The khentauree heaved his spear at the lead gliders, the attack so bright Lapis winced and covered her eyes. The explosion sent showers of debris into the two flanking it, but did not take them down. Jetta fired, obliterating the wing of the nearest, which tipped and plowed into the third. They hit the ground together and detonated, sending mud, rock, and flaming twigs high into the air.

How explosive-heavy were they? All that, to take them out?

Faelan hissed, looking to their left. Uniformed troops trotted over a mound as a large Swift with Fort Durain painted on the side took off behind them. They wore black fatigues under random body armor, Dentherion army helmets, and carried a variety of larger weapons that seemed mismatched for a cohesive unit. Her insides quivered as she swiftly counted; fifty marched their way, with two more small craft hovering above them. The front line held body-length shields with at least four different emblems on them, some so worn she could not identify the image, At short intervals, waves of cyan coursed around them, proving they had a tech shield protecting them.

Her brother hmphed. “I didn’t think Gall had this many gliders. The new arrivals must have scrounged them from the fort. I doubt they’re in good shape.”

“Anything that’s bad for them is good for us,” Lapis said.

“It may not matter, if they overwhelm with numbers,” Tuft said. “More come, as do larger gliders.”

The glow surrounding the mercs fell, and the ones in front dropped to their knees, still holding the mob shields, as their buddies aimed.

Cyan beams and thin, sharp icicles struck, and the mercs collapsed with sprays of blood and dying screams. The tech shield flared and re-formed, while the group shouted at one another and hustled away from the bodies. Chiddle rewarded their move with a spear; wobbly waves coursed over the shield, but it did not break.

“Shortcut down the slope!” the Ambercaast khentauree called before deserting the road and heading for the wagon. Sanna had pulled it well beyond the first crossback and headed for the second, the tech manned by Minq at the treeline providing cover. She made good time, and maybe, once they reached her, Tuft could make a handy ice slide so they could reach the evac craft before the ‘shroud came down.

Faelan and Jetta kept a steady fire while the rest concentrated on the obstacles. Despite the watery surfaces, the rocks provided a better footing than the soggy earth of the road, so runners spent less time pulling their feet out of the gunk and more rushing ahead.

Gliders nearly as large as a Swift flew over the wall and joined the smaller ones as the mercs dropped their tech shield. Chiddle threw a spear at the landed enemy rather than the flying menace, and it splintered when it struck the center shield, cutting through metal and armor alike. Red beams from below blanketed the air with fire, and the gliders, unable to evade the shots, exploded mid-air. The wreckage careened to the ground, rolled, and smoke billowed up, thick, acrid. The wind snagged it, blowing the stuff in their direction, fouling sight further downhill.

“They are stubborn, to continue this line of attack,” Tuft said, pointing to the far left. Another unit of shields headed their way, hugging the wall. Lapis noticed the tech shield protecting the cannons remained up, hinting that the operators did not want to drop it and expose themselves to death by red Minq beam.

“They might not have another plan,” Faelan said. “When Dentheria recalled their soldiers, they took what they could back with them. Gall might not have access to any other defenses or weaponry than the leftovers, and those are running on fumes.”

Another jet spluttered and extinguished. The ‘shroud rocked, and the shielded enemy glanced up.

“Run away! It’s going to squish you!” Lapis shouted. Faelan barked in laughter while Tuft turned his head and regarded her, before rotating back. Too bad it did not look like the mercs heard, because it would be handy if they paid more attention to getting smooshed by a ‘shroud than their fleeing group.

Light flared above them, and she squinted at the ground, covering her eyes with her hands. Tuft buzzed as it faded.

“Next time warn us!” Jetta snapped. Lapis did not catch words in Chiddle’s reply, though his buzz sounded defensive. At least the enemy cowered, and she hoped they saw as many white spots in their vision as she did.

The roar of bikes caught her attention. The shield must have fluctuated again, giving the riders a chance to race through.

“Bikes behind, Swifts to the left!” Chiddle called. “They dropped the shield protecting the cannons.”

Lapis froze as he continued to list dangers. Too much, too much. What was she supposed to do?

Faelan tapped her shoulder and pointed at the machine racing to catch them. “See if you can take out the wheels, like you did before.”

She looked over at the rider pulling a tech weapon from its holster, oddly relieved. She could do that.

She flipped the handle into place and pointed at the bike, then triggered her gauntlet; the beam hit the ground, leaving behind a smoking line in the dirt. She swiped up; the front broke along the cut she made, and the rider pitched forward, his weapon flying away and tumbling downhill.

Red bathed the landscape as the Swifts swept over them, evading the rapid attack of the Minq tech. The wall cannons returned fire; a cyan-trailing shot hit to their left, sending a shower of mud and bits of rock into the air. Fires from the destroyed crafts continued chugging thick, acrid plumes, filling the slope to the wall with an opaque, ash-laden haze.

She craned around, searching for enemies. Faelan snagged her left hand and pointed; she used the palm button to trigger the beam before she saw the bike, and whatever she hit exploded; the twisted metal spun towards them. Tuft threw a shield up and leapt backwards, avoiding the machine. It struck the ice, fractured it but did not break through, and tumbled to the side.

They reached two Rams; the woman at the gate who asked about the Minq helped a friend who limped, their leg soaked in blood. Tuft slowed, bringing up the rear and refusing to go faster than the injured. Two more Rams ran through the smoke; the wounded piggy-backed on the larger, and they headed downhill.

“Your uncle is brave.”

Lapis twitched at Tuft’s words. “What?”

“He landed downslope, on a flatter surface, using smoke to hide. I will make a path to him for the wagon.”

A Swift crashed into the hill above them. Fire erupted, and thick clouds poured from it, concealing the enemy and further darkening the battlefield. Lapis pulled her scarf over her mouth, coughing, blinking ash from her tearing eyes. Flashes of light brightened the atmosphere, in front of them, behind them, and random cyan shots missed them, creating divots in the earth the khentauree jumped to avoid.

More explosions, more mud and rock rained down on them; did the cannon operators miss, or did more Swifts eat dirt? She lost visuals for anything but the upper spires of the palace and the skyshroud, and she doubted anyone on the ground could see anything but their immediate surroundings. Loneliness punched her, an odd feeling as she was with Faelan and Tuft, followed by an equally potent smack of fear.

How was their group going to find the wagon?

A lone glider sped out of the haze, low enough she could swipe at it with her purple blade; Tuft created another ice shield to prevent it from tumbling into them.

“Sorry!”

“It is better, that you destroy them,” Tuft said as he jumped between three small rock outcroppings, changing direction. Good thing he knew where they went, because she did not.

“How bad is the smoke where uncle’s at?” Faelan asked.

“Bad, but Sanna and Dov will help find the humans. Khentauree can see through the smoke using sensors rather than eyes. Bikes come.”

Faint roars reached Lapis, and both she and Faelan looked back; headlights danced in the haze before the machines appeared. Two split, one to each side, and the middle raced for Tuft’s rear legs.

“Prepare.” The khentauree bucked, kicking the bike behind them; not enough time! She slammed into his back, feeling terrible that she could not catch herself, and Faelan squished her between them, cursing. The other two riders overshot them, then skidded across the uneven hillside, trying to get their bikes under control. One tangled with a bush, and while they did not crash, their attempt to walk the bike out of it failed. She destroyed the back wheel with a sweep of her arm, and the branches caught fire, purple flames turning to orange.

An ice shield shot up to the left. It shattered in a cyan explosion. The ice on her thighs broke as earth and the bike she just wrecked careened into Tuft. The impact punched him up, and she flew from her seat. She lost her grip on the gauntlet handles and flailed, landed, rolled. She hit something with a breathless eep and choked.

“TUFT!”

She struggled to roll over as a projectile struck the ground next to her, showering her with mud and rock. Dripping, whimpering, she hefted herself onto her hands and knees, then slapped her hand over her right shoulder as it throbbed. Damn, that hurt, and no time to check on the damage.

She looked around; too much smoke. She only saw Tuft, motionless, lying in a stream of mud. “FAELAN!”

No response. Keeping low, she scrambled to the dull-skinned, unmoving khentauree.

He looked normal. No wavy hair or tail, no jewelry but the earrings she gave him. Dents decorated his lower torso, and a burn mark ran from his upper hip across his chest.

Had he gone to silence?

Choking, she grabbed his arm and shook. “TUFT!” No response.

Another projectile exploded, closer, covering both of them in soggy earth. It came from the left, but she could not tell what attacked them, whether cannon or glider, because she could not see through the smoke.

“FAELAN!” she shrieked.

No answer. She pushed herself to her feet, looking around.

“FAELAN!”

She heard a bike and whirled, her heart pounding; the final one chugged uphill, the rider struggling to keep it pointed in a single direction. They aimed their tech weapon at her, fired, missed. Their mud-splattered helmet visor did not help their visibility.

Empty of emotion, with a single thought to protect, she lunged forward, triggered her left gauntlet, and sliced horizontally. She jerked as a cyan shot struck her already injured arm, and her beam disappeared as her thumb slid off the button—too late to save the enemy’s bike. His leg.

She heard him scream as he crashed, the bike falling onto his other leg, and both slid downhill in a wash of mud, disappearing into the smoke.

She looked at her shoulder; the armor had taken the hit, and while it did not feel good, no blood. There was enough of the red stuff trailing the biker, she did not have to add to the amount.

Flashes came from above, providing a bit more light. She pivoted, staring at the landscape. “FAELAN!”

Where was he? Where was her brother? She hunted for him, keeping the khentauree in view, but did not find him. Panic crept from her twisty stomach and into her chest. She had to find him!

But if she walked into the fog, she did not think she’d be able to find Tuft again. She needed to stop yelling because that might attract the enemy, but how else was she going to find her brother?

“FAELAN!”

Tears fogged her sight as she returned to the ice khentauree. If she searched for her brother, she might lose the khentauree too. Dammit to the Pit, what if he were bleeding? So injured he couldn’t move? Was knocked out?

“FAELAN!”

She turned, and turned, hunted, yelled, her throat throbbing from her abusing it, but could not find him, standing, sitting, lying in his own blood. No, no, he was not dead. Not after all this!

She went too far, realized she could not see Tuft, and frantically searched for her footprints. Luck of the Stars, she followed the right ones and returned to the stricken khentauree. Sucking in a ragged breath, she rammed her knuckles into her cheek, smearing tears around. What should she do?

Despair and sorrow-filled failure pounded her as she curled her fingers around Tuft’s wrist and his upper arm, and pulled. Too heavy, but she dug her heels in and leaned back, despite the pain in her arm; he moved, sliding around on the mud so his head faced downhill.

She was useless.

A ship soared overhead, cyan beams targeting someone in the direction of the mercs. Return fire missed the craft, and everything turned red for several breaths.

No time no time. She had to get Tuft downhill before the enemy could grab him. And Faelan—

A hand slapped her shoulder, and she screamed, tried to whirl; arms clamped down on her, confining her, keeping her gauntlets down. She was going to die!

“Sorry,” Faelan whispered in her ear. “I couldn’t answer because there were enemies around.”

She choked and hot tears raced to see which drops wetted her scarf first. “Enemies?”

“No worries. They won’t be hounding us any longer.”

She turned and hugged him hard enough that, had he been a toy, his stuffing would have popped his head off.

He was muddy but not bloody, and alive. Alive. He embraced her as hard, then pulled back.

“Tuft’s hurt?” he asked.

“He won’t respond, and, well, his special appearance is gone.”

“Alright.” His voice, smooth and reassuring, needled her. She needed to calm down, not be coddled. “I guess we drag him to safety. My weapon broke. Do you still have the small one?”

She nodded, and with plenty of snuffles, retrieved it from her pocket and handed it to him. He clicked something on it, shoved it into a pocket on his armor, and dug his hands under the khentauree’s back hip. He heaved as she pulled; Tuft’s chassis rotated and began to slide. Squeaking, she stumbled out of the way as the mechanical being picked up speed before hitting a jutting rock and stopping just inside her circle of sight. She slogged to him, grabbing his arm to dislodge him from the obstacle.

An enemy glider passed over, banked, turned around, cyan shots from its nose creating a line to Tuft’s belly. Faelan fired in rapid succession, and he must have hit it; smoke burst from the front, flames followed, and it flipped downhill before disappearing into the smoke and exploding.

She ducked as debris pelted them; sticks, mud, rock, squishy somethings. She flinched as a larger stone struck her right upper back, and pain shot through her body before receding under a general numbness.

“Lapis!” Faelan called, worried.

“I’m fine,” she snapped. “We need to get Tuft down the hill . . .”

Another glider appeared above the smoke.

Its wing flew off after a cyan bean tore through it. The machine twirled and crashed to their left, somersaulting into an approaching group of mercs with shields. They must have broken off from the main group, but six was more than plenty to capture her, Faelan and Tuft.

Dov sailed over them, hooves held high enough not to clip their heads, and landed just beyond. He gouged a long hole in the earth and planted a door from the wagon as a shield, then peppered the enemy with enough shots that they stopped. Patch slid off his back, carrying something that looked like a humongous retractable spyglass. The khentauree glanced up, his beam taking out another large glider, before returning to the grounded group. Her partner hefted the thing onto his shoulder using two rubber handles, and a square popped out of the top, glowing.

Was it a weapon?

He stepped to the side of the makeshift shield. Red flared from the narrower front, rushing to the enemy. Loud sizzling accompanied by heat and shouts reached her, and she guessed it did the expected damage.

“Who gave that to you?” she asked as Chiddle halted next to them and dropped one of the doors that had protected the wagon next to Tuft. Burned holes had rope knotted through them, creating a sled. Jetta and Perben slid off him and joined them in heaving the ice khentauree onto the boards.

“Guard on the evac craft.” Patch hefted the tip up. “It’s lighter than it looks.”

“You all should have gone,” Faelan said, too sharp.

“There is no way I’m leaving the love of my life under fire and with Perben,” Jetta replied. “And you damn well know it.”

Perben cast her a fiery glare but said nothing as he slid two long ropes from his shoulder to the ground. They tied Tuft’s body to the door, though Lapis doubted its viability; bumping over the rocky slope would shred it.

Better than nothing, she supposed.

“Wagon’s still there,” Perben said. “If we get him to it, we can roll it down to the bottom.”

“We will,” Dov said. His torso rotated, and he eyed something above them, in the distance; a Swift. Patch took a shot, and it arced away, avoiding it.

Jets spluttered, went out. One, two . . . three . . . four five six . . .

“The ‘shroud’s coming down!” Patch yelled.

The Swift veered away as the humongous ship plummeted. Earsplitting cracks resounded around them as the palace spires crumbled under the pressure. Lapis heard screams, shouts, faint, unreal, as Chiddle grabbed the pull rope. She and Faelan pushed the back, got the door going downhill. Dov yanked the shield from the earth and cantered next to them as they ran.

“We do not have time to put Tuft in the wagon,” Dov said as the other khentauree outpaced them, becoming a smoky smudge in the smoke but for his headlight. “Follow Chiddle. He will find a way down.”

Chunks of debris from the palace landed around them, and Dov took the rear, tipping the door to protect them from the plummeting wood and stone. What about the mercs? She glanced back, did not see them. If they were smart, they would run too; the ‘shroud’s trajectory was obvious. She concentrated on leaping over rocks, avoiding bushes, and skidding down slicker parts that looked so wet, she wondered if they were under the icy path Tuft promised to make for the wagon, and melted when he went down.

Patch had a crazy smile, one matched by Jetta. Of course they did. What was wrong with them?

Crash. A chunk of rubble broke the edge of the door and bounced; Dov buzzed something and readjusted.

Explosions cast an orange hue across the mountainside. Smoke and dust blew to them, stone rolled downhill faster than they ran, and the shadow of the ‘shroud lengthened. Lapis looked up; the front was tipping towards them.

“RUN RUN RUN!” she shrieked.

CRACK.

“Chiddle says the sled broke,” Dov said, so matter-of-factly, Lapis wanted to scream at him. No no no that was not what they needed to hear!

They reached the two khentauree. Chiddle did not bother to disengage Tuft from the trailing boards, but grabbed the rope already tied to him and sped downhill, the chassis bumping around behind.

Dented was probably the least of Tuft’s worries, but she hated it all the same.

The creaking and snapping of stressed metal accompanied debris falling from the ‘shroud. The shadow darkened as they sped past the wagon; no time no time.

Run run run.

“There is a shelter,” Dov said. “An overhang. Come.”

He sped into the lead, and they followed him down the slick side of a jutting cliff. He hopped onto a rocky debris field, and they climbed over small boulders and through ragged brush to reach a chain-link gate torn off its hinges. Chiddle tugged Tuft the rest of the way into the cave beyond, and they piled in as complete darkness descended.

The khentauree adjusted their head-mounted lights as the skyshroud slammed into the earth; Lapis knocked into Patch, unable to keep her feet, and grabbed his armor; his leg shot out to steady them both. With a squeal of metal, the ship’s belly slid over the cliff, knocking stone off, sending a waterfall of mud after the rock.

Oh no. How far would it slide?

Her partner dragged her deep into the cave, and they crouched next to Tuft and a stack of dusty boxes, gasping, listening to the shower of debris and the grating of steel as the bottom of the ‘shroud tore the cliff apart. She slapped her hands over her ears, and he slipped his arm around her, holding her close, his lips pressed against her forehead.

It would be fine. Everything would be fine. The debris would not block the entrance, they would be able to get out after it stopped sliding.

“I have to pee.”

Lapis jerked up, the ludicrous statement knocking her from her fear. She stared at Jetta as she rose, dusted her thighs, and trotted towards a stack of teetering crates in the far recesses of the cave. Perben looked like he might bite a blade in half, Faelan resigned.

“Me, too,” she said. Patch chuckled in disbelief as she followed. Now that Jetta reminded her body that it had needs, it refused to be denied. To do her business, she sequestered herself behind questionable crates and breathed musty air while shuddering in cold. Better that, than pissing herself in front of her current company and embarrassing herself into the Pit.

“You humans are strange creatures,” Dov said, and she did not imagine his confusion.

“It is like a sponoil cleanse,” Chiddle said.

“But there is a time and place for a sponoil cleanse. It is not in the middle of battle.”

“There is a time and place for everything,” Jetta called from behind the crates two rows over. “And that time and place is here and now.”

They were not the only ones in need, just the ones brave enough to voice it. Jetta’s smug smile said everything Lapis would have, so she kept silent as she accepted the spyglass weapon from Patch and let him have his turn.

Shaking his head at their human folly, Dov cut a panel from the fence, and he and Chiddle tied Tuft to it with a quickness only mechanical beings knew. She hoped it held up better than the door.

“Sanna says there is fire on the skyshroud, and it rapidly grows,” Chiddle said, his voice echoing off the wall and nearly blending with the destruction. “We must be out from under it if it explodes.”

Her tummy twisted. The khentauree sounded so blasé, as if he pondered a stroll through a meadow rather than a flight for his existence.

She sucked in a breath. They were fine. She was fine. Tuft was not. They would reach the bottom of the hill, they would find the rebels, the Minq, get Tuft to Sanna and Jhor. Then he, too, would be fine.

She stared at the waterfall of debris, felt the squeal of the skyshroud in the depths of her chest, and fought the return of panic.

How were they going to get out of the cave?