Above them, the monument went back to its place, closing the gap. A thin metal railing appeared around the round plate, protecting them from the shaft’s walls, discreet light shining on that railing as well.

In twenty seconds or so, the elevator stopped. Two large doors opened, showing only darkness. Timidly, the spy advanced one foot, trying to find the floor. As soon as he touched it, lights appeared one after another, on the walls. The tunnel was massive; it went forward forever, wide enough to allow two or three carriages to move side by side.

“Do you think there are traps around?” asked Feyra.

“This is not a dungeon, milady, but an access route,” the elf replied. “I remember the Liar mentioned that the Ship was transformed in an anatomic shelter.”

“A what?” asked the spy. “What’s that?”

“If we are to believe him, the humans of old had some terrifying weapons called anatomic weapons that burned everything in their path, leaving behind just the silhouettes of the victims, thus the anatomic name. When the Others attacked, the citizens took refuge here, most of them. The Old City was destroyed, but before the Others bombed the citadel, Santiago downed their ship. Which is, of course, impossible for any wizard, no matter how powerful. It exploded, as I’ve said.”

“Yes, so you said. I prefer to think my ancestor was badass enough to pull a ship out of the sky.”

“Should we proceed or give Lau more time for the diversion?” asked Heyra.

“Let’s go on, proposed, Istaìnn. We’re at a mile from the Citadel; that’s plenty of time. The diversion attack should begin in less than five minutes.”

“Very well. Remember, no spells!” warned Faredhiel, and he went ahead.

Fifteen minutes and a lot of boredom later, they arrived in front of another two-pronged gate.

“Another elevator. It will lead us to the upper levels,” said the elf.

The doors opened by themselves, and a similar metal pedestal waited behind. They stepped on it, but this time it didn’t start at all.

“Ah, this one has buttons!” observed Faredhiel. “The highest should be the one.”

He pressed it, and the door closed. A few seconds later, other doors opened, and other lights appeared. This couloir was narrower and square.

Prudently, Istaìnn looked around, then stepped on, followed by the rest. He walked not more than five yards when he heard shouts, neighs, and noises. He turned around, preparing to pull his crossbow, but the fight was already over.

Feyra rested on the floor, in the arms of her sister, bleeding profusely from the neck, while another body, limp and with its head a pulp, laid just one yard away. It was an Other, an Assassin. Pumpkin was beating its chest with his hooves again and again, despite the fact the man was already dead.

“Hurry, heal her!” shouted Heyra, who was applying pressure to the wound, but he had begun that even before she had spoken. Ignoring the alarmed look in Faredhiel’s eyes, he healed her with all his powers. Seeing the girls on the floor, one unconscious and other desperate, and all the blood that tainted their clothes, his heartbeats went to his ears, loud like a drum. His body wanted to cry and to panic, but he didn’t allow himself that.

He kneeled near them, taking all the energy he could from Heyra and pushing all his powers toward Feyra. The wound had closed, the skin was looking like new, yet Feyra was lying still unconscious. Faredhiel took her pulse.

“She has a steady pulse, that’s good…”

“Then why is she not waking up?” cried Heyra. “Sis… Sis!”

“What happened?” asked the spy while helping Heyra to support her sister.

“He came from nowhere, I swear,” replied Faredhiel. “Maybe he had some invisibility spell. He just appeared and attacked her. The horse killed him on the spot. So long for our plan of having a clear path in the Ship.”

“Why is she not waking up?” Heyra asked again.

“I don’t know,” said Faredhiel. “Maybe the shock, maybe the blood loss. By the way, thank goodness that the Reactor didn’t explode...”

“Damn the Reactor, what should we do?” asked the spy, panicked. He found the solution himself. “We’ll do a transfusion! Hurry, Heyra, do what I do."

He feverishly took his coat off, pulled his and Feyra’s shirt sleeve up, and pressed his wrist on her’s, and all his forearm, for that matter. Five seconds after him, Heyra was ready too.

“Help us, magic, let us share our blood to save her!” Istainn shouted, hoping that magic worked like the Liar said. He moaned, feeling the veins getting out of his flesh and melting with Feyra’s arm. Heyra let out some “aahs” because it hurt a lot, but both clenched their teeth and endured.

With a gasp, Feyra opened her eyes, then turned on a side and throw up, and nothing could have made the spy happier than the sight of one of his beloved ones vomiting. By itself, the connection separated the moment the girl awoke.

They raised, painfully. Looking at the vomit, blood, and Other brain bits on their coats, they decided to abandon them. They patted Pumpkin, and the girls even kissed him on his big head, which made the horse neigh in protest.

“This one wanted to make me suffer!” stated Istaìnn, looking at the assassin. “I killed one of their kings; he wanted to kill one of my Queens… I wonder how he knew...”

The girls shivered, and he knew they had to push on, if only to stop thinking about what happened.

“Let’s go,” the spy said. “Which way, cuz?”

“Just ahead and up that ramp. We’re on the upper floor, only it has two levels. Above us is the bridge.”

This time, they let Pumpkin in front. Suddenly, after they just made three steps, the spy turned to Feyra and hugged her with all his strength, hiding his face in her hair and kissing it. Then he let her go and hugged Heyra too. He opened his mouth, but before he had the chance to say something that would have revealed his already obvious feelings, his cousin scolded him.

“Leave the displays of affections for later; we have more pressing matters!”

They met no more troubles on that floor, and a minute later, they were looking at the bridge through a doorway with no door. Blocking their path, a bright light-field, occupied all the space of the frame. A few steps away, an armor stood at attention, one of those decoratives armors displayed in the rich's houses.

“A force field?” asked the spy while trying to probe with his mind the light in the door.

Heyra took a small coin from her pocket and threw it in the light. With a strong hiss, the metal evaporated in a blink.

“That must be the protection system,” appreciated the elf. “Impressive. How can we disarm it? Is there some control around? This keypad on the wall, maybe?”

Pumpkin snuffled loudly, trying to get their attention.

“What is it, boy, do you feel another Other?” asked Heyra.

“Oh, shoot! I’m discovered! I hoped you will open the door for me.”

The armor budged, and they realized now that a space ship was hardly the place to put a decorative armor.

“If you open the door, I’ll let you go!” promised the Other inside the armor. Now they could see that his armaments were not quite alike those they were used to. The helmet visor was transparent, with small holes in it, the armor had a reddish color, and the colossal halberd looked way too heavy for a human.

“Let us consider things,” asked the spy politely, while frantically making gestures with his hands for the girls to get behind him and for Pumpkin to get behind the Other.

“And who are you, if I might ask,” he tried to buy some time.

“I’m Centurion one-five-two-three-six; nice to meet you, wizard,” replied the armored stranger. “Or not! It’s up to you!”

“And how do you know who am I?” the spy continued.

“We felt you when you killed our king. We are all connected. We know who you are.”

Hm, a sort of empathic connection, like mine with the girls, thought the spy. If he’s so big and armored, he must be a sort of soldier, thus, not very bright. Let’s push on with the questions.

“Are you all alone here?” he asked, pushing the things a little, but to his surprise, the Other replied sincerely.

“I suppose so. The Assasin must’ve been killed by you, or you’d not be here, and the rest of us are up in the Citadel. So most likely, yes.”

“Well, do you think we could find a peaceful agreement? Like you just go away?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” asked the Centurion, taking his halberd in an attacking position.

“Well, honestly, yes,” replied the spy. “Go, Pumpkin!”

The stead had moved to a perfect position; he thrust both his hooves in the Other’s back.

To the spy's most unpleasant surprise, the Centurion just slid forward on both his feet, and he used his momentum trying to cleave the spy’s head from his shoulders, missing his throat by only a few inches.

“GET BACK, GET BACK!” the spy shouted to the girls while trying to run aside and get out of the Other’s range.

The Centurion seemed to know well who was the most dangerous adversary and turned to Pumpkin. Fleeing was not in the stead’s habit, yet he had to do it. Istaìnn tried in vain to shoot the Other with the crossbow; the bolts were ricocheting like from a stone. The Centurion turned slowly toward him.

“I’m invulnerable in this armor, human, but nice try,” he said, raising the halberd, and this time the spy had his back to a wall and had nowhere to run.

Damn, Damn Faredhiel and his idiotic theories, I need magic!

But before he had time to devise a spell, Heyra shouted.

“STOP! We’ll open the door! Just let him alone!”

He wanted to protest, but he saw her blink at him.

“Come, I’ll show you the code!” she told the Centurion and approached the small keypad fixed on the wall next to the door.

The Other lowered his halberd and approached the door at his turn. That was the moment, both Feyra and Faredhiel shoved him on his back, pushing him into the light-field. There were a lot of crackles and smoke, but no yell. All his front half disappeared, disintegrated. The rest of the armor fell on its back, exposing half of a burned corpse.

“Goodness! This is even worse than the gore from downstairs!” exclaimed the spy. ‘But good job, girls!”

“Well, we had an outstanding teacher in cunningness. The boss of bosses, the great wizard and smartass Istaìnn,” joked Feyra.

“Looks like the door is opened,” said Faredhiel. “He must’ve overcharged it!”

And it was as he said, the path to the Bridge was open.

“Guard the entry, Pumpkin,” asked the spy, and they entered the room.