We hurry down the hall, around a corner, and up a stair as we follow Pash's lead. There are guards everywhere, all of them human though—all of them Morovani. At first I put them to sleep, like I had the others, but before long I think better of it. With no way to know how long my sleep order will last, I decide it's better to knock them out, so I prompt them to bash their own heads across the stone walls instead.
Reaching across the Web, I seek out the dark places that mark the presence of stalstone. The chamber imprisoning the other Heirs.
But there's one beast-eater guard there and one human, and the human isn't strong enough to defeat the other guard, even if I could give them my full attention. I take a deep breath to contain my frustration. We'd already debated this. Destroying the medicine has to come first.
We skid to a stop several paces from a massive metal door closed by an elaborate, wheel-like locking mechanism. Before it stands two guards—both of them beast-eaters. The one on the left is only partially armored, the top half of his body covered in spiny, blue-tipped quills. But it's the one on the right that commands almost all of my attention. He's the larger of the two, with biceps bigger around than my thighs and a head something between that of a boar's and bull's, the sharp angles of his metal helm rendering him all the more intimidating. In his right hand glints a familiar bonechrys blade.
Just behind me and over my shoulder, Howla hisses through her teeth.
"My swan! How dare you!"
The quality of the air around her changes, as though filling with some unseen energy. Then actual tiny branches of lightning-like light begin to crackle across her skin.
"Howla, he's going to strike out for your head," warns Saffryn through the Link—sharing her Mire-given ability to know the next immediate move of anyone in her vicinity. An ability which, remarkably, even works on beast-eaters.
The Rhaj of Ariskol ducks just as her own blade swings through the space previously occupied by her head.
"You'll regret it, thief," she growls, leaping backwards to avoid a stabbing thrust from the quilled guard and raising the short sword she'd wrenched off the first one to fall outside our prison.
"Cover your ears!" Warns Saffryn. I duck to my knees to cover Puka's, but there's nothing I can do for mine.
The energy building around Howla flares white-hot. There's a thunderous crack, and then—just like that—she's right up on the bull-headed guard, her stolen blade buried in his gut. Then she clamps her free hand around the blade of the sword, twisting it out of the grip of the bellowing guard. Pash is at her side moments later, blocking the other beast-eater's blade immediately before it can slice through the back of her neck.
I back away along with the others as Howla, Pash, and the two guards battle in the enclosed space of the hall. But Howla's failing fast. That move must have drained most of her energy.
My ears ring and my teeth grind together as I feel outward on the Web, praying to all the Firstborn that the thundercrack didn't wake the Puppeteer. Their Ember remains inert, but I keep my focus fixed on it. Thrall pushes past me, stepping into the cramped fight and giving Howla the chance to fall back. At the same time, Oz edges forward.
"I've got this," his low, soothing voice echoes across the Link.
"Oz, there's no need—" Rhetrien begins, but the other Rhaj ignores them, flowing into the fray. Twisting between Thrall, Pash and Howla's feet to coil around both guards' legs. They stumble, struggling to defend themselves as they fight to regain their footing. But it's no use. Pash's blade takes the slightly smaller one, dropping him with a stab through the throat.
Thrall finishes the other with his own pilfered weapon, and rather less gracefully—hacking at his chest once he gets past his now-feeble defenses only to think better of it as one of his strikes catches the side of his head. In the next instant he brings his blade crashing into his skull to split it halfway like a frozen melon. Then he curls forward, unsteady on his feet as blood streams through his fur and over his face and Rhetrien hurries forward to help him, dipping to press one hand to his wounds and the other to the still barely alive beast-eater left behind by Pash.
As Thrall's vigor returns and the bleeding stops, the beast-eater finally stops choking up blood and goes limp, the last of his life drained out him. As Pash steps around the bigger one to get to the locking mechanism, my eye catches on Oz...who's struggling to ooze his way back to the group, several of the smaller guard's quills stuck in his viscous body.
I rush up to pull them out, but even when I'm done he's sluggish and not answering me through the Link.
"Rhetrien," I call. "I think Oz needs your help, too."
As the true Rhaj of Morovin kneels over our wounded Khajra, I turn to Pash.
"Who is the Puppeteer?" I ask now that I finally have a moment. She grunts, turning the wheel backward and forward one last time before pressing it into a recess in the door. At last, hidden gears groan into action as the door begins to open.
"I have no idea," she says. "Their identity's hidden to all but Fabienne, as far as I know. Maybe some of the other Morovani higher-ups."
"Depths," Howla hisses weakly.
Behind me, Rhetrien curses in frustration. "I think those quills may have poisoned him. I can't do anything for that. I—"
"If he can't move, pick him up. We'll figure out how to help him as soon as we can," says Saffryn.
While Rhetrien stretches their shirt outward in both hands to create a sort of hammock and bends to allow Oz to pool into it, Howla ducks into the chamber, and before long inky streams of acrid smoke stream out into the hall. Moments later she emerges, coughing and signaling that the job is done.
"Did you get everything?" Asks Saffryn in a hush. "Anything else useful in there?"
"Managed to dredge up just enough energy to fry them all . And no—nothing else." Howla confirms once she's cleared her throat, expression writ with grim satisfaction, eyes dark-shadowed.
"But there's no way it's all stored in one place. Not if these people know what they're doing," says Rhetrien, standing back up with Oz bundled against their stomach.
"You're right," Pash agrees. "But if there's another location, I don't know where it is."
"And you planned to mention that when?"
Her eyes narrow. "When we'd destroyed what we could. This is the main stock. We've done significant damage. Now if we can get to that Sentinal and cut off their supply train—"
"Wait. The Heirs in the other stalstone chamber—they're not that far from here," I cut in. "Let's free them now, before we head for the Sentinal."
"No," Rhetrien and Saffryn say at the same time. "We've made too much of a commotion already," Saffryn continues, eyes pleading as her chair moves a few steps in my direction. "Our priority has to be the Sentinal now. We'll be able to free everyone once we have it."
"Exactly. And we don't have time to argue about it." Rhetrien says, their voice and Ember edged with anxiety.
But the thought of turning away from Kai, from my khej sisters and brothers and cousins when they're all so close—I don't know if I can stand it. But somehow, I'll have to. I'm sorry, Kai. My teeth grind together as Puka twists around my legs, bleating. I stoop, picking him up.
"Alright. Fine. Let's get to the Sentinal."
Pash retakes her position in the lead and I return my attention to the Web and the Puppeteer. But we have a long way to go, because the Sentinal's resting at the top of Morovani tower. Luckily, the Puppeteer is far away from it, nearer the heart of Grailhold.
We're barely to the main prow of the fortress when I feel them begin to stir. My blood runs cold and I stumble to a stop. The others are turning to look at me—but we've planned for this, too. As I gather what's left of my energy and push my awareness across the Web, I whisper a fervent prayer to the Firstborn. That this works. That we were right. That I'm really as similar to that horrible monster as we think I am.
Because if we are, so long as I'm controlling the others—the Puppeteer won't be able to. The only problem is Pash and Thrall. We know the medicine the beast-eaters take makes the Puppeteer able to pilot them, though that hadn't been so, for me...they'd remained as impervious as ever.
But I haven't tried using my abilities on Pash or Thrall after they started taking their doses. Our one, desperate hope is that their connection to me, forged by blood, will make things different.
I almost shout my relief to the unseen sky when the power of my Ember extends to engulf theirs on the Web, the usual resistance gone.
I've got them all.
"I'm going to give you just enough control to keep leading the way." I say to Pash. "Give as much of a nudge as you can in the way we need to go, and I'll do the rest. Take us to the closet way out."
Her eyes go wide and she gives a tiny nod—I can't allow her anything else without possibly leaving a crack for the Puppeteer to get through. She guides us up a familiar stair and into a chamber I recognize...the receiving hall of the barracks. It's mostly empty, save a handful of humans whom I knock immediately to unconsciousness.
Thanks to the Web, though, I already know where all the non-Morovani beast-eaters are. Deep in the dungeons, caged up together as we'd guessed. But already they're moving, pouring out—released, now that the Puppeteer's awake to control them.
As for the Morovani beast-eaters—we'd dealt with most of them, save one. One who's charging down a corridor just up and ahead to the right. The one we're headed for. But as we approach, I feel Pash's nudge in that direction. It's insistent. So I turn our group down the hall.
It's a man hurtling towards us, with shoulder-length dark hair and knife in his hands. A sheathed sword bounces at his waist and more knives glint on a bandolier across his chest—the ring-ended kind, made for throwing. At this distance, though I can feel what he is, I can't see anything beastial about him. Down the hall at his back, a door's been left open.
"Fuck," I hiss between my teeth as he lifts and readies the knife, slowing to a stride.
"He's going to aim for Pash's head," Saffryn warns into the link, and I drop my golden guardian and everyone behind her to their knees half a heartbeat before the blade whooshes over their heads to drive home with a reverberating thunk in the wall of the adjoining corridor we'd just come from. In the same instant, there's an odd sloshing sound. I don't realize what it is until Rhetrien shouts into the link.
"Oz! You made me drop him!"
But already I'm beginning to tire—my mind growing more sluggish as my radius of control shrinks. And in the next instant the beast-eater's aiming another knife, and I'm bringing Pash back up to her full height. Then I send her charging down the hall straight for our opponent. At Saffryn's signal, I make her veer sideways in time to avoid the next dagger. Her gauntleted fist makes meaty contact with his face just as he draws his sword. It clatters to the floor, and an instant later, so does he.
There's clattering and shouting coming from the adjoining corridor now, a mass of Embers just paces away from turning the corner—and I curse as I confirm what I can already smell through Puka's nose. The freed beast-eaters are almost here. I turn my attention back to Pash, easing up my control just enough. Her head tilts toward the open door. Clambering over the fallen man, we pile into what I can only guess were quarters to the captain of the guard. Oz drags behind us, inching forward, but there's no time to turn anyone back to help—and then the beast-eaters are on him.
We dash for the far end of the room, where a set of windows and a door opens out onto a balcony. The night air is cold, and a hard wind is blowing. I come to a stop just behind Pash, freezing as I stare down at the dark, choppy waters of the lake of life—some hundred paces or more below.
