in darkstorm. The difference was, as the saying goes, like night and day. In the place where darkness reigned and fear lurked, we found flowers starting to bloom. We may be simple hunters, hired to retrieve an item for you, but we want good things to flourish for our city and its people. After what we¡¯ve seen and felt, we do not believe the Stormorb will lead to good things. It can only bring darkness and destruction in the end.¡± ¡°Your passion is admirable,¡± Indara replied blandly. ¡°But rest assured, I¡¯ll do everything in my power to properly use such a magnificent artifact. I will control the wind and rain. No one in Laurentum will ever again have to fear storms. Drought will be a thing of the past. Our region of the Empire will flourish like never before¡ª¡± ¡°I have no doubt of your intentions,¡± Errol interrupted. ¡°But we¡¯ve seen firsthand the way its power corrupts. What guarantees can you give us that you¡¯ll safeguard yourself against the tainted draw of this kind of power? ¡°The Stormorb is an abomination against nature! It twists not only the weather, but also the soul of whoever tries to control it. Instead of remanding it to your care, the team has agreed that it should be destroyed before it can cause more harm.¡± Indara motioned two servers forward. ¡°Perhaps you should sit and eat. Your long journey has made you irritable. My servants will see to all your needs.¡± The servers tried to steer him to the table, but Errol batted their hands away. ¡°Dismiss us at your own peril. The Stormorb can control the weather, yes, but it was made to conjure up the might of storms. Elumunor created it for that purpose! He may have died before seeing through his plan, but his legacy is unavoidable.¡± ¡°How do you know that name?¡± Indara demanded, her horns flashing blood-red. ¡°Ah! That struck a nerve. You should have told us about him before you sent us to die on the Bridge.¡± ¡°You¡¯re quite clearly alive,¡± Indara retorted. ¡°And I had no idea that Shark Clan raised up street brats to become scholars. Tell me about this Elumunor you know so much about.¡± ¡°I¡¯d rather talk about your plan to create new Eels now that the darkstorm is gone,¡± Errol replied, finally walking over to the table and sampling a bite of roast. He chewed slowly, his eyes never leaving Indara¡¯s horns. He was flinging darts in the dark, hoping for a hit, so he decided to go for broke. ¡°It must pain you to lose such a valuable resource.¡± Captain Grimhilt strode forward, his hand on his sword hilt. His face gleamed darkly with tightly-controlled rage. ¡°You will not speak to the Chancellor with such impudence any longer! Be silent or meet my blade.¡± ¡°Stand down, Grimhilt,¡± Indara commanded, her tone suddenly ice and steel. ¡°I will hear what this Shark has to say. Privately.¡± Indara stood, dismissing the guards and servants, and summoned Errol to follow her to a sitting room nearby the main chamber. When he arrived, she was puffing furiously, a long pipe in her hand. ¡°Sit, boy.¡± Errol sank into a cushioned chaise lounge. ¡°As you command, Chancellor.¡± ¡°Ha! Don¡¯t mock me. Now is a fine time to rediscover your manners.¡± ¡°I have no wish for enmity between us,¡± Errol said. ¡°But we cannot simply turn over the Stormorb and trust that the Imperial mages will do what¡¯s best for us all.¡± Indara¡¯s lips curled up into a slow, predatory smile. ¡°Who said anything about turning it over to the mages? I don¡¯t intend to let it out of my sight. Now, tell me what you know about the Eels.¡± Errol shrugged. ¡°Do you still have our vital readouts?¡± ¡°Ah, you lost your abilities. You want to find a way to regain them?¡± ¡°No. That ship has sailed. But I¡¯m curious what you were planning with Shark Clan, and why you¡¯d risk losing your current method of creating Eels just to recover the Stormorb.¡± Indara tamped down her pipe. She blew out a mouthful of blue-gray smoke. ¡°Tell me. Are you loyal to the Sharks?¡± ¡°After what I¡¯ve witnessed on the Bridge? Less than I was,¡± Errol admitted. ¡°An honest answer. Rare these days! I commend you. But let me give you some advice: in the days to come, you¡¯re better off aligning with me than with your Sharks. I am on the cusp of power they can never dream of attaining. Join me. I¡¯ll ensure you rise in the world.¡± Errol shook his head slowly. ¡°I¡¯m afraid that I don¡¯t share your ambitions. But I¡¯m glad to know that I made the right choice, sinking the Stormorb underneath the Bridge.¡± Indara whirled on him. ¡°You what?¡± Errol smirked. ¡°For a politician, you¡¯re not very good at avoiding trickery. Of course we didn¡¯t take that risk. Who knows which creatures might find it below the depths? The last thing we need is an Adaro invasion. Imagine the tsunamis they could summon! They¡¯d submerge the entire city before we could defend ourselves.¡± ¡°A terrifying proposition,¡± Indara murmured. ¡°Now you understand why we can¡¯t just give you the Stormorb? It¡¯s too great a risk. But if you let us help you study it, then we¡¯re prepared to make a deal.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± Indara snorted. ¡°It¡¯s always about the gold, isn¡¯t it?¡± She waved him on with the silvery stem of her pipe. He took a deep breath and laid out their plan. =+= Rashana smiled, watching Jarkoda dash about, double-checking the cart that would take them out of Laurentum to a nearby monastery. After deliberations, Indara had agreed to sequester herself with them to further study the Stormorb. They¡¯d keep each other in check¡ªand Rashana would have a chance to get to know Indara, her creation seed, better. Jarkoda was always so serious, so certain of the righteousness of his actions. She didn¡¯t always share Jarkoda¡¯s strict views of the world, which made him the perfect leash to rein in her baser instincts. She walked over to help him pull the last strap tight on the cart, and he gave her a return smile in gratitude. He would balance her out, help to restrain her bloody impulses, while they worked with Indara to figure out the power of the Stormorb. Everything could be tamed, given enough time. Indara had promised her that. Perhaps there is hope for me yet. Rashana waved goodbye to the city as they departed. It was time for a new adventure in a new place. And if the artifact proved too powerful to investigate safely, then she would do her duty and show why she¡¯d adopted her new name: The Executioner¡¯s Blade. =+= ¡°I¡¯ll miss you, Uncle Gru!¡± Gruvrik tugged his beard, scowling at Rhae. ¡°That name better not stick. I¡¯ll never hear the end of it back home.¡± Rhae¡¯s horns pulsated with faint violet and rose¡ªcolors he¡¯d come to associate with her sense of embarrassment. She shook her head. ¡°Don¡¯t worry! I can¡¯t leave the school for another couple years after I return from this grand adventure. By the time I graduate, I¡¯ll be too old to call you my uncle. You¡¯ll have to get used to the older, sophisticated version of me.¡± ¡°Not likely we¡¯ll see each other again, lass. You did well, but I prefer solitude. Back to the peace and quiet of nature with me.¡± ¡°Won¡¯t you come visit? We have some beautiful wildlands North of of Fair Haven. I could take you on a dragon watching tour!¡± ¡°Dragons and dwarves don¡¯t mix too well,¡± Gruvrik said, chuckling as he recalled some of his interactions with the beasts in the past. ¡°They want our treasures, we want theirs¡ªcome to think of it, I guess I could be convinced if you¡¯re up for a treasure hunt.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be the best treasure partner you¡¯ve ever hunted with, I promise! I¡¯ll even write a song about it when we come back victorious. Nothing can stop you and me, Uncle Gru.¡± ¡°No, I reckon not,¡± Gruvrik said. =+= Errol unfolded the scrap of parchment he¡¯d gotten from Telyim. He tapped the sketches of the map with a finger. A final, parting gift from the dead Great One: the name and location of her original teacher. A way forward, perhaps, now that he¡¯d given up his power. Shark Clan had welcomed him back, but he hadn¡¯t missed the looks of derision after they¡¯d heard about the way he¡¯d given up his abilities. As Aravind and Meri were learning, it was a big world, full of mystery and adventure. He had gold in his purse and a few extra levels under his belt. Why not see what was out there, far beyond the confines of Laurentum or the Bridge? This was his best chance to explore. Perhaps he could still make a name for himself, even without his Storm-given abilities. Errol shouldered his bag, already packed in case he decided to go, and set out from the Clan compound. Long habit made him check for the state of the Darkstorm out over the bay to see if he¡¯d need to throw on his oil-slicked cloak. The clear blue skies still made his breath catch every time, even two weeks after they¡¯d destroyed the Storm. He wandered down streets he had travelled as a child, stopping to stare at the crumbling tenement where old Pendelton had died. He sighed, a twinge of loss in his chest as memories rushed through him. No one still remained from back then. Poor old Pendleton had suffocated on a candied sweet that Errol had brought him, all alone in his dark, cramped apartment. His father had died of a wasting illness; they hadn¡¯t been able to afford medicine, if a cure even existed. And his first boss at the fishery had been cut apart by a rival gang. So much death. This city was nothing but a cauldron of suffering. Laurentum didn¡¯t hold his interest anymore. Still, as the day dragged on, Errol kept turning away from the city gates, tugged back into the city by some inscrutable force. He moseyed through Selinsgrove Market, browsing through the wares for sale and sampling hot, spicy foods from the street vendors. After he¡¯d eaten his fill, Errol stopped by Munsey Fountain to soak his feet and watch the passersby toss coins in the wishing well. He trudged through old haunts in Hubbard, eating dinner at a tavern he¡¯d always been terrified to enter as a boy, just to prove he wasn¡¯t scared anymore. When evening fell, he found his feet taking him along familiar streets, back to the Clan compound. He laughed at himself, shook his head, and went inside. No matter how much some things changed, Laurentum was his home. THE END Epilogue

Epilogue

Taras breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the salty tang of fresh air. The harbor seemed brighter and more hopeful than he remembered. He¡¯d spent his entire life in the shadow of the darkstorm but never realized how much it dominated the mind and spirit. Regardless of what Indara chose to try with that accursed object, he had served his city well by removing the shadow. Soon he would report for duty to the temple and tell the true story of his role in what had transpired on the Bridge. But for now, he basked in the warmth of the dawn, watching gold and scarlet lights play across the clear sapphire water in a patina of early morning glory. He had missed quiet moments of contemplation like this while on the Bridge. It was good to enjoy the light again now that he had returned to the mainland. He tossed a pebble over the edge of the pier. Ripples spread out from its point of impact, breaking the pattern of light. He slung his shield over his shoulder and turned to the shoreline. Duty called. He could come back another day and take in the sights. Two clerics stood on the beach, hands clasped together under their robes. They seemed to be waiting for him, so he quickened his stride to meet them. Best not to keep his fellow clerics any longer than necessary; he could pay them the courtesy of haste. Although he didn¡¯t recognize either man, he knew the sigil on the scroll they held out for him to read. His mouth went dry, but he nodded in greeting and took the offered scroll, scanning its contents to confirm his suspicions. Word of the soulbond had spread. He would be called on to give an account. ¡°Thank you for delivering this message, brothers,¡± Taras said, inclining his head. ¡°I will be on my way shortly.¡± The one on the left, a slender, slightly-stooped man with a goatee, flashed an apologetic smile. ¡°I¡¯m afraid that you¡¯ll have to come with us at once in answer to the summons. Right this way, if you please.¡± Taras shifted his cloak on instinct, loosening his shield in case he needed to fight. Far in the recesses of his mind, the cleric¡¯s aged, pockmarked face jogged a memory of a name. With a practiced bow, Taras brought his emotions under control. ¡°Naturally.¡± They walked toward the temple district, crossing through Hubbard District along the way. Taras kept searching the past. Where had he met this man? After a few moments of silence, the second cleric gestured toward a tavern. ¡°Eaten yet? Could stop for a quick bite, if we pick up the pace afterward to make up the lost time.¡± ¡°Not necessary. I do not wish to delay your orders.¡± The fat man shook a sausage-like finger at Taras. ¡°No trouble at all! I¡¯ll buy. No one ever accused Kioko of lacking generosity.¡± Taras studied Kioko¡¯s heavy jowls. He was probably accustomed to a life of ease, here in the city, much like the newer acolytes Taras despised so much. Physical labor was right out of the question, and a walk through the city appeared to be enough to qualify. Already a thin sheen of slick sweat already dotted Kioko¡¯s forehead. Taras schooled his face to stillness, keeping his disgust hidden. ¡°Very well. I have no wish to deprive you, brother.¡±Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. They ducked into the tavern and took a seat along the back wall, away from prying eyes. No one wanted to eavesdrop on temple business, but prudence never hurt. The barkeep waved over a server as soon as they entered, and the young man soon emerged from the back kitchen with a platter of bread and apple slices, piles of soft yellow cheese, and three flagons of ale. ¡°Well-known here?¡± Taras asked, attempting to make small talk. Rhae had encouraged it, although he generally found the practice useless. ¡°Aye, real regulars,¡± Kioko said, spitting out the words around a mouthful of cheese. His partner crossed his arms, not eating. ¡°Some of us are regulars.¡± Taras tore off a hunk of brown, crusty bread and smeared it with cheese. The rich flavors prompted a smile. Simple pleasures had taken on new dimensions and quality after his time on the Bridge. He washed it down with a swig of ale. The amber brew carried a bitter bite, but there was a hint of sweetness and subtle scents that spoke of finer tastes than he expected, given the grubby establishment. Kioko belched and slapped his belly. ¡°Good, huh?¡± ¡°Worth the stop,¡± Taras agreed, finishing up his plate quickly. The scrawny cleric seemed ready to leave any second, tapping his fingers against the worn wooden table. Taras didn¡¯t want to appear impolite. He stood, ready to depart. His world tilted sideways. Taras staggered, clutching the edge of the table to maintain his balance. Kioko steadied him with a hand on his shoulder, a sad smile on his face. Taras reached inward, conjuring a ball of flame¡ªbut nothing happened. Chest heaving as he gasped for air, Taras tried to pull away from the clerics. His body felt sluggish and heavy, each movement requiring his full focus. Betrayed by my own brethren. The reedy-looking man gripped the front of Taras¡¯s cloak, holding him up, a smug look of satisfaction on his face. Through the pain, a name came to Taras in a sudden moment of clarity: Rieth, one of the high inquisitors. Reith and Kioko dragged Taras to the back. The other patrons of the inn ignored Taras¡¯s struggles. They must all be on the take. Agony exploded in his side. He doubled over, unable to brace himself when Reith struck again. His thoughts scattered. Kioko swung open a heavy, iron-bound door near the kitchen. They shoved him inside a small room, walls blackened with soot. Heat rolled over him in waves from an iron furnace. Half of the furnace reached into the kitchen, and the other half into this room, embedded in the wall. He puzzled over the construction in a daze. Reith pulled on thick leather gloves. He opened a small portal on the side of the furnace and pulled a red-hot poker from the coals. ¡°Say the words of your oath.¡± Taras tried to form the sounds, but his tongue felt like sludge in his mouth. He coughed, hacking up bloody froth, but no words came out despite his efforts. Reith moved the glowing metal closer to his face. Taras sputtered, sinking to the floor. At a nod from Reith, Kioko waved a hand toward Taras, sending a light healing through his body. Taras gulped down a breath of air. He tottered to his feet and spoke. ¡°I am a light in the darkness.¡± ¡°And were you faithful to the light on the Bridge?¡± ¡°I was,¡± Taras began. Reith slapped him across the face, spinning him to the floor. ¡°You were not! You betrayed your brethren. You betrayed your oath.¡± Taras stood as tall as he could, gathering his remaining strength. ¡°All my life I have done what is right. My record speaks for itself.¡± ¡°And the soulbond? You deny you performed this abomination?¡± ¡°On the Bridge, I did what I had to do in order to preserve an innocent life. I saw justice in it. I still see justice in it.¡± Reith leered at him. ¡°A fine choice of words. As punishment, you will see no more.¡± Kioko gripped Taras by the arms before he could fight back, forcing him to his knees with inexorable strength. The poker flashed in front of his face, its tip glowing red with heat. Searing pain ignited in his eye sockets. Taras screamed as the world blazed white. Then darkness fell, and he knew no more.