The room beyond was an immense workplace. Desks in regular patterns were covered in instruments and storage shelves lined the walls. It could have been deserted yesterday, there was not even dust on the workbenches. The desks were smooth and dark, with a strange dull sheen to them. Brunhilde wandered into an aisle.

“Don’t touch anything,” Hope said.

Brunhilde eyed the clutter with suspicion. “What is this place?”

“It’s a workshop. They make weapons or other more dangerous things here. They go to the gardens to eat and rest, and then they come back here,” Hope said. “Or they did, when people lived here.”

“You know a lot about these sky cities,” Brunhilde said.

“Maybe one day, if you behave, I’ll take you to visit one,” Hope said. She walked around the desks, scanning the half-finished projects. She ran her hands over interesting looking ones. A few pulsed with sympathetic energies; arcane batteries yet to be charged, shielding plates, components.

“This is the stuff that Bedehv wants? Is it any use?”

“If you had any knowledge of real magic you could use this space to make something truly… dangerous. Bedehv has none of that knowledge.”

Brunhilde crouched and peered through a long glass coil. Hope’s body appeared to stretch and shrink as Brunhilde moved her head back and forth.

“What’s this for?”

“I have no idea, I’m a princess, not a glassblower.” Hope walked by more benches, glanced over their contents and ignored them.

Brunhilde hefted the glass coil in her hands, it was surprisingly heavy. There was nothing in the inner space but looking through it was like looking through hot desert air.

“HeyAAARGH-OOOOOOh,” Brunhilde’s voice warped and twisted like trumpets attempting human speech.

Hope span round with her hand on her sword. “What are you doing?” she screamed.

Brunhilde put the coil back down on the table. “Let’s find that scholar’s prize so I can wring the truth out of him,” Brunhilde said. The echoes of her distorted voice continued to bounce around the chamber. “If he can’t use any of this, pick the most complicated looking thing and let’s go.”

“I’m not looking for him, I’m looking for me. The real power will be in the vault. They must have a vault here,” Hope said.

They searched the space until they found a likely looking exit. Another door, smaller than the entry, but with the same arcane designs. Hope traced her fingers over the design, making complex shapes with her hands and humming to herself. Brunhilde dropped her pack to the floor and lay against it.

“I’ll have a nap,” Brunhilde said.

“This won’t take long,” Hope said. But Brunhilde was already sprawled across the doorway, snoring.

The Barbarian slipped into a drowsy dream. She was lying against a rock, watching her uncles load their ship. Their conversation was half-heard, friendly but focused. They were making ready for a raid. She wanted to join them but was still too young. The winds were blowing, playful and powerful gusts pulled at their clothes and beards. The winds changed slightly, and the crew paused. They could feel the trade winds coming, they increased their pace. One of them, Ragnar or Uncle Half-tooth, turned to her and waved. “Identify yourself,” he said.

Brunhilde jerked awake. Hope was standing before the door, which now glowed with light, but a large conical slab of stone had emerged from the ceiling. A pale glowing eye like a window was glaring at Hope.

“Identify yourself,” Brunhilde heard the words in her mind again.

“I am Princess-“ Hope stopped and looked back at Brunhilde. She finished her sentence in a foreign language that Brunhilde had never heard. The head swivelled back and forth for a second.

“Enemy,” the mind-voice spoke again. The single eye pulsed and a wide beam of energy lanced towards them. Brunhilde rolled out of the doorway. Meanwhile Hope’s magic created a barrier of light that shook but dissipated the attack completely.

“I am a Princess!” Hope cried out.

“Enemy princess,” the machine wailed in their heads.

“We have a treaty!” Hope cried.

“Unknown,” it screeched.

Another beam of light spattered against Hope’s shield, and she felt her magic waver. She had been too long in the dark. She skipped backwards out of the doorway and leapt aside. The two adventurers eyed each other across the now dangerous space between them. Another beam of power pulsed from inside. There was a burning smell of leather and metal as Brunhilde’s pack ignited.

Hope weaved her fingers together. Could she muster enough power for a complicated spell? Brunhilde watched her delicate fingers dance.

“Can you break that thing?” Brunhilde called out.

An ominous thud sounded from the alcove. Metal and stone scraped. A stone machine on crablike legs scuttled from the nook, its conical head turned on top, searching for the intruders. Vicious light glittered in its single eye. Lethal magic was poised ready to eliminate them.

Hope span behind a work bench. Another beam washed against her hiding place. The smell of molten glass above hit her nostrils. “The lens- the eye, smash its eye!” she called out.

Brunhilde was already running in a low crouch into the workspace. She grabbed a length of metal piping about the length of a spear and tested its heft.

“Hey! I’m an enemy princess too,” she called out.

The head swivelled towards her. “Unrecognised,” the machine said.

Brunhilde launched her improvised spear into the creature’s eye. It lodged itself into the crystal with a sharp crack. She ducked down behind a stone bench.

“Is it done?” she called out. There was no answer. She heard instruments break above as the creature clambered over workstations. She looked up to see a stone leg looming over her.

It struck. The vibration of its strike shook her bones and shattered the stone beside her. She grasped its leg and lifted. The thing was as heavy as stone and pushed back stubbornly. This close it could not turn its shattered eye to look at her, but other legs clattered nearby and struck at her.

“You forgotten beast!” she cursed. She forced the leg upwards and overhead. The sentry pulled backwards. She stepped up onto the table, still grasping its leg. The creature leaned back on its rear legs. It battered her sides and shoulders with its other legs. Brunhilde roared and thrust its leg up and over its body, flipping it onto its back.

“Die in the dark!” she shouted in triumph.

The creature tucked its legs in and rolled backwards, righting itself. Legs shot out and lifted its body. The broken eye still impaled by metal rod searched for her. The thing was robbed of its deadly beam but still able to see. It stalked towards her.

Hope threw her arms out and a golden net fell across the machine. But her light was so thin that it faded like a spiderweb.

Brunhilde launched herself onto the flat conical head of the sentry. It moved and the impact bruised her ribs, but she grasped the metal rod with one arm and clung to it. It stopped, confused, then shook its head to dislodge her.

Hope put her hand to the grip of her sword. She resisted drawing it even as she knew that she must. Would it burn cold as night or bright as day? She drew, and the Blade that Burns Night or Day slipped from its sheath. It was a brilliant white. Shivering heat cascaded from its edge.

She lunged and sliced at the sentry’s leg. It parted like silk under a tailor’s scissors. The sentry toppled backwards and Brunhilde forced the metal spear down into it. Garbled nonsense filled their heads as it called for helped or cursed them with its failing mind. Something broke inside it and it fell inert. Brunhilde pulled the metal rod out and stood like a whaler atop a catch. She tried to bend the rod, but it would not budge.

“Here,” Hope gasped.

Brunhilde tossed the rod down and Hope’s sword caught it on the way. The metal fell in two pieces. The sword shivered with power. Hope held her hand out to the radiant power of the blade. Its white light fed her magic even more than the noon sun, but with a burning cold pain that she had never been able to bear for more than seconds. The delicate patterns on her arm glittered with power. She sheathed the blade and it went back to sleep.

“You should bury that thing down here,” Brunhilde said. She eyed the sword with distaste.

“You should stop breaking weapons,” Hope replied without looking. She clenched her hand by her side, waiting for the pain to subside.

Before either of them could say any more, there was a teeth-rattling screeching from the workshop. Around the walls more sentries identical to the first emerged from the walls and dropped down. These were smaller, but they scurried in unison towards the duo.

“Dead memories! More?” Brunhilde cried. “Fall back to the entry.” She raced back to the entryway of the workshop. Hope followed her.

“Can you close this door?” Brunhilde called.

“Of course, but they can open it,” Hope said. She waved her hand and stone flowed from the walls to create the great doorway again. She drew her hand across the design and her magic sparked with white fie, burning away the pattern. “But this could slow them.”

They heard the sentries babbling in their heads. These ones seemed less intelligent than the first, repeating commands to surrender. The doorway shifted, but Hope’s sabotage worked to slow its opening. Only a part above them swung free. One of the sentries poked a leg through.

Brunhilde grabbed the leg and pulled. With a great crack the leg tore away.

“I can break these!” Brunhilde cried. “Come then, little spiders!” She stabbed at the opening doorway with the leg, driving back the scurrying mass trying to push through. A shining eye appeared and glowed as it prepared to attack. Brunhilde punched it. Her knuckles bled and smarted, but the glass cracked, and no beam of light came forth.

“I’ll make you all as blind as starless night!” Brunhilde roared. “Come on, help me,” she called to Hope.

Hope dropped her hand to her sword. It shook from the memory of the sword’s power. “I can’t,” she whispered. She mustered her power and raised her hands, but there was no light, she had nothing to give. Hope turned away from the door and ran back to the Coil.

“Hope! Tell them I fought spiders with eyes like stars,” Brunhilde called after her. The doorway was opening further now, sharp legs lashed out at the barbarian. She kicked the tangled mass of sentries backwards, but more climbed into the doorway.

Hope ran to the edge of the great staircase with a sick feeling in her stomach. She took a deep breath and imagined the face of her fencing teacher, staring disdainfully at her from the far edge. He would taunt her to fall, never expecting her to keep her balance.

She leapt out onto the thick tree root spanning the abyss. Without looking down she skipped forward like a fencer over the limb. She made it to the edge of the garden and dropped down into the river below. The cold water soaked her clothes and her hair clung across her face, but she swam and then waded to the garden, spluttering water all the way. With water dripping from her she pushed her way through the branches, towards the prism of glittering power at their core.

In the doorway Brunhilde was pushed back by a wave of the sentries. Their eye beams lanced randomly into the corridor. Where the beams hit, she felt a numbing slowness in her muscles. She elbowed one into the floor, cracking its shell, another leapt onto her from the pile above. They were spilling out into the corridor now, forcing her back and making a ramp for others to climb through.

Hope reached the warm scintillating pillar at the core of the garden. Her arms were scratched and torn by the rough branches and thorns of the plants. Near the reflected sunlight the plants were thick, all of them stretching out and jostling to be close to the life-giving light. Leaves clamoured around her face, roots dragged at her boots. Hope was just another shape trying to reach the light. Her boot caught on a root and she stretched her arm out, her fingertips glanced against the surface. Not close enough to receive its power.

Brunhilde staggered backwards. Too many of the lancing beams had struck her, she was tired and unable to raise her arms. The mumbling of the sentries’ voices in her mind was overwhelming. More of them scuttled towards her. She couldn’t see well enough to retreat or push forward.

Hope twisted her foot free and her hand fell onto the central pillar. There was light, she felt it coursing down from the surface, carefully fractioned and ordered so that each garden would receive its fair share of the Sun’s gift. She pulled. The arcane circuits resisted. She smiled a vicious smile and with the stubbornness and delicacy of a princess she wrenched the pillar’s light from it. A thunderous crack echoed in the shaft. Like a dam breaking the power of it poured into Hope. She felt the patterns on her skin shine with power. She could have raised the gardens into the sky with the power she held but rescuing her friend would be enough. She held her free hand behind her and her magic danced from her. It leapt like horizontal lightning bolts through the garden and down the corridor. Her magic was an extension of her. She felt the sentry’s minds, they were like burrs, clingy but soft. She squeezed and their brains snuffed out.

Brunhilde saw the patterns of light. It must be the torches on her father’s boat, welcoming her across the Sea of the Dead. She was ready. Though she wanted to see her living family again she was ready to join her family on the other side. But the light faded, and the sentries fell dead. They tumbled to the floor. They were just rocks now, carved in strange shapes. Brunhilde sunk to the floor, panting heavily.

“Ah Hope, such a marvel,” she muttered.

After a while she felt blood in her arms and legs, the feeling came back to her. She rose and kicked one of the sentries. Still dead. She peered into the workshop, they were all dark and motionless. She spat on the pile.

“This is not my victory. Still, I sent many of you to Old Man Moon. May he swallow your memory whole.” She turned her back to them and went looking for Hope.

Following the furrow of destruction that Hope’s attack had left in the garden, Brunhilde found the princess lying half-unconscious besides the now dark pillar. Her tattoos glowed with power, the light shone through her clothes. Brunhilde lifted her up and took her to the riverside. She placed her gently down and turned her arms over, checking for deep wounds. Nothing serious, but her dress was ripped in places. Her colourful cloak was still in one piece, as Brunhilde touched it, she noticed a similar slickness to the workbenches.

As Hope woke her light dimmed. She opened her eyes to see Brunhilde staring at her with concern. The princess smiled, then she snapped to attention and rose to her feet. “You’re alive. Well done,” she said curtly.

“My thanks,” Brunhilde said.

“It would be a waste of a strong ox to let you die to those idiot things. I may need you to help carry treasures from the vault,” Hope said. She smoothed her hands over her dress. The fabric flowed like water, repairing itself under her touch.

Brunhilde laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Hope said.

“Princesses, I suppose,” Brunhilde said.

They made their way back to the corridor of motionless sentries. Brunhilde hefted the pile out of the half-opened doorway until there was space for them to climb over.

Hope headed straight from the vault door. She could still feel the shape of the sun-lens that she had broken, carved millennia ago by craftsmen of Vis-Dimmud. After tasting that pattern she knew how to open the vault door. At a touch the doorway opened.

“I hope this is not empty after all our effort.” Brunhilde peered over Hope’s shoulder into the vault. It was a large circular chamber with a depression in the centre. The air from the vault was heavy and moist. She smelled something foul.

In the centre of the room beyond, something alive and evil pulsed.