Night had fallen outside. Inside the tower, however, Errol couldn't tell what time it was or how long they had climbed. The sun might rise and set again before they reached the top. For all he knew, there was no top. They were cursed to spiral through the blackness forever and ever—

"The way's blocked," Maeda called from up above, a huskiness born of exasperation creeping in to her voice. Even she seemed weary after the long climb, although he didn't dare mention it. Despite all of Rhae's ballads to soothe the ragged edges of their nerves, Maeda had glowered at them when Gruvrik had cracked a joke that a single fish-man was stronger than a dragon, a dwarf, and a “wee little lass.”

Errol stopped climbing the stairs, hands on his knees to catch his breath. Everyone else joined Maeda to shoot down each other's suggestions for getting past the blockage. He took a moment to reflect on the gap between their strengths. He’d never make Bull at this rate.

Yet for all her incredible sensor field control and physical prowess, Maeda's combat skills with the electric field were only mediocre. Fine, still well above average, he corrected himself in a rush of annoyed honesty. Likely, he had a chance at catching up or possibly even out-ranking her in the future. He sighed. It all depended on whether he could gain mastery over the arcane voltage steam the Eels hurled into their enemies to shock them into submission.

His failed attempt against Jarkoda had stung his pride. He was weak; and worse, he still required physical contact just to loose a small trickle of the lightning. He was a long way from transforming his voltage steam into a lance.

Above him, the arguing grew more intense. Dreading the encounter with Maeda, he dragged himself up the next flight of stairs, indulging in one last fantasy. Eels functioned as the strike force of the Shark Clan, while Rays were the hunters and listeners, so they didn’t exactly share a command structure. If he joined the elite assassins, he wouldn’t have direct authority over Maeda, but she would be forced to show him respect nonetheless. Maybe she would even be his friend one day.

Her withering glare when he joined the group killed the dream instantly. He buried his misplaced hope.

"Our fearless leader! All our problems are solved."

Errol shrugged, ignoring Maeda’s barb—he was used to them. He surveyed the pile of rubble and twisted girders. Upward was no longer an option. He clasped his hands behind his back and studied the pillar as though he has some deep insight into the solution, but he was really just buying time. If he faltered now, he'd never regain their trust, or respect. How many times have I had that exact thought? I walk the razor’s edge.

Maeda rolled her eyes. "Well? We're waiting."

He turned toward her, solemn and measured on the outside, but inwardly he felt like he was drowning. A faint wind ruffled his scarf and he seized the sudden inspiration, glancing over at the wall to try to find the crack. “Feel that wind? When the storm surge damaged the pillar, it broke through the wall around the stairway, creating this pile of debris blocking our way. If the storm can get in, then we can get out. Figure out where the break is. Let's clear out a way to the wall, then we can climb the steel support beams as far as we need to go."

Taras slung his shield over his back and strode toward the wall, nodding. "Only here, by the maintenance stairs, is the supporting wall thin enough to crumble. We couldn't cut our way though otherwise. Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise. Good plan."

Maeda scoffed. "A blessing would be walking the rest of the way to the top, undisturbed. Stop feeding the Mako's ego."

“Stop undermining his command,” Taras countered. “He brought you here without Indara knowing, and you’re still here only because she permitted your intrusion. Do not think we share your childish prejudice simply because of his rank.”

Gruvrik belched in the corner. “I do, actually. The kid’s a bit of a runt.”

A smile twitched at the corner of the cleric’s mouth. “Fine words from a dwarf.”

Errol strode over to the wall where he felt a hint of wind rustle his cloak, and reached his hands into a crack in the stone. He tugged, pulling off a fist-sized rock, and tossed it down the center of the stairwell. It fell far enough that he couldn’t hear the impact when it hit the floor, but he tried not to dwell on how high up they were. The rest of the rough stone proved harder to tear off. He dug in his dagger, struggling to find purchase. Grunting with the effort, he dislodged more chunks, none larger than a finger.

Without a word, Rashana joined him. Her metal fingers melded into a hook on one side, and a hammer on the other. She alternated between heavy blows and sharp rakes, tearing apart more of the wall with each pass.

Jarkoda limped over, not meeting Errol’s eyes, but he threw himself into the task, sharing Rashana’s space on the wall. He took his blood debt seriously, growling as he strained to rip off sections of concrete as large as the ones Rashana demolished.

The rest of the team moved in to support the effort, digging and slashing with the force of a shared purpose. Only Maeda hung back.

Errol felt a spike of pity for her, but he suppressed the instinct. She would come around if she felt like it, and only then; if he tried to force the issue she would only respond with contempt. Her pride was on the line, after all.

Cracks spread through the wall suddenly, branching out in a spider web pattern. “Back!” Errol shouted, pulling Rhae and Gruvrik with him as he jumped away from the wall.

Rashana smashed her hands together, welding them into a massive sledgehammer. She swung both arms in a huge overhand blow, pounding the wall in the center of the fissures. Stone exploded out like she’d dropped a match into concussive powder. Slabs of steel-reinforced wall slid off, an avalanche of falling concrete and twisted metal. Dust rushed through the gaping hole, choking Errol and stinging his eyes.

He staggered, scrubbing at his eyes with his scarf. The cloud of pulverized rock drifted in chalky patterns around him, slowly settling to the floor. Outside, black clouds swirled in the gulf where Rashana had destroyed what was left of the damaged wall. He could faintly make out the stars overhead. Deep night, but perhaps closer to morning than midnight.

Rhae walked over and stuck her head outside, whistling a lively tune that quickened the blood. Errol didn’t recognize the song, but he felt invigorated despite the late hour. She turned from side to side, scanning the outer wall. “Well, the good news is that we can get outside!”

Maeda snorted in derision.

“The bad news,” Rhae continued, unperturbed, “is that there’s nothing to hang on to that I can see. Climbing doesn’t seem to be an option for at least a couple dozen yards straight up. Then we can dance along a steel girder that’s big enough to hold all seven of us side by side, although it may be a tight fit since Gruvrik is so fat.”

Gruvrik chortled, slapping her on the shoulder, a grin showing through his beard. It was a friendly blow, but Rhae still staggered sideways, almost falling out of the hole in the wall. Taras steadied her and shook his head at the dwarf.

Errol heaved his pack to the floor, fishing inside for his thieves’ kit. He withdrew a length of coiled rope and a small, claw-shaped grappling hook. Three throws later, he realized that he’d never be able to fling the hook far enough to loop all the way around the girder, which loomed in the darkness above him, at least twice as thick as his hovel in Laurentum.

“Jarkoda, I need the strength of dragons.”

The young monk flinched, then drew himself up, dragging his gaze to meet Errol by force of will. “As you command.”

An uneasy peace passed between them, but the halfdragon took the hook in his hands, hefting it to get a sense for the weight. He stepped into the breach and hurled the hook and rope into the heavens. It raced upward, arcing over the girder with twenty feet to spare, and wrapped around the beam, colliding with the metal with a satisfying thunk.

The grappling hook didn’t bite. It hung like a child’s fish hook on a slender string, dwarfed by the sheer scale of the Bridge. Instead of looping all the way back around the rope and tangling in place, the hook barely reached past the opposite edge of the massive girder, swaying in the star-studded sky.

“I can be of use here,” Rashana said. She pushed her hands together again, dissolving the hammer in seconds. Next her fingers elongated, split, sharpened; they articulated with too many joints and a multitude of digits, clacking and dancing in front of her. She reached for the edge of the wall and jammed the razor points into the stone, splaying her hands. Deep cracks formed under each point of insertion, but she hauled herself outside, clinging like a spider to the smooth surface of the pillar. The hunters leaned their heads out of the hole to watch her rapid ascent.

Errol threw up his hands. “Why didn’t you just do that earlier?”

Rashana didn’t answer. Her right hand slipped, gouging the wall. She jammed it back in the concrete and scrambled another few yards, but her movements grew labored, jerky. Her fingers started to slide again, leaving score marks like a panther sharpening her claws on a tree. With a last twitch, she shoved both fists deep into the wall, burying them to the elbows, and then her metal body clattered against the wall, as lifeless as a pile of scrap.

“Now we know her limits,” Taras muttered next to him. He sounded oddly encouraged.

“Pull the hook back down,” Errol commanded. “We’ll hook into her, instead.”

Jarkoda’s eyes narrowed to slits at the suggestion, but he jerked on the line, reeling the clawed roped back to their perch on the stairs. He snorted a puff of smoke in Errol’s direction to signal disapproval, then flung the grappling hook up toward Rashana. It wrapped up around her shoulders three times, the claws catching fast in the loop of the wire-reinforced rope.

Errol grasped the rope with both hands and began climbing. He wasn’t the strongest or the lightest, but he was in charge. Sometimes that meant taking matters into his own hands. In any case, he couldn’t ask anyone else to take the risk. Rashana’s carapace had come to a stop roughly three yards short of the steel girder, wedged into the fractured crater she’d created with the last of her energy.

His arms burned with the effort. If he had been fresher, the climb would have been a simple thing, like ascending rigging in a ship, but he’d been through two battles, a murderous storm, and an endless set of stairs today already, all without sleep. Trembling, he pulled himself up a few inches at a time, stopping when he couldn’t hold any longer to wrap his feet around the rope and hold himself in place with an ankle lock. Once he caught his breath, he continued his ascent, hand over hand.

When he returned to Laurtum, he vowed, he’d spend more time in the training room. The rope climb would become his best friend.

By the time he grasped Rashana’s arms and flopped over her shoulder, resting on top of her metal shell, he was having serious second thoughts about his plan. Initially, he figured that it would be easy to perch on top of Rashana, leap upward to plant a foot on the wall, and redirect off the kick to gain extra height and grab the girder. He’d learned the technique from acrobats on the streets in his youth, and used it many times escaping from the guards back when he made a living by theft.

But now, over half a mile up in the sky, clinging to the side of a Bridge pillar, he made the mistake of looking down. A fist of ice clenched deep inside his gut. His breathing spiraled out of control, rising in a rapid cycle until he slapped himself in the cheek and forced himself to breathe in a deep, even pattern.

The panic subsided slowly. When his limbs stopped trembling, his thoughts ran through new possibilities, considering and rejecting each idea. At last the obvious hit him. He groaned in embarrassment, glad that Jarkoda couldn’t witness his distress from so far below and make any disparaging comments about the weakness of humans.

Errol grasped the grappling hook and tried to wriggle it free from its hold. The claws had sunk in deep, and they refused to budge when he pulled. He worked it back and forth like a saw instead, trying to feed slack into the knot by pulling up the rest of the rope and unwinding the loops around Rashana. The grip loosened and broke free.

Gratitude flooded him. He coiled up the rope again, holding the working end, and threw the hook over the girder, which now stood roughly ten feet above his head. The grappling hook flew well beyond the massive beam, catching the starlight as it fell. Rope spooled from his hand until it reached the end, but he restrained it with a sharp tug. He tied off the rope, looping it twice underneath Rashana’s shoulders with a whisper of apology.

Far down below, he could see the hook had passed close to the hole where his hunters waited for him. They couldn’t quite reach, but maybe they could find a way to snag it with another hook on a rope. Maybe Gruvrik could shift into a bird and fly over to pull it back in his beak. Maybe Maeda could draw it in with her nets . . .

Instead, he saw Rhae pull out her harp and pluck a note. The strings glowed with golden light so sharp that he could see it from his perch. She tapped an arpeggio and twisted the top of the instrument. All but one single string fell away. The neck hinged open, transforming the harp into a bow. Rhae drew back the golden string and released.

Errol didn’t see her noch an arrow, but the golden light shot forward with a clear note like a chime, enfolding itself around the rope, where it twined into a gold ring. Rhae twisted the wood again, and it reverted to a harp with the original nine strings. Her fingers flew across the harp in an intricate pattern that rose and twisted until it sounded a crescendo. The gold ring around the rope reeled in towards the hole in the wall. Rhae grasped it in her hand, passed it to Taras, and promptly collapsed.

After a moment, Gruvrik’s voice boomed up to Errol, announcing that they’d secured the other end of the rope. He shimmed up the remaining few yards, pulled himself over the edge of the girder, and stretched out on the steel beam to rest.

The remaining hunters joined him soon, each one groaning and stretching out as soon as they saw they had space to spare. Jarkoda crested the top, Rhae strapped to his back, and he bowed to Errol. “You are proving your worth. I apologize for my insubordination.”

Errol inclined his head in recognition. “As punishment, I order you to sleep for the rest of the night, such as we have left.”

The halfdragon snorted. Even Maeda managed a grin. The rest were too weary to care. They set up camp, lashed themselves in to the rope to ensure they didn’t roll off the edge in the night, and embraced the welcome oblivion of sleep.