Rudiger winced as Nin-Akna peeled away the blood-soaked cloth that bandaged his arrow wound. It still stung, but it looked okay—at least, it did once she washed away the dried blood.

The Temple had actual medical supplies—clean bandages, fresh water, alcohol—and now that they had a bit of breathing space, they were taking the opportunity to tend their injuries better than they had been able to before.

“Meleng knows this better than I do,” Nin-Akna said.

“You’re doing fine for me,” Rudiger said.

She had already re-bandaged Felitïa’s shoulder wound and adjusted the splints on her fingers. Rudiger couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for Felitïa to have her fingers broken one after the other—especially when so much of what she did relied on her hands. His own hand still ached and was a bit stiff, but at least he could use it.

They had met surprisingly little resistance entering the Temple again. There was no sign of Fra-Ichtaca or any guards. Only priests remained and they surrendered without violence. They said that Fra-Ichtaca had gone down to the lower levels and taken the guards with her. Nin-Akna had then kicked them all out of the Temple. There might be more priests on the lower levels, as they only searched the first three, but Rudiger didn’t think they’d have any difficulties with any who showed up—unless the guards came back with them. But there was always a risk.

He wasn’t sure how much he liked the idea of taking risks anymore. It would depend whether they survived all this.

He should have told Xoco the truth. Should have told her Ses-Zeltzin and Fra-Ichtaca were Darkers, told her how he knew. Maybe he would have convinced her; maybe he wouldn’t have. But at least he’d have a clearer conscience. Izel was right. He never should have gotten involved in all this.

“You two should head to Fra-Mecatl and Fra-Tepeu’s ranch,” Felitïa said as Nin-Akna finished tending Rudiger’s wounds. “Ses-Zeltzin has a large head-start on you, but she would have had to gather warriors first, so maybe there’s still time for you to get there.”

“What about you?” Nin-Akna said.

“I need to head back down into the Temple,” Felitïa said. “I need to know what Fra-Atl was trying to show us.”

“But you can’t!” Nin-Akna protested. “The Volgs! You can’t face them.”

“I’ll hide myself,” Felitïa said.

“But you can’t use your hands, and you’ve already said you need them for your hiding spell.”

“I’ll figure something out. I’ll make do.”

Nin-Akna jumped to her feet. “No, I won’t allow it. It’s suicide.”

“She’s right, Felitïa,” Rudiger said.

“I have to do this. There’s something down there. It’s calling to me. I need to find out what it is.”

Nin-Akna shook her head. “You agreed that I was in charge. I’ve given you a lot of leeway on that because most of the time, what you say makes a lot of sense and I agree with it, but not this. I am not allowing you to go back down there alone, and that’s final.”

“Nin-Akna—”

“My decision is made, Felitïa. You will do as I say.”

“Can I point out something?” Rudiger said. “You can’t use your hands, so how are you going to open the doors?

Felitïa’s shoulders slumped.

“Thank you, Rudiger,” Nin-Akna said. “Why don’t you come with us?”

“Someone should stay here,” Felitïa said. “I’ll stay in the upper levels, but we need to know if Fra-Ichtaca comes back. Don’t worry, I’ll get myself to safety if that happens.”

“I don’t know,” Nin-Akna said. “We could use your help against Ses-Zeltzin.”

“You agreed with me that we need to know where everyone is and what they’re doing if we’re going to have a chance to get through this. Trust me, please.”

Nin-Akna sighed and nodded. “All right, but no going down into the lower levels.”

“I’ll stay up here,” Felitïa said. “I promise.”

“Okay. Come on, Rudiger. Let’s get ready.”

Rudiger stood up, donned his armour, and strapped Slay to his back. Nin-Akna handed him a spear as well. He still didn’t like spears, but he had to accept he was at a disadvantage with Slay against spear-wielders. When they were ready, they headed back to the entry level and out the doors.

It was almost night, with the barest hint of an orange glow over the western horizon. From the top of the pyramid, the City looked like a collection of shadows punctuated with flickering bits of light. A significant collection of those lights came from the vicinity of the lower courtyard of the Palace. Rudiger wondered what was happening there.

“Bahlam’s gone,” Nin-Akna said.

Rudiger looked around. She was right. With his handlers dead, the big cat had wandered off.

His gaze fell on Xoco’s body and he went over to her, took her hand. It was cold. “I’m sorry.”

Nin-Akna placed a hand on his arm. “I’ll avenge her. Ses-Zeltzin will die. I swear it.”

Rudiger leaned over and kissed Xoco’s forehead. “We better go.”

“Do you think Felitïa will stay put?” Nin-Akna asked as they started down the steps.

“I think so. Hard to say. Felitïa can be kind of headstrong.” In the months since he’d last seen Felitïa, she had come back a different person. Still Felitïa, but... He couldn’t really put his finger on it. Hardened? Focused? Determined, maybe. She had always been determined, but she seemed maybe a bit more. Or maybe it was all in his head. The stresses of battle could cause anyone to act differently or to misjudge someone acting normally.

It would be good to see Meleng again. Assuming Meleng was at the ranch and not the Palace. Either was possible.

He wished he could pick up Borisin, ride him to the ranch, get him away from the Palace before Ses-Zeltzin had a chance to carry out the Queen’s last order.

But there was no way they would get in and out of the Palace right now. They would just have to walk to the ranch and hope they weren’t too late.

* * * * *

With the sun almost set, it was starting to cool down. The rain earlier had helped, too. However, it was still insufferable.

Jorvanultumn was grateful the attack had paused for now. After taking the lower courtyard, Ses-Izel had led an advance group, including Jorvanultumn, to the middle, unoccupied courtyard. She left the bulk of the forces—which consisted, in large part, of people from the City who had only just now joined the cause—in the lower courtyard, stating she didn’t want anyone coming up behind them and boxing them in. She did not want to advance any farther yet.

“We haven’t seen everything they can throw at us yet,” she said when Garet tried to insist they storm the main building. “We don’t know where the Queen is or the Queen’s Guard. More importantly, we don’t know where the priests of Sestin are. When they get here, we could be in lots of trouble. You saw how much trouble Jorvan was to them. Just imagine how much a dozen Jorvans could be to us.”

“Yeah, but Jorvan’s an Isyar,” Garet said.

“Yes, an overheated, sick Isyar, who’s exhausted. They’re none of those things. Until we have better information, we hold on to what we have.”

A few hours had passed.

There were warriors on the upper courtyard keeping watch on them, though not many. There had been no sign of Ses-Xipil and the priests of Sestin, no sign of the Queen’s Guard, no sign of any form of counter-attack from the Palace. However, there was word from Resistance members watching the side entrance by the Grand Temple that several priests and nobles had been going in and out there, and it was possible Ses-Xipil and other priests of Sestin might have hidden themselves amongst them.

Garet spent most of the time pacing about and grumbling. Jorvanultumn chose to spend it in prayer and meditation, allowing what he could of his energy to return. It came back at such a drizzle. It had been months—though it felt like years—since he had last been at full strength. He had used more of his strength today than he had in all that time, and only a tiny fraction had returned in the few hours since. If he had to use much more in another battle, he might put himself in danger of burning out.

“Something’s happening!” Garet called.

Jorvanultumn rushed his ending prayers, lowered his head, and stood up.

Lining up along the edge of the upper courtyard were people in yellow robes and headdresses adorned with yellow feathers. Although it was too far and too dark to see, Jorvanultumn had been told that all of them also had an eye tattoo on their foreheads, with a slight variation of the eye depending on what magical discipline they practised. There were ten of them.

“Couldn’t get them all together,” Ses-Izel said. “Must have been what delayed them. Well, that’s good for us. Right, everyone! Our purpose is to draw the attention of the priests from the bulk of our forces in the lower courtyard. Ses-Patli, take command of those forces. Wait for our signal before you move. The rest of us are going after those priests. Up close and personal. That’s the only hope we have against them. Jorvan, your job is to create a path for us to do that. Ses-Patli, when the signal comes, advance all the way to the top. Your priority will be to secure the barracks. Once the barracks are secure and the priests of Sestin are dealt with, we’ll turn our attentions to the Palace itself. Remember, harm as few nobles as possible. Especially the Queen. The Queen must not die!”

“Surrender!” One of the priests had moved to the top of the stairs. Warriors moved into formation behind her. “This is the first and only chance I intend to give you. This foolish rebellion ends now. Surrender, turn over the Will-Breaker, and you can all go home. Palace servants and warriors will be relieved of their positions, but otherwise we will let you go unharmed with no further repercussions. Continue to resist, and we will put you down. Each and every one of you!”

Ses-Izel moved forward. “You represent a corrupt order, Ses-Xipil! Like Eleuia before us, we will fight for our freedom. We will not stand down. Instead, we offer you the same offer you have given us. Stand down, abdicate your positions, and you can go free. Otherwise, we will continue to resist!”

“So be it!” the priest said.

Ses-Izel turned back to face the others. “This is it, everyone. Good luck. Jorvan. Try to get the jump on her.”

Jorvanultumn was already gathering air currents together. He targeted the lead priest first, sending a funnel of air to sweep her off her feet. She punched out with her hand and the wind burst against an invisible barrier.

“Go!” Ses-Izel ordered. She, Garet, the Youth Guards, and the rest of her troops rushed the steps.

Five priests raised their hands, and in unison chopped down with them. Boulders appeared above the middle courtyard. Too many for him to grab them all. However, there was still moisture on the ground from the recent rain. Jorvanultumn swept up every drop he could grasp. He sent the water over the Resistance members’ heads and froze it into an ice bridge to block the boulders. The boulders smashed through it—too large and too heavy for the ice. But it did slow them down. Resistance members dived away. Most of them succeeded. Jorvanultumn winced as a few were crushed.

Jorvanultumn pulled at and melted the ice fragments, then brought the water back together as a large wave. He sent it to the upper courtyard. Going after Ses-Xipil had been a mistake. He should have taken out the troops first.

Just before the wave crashed over the priests, he froze it. A solid block of ice collided with them. They stumbled, fell out of formation, but the effect was less than he had hoped. They had defences up.

Five conjurers. The other five a mix of the other two human disciplines.

Wait. Three were missing.

More boulders fell on those at the rear of the Resistance attack. Jets of flame shot from two of the conjurers down the steps, towards Garet and the Youth Guard.

That was better.

Jorvanultumn snatched the fire away from the conjurers, turned it around, and sent it right back at them. The two priests screamed as their robes and headdresses went up in flames and their skin burned. He hated having to resort to killing, but they were not giving him much other option.

He gathered together the now larger concentration of fire, mixed it with some additional fire from nearby torches, and brought it all under his control.

The three missing priests had to be mentalists. He needed to keep an eye out for them.

With a sweep of his right arm, he sent the swirling flames barrelling towards the remaining conjurers. The two remaining priests—the enchanters—ran forward and traced lines along the ground, then dived out of the way of the flames. The ground beneath the flames rose up and boxed them in.

Jorvanultumn shifted control of the air currents to his left leg, then used his arms to rip apart the stone surrounding his fire. The flames had diminished from lack of air, but had not gone out.

He sent the fire against the two enchanters, half towards one, half the other. In both cases, the folds of their robes expanded and engulfed the flames, quenching them. Damn. That was it for his fire, and the remaining conjurers were not likely to repeat the mistake of making more.

There were torches still lit in the lower courtyard. He could take the fire from there, but that would take time away from the battle.

He took quick stock of what everyone else was doing. Many Resistance members lay dead or incapacitated. Garet had fallen back to only halfway up the steps, but he was pushing forward. There was no sign of the Youth Guards or Ses-Izel.

Where was Ses-Xipil?

He gathered the water again. This time, he made spears of ice, sending them at the three remaining conjurers. One drove through a priest’s neck, but the other two priests created shields of stone in time to protect themselves. Jorvanultumn snatched the stone and slammed it into their heads.

The conjurers were down, except Ses-Xipil herself.

He guided the stone shields towards the enchanters. Pain shot through his head, and the stone dropped to the ground. More pain and he lost control of the air currents.

One of the missing mentalists appeared beside him. She held out her hand, palm open and close to the side of his head. He stiffened and could not perform the necessary actions to recast the spells.

Another of the mentalists appeared on his other side. She too held her palm out in the same manner. He could not move at all now.

The third mentalist and Ses-Xipil appeared in front of him.

“The rebels’ secret weapon,” Ses-Xipil said. She made a swift swipe with her hand as if to slap him, but she was too far back to connect. His heavy cloak shredded and flew away.

The mentalists gasped and for a moment, Jorvanultumn could move a little. But not for long.

Ses-Xipil laughed. “And to think I assumed you were a fat slob. The rebels really have spelled their own doom. Take him to where the people below can see him. Their new-found support will vanish in an instant.” She leaned in close to him. “Then I will make you watch your friends die as you have forced me to watch some of my dearest friends die. Then I will kill you myself.”

The two mentalists holding him turned their hands slightly. Jorvanultumn tried to resist. He used every fibre of his strength, but his leg still moved. Coordinating their movements, the two mentalists made him walk with slow, jerky steps to the top of the stairs leading down to the lower courtyard.

As they went, he tried to look around. Garet was being led forward by several warriors. One of the Youth Guards was leaning on the other for support, one leg covered in blood. They, too, were held at spear point. Three other surviving Resistance members were being bound near to them. Ses-Izel was on her knees. One cheek was pressed to the ground, the boot of a warrior in a red jerkin pressing down on the other.

In the dimming light, it was doubtful the people in the lower courtyard could see more than silhouettes of those above, but that was all that was needed to identify Jorvanultumn as an Isyar. Gasps, yells, even screams rang out from below as he came into view of the crowd.

“Look what you fight with!” Ses-Xipil cried out. “One of the very beings the world itself fights against! Did they tell you of him? No, they did not because they know full well what he represents. They knew his presence would reveal their lies. You have been misled by foreign conspiracies. We have warned you of the Will-Breaker, and she has many dangerous allies like this beast. Do not listen to them! Ninifin has never been more prosperous or free than it is today. We fought for our freedom two hundred years ago and we claimed it! Will you give it up to this Isyar and the Will-Breaker? If you do, she will bring destruction upon us worse than the Dragon himself.

“Look around us! We are infested with outsiders, from the Queen’s horse tender to this one here!”

The warriors brought Garet forward. He was struggling. Even bound, it took two to hold him.

Jorvanultumn struggled to free himself of the spell, but still could not move.

“We don’t even know when or how this one got here! He has not been seen before today. This only goes to show how insidious the Will-Breaker has been. But do not let her name fool you. We are rooting out her allies. Soon we will break her will. What would you have us do with this one?”

The crowd roared. Jorvanultumn could see some of them were trying to call out against Ses-Xipil. Ses-Patli pleaded with those around her. Acat and Kianto huddled to the side.

But most called for Garet’s death.

Ses-Xipil raised her arms, motioning for quiet. “I have heard you! Never let these rebels tell you we do not listen. We are here to serve and protect you.” She turned to Garet. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Fuck you, bitch.”

“Typical,” Ses-Xipil replied. “Kill him.”

Garet roared and struggled against the two warriors holding him. He managed to knock one aside, but a third had come up behind him. That one drove his spear into Garet’s back. Garet bent backwards from the blow. He was still yelling and struggling. The warrior ripped the spear back out again, and Garet fell to the ground. His arms tried to grab hold of something, tried to pull himself back up. The warrior drove the spear through Garet’s neck and the Arnorin prince stopped moving.

“Now, go home, all of you!” Ses-Xipil yelled at the crowd.

People ran. A stampede resulted.

Jorvanultumn wanted to wipe the tears from his eyes, but he still could not move.

“That should reinstate their fear very nicely,” Ses-Xipil said, turning to Jorvanultumn. “Thank you for your help. Now. who do you wish to see die next? The merchant who deals with outsiders? One of the two Youth Guards? Any of the few others who remain? Tell me where the Will-Breaker is and I will let them live. You will still die, but your friends will live. Allow him to speak.”

Jorvanultumn found he could move his mouth. He took several slow, deep breaths.

“Do you wish to tell me?”

“I tell you this: Not all spells require movement.” He sucked in, pulling the breath out of his four captors. They all clutched at their throats and chests, and Jorvanultumn could move again.

He ran. He pulled up a heavy whirlwind to knock aside the guard holding Ses-Izel down. He sent a blade of rock to knock out the legs of the Youth Guards’ captors.

He spread his wings and took to the air for the first time in ages. They ached and protested at the exertion, but he kept going. The air against him felt invigorating.

He glided round for a pass over the middle courtyard. Ses-Xipil and the three mentalists were recovering. One of the mentalists vanished from sight. Metal blades shot from Ses-Xipil’s hands and through the air towards Jorvanultumn. He banked to the right and they missed by a wide margin.

Jorvanultumn directed air beneath him as support while he beat his wings to build up more air currents. He sent the funnels cascading across the three courtyards. They zipped around allies and knocked over enemies. One barrelled into Ses-Xipil, who stumbled backwards. Her feet met only air, and with a cry, she toppled over the cliff edge.

The power flowing through him was exhilarating. but his body was screaming at him to stop. If he kept this up much longer, burnout would be inevitable.

So he stopped. He let the magic go and glided down beside Ses-Izel, who was standing up. It was all Jorvanultumn could do to stay standing when he landed. Now he just wanted to sleep. “Is it over?”

Ses-Izel stared across the battlefield, at the bodies scattered there. Most of them were Resistance members. The Palace warriors Jorvanultumn had knocked over were struggling to get back up.

Ses-Izel’s shoulders slumped. “For now. Probably for a long time. It was too soon. We acted too soon.” She looked in the direction of the two Youth Guards and called out, “Fra-Chan, can you walk?”

“Sort of,” the Youth Guard replied.

Ses-Iktan was untying the other Resistance members’ bonds.

“We need to get out of here before the guards recover and reinforcements arrive,” Ses-Izel said. “If you find any of us still alive, try to help them along, but if you can’t help, free them from their misery and keep moving.”

Ses-Izel led the way down the steps to the first courtyard, followed by the remaining Resistance members and Jorvanultumn. The two Youth Guards fell well behind, and were not even halfway down when the others reached the bottom. Fra-Chan stumbled along on her injured leg, supported by Ses-Iktan. In the middle courtyard above them, the Palace guards were rushing to the stairs.

Jorvanultumn took a deep breath, spread his wings, and took to the sky again. He landed in front of the Youth Guards.

One more spell. He could manage one more spell.

With a sweep of his wings, he distorted the top few steps, raised them up to create a wall blocking the approaching warriors.

“Will you trust me?” Jorvanultumn asked Fra-Chan.

The young girl was shivering, but her head moved just a little more than the rest of her body. Jorvanultumn took that to be a nod.

“Go,” he told Ses-Iktan. “I will get her to safety.”

Ses-Iktan hesitated a moment, but then nodded and hurried down the stairs.

Jorvanultumn stepped behind Fra-Chan and put his arms around her. “Hold tight.” Her body stiffened but still shook, and she clutched his arms. Jorvanultumn spread his wings and took to the air.

He had never before carried another person while flying, and had not even been sure he could manage it. But the girl was small and light for a human, so it was manageable. Nevertheless, it was a strain, and he could not use his arms to guide his movements as he could not let go of her. He could not keep this up for long, but he could at least get her away from the Palace and maybe even to the other side of the City before needing to land again.

Her shivering subsided gradually as they flew. “This is incredible,” she muttered.

They reached the woods north of the City, but his wings and arms could bear the strain no longer. He landed at the edge of the trees, let go of Fra-Chan, stumbled a short distance into the forest—just enough for the trees to cover him from casual observance—and collapsed into the vines and mud.

A moment later, a hand touched his shoulder and he looked up. It was Fra-Chan. She had sat down beside him and was sobbing.

“It is all right,” Jorvanultumn said, straining to sit up. “You are safe now.”

“I know,” she said. “But so many died.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Sorry for your friend.”

“My friend?”

“Garet.”

“He was not my friend, but I do mourn him. I mourn them all.”

They sat there for some time, crying together in the dark.