Free Sample (first 5 chapters)

1 – Playing With Armor

Mallory

Thousands of scratch marks scored the walls. Mallory climbed into one and stood on tiptoes to graze the top of it. “Each of his claws is bigger than me.” The scale of this tunnel made sense now that they’d met Protector Daserus.

“How much food and water does such a creature need?” Boxer asked. “And where does he pee? I bet he could fill a swimming pool.”

Rain pulled apart thick vines covering the wall to expose another oversized passage. “This place is bigger than I thought.”

“Wanna explore?” Boxer asked.

“I’d love to, but time has a habit of running away from us.” Mallory climbed down and waved the boys on. “We should get back to Sendia. The Ground Dwellers aren’t going to rescue themselves.”

“Let’s at least tinker with the armor while we walk,” Boxer said. “It may prove handy in the Staircase.”

A fair point. What to try first? If Mallory could lengthen the fabric to cover her head, how else could she shape it? With a mere thought, she willed her sleeves to inflate like balloons.

“Look at that muscle grow!” Boxer clamped his meaty hand on her biceps and squeezed. “Squishy.”

Mallory poked at the dark, matte material. “We can stretch it, but the psiros thins out and softens. This might cushion us during a fall, but may no longer protect against stabbings.”

In this place, getting stabbed was quite possible. Something was always trying to kill them.

Mallory stopped to pluck a flower from a vine and drink its tangy nectar. From all the lush vegetation, it seemed odd that a volcanic landscape lay at the end of the tunnel. But then again, nothing about the Bioprison was normal.

After reaching the bottom, she and the boys were ready to climb back to the surface and bring along 1.5 million Ground Dwellers.

Rain lifted his knife. It reflected green light from the bioluminescent vines. “Let me test it.” He poked at her still-inflated shoulder, and the psiros fabric sank. He eased the blade deeper, stopping short of Mallory’s skin.

She imagined the armor hardening to resist the knife, and it did so.

“Meta!” Rain breathed. “You can control the stiffness, even when it’s thin.”

The Protector had given them a vague hint of how to use the armor: “Your words can shape some forms of matter, just like I transform stone into barrier. With practice, you’ll learn to form objects of increasing complexity.”

A burst of pain made Mallory yank her shoulder away. She rubbed it with a wince.

“Sorry.” Rain squinted at the fabric. “I thought the armor had stopped the blade.”

“I got distracted,” Mallory said. “That must’ve softened the material again. Holding it firm might require focus.” She pulled the collar forward and reached in to check her skin. A red smear stained her fingers. “I don’t see a hole in the armor.”

“The fabric stabbed you when it took on the shape of the knife,” Boxer said. “Do you suppose a bit of psiros is swimming in your bloodstream now?”

Mallory tightened the sleeve to apply pressure on the tiny cut. “We’ll know if I manage to inflate my skin.”

“Or send ripples through it.” Boxer stretched out an arm to show an air bubble running from elbow to hand like a cormit scampering through his sleeve. “A suit with a built-in massager! I can even use this to scratch my acnestis.”

“Do I want to know what that is?” Mallory started ambling down the tunnel again, searching her memory for this unusual word.

He ran a finger between her shoulder blades. “The acnestis is the skin you can’t scratch on your own. Most mammals have a spot like this.”

“Ah, a zoology term.” Mallory nodded. “Do you have a word for the part of a fiery lake where you lost your weapon?”

“You still worried about that?”

“You’re not?”

Boxer tapped his head. “We’ll coax it out with our combined noggin power. You’ll see.”

“The Protector said we’d figure it out.” Rain pointed at the hazy black square in the distance. “There’s the door.”

“Even if we find the Sword, we still have to climb the back of the Staircase,” Mallory said. “Without a ride from Lord Drammadon this time.” The memory of that floating monster made her shiver. Now that his rocky form had sunk in a lake of magma, she wouldn’t have to see him again. Thank the City Beyond.

Rain held up a hand. “Let’s find the Sword first. Don’t want to overwhelm our noggins.” He turned to Boxer. “You use that word a lot. Is it a zoology term?”

“Nope. It’s a Boxology term.”

Mallory covered her face with a hand. “Glad you can still joke in this place.”

“Jokes will claw their way out of me if I don’t speak them,” Boxer said. “Question is, will they collect inside my fancy new armor, or claw out of that, too?” He worked his jaw in thought, staring at the back of his massive forearm. A hole formed there. It started small, then expanded to the size of a fist. He grinned and pointed. “See? A joke clawed out.”

“Not sure how useful that is, but it’s neat,” Rain said.

The hole resealed itself, and Boxer picked at the spot. “Need to be careful with this. Don’t wanna open a hole in the wrong place and embarrass ourselves.”

Mallory smacked her forehead again. “I may as well leave my hand right here.”

“Speaking of a hole in the wrong place, the Source is bound to dry up any moment now,” Rain said. “I was hoping we could hitch a ride back with the Protector. That would’ve saved us a lot of time.”

Mallory didn’t need a reminder of the looming water crisis. It burned at the edges of her mind like gastric acid. Once their underground river stopped flowing, power would go out and crops would lose irrigation. Once food stocks ran out, people would starve. As a Scribe of Legend, she couldn’t let that happen.

“The Protector’s gotta stay behind to open the barrier,” Boxer said. “That way General Magon can enter and collect Lord Drammadon.”

Right, that was the deal. Open the barrier, or Magon would fire the laser to trigger another quake.

“Why not send the myophos with us?” Mallory asked. “They could’ve rafted us over the Staircase and zapped the Mammoner’s army.”

Rain flicked a loose flap on his sleeve. “Look what I made.”

She tugged at it and froze. A pocket. “Now this looks useful. Do you have to focus to keep it from vanishing?”

“So far, it’s keeping its own shape. I’ll check it again later.” Rain tapped his chin. “So, how are we going to retrieve the Sword?”

“Fish it out with a long pole or drain the lake,” she said. “I doubt we can wade in and pull it out by hand.”

Boxer knocked on the helmet of his armor. “The fire won’t burn through this.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mallory said. “If the magma is deep enough to swallow Lord Drammadon, we’ll drown in it.”

“What if the top layer cooled into a hard crust where the Sword fell?” Rain asked.

“The surface was bubbling without exploding, suggesting it had a low viscosity. Maybe low enough for convection currents to form in the lake…” Mallory trailed off, considering the implications. “Not sure if that helps us, though. Let’s check it out.”

The tunnel’s high ceiling and heavy vegetation had the ambience of the Triurn, bringing back memories of the Prince. His interest in her felt like something plucked from a fairy tale. Then again, so did the monsters lurking in this underworld.

Did Byron truly like her? Their time building the remote-controlled car, the glances he stole of her when she pretended to look elsewhere, the individual combat training he gave her—it went beyond mere courtesy, right?

Mallory was a Scribe. His attention could stem from his faith. After all, The Book promised a reward to those who aided her and the boys:

Blessing to those who love and clothe and shelter and accept My Scribes! The zeal of my provision will come quickly to visit them.

“You do this thing with your lips when you’re thinking,” Boxer said to her.

“What thing?”

He bunched his lips like a deep-sea fish and scowled like the grizzled old men who caught them.

Mallory turned to Rain. “Do I look like that?”

Rain chuckled. “Gain a hundred pounds and grow some stubble, then maybe.”

“Do I make that face?”

He made a thoughtful face of his own. Or was he imitating hers?

She threw up her hands. “Stoogledonks. Both of you.”

Another half-hour brought them to the enormous barrier door where their fire suits lay heaped in a bulky pile.

“I’m glad to be done with these.” Mallory squatted to inspect her old suit. “But we do still need the waterpacks.” She pulled one free, untangled the shoulder straps, and gave the water a slosh. “Less than half-full.”

Rain donned a waterpack and frowned. “How do we use this with our new suits?” He hiked the armor up over his face to form a mask, made a hole for the drinking straw, and opened a slit for his eyes. “Holes are useful, after all.” His voice was only slightly muffled.

Mallory and Boxer put on their packs in a similar setup.

Pulling the black material to cover her head blotted out her vision, but didn’t block her breathing. When she wished the face would turn transparent, it did so, bulging out like a clear visor. It didn’t even fog up from her breath.

“Faceless Mallory is creeping my creepers.” Boxer waved a hand in front of her face. “How many fingernails do I have dirt under?”

“All of them.” Mallory pushed his hand aside. “I know that without looking. And I can see just fine.”

“Really? We can’t see your face.” Rain leaned in close, eyes squinting.

“Must be like one-sided glass.” She imagined the visor to be clear in both directions. “Better?”

“There you are.” Rain backed up. “Let me try.” In moments, both his and Boxer’s masks formed clear visors of their own.

Boxer turned his visor opaque and transparent again. “Meta! We have privacy shades.” He felt the area around his mouth. “Tiny breathing holes. Quick. Somebody fart. Need to see if this filters out gases.”

“We’ll soon find out,” Mallory patted the door. “A whole cavern of hydrogen sulfide awaits us, wielding the power of a million farts.” An engraving below had the Imnan word deliverance. She spoke the Daishonic translation, and the door slid open with a boom.

Beyond it, a rocky field stretched out for at least a hundred meters. Puffs of cooled magma gave way to red rivulets zigzagging from the fiery lake like lightning bolts. Behind all that loomed a sheer rock wall forming the rear of the Staircase—a stack of high plateaus barring their path to the city of Sendia. Even if the stepped part were facing them, scaling the vertical walls of each step would be impossible. Like last time, they’d have to find a passage leading into it. If one existed on this side.

Though volcanic air entered the tunnel, Mallory sensed no temperature increase. “Huh. Let’s see how it feels out there.” As she advanced, the heat never leaked into her suit—not even through her breathing holes. The haze and flames might’ve been a simulation overlaid on a holovisor HUD. And she smelled nothing. She wasn’t even sweating.

“This is like cheating.” Rain felt around his water straw. “I don’t feel hot air coming in.”

Mallory opened a hole in the material covering her hand. The act took intense focus, as if the armor knew how dangerous this place was. The sudden heat made her seal the fabric back up. She reached over for Rain’s arm and found his makeshift pocket. “It’s still there. Have you been thinking about it?”

Rain shook his head, making his straw flop. “I forgot all about it. Maybe our suits are adapting. Learning to do things automatically for us.”

Now at the shoreline, the trio slowed to a stop, keeping balance on the glassy pillows of igneous rock.

“Don’t fall in.” Mallory pulled the boys back. “You may never escape, even in this armor. Once your head dips below the magma, your breathing holes will get blocked. Unless the psiros generates oxygen, whatever air is trapped in the suit is all you’ll have left to breathe.”

“You’d smother yourself with carbon dioxide long before you run out of oxygen,” Boxer said.

Mallory nodded. “Even more reason to stay out.”

“How do we drain this?” Rain said. “Is there a plug to pull?”

She couldn’t peel her eyes away from the churning magma. Shocking red globs of it leaped with lovely violence. A geologic tantrum that never got old. She’d seen this in videos, but witnessing it firsthand seemed different, like listening to live music instead of a recording.

Wait. It wasn’t just bubbling. It flowed under the shore’s edge. She pointed down. “See that?”

“Yeah. That crust is shaped like my grandpa Bronwid’s beard,” Boxer said.

“I think she’s referring to how the fire is moving toward us,” Rain said.

Mallory nodded. “There’s got to be an outlet. Which means magma is entering from somewhere else. For the liquid level to stay constant, the flow rate in must match the flow rate out.”

“So if we stop the inflow, we can empty the lake,” Boxer observed.

“Yep!” Mallory gave him a thumbs-up. “Let’s investigate.”

She skirted the shore, eyes straining into the distance. Haze and smoke obscured most details, but as they approached the Staircase, she found it.

“There.” She pointed at a row of parallel firefalls. Magma gushed out from the wall and dumped into the lake with a steady roar. “We need to block those.”

“They look about five meters squared,” Rain said. “That’s a lot of liquid to stop. And if we managed it, what happens to the supply side?”

“All that magma would back up inside the Staircase,” Mallory guessed. “That may obstruct our return to Sendia unless we restore the flow after we find the Sword.”

“That assumes the Sword didn’t get swept down the drain tunnel,” Rain said.

Mallory tapped the empty scabbard and caught herself bunching her lips. Saps. She probably did look like a fish. “Let’s hope it’s too heavy to float. It may be stuck at the bottom, however deep that is.”

She strained her gaze at the nearest firefall, looking for some way to block it. But it was some twenty meters away from shore and at least ten meters up. “We need a closer look.”

“What are you hoping to find up there?” Rain asked.

Mallory shook her head. “Not sure. Don’t know what else to try.”

“Neither do I,” Rain agreed. “Pray hard. This might get me killed.”

Before she could ask what he meant, he was already trotting over to the wall. After frisking it with gloved hands, he began to climb.

“What? No, stop!” Mallory called out. It was completely vertical and coated in glassy obsidian. She drew near and rubbed its slick surface. With a few tiny handholds, this would be dangerous in normal conditions. But Rain couldn’t guess how compromised any portion of rock might be until he’d already committed his weight, and any failure would send him straight into the magma.

“Get back here!” she shouted.

Ignoring her, Rain ascended and shifted sideways, now over the lake.

“We’ll think of something else,” Mallory said.

Boxer held up a finger. “Give him quiet. He needs to focus.”

“What if that stone crumbles?”

Boxer’s finger went to her lips. “Shush. Just watch.”

Mallory wanted to bite that finger. Actually, she wanted to look away and find a place to hyperventilate.

Rain clung to the rock face like a spider, arms stretched so wide, she couldn’t fathom the strain on his fingertips and toes. Every speck that dropped from the wall made her breath hitch. He was halfway there, right hand questing for the next divot, outstretched foot digging for purchase.

The knob he grabbed with his left hand broke free, and he lurched. Boxer’s hand clamped over Mallory’s scream, and she shoved his massive arm in vain. After a long moment, he released her and smiled. “He’s almost there.”

Boxer was right. Rain was now so close to the nearest firefall that glowing flecks landed on him, leaving spots on his armor that slowly blackened. “One!” He shouted in Daishonic.

The magma flow slacked until it stopped. Mallory watched in dumb shock. “What did you do?”

Rain climbed onto the lip of the drain pipe and sat, feet dangling. He leaned back against something flat and dark. “It’s a barrier door. Whatever you do, don’t repeat that number.”

Mallory sagged against Boxer, faint with relief. “Stoogledonk.”

“See how slowly it shut?” Rain called down. “I bet it was to avoid water hammer. So to speak. The jolt resulting from that might’ve knocked me down.”

Boxer counted off the other firefalls and hollered up, “Seven more to go!”

Mallory pointed to the next-to-last drain, which was also slowing down. “Not any more. Saps, Box. You just shut one by accident. We need to be meta careful.”

Boxer cupped his mouth with his hands and shouted the Daishonic words, “Two! Three! Four! Five! Six! Eight!”

Each firefall stopped as their respective doors closed, cutting off the roar, so only bubbling and crackling sounds remained.

“No more numbers.” She tugged at his arm. “Better yet, let’s speak in Imnan, just in case.”

“How long will this take?” Boxer asked. “Our water won’t last us a full day.”

Mallory stooped and pointed. “Make a note of current magma level and start counting. Watch how far it drops in the first minute.”

After a count of sixty, she made a rough measure of the newly exposed rock. “Sixteen centimeters per minute. Assuming a steady rate, we can expect about nine hundred and sixty centimeters per hour.”

“Almost ten meters an hour. That’s fast,” Boxer said.

Against Mallory’s protests, Rain started climbing back down, insisting he remembered the path. Even Boxer warned that descending would be harder, but Rain waved off all concerns. Indeed, he managed the task well enough. At least until the last stretch.

Three meters from shore and about two meters up, Rain’s leading foot dislodged a chunk of obsidian. He now dangled by one hand, his fingers slipping as Mallory watched in frozen horror.

Then he fell.

2 – Draining Magma

“Rain!” Mallory screamed and jumped in after him.

He was in up to his neck, his covered face craning upward to stay clear of the magma. Mallory was only in up to her waist, but sank slowly through the bright sludge. She removed her scabbard and extended it to Rain. “Grab this!”

His hand broke free of the fiery surface and clutched the end. Mallory reached back to shore, where Boxer’s arm was outstretched. His hand lay a few centimeters beyond reach.

“Saps!” He withdrew and pulled out his knife. It added ample length, but her fingertips weren’t strong enough to grip it.

Boxer tossed the knife aside and inflated the armor around his feet like pontoons. Then, taking a deep breath, he stepped out onto the lake. Sinking much more slowly than the others, he grabbed Mallory’s hand and walked backwards, his steps belabored in the sludgy liquid.

From the shore, he pulled his friends against the thickness of the magma. She thought he’d pull her shoulder out of socket, but he was slow and careful. Eventually, she and Rain climbed to safety and lay sprawled on the hard ground with heaving gasps.

Boxer peeled off chunks of rocky shell that hardened around everyone’s armor. “You were so close,” he said to Rain.

“Thank the City for you guys.” Rain let out a long breath. “I’m surprised I sank so fast at first, then slowed down right after.”

“Under high shear stresses, magma’s viscosity drops, letting it flow more easily,” Mallory said. “But when that stress goes away, its viscosity returns, making it sludgy again. If I’d thought about that, I would’ve stepped in more softly like Boxer did.”

“Yeah.” Boxer chuckled. “I was totally thinking about fluid physics at the time.”

“You were,” Mallory said. “That extra buoyancy in your feet saved us all.”

Rain pointed to Boxer’s back. “You still have your waterpack, but mine and Mallory’s are gone.”

Even her straw was missing. “Saps. How are we going to make it out of here now?”

“We can share mine.” Boxer tossed a magma chunk into the lake. “But we’ll have to ration it.”

“I should’ve removed my pack before climbing.” Rain sat up and frowned at the wall, probably reevaluating his handhold choices.

“Hey, your little stunt worked,” Mallory said. “It’s hard to stay miffed at you. Stoogle.”

While they waited for the lake to drain, she tried to make air pockets in her armor to cushion against falls and weapon strikes. After several failed attempts, she ended up folding the fabric in on itself to form a crude sort of bubble wrap.

She couldn’t enlarge the cushions too much before the psiros material stretched dangerously thin, though. At best, she could make a one-centimeter cushion on all sides or a slightly thicker one across a smaller area. Neither arrangement would protect her from a significant fall. If she were thrown backward during a fight, a cushion on the back of her head could save her from a concussion, perhaps.

Another half hour passed before a round stone jutted up from the lowering magma. It shook off its obsidian crust to expose a sandstone head beneath.

Lord Drammadon.

Soon, two more heads rose from the fire. They gasped and convulsed, looking around and making odd whistling sounds. A spray of locks stood frozen atop the stony faces that squinted in visible agony. The familiar sight made all of Mallory’s insides clench up.

How had this creature survived?

It took a conscious effort to keep her knees from shaking. Her armor suddenly felt like tissue for all the protection it would offer if he rose and fought. She wanted to run back to the tunnel and shut herself behind that big barrier door. Find some other way to return to Sendia.

But there was no other way, and she couldn’t leave the Sword here.

“It’s him.” Rain recoiled, hand straying to the armor pouch that held his knife. Did he plan to fight Lord Drammadon with that?

“This is a good sign,” Mallory said shakily. “It means the lake can only be another twenty meters deep, if I’m right about his size.” Only this wasn’t a good sign at all.

The monster was still alive.

The nearest face locked in on the Scribes with a grimace, its mouth yawning open. A low moan rumbled out, joined by another face when exposed by the lowering magma. Because Lord Drammadon had fallen onto his side, each head was tilted sideways. Their faces squinched to break off cooling magma that hardened into masks around them.

Stone ground against stone as the limbs and shoulders of each torso stirred. His heads swiveled to face the Scribes, their features bewildered. “You.” His Daishonic word came out in a croak.

Mallory exchanged awkward glances with the boys, unsure of what to say. She’d suspected his stony outsides might protect him from the heat, but didn’t he need to breathe? Perhaps not, like the myophos. Her hand reached for the Sword, but it wasn’t there. She’d have to pass this creature to find it.

Saps. What if the Sword lay within his reach?

“Are you… rescuing me?” he asked in three simultaneous voices. They sounded even raspier than before and overlapped into a strong reverb. After a gasping pause, the nearest head said, “I see. You’ve come for the Sword.”

Mallory looked at the black, crusted ground, adding her fear to the silence. What could she say? Sorry, but I thought you were dead already?

“You wear his armor,” Lord Drammadon added. “After all these millennia, I finally behold it. Like little barrier stones come to life. Protector Daserus did always flaunt his control over matter.”

“What do you know about the armor?” Mallory asked in Imnan. “What can it do?”

Lord Drammadon’s heads shook with laughter that lapsed into painful winces. “Should I arm you with knowledge to wield against me? Won’t it be enough to reclaim your Sword? Next, you’ll ask me to ferry you back up the Staircase.”

His torsos twisted and writhed, causing the drammadon’s whole stony structure to lever across some unseen fulcrum. Mallory’s breath hitched in her throat. He was trying to upright himself.

If this creature had healed enough to fly again, would he attack? If not, he still had drivers. Sansev lay dead somewhere in this lake, and Osygim remained up in the Triurn. If each head housed a driver, there ought to be two more inside Lord Drammadon. Would they try to capture Mallory and force her back into his Core?

Memories of that place slithered up from their hiding places: the gelatin latching on like leeches, the virtual claws digging through her skull, the sensation of her muscles being ripped apart. She’d rather die than wind up in there again.

Lord Drammadon fell still, chests heaving. “Don’t be afraid to use Daishonic. Any numbers you speak won’t reopen the doors from this distance unless you shout them.”

So he knew about the fire falls. Interesting.

“You convinced the Protector to open the outer barrier for me.” He crossed his arms and bowed his heads. “For that, you have my gratitude, though you were forced by the threat of another quake. Mallory Leighyan. Young Ipsiat. Even in this cauldron, I felt the power of your words blasting tactical nanobots into vapor as you saved Daserus. Perhaps drammadon on other worlds could feel it, too.”

Drammadon on other worlds? He said this so casually, but the idea exploded in the sky of Mallory’s mind.

The magma had lowered enough to expose the fourth head and the part of its midsection where the torsos fused into a common plinth—a four-sided pyramid with the top point blunted into a frustum. Big chunks of sandstone were missing and slagged over with obsidian. Parts of his casement oozed down his sides like glass just pulled from a kiln. His eight hands groped, assessing damage and picking away glowing scabs, but none were emitting flames of their own. At least not yet.

“Your words will power my greatest work.” A hand pointed at Mallory. “I see them as though they have already washed onto our placetime, like a great beast of the starsea, siphoning nebular dust and gases.”

“Starsea? What do you mean?” Boxer asked. “What great beast?”

The nearest head smirked. “Young humans. You know so little of our frame. Have you even left this world?”

“I was born on Imna,” Mallory said.

“Two worlds, then?” Lord Drammadon shook all four heads. “Have you ever explored your galactic neighbors or beheld the outer lights? Seen a quadrifa throw another creature to a distant supercluster? Would you recognize Semme if you saw him—the one you are prophesied to rescue?”

Mallory’s head jerked back. “What can you tell us about him?”

“Haven’t you read your own Book?” Lord Drammadon’s brows hiked up in surprise.

“Sure, but understanding it is a different matter,” Rain said.

“Let me help you.” Lord Drammadon closed his eyes. “Semme 3:3 says, ‘For I, the First Creature, was also hidden, but she will show me to my people. And I will put the Highest words in her mouth. When she speaks, the offender will fall and she will see His face.’”

“The First Creature is Semme,” Mallory said.

All his stony eyes flew open and narrowed in thought. “And you, Mallory, are the female. My master Endradia is the offender. So we can rephrase the verse like this: For I, Semme, was also hidden, but Mallory will show me to my people. And I will put the Highest words in her mouth. When Mallory speaks, Endradia will fall, and Endradia will see the face of the Highest.”

It shouldn’t surprise Mallory that he could quote and explain scripture, but it did. “Do you believe what The Book is claiming here?”

Lord Drammadon’s heads nodded. “Every event described in The Book is true, but I don’t interpret it as you do. Take the phrase the offender will fall. Protectorists believe this means Endradia will be defeated.”

“And what do you think?” Boxer asked.

“That she’ll descend from her frame into ours.”

“So I’ll usher your goddess into our universe?” Mallory asked.

“Precisely.” Lord Drammadon’s nearest head made a big grin. “And She will subdue it. The High Protector may have created what lies within this frame, but Endradia created him and all the frames. The High Protector has usurped Her glory long enough. She will take it all back. You, Young Mallory, will make that possible.”

“Why would she do that?” Boxer asked, his voice more of a challenge than a question.

The massive creature’s smile faltered. “Do you still not know who I am?” He let the moment linger. “Semme 2:2 says, ‘The corruption of her heart entered the heart of the lord of the drammadon. And the lord of the drammadon joined hearts with man, and so corruption entered the heart of man also.’”

“You’re the rebel of the Universal War?” Rain asked. “And you got cast to a distant world, cut off from the others?”

Lord Drammadon grimaced and swept his stony arms around. “Planet Daishon. Ultimate backwater of the known universe. Yes, I’m alone here, along with Minor and Draevic. But that isolation will soon end. Once the surface general lifts me out of this place, I will reconnect with the other drammadon.”

Just how many others were there? Mallory didn’t let herself ask this. Maybe she didn’t want to know. Now that Magon had namiron comms, he could call out to the rest of the universe. Especially if he got his FTL transmitter working. What would happen if any drammadon-led civilizations answered him?

Whatever this massive stone creature planned to do once he joined his fellows, it couldn’t be good. If this monster corrupted the universe with Endradia, then he needed to die. Mallory’s hand strayed to her empty sheath again, and she set her jaw. As soon as she found her Sword, she ought to go back into Lord Drammadon and finish hacking up the Core.

But he had two other drivers. Memories of Sansev shuddered to the front of her mind. His heavy footfalls, eyes swirling with black oil, the creepy symbols crawling under his skin—thank the City he was dead. And Osygim, though nice to Mallory, had cut a fearsome figure with his stony bulk and power over metals. The way he’d encased a soldier’s legs in stone would’ve been scary enough, but then he choked the Mammoner’s insides by squeezing on his minerals!

Given how powerful Sansev and Osygim were, she didn’t want to meet his other drivers.

Did Lord Drammadon really expect her to release Endradia or Radia or whoever she was? She oppressed her followers enough from a distance. Things could only get much worse if she were here.

The next hour scudded by in tense silence until the lake bed appeared. Lord Drammadon watched her quietly, eyes narrowing and lips curling. Mallory wanted to hide behind something but refused to be intimidated. At least not outwardly.

She diverted her gaze to the remaining bubbles of magma. Hardened ash formed a crust over their bright liquid centers. As the inner magma bulged, the crust broke into shards that tumbled down the sides, clattering like glass and releasing puffs of smoke.

Beside these throbbing bubbles, Lord Drammadon’s massive body lay on its side, his casement partially coated in cooled magma that was also flaking off. Unable to rise and probably injured, he didn’t pose a physical threat anymore, did he?

When the lake became dry enough, Mallory lowered herself into it, selecting handholds with care. Some of this rock might be too thin to bear her weight. Like walking on ice, one bad step could send her plummeting.

She glanced at Lord Drammadon from the corner of her eye, expecting sudden movement. His eight hands weren’t blazing now, but they might ignite at any moment. How far could he throw that fire? Even if her armor protected her from the heat, could the flame melt the crust out from under her, sending her into the molten depths below?

As soon as she and the boys touched down on the charred floor, Lord Drammadon’s bottom door slid open.

“Run!” Mallory sprinted toward the center of the empty lake, hoping to find the Sword before a driver emerged. Problem was, the Sword would be totally black, camouflaged against the ground. And there was a lot of area to explore.

Before she took three paces, her feet sank into a weak patch of cooled magma, dropping her to her hands and knees. The rock crawled up her limbs, hardening into casts, just as Osygim had done to that mouthy soldier back in the Triurn.

A thin object came tumbling across the floor toward her as if rolling downhill.

The Sword!

A wave of stone rose from the ground under it, pushing it along. If only Mallory could free herself to grab it before it passed. In moments, the black spine curved away, far from her grasping hand.

Some driver had to be doing this. She craned her neck to either side and found the boys in similar frozen states. Rain was trapped mid-stride, and Boxer hung in a sort of midair crawl, held up by the foot he’d been kicking off with.

Mallory strained against the rock that climbed higher until it covered her hips and chest, making it hard to breathe.

Mr. Voice, help us!

3 – Whistling Language

Leah

If Leah had known the implant would make her this addicted to research, she would’ve refused it. But it had gotten her into the Complex—the Facility’s most restricted building. There she’d discovered how Magon had triggered the quake with his huge laser gun and found traces of his other secret projects.

The Facility was much weirder than the rumors suggested and just as sinister as her native friends back home suspected.

The same site hosting deadly machines also featured posh housing like this. Ditty’s modern apartment seemed incongruous with the rest of the site, so maybe she ranked higher than her gold lab coat suggested. Stranger still were those whistling sounds she and her unknown caller made to each other last month.

Leah looked over at Farese, who pulled out an old-fashioned lock picking kit. Most doors had electronic locks, but this one was the mechanical type most natives preferred.

Farese bent over to peer at the doorknob, squinting and sticking out her tongue as she angled and jimmied the pick for five solid minutes.

“Are you sure you can do this?” Leah looked around for a surveillance camera. She chided herself for the pointless precaution. A coercive implant mounted to her brain beamed back everything she did to General Magon, after all. Well, she set up routines to send him false information to cover up this little break-in, but was that really working? She wouldn’t know if it failed until it was too late.

The redheaded intern held out the pick. “Wanna try?”

Leah shook her head. “Then who would heckle you?”

Farese shoved a different pick into the lock and gave it a twist. Something clicked, and Farese grinned. She opened the door and bowed. “Sorry to cut your heckling short.”

“Good job!” Leah said with all sincerity. “I still don’t know what we hope to find. I doubt Ditty would leave behind notes on whatever secret language she was studying.”

They shut the door behind them and padded down the hall of polished marble flooring into the kitchen. Farese patted the island with barstools. “Ditty and the General sat here while we hid in the pantry.” She gazed at the tiled tabletop as if to glean some residue of that odd conversation.

“See anything?” Leah teased.

“I’m going to turn off your metabolic monitoring and stuff you with Ditty’s double chocolate cookies if you keep sassing me.” Farese squinted down the barrel of the finger she pointed at Leah.

In Mallory’s extended absence, this fellow intern was her only friend on the Facility and probably the only other Imnan who harbored deep suspicions about this place.

“I’m just afraid we’ll get caught.” Leah started searching the kitchen drawers. She found chopsticks and stabbed one into her own hair.

Farese snorted. “You think you’re Ditty now, don’tcha?”

Leah looked at her reflection in the glassy floor. “My hair isn’t enough of a beehive.” Her blonde updo was coming unbraided and bags were developing under her eyes. Gah. She never thought she’d let her appearance go like this. Mallory wouldn’t recognize her.

“Who do you suppose that whistling person was on the other end of their call?” Farese asked. “Some kind of alien species?”

Leah removed the chopstick and shrugged. “Unlikely, since Ditty could also make those sounds.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t sound as exotic as that creature.”

“We should search the other rooms,” Leah said. “I doubt she keeps language research in the kitchen. And even though she’s a native, she wouldn’t keep paper notes. She’s a Facility Researcher, after all.” Leah turned on her implant’s visual scanner and swept the walls for virtual chalk. “I see no electronic notes. Not that I expected any here.”

“You find any clues of where she might’ve gone?” Farese asked. “I’ve known Ditty for a year. She’s never disappeared like this. Not for six weeks.”

“Magon took her somewhere to work on that language,” Leah said. “Maybe down to the Bioprison. Ditty seemed to know a lot about that place.”

“It’s possible,” Farese said. “But let’s keep looking. I reviewed my recording of that talk and did an anonymous search of the Researchnet for those sound signatures.”

“And?”

“Nothing.” Farese scratched her head. “Try the search with your higher access.”

Leah held up her hands. “Then they’ll catch me for sure. Magon might already know what we’re doing, despite my hacks.”

“I’m more worried about Ditty,” Farese said. “I hope he’s not hurting her. She’s more of a mother to me than my real mom.”

4 – Sivia

Mallory

Use your armor, the Voice said.

“How?” As the word left her trembling lips, Mallory knew. Diverting her focus from the stone to her armor, she willed the dark fabric to vibrate. Her encasing stone shattered, releasing her limbs and chest and sending her face-first onto a pile of debris. Pebbles rolled underfoot as she scrambled to get up, dropping her again.

With sudden adrenaline, Mallory pushed herself up to all fours and shot to her feet. She dashed toward the spine and scooped it up.

But it didn’t change into a blade like before.

“What?” Mallory blinked, wondering what had changed. She was still a Scribe, wasn’t she? A layer of dried magma covered it. Was that blocking her touch? She slammed the spine against the ground to break it off, but that did nothing. Then she peeled back a sleeve to expose her hand.

The spine morphed into a blade.

Hot air prompted her to extend the armor around her fist. It wasn’t perfect, but blocked out most of the heat. At the sound of footsteps, she spun and gasped.

A tall, hooded figure in a black robe came loping across the lake floor.

“Rain, Boxer, get up!” Mallory roared.

Their faces remained uncovered by stone, revealing their eyes were closed, squinched in agony. She wanted to cut them free, but the man was already upon her.

He shoved her hard, knocking her backward. When she hit the ground, the Sword flew from her hand, turning into spine form.

Mallory commanded her armor to inflate to break some of her fall, but it wasn’t enough to keep the wind from getting knocked out of her. Her sleeve had covered her bare hand automatically, probably to protect it from the hot floor. Thank the Highest.

Before she could sit up, the driver stalked over. From flat on her back, he seemed impossibly tall. Whatever defensive moves Byron had taught her to do in this position fled her mind as panic throbbed in her chest.

Her assailant stopped at her feet and lifted the spine with both hands, tip pointing down. “You killed Sansev and wounded the Core. Your body cannot endure the suffering you deserve.” His Daishonic came out raspy and high-pitched. “I think I’ll start with your legs.”

“Sivia, stop!” Lord Drammadon’s voice boomed throughout the cavern. “The spine will cut you as soon as it touches her.”

That wasn’t true if the point of contact was covered by her suit, but Mallory didn’t dare correct him. Sivia tossed the weapon far behind him and pulled out a massive hammer that was strapped to his back.

Mallory’s throat clenched. Would her armor protect her from that much force?

He hoisted it above his head, ready to slam it down.

Mallory willed the back of her armor to flex like a spring. It catapulted her up and forward as the hammer fell. She tackled him about the waist, but his momentum won out over hers, bending him over her shoulders. She clung to his stony legs, grateful when the hammer thudded onto the rocky floor behind her.

Sivia’s weight bore down hard, sliding her backwards. Mallory pictured cleats jutting out from the soles of her armored feet. Immediately, she stopped.

But the man grabbed her about the waist and squeezed. The armor stiffened to protect her, and Mallory called out to the Voice for help.

A glance at Sivia’s unarmored feet sparked an idea. She extended her cleats into long spikes and stomped on the nearest foot. Steam puffed out of his rocky skin with a hiss.

The man roared and toppled sideways, body curled into a ball on the dried magma. He muttered what had to be curses in the same whistling language Lord Drammadon used earlier.

Mallory took off to retrieve the Sword, remembering to uncover her hand again. When she returned to Sivia, he was struggling to stand. His hood had fallen, giving a full view of his black, glassy face. Was that obsidian? Features sunken and skull-like, he looked to be verging on starvation.

She held the Sword’s tip to the man’s neck. “Release my friends and back off.”

Lord Drammadon made a complex set of whistles. Sivia backed away, hands raised. Stone crumbled nearby, dropping the boys.

“Don’t follow me,” Sivia hissed. “If you threaten the Core, Isomaos will crush you, even if it means we lose your words forever.”

“What’s stopping Isomaos from coming out right now?” Mallory asked.

“I need you alive,” Lord Drammadon said.

Mallory waited until Sivia hauled himself into the bottom of Lord Drammadon and the door slid shut behind him. She went to Rain and Boxer and helped them to their feet.

“What happened?” Rain asked.

“A driver attacked us. He tried to take the Sword.”

Lord Drammadon crossed his many arms. “Sivia thought you would attack me with it.”

Mallory scoffed. “He wanted revenge, but it doesn’t matter. Leave us alone, and I won’t come near you.”

Rain squinted at her in confusion. “Why not? We can end things now.”

She sheathed her Sword and covered her hand again. “That’s not what the Protector wanted. Besides, we have to hurry.”

“Why?” Rain asked.

“The rock that trapped you also poked a hole in Boxer’s waterpack. That was our last one.”

“Could we shape our armor into new waterpacks?” Boxer asked.

Rain shook his head. “Even if we did, we have no water source. The flowers in the Protector’s tunnel have nectar, but that would take many hours of squeezing.”

Boxer removed his ruined waterpack and sucked in a breath. “Saps. How can we cross the entire Staircase without water?”

“Our suits will keep us cool, so we should last a day,” Mallory said. “But we’d better hurry.”

Boxer pulled the drinking straw from his mask and flung it aside. Light burst forth, followed by a metallic clank. Mallory shielded her eyes. What new attack might this be?

But when she removed her hand, it was only the cipher block. Boxer’s belt had been shredded, along with the pouch that once held that small, silver cube.

Boxer formed a pouch in his suit and stowed the cipher block in it. He welded the top flap shut. “There. Nothing but my hand can get that free.”

“Let me try.” Mallory reached over and tugged at the flap. When it didn’t budge, she focused harder, and the pouch opened. “We can shape each other’s armor.” She pulled out the cipher block and shined its light along the ground. “Did we drop anything else? What about your knives?”

They found them buried in the rubble, and the boys each made a sheath to store them.

“Let’s hope draining the lake exposed a tunnel leading into the Staircase. Otherwise, we’ll have to climb this entire plateau.” Mallory headed for the wall, her vision raking the floor for any sketchy spots that might break underfoot.

“Look.” Boxer grabbed Mallory’s shoulder with one hand and held the cipher block out with the other.

A dark figure lay on the ground ahead. It blended in with the magma crust except for light that glinted off its hard, specular surfaces. Mallory tapped its black helmet with the flat of her blade. A long scratch along the top reminded her of how she’d knocked it off his head with a glancing blow from the Sword.

She put a hand to her mouth. “Sansev.”

“Is he dead?” Boxer asked.

“If the impact of the fall didn’t kill him, the deep magma would’ve suffocated him.” Mallory drew her Sword and crept forward, watching for the slightest twitch. She flipped the body onto its back with her blade and choked on a gasp. The ragna armor looked eerily similar to Prince Byron’s.

Boxer brought the light closer to reveal the full extent of the damage. A black skull tumbled from the collar of a breastplate caked with dried magma. The armor was cracked open at each segmented joint. A nudge sent chunks of charred husk spilling out of the greaves and vambraces.

Rain prodded the breastplate, and the whole torso crumbled into ash, revealing blackened ribs and releasing smoke. Thank the City her mask filtered the air, because this looked like it reeked.

“Hard to feel sorry for him.” Mallory averted her gaze. “He tried to force me back into the Core.”

“How did he fall?” Boxer asked.

“I jumped off the top of Lord Drammadon.”

Boxer arched a brow. “You jumped, and this guy fell?”

“Lord Drammadon tilted to catch me. Sansev slid off.”

“How did you know that would work?” Rain asked.

Mallory shrugged. “The Voice told me to jump. I simply obeyed.”

“Simply?” Rain turned to her with haunted eyes. “There’s nothing simple about what you did!” He seemed to reconsider her. “Not sure I would’ve been so brave.”

Mallory gazed up into the distant heights where she’d been suspended atop the falling drammadon. “Yeah, it sounds stooglish now.”

“But it worked.” Rain knocked ash off of his foot.

“Half the stuff we do shouldn’t work,” Mallory muttered. “I wonder what absurd surprises wait for us on the way back.”

She stepped past the body and continued toward the vertical rock face, trying to name the mix of emotions sloshing inside her. Fear of the climb to come, gratitude for finding the Sword, and excitement for seeing the Prince again—these drowned out all other feelings.

Mallory started from one end of the wall and paced along its length, scanning its surface. The boys searched from the other side, meeting her in the center.

“Nothing?” she asked.

“Just charred, gooey stone.” Boxer tapped on the wall rhythmically, as if testing for a secret knock. “If I were a barrier door, where would I be? Maybe hidden behind all this black crust.”

“And the Sword can’t penetrate barrier,” Rain said. “So it would stop your blade.”

Mallory drew her Sword and plunged it into the rock. “It’s worth a try.” She dragged the Sword through the entire length of the wall, but found nothing.

“I thought that would work.” Rain held the cipher block up to the cut and peered in. “How else are we going to get through? It would take forever to tunnel through all this.”

Boxer crossed his meaty arms and heaved a sigh. “Maybe we have to climb this.”

Mallory’s eyes followed the wall until it vanished into the heat haze at least a hundred meters up. “I’m exhausted just craning my neck that far. There’s got to be another way, like a drain. If the magma flows in a big loop, it should return to the Staircase. It probably slopes toward the wall, gets repressurized, and geysers up inside the plateau.”

Boxer shrugged. “Wouldn’t hurt to check.”

Mallory followed the subtle slope of the lakebed back the way they’d come, leading her toward Lord Drammadon. She froze. “Oh no. This floor is a giant bowl, and he’s sitting at its lowest point. He could be blocking the drain.”

“But didn’t we see the magma flowing under the shore?” Boxer asked. “Wouldn’t the drain be there?”

“Right. Let’s check that first,” Mallory agreed.

In tense silence, she made a wide arc around Lord Drammadon, whose faces turned as she passed. At the foot of the hill leading up to the shore, dozens of dark tunnels angled down sharply.

Boxer held up the cipher block to light one of them, revealing a drop-off into a seemingly bottomless shaft.

They checked a few more, all of which looked the same.

Mallory steepled her fingers, considering the overall design of this place. “These must be the primary drains.” She tilted her head toward Lord Drammadon. “And I think he’s sitting on the secondary.”

“With all these tunnels, why add another drain?” Rain asked.

“These probably feed into a common line. If it got plugged, you’d need a separate one to fall back on.”

“You want to ask the big guy to scooch over?” Boxer asked.

Mallory frowned. “Only if I’m right. Wait here while I check.”

“No way.” Boxer shook his head. “We’ll be on you like slime on slugs.”

She stopped to give him an ew face. “Tell me I’m the only girl you say that stuff to.”

Rain shook with quiet laughter, and Boxer shrugged.

As they approached Lord Drammadon, his many eyes widened in glee. “You figured it out.” Did he know how unnerving those overlapping voices were?

“There’s a drain under you, isn’t there?” Mallory said. “Covered by a barrier door?”

His three visible heads nodded.

“Are you lying on top of it?” Rain asked.

“I just missed it,” Lord Drammadon said.

“Were you aiming for it on your way down?” Mallory asked.

“If I couldn’t reach the shore, I at least wanted to cover your only exit.” He lit up his hands with huge red fireballs and grinned wickedly. “But this is close enough.”

“Thought you needed me alive,” Mallory said, trying hard to keep her voice steady.

The fire went out, but his grins lingered. “True. But I don’t need your friends. How do you think Semme’s prophecies would play out if only one Scribe remained?”

“Can you burn through our armor?” Boxer asked.

Lord Drammadon’s faces frowned. “Of course not. But I can plug the breathing holes in your suit.”

A shudder ran through Mallory. She drew her Sword and pointed it at the smug creature, keenly aware that her right hand was exposed. “I was going to let you live. But now you’re making me change my mind.”

“Well, perhaps we make a deal.”

“I’m not crawling back into your goo and giving you my words,” Mallory said.

“It wouldn’t work, anyway.” Lord Drammadon gave many simultaneous shrugs. “I can’t siphon them from you, and you don’t know how to release them. At least not yet. But the next time we meet, you’ll wield perfect control over your words. All paths through placetime lead to that same result. This I have seen. I want you to surrender them to me on that day. Swear you will do so, and I’ll let the three of you pass.”

Mallory took the glowing cipher block from Boxer. Just under the lowest torso lay a barrier door. No magma caked its surface.

“I kept it clear for you.” A stony hand tapped the engraving. “Do we have a deal, Ipsiat One?”

Mallory led the boys away from Lord Drammadon until she was reasonably sure he couldn’t hear them.

“This can’t be what the Highest wants.” Rain whispered.

Mallory sheathed her Sword, closed her eyes, and listened for the Voice. All other thoughts slipped away, as if the greatest villain in the universe wasn’t right there watching her. Tell me what to do. We need to get out of here. Is there another way?

Promise him, the Voice said. He believes he cornered you, but this is My doing.

A deep calm filled Mallory, even though the idea seemed ludicrous. Are you sure?

You will give him My words on the day appointed. What happens then will be My concern, not yours.

She opened her eyes and drew a breath. She turned to Rain, whose face wore a mix of surprise and relief. He nodded and held out his hands, palms up. “I heard Him, too. It makes no sense, but my understanding isn’t required.”

Boxer put a hand on her shoulder. “The Highest wants this. Let’s do it.”

Swallowing hard, Mallory returned to Lord Drammadon, wondering if she might regret this later. No, it was what the Highest One wanted. Even Rain agreed, and he distrusted the drammadon more than anyone. Mallory made herself look into those red, stony eyes that seemed triumphant, as if he’d already known her answer. “Alright. The next time we meet, I will give you my words of power, provided I know how to.”

His three visible faces lit up with glee. “A promise made by a Scribe is a promise kept. You may pass.”

Mallory tried not to shake as she drew closer. The lowest chest faced the barrier door, dangling just above it and tilted downward, head-first. She would have to crawl under him.

She stooped to read the engraving, which bore the Imnan word return. She translated it into Daishonic to open the door. Mallory crawled to the doorway, her face mere centimeters from Lord Drammadon’s.

His breaths were shallow and belabored, and his stony cheeks were riddled with gaping holes that oozed black fluid. She tried not to show her disgust as she looked away. Lowering the cipher block revealed a horizontal passage leading toward the Staircase.

“It looks good.” Mallory backed out and moved aside, settling beyond the reach of those massive stone arms. “You two go first.” She watched as Rain and Boxer climbed down, ready to draw the Sword if Lord Drammadon tried anything. But the boys passed without incident.

The nearest face grimaced. “You’re forgetting something.”

Mallory’s hand strayed to her Sword’s hilt, expecting a trick.

“Relax, Ipsiat. I’m about to save you a great deal of trouble, and at my expense. Those doors you shut to drain the lake—you should reopen them before you leave.”

Mallory blinked. “Right. All that magma will keep backing up into the Staircase and block our path.”

“You’ll also need to open an extra door. Number nine was already shut long ago. That will help drain the excess magma building up on that side of the Staircase.”

He was right. Merely reopening the same doors would restore the old, balanced flow rates. To clear the way ahead, the flow leaving the Staircase must exceed the flow returning to it.

“Why are you helping us?” Mallory asked. “You realize doing this will flood the lake all over again. With you still in it.”

He nodded with a pained look on his already battered face. “I am well aware. But your promise does me no good if you don’t survive your return journey.”

Mallory shouted the numbers to open the doors, and columns of fire roared in the distance. As magma flooded the lake bed, she dropped into the tunnel and shut the door. Lord Drammadon’s muffled screams came through the door, and Mallory backed away down the hall.

5 – Stony Betrayal

King Riscine

King Riscine hated wearing armor almost as much as he hated jungles. Why then did he find himself marching in a jungle while wearing armor? Sure, the netting kept out mosquitoes, but a monarch shouldn’t need to sweat in such places. He clutched his stone drammadon tablet in one hand and pushed aside spiteful branches with the other.

This monarch had to be here, he reminded himself. Even with Galitre leading the campaign, this corrupted place proved an impossible battleground. For over a week, his army had searched for the former king’s family and his outpost. When they’d finally found Byron, his hidden troops fired crossbow bolts from every conceivable direction—from bushes, covered pits, and distant treetops.

After Galitre’s retreat, the enemy slipped away again, this time deeper into the jungle. That’s when Riscine knew he had to help. Only his direct line of communication with Lord Drammadon would lead them to victory. If anyone could track their prey, it would be Lord Drammadon Himself.

But Riscine’s stone tablet had been blank all day. Why?

Galitre crept close, long hair flowing down from his helmet held at bay by his netting. He wore camouflage armor like everyone else, but stepped with unnerving stealth.

“Our barnits picked up the scent, my King,” Galitre whispered. “Our targets were clever enough to cover themselves with palm resin. That masked their smell for a little while, but it must’ve worn off. We’ll be upon them soon. You might try reaching our Lord again.”

Riscine’s netting caught on another branch, and he stopped to peel it free, taking great pains not to rip it. Sapping den of mosquitoes! He wanted to cut down the jungle to flush out his enemies, but long years in the Downshoots taught him the folly of such an act. Destroy the food supply, and everyone dies.

He stopped and pressed the tablet into his forehead the best he could with the helmet and netting in the way. Lord Drammadon, Your servants call upon You now. He pulled the tablet away and waited. After a long minute, Riscine said aloud, “You promised Osygim would help us. Where is he?”

Words rose from the stony surface: He is near, but has not responded to my calls.

Finally, a response! The king blinked in confusion. He can hear You, can’t he?

The tablet’s message changed. The circle of his vision stretches out for the Prince. He will soon respond.

King Riscine sighed. “Osygim refused to help me capture the royals before. Will he change his mind now?”

He will do as I command. Prepare to follow his lead.

“Obedience always, fast and full,” King Riscine said.

They resumed their trek through the dense undergrowth, the ground treacherous with rain-slick stones devoid of moss. “This is where they attacked us last time,” Galitre said. “We must be near their new hiding spot.”

They’d found the Prince’s original outpost about a kilometer back. It bore signs of recent habitation.

Galitre insisted they couldn’t have gone far based on the freshness of the cook fire embers and abandoned food. He pointed to a pile of massive tree trunks and their roots torn from the ground. With fluid hand signals, he directed two officers to swing their companies around either side and close in. His grin seemed to say, This will be over soon.

King Riscine stepped back with his guards to keep clear of the fight to come. Despite his armor and sword, Riscine was no soldier. He came to communicate with Lord Drammadon, nothing more. He’d rely on his ring of thirty men to protect him. A reserve battalion stood in a wide arc around that ring, ready to intercept a bigger force, though Riscine doubted the royals fielded more than a hundred soldiers.

Shouts erupted from behind the fallen trees, followed by the clash of metal on metal and the zip of crossbows. Riscine’s ring closed in to shield him from projectiles, blocking his view of the battle. Based on the sounds, Galitre was dealing a heavy blow to the Prince’s men. Strange that Osygim never appeared to give them direction. Perhaps he saw his guidance wasn’t needed and stood back to observe.

Large boulders floated high into the air—a few dozen of them, forming a long row like a rank of soldiers. Each one had to weigh at least a thousand kilos! Riscine’s knees wobbled at the sight. If Osygim could do this, why did Riscine need to bring his army out here?

Riscine almost felt sorry for the enemy. No armor could protect against that level of bludgeoning. His lips curled into a smile. Here was proof that Lord Drammadon truly supported him and his new rule.

But then the rocks flew at his own men! Some were flattened in an instant. The rest leaped back, tripping over each other as they scattered. Screams and moans filled the humid air.

“Osygim!” Riscine shouted over the ruckus. “Wrong men!”

His ring of guards shoved him back. “Retreat, Your Majesty!”

Riscine tore through the undergrowth, barely keeping his grip on the tablet as he leaped over logs and shrubs, trying to keep up with the guards before him and avoid getting shoved by the ones behind him. They ran much farther than he thought necessary. He was about to say so when his men skidded to a stop, making him plow into one from behind.

Not ten paces away stood Osygim. He crossed his massive stone arms and fixed his red eyes on King Riscine. “You knew I promised to protect the royal family!”

Riscine held up his tablet. “But our Lord said you’ll help us capture the royals. He is still your Lord, is He not?”

Osygim stomped forward, shaking the ground with the weight of his steps. “You don’t get to question my loyalty. I have served Him for eight thousand years!”

“Then why disobey Him now?”

The stony man pointed at Riscine. “Go home. Leave the Prince and his men undisturbed. Hunt them again, and I will slice you open with the metals of your own blood.”

Riscine put a hand to his throat and tensed, remembering what this man had done to him before. “As you command.”

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