“The squad sent to medical detention found the area unguarded, sprinklers tripped, and coated in the residue from at least eight of Sir Rowan’s substances.” Lt. Greenley read from the new ledgerman datapad. “The Knight appears to be suffering from inhalation. We’ve sent for his students and toxicology associate to attempt to revive him.”

“Rouse him and bring him to me.” Helmont heard the words, but they held only half his focus. He watched his maps, followed his dying Journeymen and troopers, their lights extinguished, their plotted places wiped away.

Orson Gregory had found his way into the Pinnacle without notice, almost without alarm. He knew Gregory when he drew Thousand Destiny. Few were the unaccounted blades from the twelve covenant houses.

And Orson Gregory stood with Kolben Maros. Why? Gregory arrived to save Kolben Maros? No, Gregory had some other purpose.

Gregory’s presence and Kol’s provided the identities of the other shadows with them. The power he’d felt was Enoa Cloud. She was also the other power he’d sensed near Sir Rowan. She was the power that left Sir Rowan poisoned by his own works, led to pain by his own desire.

Max Maros and Gregory’s archer were certainly among the other three. For the fifth, there were multiple possibilities. Sophia Stanislakova seemed most obvious, but so many strays had clutched Gregory’s coattails over the years he could not be sure. How many hired minds worked for Gregory’s benefactors, Darlow or the Corwins or the clustered enigmas in Evergreen?

Helmont followed the indistinct shadow that meant Orson Gregory, a life he’d never touched, a mystery outside the scope of his scrutiny.

He knew the bastardized Hierarchia works Gregory wore. Orson Gregory saw through the eyes of a Centurion-class automaton. He moved with the help of an exoskeleton unit’s repulsor, repurposed and manufactured by Hierarchia design and Hierarchia learning.

Helmont recognized the fire of Thousand Destiny, as it protected Orson Gregory and as it cut into his walls and cut into Liberty Corps troops.

Helmont recognized the other object Gregory carried, fyr sige-gealdor, a sigalder of flame, reborn runecraft, old thought in a new frame. Such smithcraft was functionally unique, mysterious and rare beyond measure even by the standards of the great magpie Gregory’s collection. Helmont felt the object’s living fire, knew the heat and power, knew as its power mingled with Thousand Destiny.

Helmont even recognized the metal that shielded Gregory, woven into his coat. He felt its complexity, like staring into an optical illusion, a tessellation, a Mobius strip. The metal could not be grasped or taken, but he knew it.

“Why would Gregory break off and go to the detention complex?” Greenley asked.

“Gregory is attempting a diversion while the others flee,” Helmont said. “I want all forces on high alert. Recall all troops on leave or off-duty. I want all exits blocked. No one will leave this place.”

“We are going to allow the Maroses and the rest of the Aesir crew to flee to the outer walls?” Greenley asked.

“Not necessarily,” Helmont said. “But we will be prepared. Send a squad with high level Ferrant Shapers in pursuit. Intercept them if possible, but more importantly, keep them from moving further into the base. Drive them toward our preparations at the perimeter. And send another squad to the terminal. I believe I know their purpose here, but I must know what they’ve taken from me.”

* * *

Eat – sleep – wait, eat – sleep – wait, the cycle seldom stopped, seldom shifted.

Kit Allbrook did not hear the gunfire or blaster-fire from inside his sealed cell. He heard nothing of the fighting outside, none of the shouts or the swordplay.

When the cell door opened, he knew only that his waiting had ended early. Mealtime was still hours away, by his reckoning. Was it time again for questioning? Had something else about his incarceration changed?

But only one figure stood in the doorway to Kit’s cell, and he wasn’t dressed as a member of the Liberty Corps. He wore a long coat and a mask with glowing blue eyes.

They were the eyes of a Thunderworks Automaton. Kit had seen those eyes before, and he’d survived those eyes seeing him. He knew them, and knew that the figure’s mask itself was partly an android head, as if this person was a warrior of mythic prehistory, crowned with a monster’s skull.

The figure held a sword in his right hand, its blade crafted from blue flame rather than metal. Kit had seen that manner of weapon only in storybooks or films or depicted in stained glass.

Two figures in Liberty Corps officer armor lay, in pieces, behind the newcomer.

“Hey, your name isn’t Duncan, is it?” the figure asked.

“No,” Kit said. “It’s not.”

“Damn.” The figure sighed. “Anyway, I’m letting everybody out. We’re causing some shit, and trying to escape, and trying to find a man named Duncan. Everybody’s welcome, obviously, but especially fighters.”

“I’m Kit Allbrook, League of Nations Diplomatic Corps.” He stood from his bed. “Brighton, United Kingdom Office. My father was in the Royal Air Force. I’m a firearm license holder.”

“Nice to meet you,” he answered. “I’m Orson Gregory. If you come on out here, I’ll get you set up with a blaster. Then we’ll get to freeing more prisoners.”

* * *

“We have so far been unable to corner Orson Gregory.” Greenley sat his datapad on the table, maneuvering touchscreen base maps with both hands. “Detention Defense for Cell Block One-Nine Seven-Seven issued a final report that confirms Gregory has freed at least half the men in that block. He is arming the prisoners with weapons stolen from our dead.”

Helmont watched Orson Gregory’s fire on his maps. Everywhere he went left those maps altered, lives lost, equipment destroyed. His maps came alive with fire, in truth and in metaphor, as the freed prisoners gunned down his troops.

“He is marshaling a force to oppose us,” Helmont said. “He hopes to breach our defenses with greater numbers. How is our progress recalling our own personnel?”

“We have hailed all infantry forces,” Greenley said. “In addition, Captain Davard and the Manifest Destiny are finalizing the quarterly diagnostic, but he should be reachable in approximately twenty-five minutes. Or should we interrupt their work?”

Helmont felt Davard and a scattered few among the mammoth vessel’s crew, miles distant, mapped at the farthest edges of his full awareness. He felt their focus, their diligent work. They were positioned. They were prepared.

“Their entire crew will be at battle stations come the end of their work, correct?” Helmont asked.

“That is standard, sir,” Greenley said.

“Then allow them to conclude,” Helmont said. “Keep the Scythe airborne. They are not to return to Lakeport Three. Recall both the Mapiya and the Hemera. And scramble all of our Saw-wings. Fill these skies with all nine squadrons.” The Scythe’s crew was still on his maps, still flying, not too far away, crew still prepared.

“There are not currently enough trained pilots for all nine,” Greenley said. “We keep only enough to field four squadrons during weekends. Even with the others recalled, we have not recovered or replaced the dozen pilots you sent as instructors to the other Baronies.”

“Four will be sufficient if the prisoners are not allowed to leave the ground.” Helmont felt the pilots change their patterns, their fighters scatter outward to the far shoulders of the valley, flying to observe the Pinnacle, not merely to defend it from surprise attack.

“I want a full battalion at our perimeter,” Helmont continued. “Send the Nine hundred and ninety-ninth. Full containment protocol. I will place another battalion at the mouth of the valley to stop any potential escape. The third will be the Mountain Patrol, to do the same. And the last we’ll use to corral the prisoners, trap them, lead them directly to our main force.”

“That…” Greenely began. “That also isn’t possible, sir.”

“I am aware, Lieutenant,” Helmont said. “They have not yet returned to duty. Position the Nine hundred and ninety-ninth, as we discussed.”

“Less than half of them are here, sir,” Greenley said. “Many of them live off base, and have since before the IHSA transition. That’s most of the officers and your pre-transition troops.”

“Yes, of course. I should never have given them the leeway to stay in the IHSA village. Do you have the current count of how many live there?”

“Not at hand,” Greenley said. “But at a full thousand of our current combat forces are there. More than that, if we consider our non-combatants, engineers, supply personnel, all their families. Hundreds more, at least, will have completed their weekly rotations and will be gone or returned to their quarters.”

“How long does it take for them to dress themselves and return here?” Helmont searched his maps, both the many mapped and the scattered blanks, but it was numbers beyond efficient counting. “How many can we field currently?”

“Twelve-hundred currently, sir.” Greenley answered in a small voice, as if a soft tone would ease the situation or keep the baron calm.

“So Orson Gregory is successfully storming this fortress,” Helmont said. “One of the great enemies of the IHSA is here, in our great holdfast, our redoubt.” His voice rose without thought. He kept a level tone, never a shout, but the volume he could not contain. “He is here, in this sanctuary, defiling it, as he defiles everything! And we can’t overwhelm him because he’s here on a Friday! We’re being bested by the weekend?”

Greenley stared at him, mouth partially-agape, but he did not answer.

“There is one fighting force that is mine more than any other,” Helmont said. “I want Sir Hiram and his armors on our mountainside. I want Sir Vergil, maps greater even than my own. I want Sir Tolem and all his blades. I want all my knights, all my Shapers, all my students. The school of sorcery that I grew for our blessed, fallen Hierarchia will rise to destroy Orson Gregory.”

* * *

“We’ve got a little break now,” Orson said. “Let’s take a minute and get a plan.”

The center of the detention complex stood broken, all command cubicles shattered or burned, all security cameras shattered or burned. Seventeen men, all armed, stood with Orson in the center. Three more of the released prisoners stood beside the fallen, the escapees who’d been caught by blaster-fire.

Twice that many prisoners fled, shouting, firing their stolen blasters, already adding to the chaos. Orson took no time to argue them back or persuade them to his plan.

Orson watched them leave. He scanned the round room with his HUD. He saw no motion and no heat except for the freed prisoners.

“We have their ID tags.” One of the men gathered with the fallen ran toward Orson. “We’re heading to find a working facial scanner and get pictures of… of everyone.”

“That’s really honorable of you,” Orson said. “But I’m sure they’d all rather have you escape than get killed trying to find a camera.

“Besides, we all need to talk before we split up. I wanted to free all of you, but also I really need your help with a couple of things. We gotta find that guy, Duncan Racz, who may or may not be here. And we need to raise enough hell so we can all get out alive. I’ve got three skimmers with trailers waiting at the unloading dock. That’s at the top ledge before the roof level, on the valley side. But if we all run that way, right now, we’ll get cut down. Now, I don’t know if there are more ways out. I have no idea, but we aren’t ready to go anyway.

“First, we have to divide the Liberty Corps attention. When you see a computer or a camera or anything important that won’t help us escape – you destroy it. If you’re attacked, fight back if you can. And if you see nothing and see no one, destroy walls, destroy light fixtures. Cause so many problems they can’t solve them all.

“I also need to do a few things before I get back to raising hell. I need to find some way to take out their big cannons outside. That’s going to…”

Orson caught a flash of moving red. His HUD fixed on approaching figures, down a far left spoke of the connected passages.

“More company.” Orson didn’t wait for the newcomers to clear the hallway. He fired his repulsor, arcing over the heads of the prisoners and landing at the mouth of the corridor. When he touched down, he drew a pellet from his stink set and a miniature concussion grenade.

The explosives were already in hand when he saw them, two Rifle Troopers and a Blades Trooper with an electrified pike.

“Sword down!” One of the troopers shouted. “Hands up!”

Orson lobbed the stink first, before they opened fire, so it exploded in a heavy cloud ahead of the troopers. Then he threw the grenade.

The stink cloud glowed with red light. There were screams and a shower of projectiles, all wide. Then silence.

Orson waited for the cloud to clear. When it did, he saw no motion.

He turned back to the prisoners and found fewer of them – only fourteen – with one of them still running into another branching hallway.

Orson again took no time to argue. He flew back to the prisoners who’d remained. They watched him warily.

“Like you can see,” Orson continued. “I’ve got my full arsenal with me, but we’re still gonna need serious stuff to take out their cannons. I didn’t come here to destroy this place, and I don’t know everything we could use against them. If you’ve got a plan, get a couple buddies or free a couple and get to it.”

“I know where the power regulator is for the nearer towers.” One of the prisoners spoke with an accent Orson couldn’t place. He had a heavy beard, grown halfway down his chest. “They force me to do some engineering work for them, when they’re undercrewed, but I can knock out their power.”

“That’s good,” Orson said. “I also need you to release anyone you find. I have no clue how many people are here, Liberty Corps or prisoners. And everyone I’ve run into so far are men, but I’m sure they have women, children, anybody Helmont had reason to take and keep alive. Free them. We also need to look out for, uh, I don’t know what you call them, magic people, Shapers, enigmas, whatever. If you know they’re here, free them.”

“I’m interpreter for a man named Aneirin.” Kit Allbrook had remained with Orson’s gathering. “He refuses to speak to them in English.”

“He only knows Manx and Scottish,” another man said.

“I don’t believe that,” Allbrook said. “There are no native Manx speakers. It’s like Chen pretending he only speaks Mandarin to force the Liberty Corps to use a translator and interfere with interrogation.”

“I don’t—” the other man began.

“Are we coming to a point here?” Orson interrupted.

“Aneirin might be lying,” Allbrook said. “He might be half-mad, but they force him to listen to this… this sound day-in and day-out, like a low bass hum that you feel in your face.”

“Like interference.” Orson raised his hand to the pocket that held his kazoo. “I know the thought-breaker.”

“Aneirin says if he could hear properly,” Allbrook said. “If he had his tools, they’d see the full reach of what he knows… or somesuch. My Nan was born on the Isle of Man, so I know a little Manx. I think… I think that’s why I’m still alive. I have extensive language experience. It’s rare experience.”

“We’ll rescue this guy,” Orson said. “Then you can help him explain what Helmont’s doing here. We’ll go free him together once I deal with my last thing. I want to get a message out to Helmont. I want him to hear me.”

“There should be a detentions comm center and we can patch you in from there,” the engineer said.

“Why in God’s name would you want to speak to Helmont?” Allbrook asked.

“Because he already knows I’m here,” Orson said. “I might have to fight him before I leave, so let’s start fighting.”

* * *

Enoa felt their pursuers before she could see them. Three of the approaching figures looked sharp in her mind, like the shining glint on a blade’s edge rather than the steady glow from Kol or the shifting green flashes from the Shapers who fought Kol or fell to Orson.

These Shapers conjured bladed weapons. And there were others behind them. She felt their footfalls and their motion. All raced along the passage, that same passage toward them.

“Someone’s following us.” Enoa didn’t break stride or slow down. All of them ran toward the far end of a passageway and more double doors. “Three Shapers and more people. Are we sure this is it, this time?”

“Yep.” Jaleel turned back as he ran, bow extended. “This is for sure the real one.”

“I believe he’s correct.” Dr. Stan puffed, her voice strained, but she kept up. She continued running, just ahead of Kol and the cart.

“And once we get to the perimeter,” Jaleel said. “There are lots of freight elevators that can take us back outside.”

Enoa triggered the double-door release when they reached it. Ahead of them waited a half-moon atrium, lined with closed elevators. The others ran ahead, following Jaleel toward the center lift.

Enoa shut the doors when the others passed. Her eyes saw only the solid metal, but their pursers were clearer in her mind now, distinct.

One of the Shapers was ringed by floating needles. Another held a complex weapon, a loop of metal, wide as this Shaper was tall, crowned in axe heads. The last carried something ahead of him, like a shield but half as broad as the corridor.

“They’re getting close,” she said.

“Yeah, I’m working on it.” Jaleel crouched beside the center elevator, control pad loose from the wall, dangling by its wires. “I think they’re already trying to trap us.”

“But you know how to do this?” Kol still had both hands pressed to the cart’s handles.

“Oh yeah,” Jaleel said. “I spent months and months hiding in this huge solar crawler, and a lot of their stuff—”

“Yes, the Solar Saver,” Kol said. “I’m familiar. Can you do this before we are attacked?”

“I can if you let me work.” Jaleel raised a stylus from his belt and poked it out of sight into the wall.

Kol sighed. “Enoa,” he said. “Can you create a fog like you used to blind Sloan’s War Force? That could win us some time.”

“I don’t have the water.” Enoa watched the crowd of attackers run closer, the distance still vague in her thoughts. “And this air is too dry.”

“There are water pipes in the walls,” Dr. Stan said. “If I told you where to look, could you find them?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I can do and what I can’t. I’ve learned so much in such a short time that… It’s like I see everything totally different every day or every other day.”

And she saw the Shapers and their backup, knew that the wills that made their blades had rounded the corridor and were in physical, sighted view of their double doors.

“Jaleel.” Enoa pulled the blaster out of the holster at her hip. “They can see the doors.”

“Couple seconds,” Jaleel said. “I think I can override it.”

Enoa raised the blaster. “I should’ve learned more about using…”

A bolt of energy flew past Enoa and struck the door controls. Buttons and metal and wiring all melted together with a smell like the aftermath of nearby lightning.

“Do they have Shaping that can get through there?” Dr. Stan asked. The barrel of her blaster still glowed red-hot. She held it, aimed at the doors.

Something struck the doors from the other side, causing a great hollow sound that rang along the walls.

“I don’t know,” Enoa said.

“Doesn’t matter!” Jaleel jumped to his feet. The middle elevator slid open. “They’re too late.”

The double doors rang from another strike, but Enoa waited for the others to board before she ran into the elevator.

When the lift closed, the hallway doors were still solid and sealed.

* * *

“They’re splitting up,” Lt. Greenley said. “They’re destroying sensors as they progress, but they may be on levels five, six, seven, and nine now.”

Baron Helmont knew this. He followed it, followed as much as he could. He followed Kol Maros, the fleeing Aesir crew, and the squad that would soon overtake them.

He followed Orson Gregory and his carnage, central fire that spread chaos, igniting more fires everywhere.

Helmont followed Qu and Qey Itzam, long bound, long silent. He’d mapped them. He felt their hands clasp together. He felt their feet leave the floor, unmoored. He tracked them as they flew, but they were only one fire, and he lost them.

Helmont followed Doryssa Melanthymos, unchained by Gregory’s mob, felt her touch the floor. Walls sundered and split around her. Free, now barefoot, she added another fire of chaos that consumed his map.

But Helmont tried to follow them, ambassadors, surviving soldiers, sorcerers, Shapers, prisoners – those he had taken, freed and now fighting. The temple he’d built for knowledge and order broke with his walls and with his troops.

“Redirect all arriving squads to contain the prisoners,” Helmont said. “They’ll need my knights. We’ll have to divide them for now. Send Sir Garret and Sir Abaris to take command. Do not allow this wanton destruction.”

“There are currently sixty-three active sabotage efforts,” Greenley said. “There are still not enough personnel to address all of them.”

“Then pull from the outer defense,” Helmont watched his arraying forces, gathering along the outside perimeter ledge. “If Gregory plans to make some last stand, sabotaging this fortress than we…”

Helmont lost sense of his maps when the comms in his table and on his belt and on Greenley’s all chimed at the same time. Helmont answered the table and heard the voice of Orson Gregory.

* * *

The elevator came to a sudden stop, jarring them all in place. The door remained closed.

“This is not our stop, is it?” Kol asked.

“Nope.” Jaleel sighed and crouched down at the lift controls. “I was worried about this. The elevator isn’t computerized, but there are sensors between some floors, so sometimes a sensor will say, ‘hey elevator, you’re not supposed to be moving.’ So now here we are.” Jaleel removed the front paneling and again reached his stylus into the internal wiring.

“I don’t doubt you can get us moving,” Kol said. “But will we be experiencing this every few floors? We could be very, very vulnerable in the interim. I’m sure they know which elevator is moving against their wishes.”

“What do you want me to do?” Jaleel asked. “I have an idea to stop the sensors from talking to each other, but that’s gonna take even more time.”

“Maybe do that.” Enoa had her eyes closed again. She was searching outward. Kol knew it. He heard it.

“We should all allow Jaleel to do his work,” Dr. Stan said. “I have fairly extensive experience with IHSA systems, but my professional career never involved breaking into any elevators.”

“Incoming hail!” Max’s muffled shout came from inside the cart. Kol partially slid open the cover. “Hail to base personnel, two of them. One is recalling all off-duty personnel. The other is a message.” Max lifted the stolen belt Orson had given him.

“I guess we better hear it,” Enoa said.

The voice of Orson Gregory filled the elevator car.

“Baron Helmont,” Orson said. “You’re even less than I expected. All your talk about us moving in parallel and knowing me, that was bullshit.” He adopted a different tone of voice, mock-pompous. “You have all the powers of the hidden worlds and the worlds beyond.” He laughed. “And it didn’t help you, did it? You watched me but you didn’t learn a damn thing, did you? My original crew beat the Blitzkrieg because we were trickier and we knew more. We defied everyone at Isla de Manos because we were trickier and we knew more. I beat the master of Thunderworks because I’m trickier and I knew more. And I’m doing it to you now. It’s your turn, Baron. You were better off when I never heard of you. Because now I got in your castle without you even knowing.

“What else can I do, Baron? What else is waiting for you by fighting me? You have all the weapons of the old worlds and the new ones, but I actually learned from them. I didn’t just take them. You’ll let your prisoners go and let my crew leave, or your pinnacle is done for good.

“I already know what you’re gonna do, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The message ended with an audible click.

“Does he really believe that will help anyone?” Kol remembered the knights gathered when they’d taken him and Max and Duncan. He remembered Helmont’s own power, how he’d moved Duncan with only a touch. “Does he really believe that antagonizing Helmont is a usable tactic?”

“Maybe he’s keeping everybody occupied long enough for us to get out.” Jaleel gave a twist with his stylus. “I can’t see the elevator’s own code sensor, so I’m flying blind here.”

“Orson fights with annoyance,” Enoa said. “That tactic worked pretty well on you, remember?”

“I…” Kol began. He shook his head. “There must be some reason he’s still alive.”

“Say what you will about the man,” Max said. “But he certainly has a weighty pair on him.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Dr. Stan snorted with laughter.

A series of metal thuds sounded from the elevator shaft, as something fell away from the lift car and bounced inside the chute.

“Got it!” Jaleel said. And with another lurch, the elevator restarted its ascent. “If I did that right, our next stop will be at the perimeter.”

* * *

Helmont did not break the silence that fell after the message ended. He followed the destruction, the uncontained chaos. He didn’t need to view the Ledgerman’s datapad to know that the sabotage had increased, spread everywhere.

“We’re losing visuals,” Greenley finally said. “They’re destroying cameras as they go, probes as well. Even our alarm system is disabled, except on the upper levels. All our regular personnel are in pursuit, but with so many systems down we don’t have an accurate assessment of our situation. We have no casualty reports. We have few reports about relevant prisoners – which fighters have been freed, enigmas, anyone. We have prisoners broadcasting over comms. My lord, even your own Shapers are not coordinating.”

“I follow my Shapers,” Helmont said. “Have the supply division distribute radios if our comms and sensors are compromised. Issue the call.”

“As you wish.” Greenley returned to his datapad. “Urgent! One prisoner group is about to breach the light hangar.”

“How many do we have to defend that location?” Helmont asked.

“Currently only a fire team.”

“Bolster them,” Helmont said. “Pull more troops from the perimeter.”

“Yes, sir. We also have a new message from Sir Lezander. He is assembling a team to trap Gregory. He wants your permission to gather a full platoon and your assistance in tracking him.”

“Tell him to take Sir Valdemar with him,” Helmont said. “Gather a force enough to corner Gregory. Pin him, until I can join them personally. Gregory sullies the legend of Thousand Destiny by holding the sword so long, but it will be a fitting death for him, crossing blades with a true master of the Covenant Flame.”