Enoa was still watching the fire blooming from the bottom of the frigate when she heard the new explosion above her. She ducked away from the sound and pressed herself back against the Pinnacle’s outer wall.

“Look!” Dr. Stan pointed over her head. “Is that Jaleel and Kol?” Enoa looked up.

“It’s them.” She knew them, even fully armored. She knew the sight of Kol’s shield and knew the sense of his Shaping. And she knew it was Jaleel by the way he moved and by his presence in the air around him.

The two faced each other, arms between them, clinging to a fast-descending cord. One of Kol’s projections arced around their heads. Above them, a double-length window was broken open and leaking smoke.

“Stay where you are.” Melanthymos stood between them and the lowering cord. “Don’t block my view now. I’m helping your loud friend.” She raised a boulder half as tall as she was. She guided it one-handed by her fingertips and held it high above her head. She struck it with the flat of her other palm.

The boulder soared away, shot through the air like a cannonball. Enoa watched it fly out over the crowd and over the valley. It curved, swung aside in midair toward a trio of Saw-wings.

When had the Aesir arrived? She saw it then, firing all weapons toward the Saw-wings, rocketing straight at them.

Another rock soared from Melanthymos’s hand. It followed the first. The rocks flew, one after the other, and one after the other they struck a fighter. The fighter broke.

“I don’t have enough stone work to take them all,” Melanthymos said. “Hopefully, your friend is as good behind the wheel as he is with his fire.”

Lightning took a second fighter before Enoa could answer, purple lightning that shot down out of the clear sky and burned right through the Saw-wing’s shield.

The last Saw-wing turned aside and fled down the valley.

“That lightning wasn’t anything of ours,” Dr. Stan asked. “Was it?”

“No. Nothing of yours.” Melanthymos pointed farther down the platform where two prisoners stood. One held a long wooden object to the wind and it glowed with the color of the sudden lightning.

“What’s happening?” Max asked.

“The fighters attacking the Aesir were stopped by enigmas,” Dr. Stan said. “The Aesir looks clear to land.”

“I thought they killed everyone else!” Melanthymos shouted toward the prisoner with the glowing weapon. The purple glow faded, and the man turned his bright blue eyes back toward her. A worn, leather satchel hung at his hip, over his prisoner jumpsuit.

“I survive.” He answered slowly, and he smiled. An accent was obvious even across those two words. “You are… You know earth?”

“You could say that.” She walked around Enoa and Dr. Stan. “I didn’t think a non-caster could hold a man like you against his will. How did they do it?”

“My wand.” He lifted the wooden implement. “My… My things. They help. They…” He gestured to the Pinnacle. “They take them. They take me.”

“Did they force you into the work program?” Melanthymos spoke softer as she approached the man, until her words and the other prisoner’s reply were lost in the noises of the gathering escapees.

“I’m glad the release worked.” Jaleel said. Enoa heard him above the crowd, and she found him and Kol approaching along the side of the building. “I was scared we’d have to leave it there, and this is the only one I have with me.” He stowed an arrow back in his quiver.

“You used that to carry us and you didn’t know if it would work?” Kol followed after him. “How were you a successful bandit, not knowing if your devices work?”

“One, I was sure the grappler would carry us,” Jaleel said. “The retraction mechanism is totally different. Two, how were you a Team Rocket-style bad guy if new inventions freak you out?”

“I suppose I deserve any nickname you choose.” Kol nodded to Enoa and Dr. Stan. “But how exactly was I a children’s anime villain? I don’t remember attempting to steal anyone’s pets.”

“You one hundred percent deserve nicknames,” Jaleel said. “But you’re being too specific with the details. You wear white, you chased my friends for thousands of miles, and – pets or not – you had thiefy schemes that always ended in you getting blown up. You’re totally Team Rocket.”

“So I should trust every mad scientist I happen to meet?” Kol knelt at the cart and slid the door aside. “Max, I was afraid you’d be gone when I came back, and I’d find you leading a battle somewhere.”

“I was afraid you wouldn’t be back.” Max reached out and clasped Kol’s arm. “It’s a rare thing, even now, for you to find trouble where I can’t help you.”

“Don’t worry,” Jaleel said. “He had me to help.” He chuckled. “Hey, nobody called me a mad scientist before. And my arrow came when I called it. Good day, after all.”

“Real Elvish rope,” Max said.

Jaleel chuckled again. “Finally! Years with the archers and nobody got my references. Enoa and Orson don’t get my references. But you two are keeping up!”

“He only knows mythology and folklore,” Kol said. “Tolkien’s the rare exception.”

“This must be how Sergeant Hale felt,” Enoa sighed, “when we were talking about all the Shaping and stuff. It’s like you guys suddenly start speaking in Mandarin. I think I’d understand that just as much.”

“I get to make my references, I just saved you,” Jaleel said, with pride. “That wasn’t a bad bit of rescuing, was it? Now, I think that’s two you owe me.”

“I was going to thank you, but owe you?” Enoa said. “And when else did you save me? I saved you from Nalrik. He would’ve blasted you with his arm cannon if I didn’t go running after you.”

“I saved you twice just today!” Jaleel said. “But now that you mention it, you also owe me for stunning me, way back on the Solar Saver. The floor was wet. That really hurt. I almost feel bad for all the guys I zapped today with my arrows.”

“You were there to terrorize everybody and have your friend beat up Orson.” Enoa shook her head. “No way. No way! I don’t owe you anything for that.”

“Is this often what it’s like with them?” Kol asked.

“No,” Dr. Stan said. “Today’s a special occasion for everyone.”

Enoa had no chance for a sarcastic answer. Several bipedal, furred shapes leapt to the deck, falling into view from somewhere further up the side of the outer wall. A woman in a long lab coat clung to the back of one of them. They came within feet of the assembled crew, and all the prisoners parted for them. They ran toward the Aesir, as it came to a floating halt beside the ledge.

Orson stepped from the ship. The furred escapees howled and waved to Orson as they passed. As one, they swung over the side of the platform and dropped out of sight.

“Wookiees too!” Jaleel said. “This place has everything.”

“I should have a camera,” Dr. Stan said. “Wouldn’t Teddy love to see them, even if they are not Neanderthal hybrids?”

Enoa waved again when Orson found them all, in the crowd. He returned the gesture.

“Alright everyone.” Orson spoke through his distorting microphone. “This ain’t the post-riot afterparty, and we are in a lot of danger. Let’s get these skimmers and trailers together and get you the hell out of here.”

* * *

Captain Christian Davard stood at the center of fictional carnage, holograms of broken towers and a sky full of hostiles above them. The shapes moved in full color, small darting enemy fighters, guns hanging from their tails like insect stingers, with larger vessels sending death down from the clouds.

All craft moved above a fictional massacre, gutted skyscrapers, some with only missing windows, others broken and leaning together. Some lay in misshapen masses of metal, all of it rendered in high detail on the bridge of the Manifest Destiny.

An entire reality was generated to view on all the command ship’s monitors. Somewhere at the surface of the destroyed city there would be bodies, remains of people who never were and never lived.

“Final trial,” Davard said. “Now, Fighter Coodinator, I want all Saw-wings in our shadow. Disperse those Hornets. Guns, probe the shields of those Dragons. I want us stationary, full repulsor power and full shields. Comms, have you located the distress signal?”

“Yes, sir,” Communications Lead spoke at her station. “Shall I dispatch rescue craft?”

“Yes, prepare our forces.” Davard raised his datapad and watched the actual feed from Hangar 1. He watched full squads of troops marshaled for the survivors of an attack that had never happened. He saw the search and rescue team, a team of drone minders, and a team of urban specialist troopers.

“How many Hornets are we seeing, Sensor Team?” Davard looked up from his datapad.

“I see three clusters, sir,” Sensor Lead answered. “Only two bombers.”

“There may be a third,” Davard said. “Keep your eyes open. This coordination is—”

“This coordination is precisely what we’re lacking now.” A new hologram appeared in the center of the bridge, this one just a blue-gray ghost. But this one stood like a giant among the fake carnage, a real man and a real message.

“My lord.” Captain Davard jumped to attention. “To what do we owe this honor?”

“Emergency, Captain,” Baron Helmont said. “Intruders and a prisoner escape. I have need of the Destiny. Move your ship to Valley Position Six and dispatch your Dactyls in a targeted perimeter. Your stations should be updating with the specifics.”

“Yes, my lord,” Davard said. “Deactivate simulation. Show me Emperor Valley.”

The hologram changed. The algorithmically-generated city, its towers, and its dead were gone. In their place was real carnage, real death.

Two frigates were lying, burning, at the valley floor, several of the defensive cannons broken beneath them. Even from aerial scanning, Davard could see holes in the Pinnacle’s roof, gaping openings. Some issued smoke. One opening looked large enough to fit a full dropship. A sensor officer gasped.

“Don’t bother raising communications,” Baron Helmont said. “Our escaping prisoners have seen to that. There was no coordination, not until I reached you with my own private tightbeam.”

“You heard him.” Davard raised his datapad. He saw new feeds, statistics of prisoners escaped, the video of an enormous monster melting the frigate Mapiya, and a mass of moving flame cutting into the Hemera. He saw Saw-wings splitting from their formations, scattering in all directions after fleeing creatures and aircraft.

“We…” Davard cleared his throat. “We can function as a communications hub. We may be able to restore your other transmissions, and we will move to Valley Position as soon as all systems are set and all forces return to battle stations.”

“Good,” Baron Helmont said. “And seek out any congregating forces. I was unable to coordinate with Sir Hiram’s armor and his trained prototypes. All were lost.”

“My God,” Davard said. “We’ll scan for any active beacons. Who could do this, sir? Who could come here and free these prisoners?”

“Orson Gregory and his crew breached our defenses,” Baron Helmont said. “They stole information from our main terminal and freed these prisoners as cover for their escape. They’ve hit us when a large portion of our forces are off-base, and without our communications we could not retrieve them. This should all be in your reports, Captain.”

“Of course, sir.” Davard switched his datapad display away from the feed of the carnage and back to a report of freed prisoners.

“We have a hit, sir,” Scanner Lead called. “Several beacons are converging on the unloading area. Sir Rowan, sir, and his full incapacitation equipment. All eight generators. He appears to be moving toward a gathering of escaped prisoners there. I also detect an unusual propulsion signature. Sir! The Aesir is there!”

“Hail Sir Rowan,” Davard said. “We’ll bring him into the lord baron’s plan.”

“No,” Baron Helmont said. “Let him be. We will coordinate without Rowan.”

“He is working at your command?” Davard asked.

“He is not,” Baron Helmont said. “This is the second time today Rowan has chosen to operate as an individual. His future will depend on the results of this choice.”

“As you wish, my lord,” Davard said.

“Continue marshaling forces, Captain,” Baron Helmont said. “Many have fled. But there is time enough to show the intruders the full consequences of this invasion.”

* * *

Enoa stood with Jaleel and Kol along the far edge of the perimeter walkway. They watched Sergeant Hale step up to the side door of the first skimmer. The pilot’s and copilot’s seats were occupied.

“We don’t know what we face out there,” Hale said. “I’d rather be the last to leave here, but someone needs to try this. These cables should be individually powered so they can’t just be shut down, but somebody’s got to test that too. And I can’t float boulders or cut airships apart. Whatever’s out there, I’ll face it first. And whatever is still here, you’ve got more dangerous folks than me to help. Hope to see you all again. Thank you.” He shook hands with Melanthymos and Orson. Hale stepped inside and shut the hatch behind him.

The skimmer and trailer leapt from the deck to the cable. Its descent began, and it quickly passed away from the ledge.

“We’ll try to get both skimmers boarded.” Orson called through his mic. “As soon as everyone’s in, we all go home.” He walked through the crowd. The crowd parted around him, all going to one skimmer and trailer or the other. Melanthymos walked away toward the left line.

“What are you and your brother doing, Kol?” Jaleel asked. “Are you getting on a trailer, or are you gonna keep helping direct traffic and leave with us on the Aesir?”

“I don’t know,” Kol said. “That is your captain’s decision, and he’s a hard man to pin down.”

No more stragglers came from the Pinnacle. The last hiding noncombatants or wounded filled the edges of the crowd, surging toward the last, best escape routes. Most were young men and women, recent political prisoners or fighters. Some looked very old or very unwell. How long had they been prisoners, captive during the change from official IHSA to Liberty Corps? Others looked very young. Some children were among that number, though none of these were airborne.

“I think Dr. Stan made that choice for him.” Enoa pointed to the scientist, who struggled to move the cart alone back toward where the Aesir was hovering, further along the ledge. “Kol, why don’t you help her? Just get in. Orson won’t argue if you’re already inside and everyone else is gone.”

“Yeah, why not?” Jaleel clapped him on the back. “You earned it, Unabomber.”

“I usually don’t ask about your references, Jaleel,” Enoa said. “But you said that name like ten times. Is Unabomber another movie character?”

“No, no, no!” Jaleel shook his head briskly. “He actually is a crazy terrorist guy. He’s this—”

“Do you hear that?” Kol spun to Enoa.

“Hear what?” Jaleel asked.

“You won’t hear it,” Kol said. “It’s… Enoa, you said you can see changes in the air – that’s how you sense Shaping? Well, I hear things. And I hear Shaping. I hear something new, right now.”

Enoa could see the new Shaping when she looked, like faint clouds drifting along the outer walls of the base, spreading out at the ground, coming together around them, encircling everyone trying to escape.

She knew the sight of the moving gas – like she’d known the sight of Shaping during the fight in the Crystal Dune Forest against Sir Rowan and his students.

“Rowan,” she said.

“Again?” Jaleel said. “We beat him today already! Today! We actually should’ve shot him for real.”

“It’s coming from everywhere,” Enoa said. “Can he have that many Shapers working with him?”

“Max and I were captured in a gas attack,” Kol said. “He may make the gas, but there could be more than one way to distribute it.”

Enoa nodded and forced her way ahead, staff first, toward him.

“Orson!” She waved over her head until he turned back to her. “We’re being gassed somehow. I think it’s something to do with Sir Rowan. The gas is moving in around us.”

“What?” Orson pressed a hand to his visor and looked toward the base. “Some air motion there, yeah. Dammit! Can you and Man Bun split up? You take one side, he takes the other, try to hold this back? My HUD says we’ll have everybody loaded in a couple minutes.” And when he spoke more, his voice projected again. “Everyone, load up the trailers. Everyone fits. Everyone fits!”

“So Kol and his brother are coming with us on the Aesir?” Enoa asked.

“Can’t leave them here at this point.” He spoke in his normal voice. Then his repulsor ignited beneath him and he soared away again, back toward the top of the base.

Enoa found Jaleel and Kol staring at her. All three stood at the break in the crowd, where the uncounted mass divided and poured up the ramps into the trailers. One of Hale’s force stood at each ramp, watching the crowd. And they watched her too, now that Orson had gone.

“I don’t think I can hold it back without help,” Kol said. “But I will take the right. Please get Max aboard your ship.”

“I wonder if the unloading arm can get him aboard,” Jaleel said. “We need to take the cart anyway. The floppies and Max’s wheelchair, and all his stuff would get loaded at the same time.”

“Do you really think…” Kol trailed off when Jaleel ran away through the crowd. Then he turned aside and forced his own path, angling toward the edge and the oncoming gas. Enoa took the opposite way, and the crowd parted for her raised staff.

“I’m not sure if I’m following you to the Alliance.” Melanthymos stood at the end of the line, facing the old lightning-wielder and his young friend. “I’ve had enough of government supervision for this life. I may need to get off the bus early.”

“Perhaps we go with you.” The old man said more in at least one other language, maybe more than one. His young friend nodded.

Then another woman approached them through the crowd, replying in a language of long syllables. She was tall, and rail-thin, as pale as the Jim androids. Her hair was true-silver, and seemed to catch the sunlight and add its own faint glow in the reflection.

“Wait.” Melanthymos nodded to Enoa. “What problem now, Cloud girl?”

“Gas,” Enoa said. “They’re trying to gas us.”

The silver-haired woman spoke her strange language again. Her deep-gray eyes were wide. The old man answered her.

“If you can sense it,” Enoa said. “Help. If you can’t, just go.” She rounded the edge of the crowd and passed Jaleel at on the controls of the nearest working unloading arm.

“Alright, just hold steady.” He shouted toward Dr. Stan and Max in his cart. He shot her a quick glance when she walked by.

Enoa cleared the framework and pushed at the oncoming gas formation. She knew her own influence, and she remembered the pocket of air she’d made for herself during Sir Rowan’s last attack. So she did the same thing. She pushed the air, seized it like it was a solid object.

It felt like Sir Rowan’s work, like the distortions and combinations he made for his poisons. But it moved back when she pushed it, and she advanced with it, shoving it further and further away from the transports.

A new explosion sounded behind her. She looked into the sky and found Orson standing on the top of a flying gray box. She could see the gas pouring out from it. And she could see the edges of Orson’s sword as he buried it in the metal.

The gas faded away as the box crashed down, far back along the roof, and Orson flew again. There were more such devices floating above the Pinnacle. Enoa could not hear the sound of Orson’s repulsor over the roar of the crowd. And the prisoners ran then from the explosion, even faster toward the trailers.

The roaring was still constant when the bare-faced Sir Rowan and his trunk-helmeted apprentice fell from the sky toward her.

Enoa recognized them before they landed. She knew the sight of their Shaping in her mind. And she looked up to see them falling, just before they met the platform.

And she knew the subtle sight of coiling air beneath the apprentice. Enoa was already moving when he flew at her.

She rolled to the side as the apprentice passed overhead. She stabbed her staff into the cushion of air beneath him. It exploded. The apprentice yelled as the blast tossed him aside, where he fell toward the platform.

The apprentice caught himself on another air cushion, and he poured a new green gas from his helmet. The gas rose above Enoa, spreading out, forming a wall that blocked the platform ahead.

Sir Rowan’s bloodshot eyes watched her, and she could see the misshapen flesh beneath his chin wobbling as he struggled to breathe. But he didn’t speak.

Enoa held her bubble of clean air. She stepped away, and kept watch of both attackers in her periphery.

But then the apprentice sent out a new burst of green gas. It poured toward the escaping prisoners, heavy and fast. Enoa could almost feel the potency of its poison. Like light casting shadow, she knew the poison where it touched her own breathable air.

Enoa ran at the Shaper apprentice. He flew again, held by his cushion of air. He sped right at her, pouring the poison at her and her protections.

Enoa dove aside, let him fly over her again, raised her staff again.

But then she wasn’t aiming for the swirling gas that held him airborne. She aimed for him, for his body as he flew, still spewing poison.

Her new explosion sent the apprentice to the ground, his breastplate cracked. Even then he poured another noxious plume from his helmet – right at her face. He sprayed it out with enough force to puncture her protections.

Enoa held her breath, and she struck again. She brought her staff down into the apprentice’s face.

The helmet collapsed inward, metal and the head beneath crushed flat. The apprentice didn’t move.

Enoa stumbled away from the last poison plume and from the unmoving apprentice. She reformed her pure air bubble, packed it firm again like rebuilding a broken wall of snow.

“It’s a tragedy I need to kill you,” Sir Rowan said. And the remaining poison gas moved again, encircling her and her small supply of breathable oxygen. “We could have been so much. I wanted to learn you and teach you, but now I have to kill you. Even with you, so exquisite. You’re one of a kind, but the baron would not understand. So now, now that you’re tired, it’s the end.”

Enoa was tired. She had never worked so much. Fighting for what felt like days – their escape seemed endless.

Enoa heard another explosion, probably Orson still at work. But could she turn aside to him or even to Jaleel, closer at hand, without losing her focus? Why had Sir Rowan allowed her to fight his apprentice without intervening – just to tire her out? Or had he learned his own caution toward her?

Would she be forced to do the same to Sir Rowan as she’d done to his student, a last strike from the staff?

Enoa backed away, toward the edge of the perimeter. She forced her clean air through the swirling poison.

Could she goad the knight into moving toward her? Or was her Bullet Rain finally strong enough to fight him, strong where it hadn’t been when they’d first crossed paths? And could she find that strength in herself after so much fighting and with no easy water supply?

Sir Rowan strengthened his walls around her, packed the poison tighter, like he was bricking her in with gas that could crush her and her protections. She could see nothing but the swirling walls of green all around her and Sir Rowan, as if the escaping prisoners and her crew were gone, worlds away.

She faced a simple choice – fight Rowan or be crushed.

She took a single step toward him.

“Now, you come to me willingly.” Sir Rowan smiled.

But his expression was short-lived. His mouth widened in shock when the unloading arm punctured the gas wall and seized him around the legs and belly. The arm reeled back, hauling him through the smoke. He sent out one of his gale-wind breaths, but the arm pulled him out of sight.

“Got ya, Sir Pervsalot!” Jaleel shouted, also unseen. “That’s three to zero, creeper. You lose!”

Sir Rowan’s wall collapsed and dispersed. Enoa took a deep breath of her remaining air. She staggered through the fading gas, through the green, until she found the framework and Sir Rowan wriggling in the arm’s grasp. Enoa moved around the trapped knight and came to a stop beside Jaleel and the arm’s controls.

Fuzziness spread across her limbs, the start of the first real fatigue she’d felt since the long training in the desert. She almost collapsed against Jaleel, and he wrapped both arms around her shoulders.

“I thought the arm would crush him,” Jaleel said. “Like actually mush him. I mean, it grabs stuff fifty times bigger than him. It must have safeguards or something.”

Sir Rowan began to laugh, his same high-pitched cackle.

“Don’t try anything else,” Jaleel said. “My last arrows all have pointy ends.” He pulled one arm back from Enoa’s shoulder. He looked in her face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Are we… Are we going to leave him here?”

Sir Rowan’s laugh deepened, and the sound was louder, like even that was carried by his Shaping. “You fought so hard.” He laughed until tears streamed down his cheeks. “But no one… NO ONE is leaving.”

The sound of his laughter was buried in a sustained klaxon that boomed along the mountains and echoed far between them.

* * *

The last of the floating gas machines burned beneath Orson’s sword. He saw its emissions dissipating as he flew from it.

And he heard the Manifest Destiny’s klaxon before the second skimmer linked to the cable, and while the final trailer was still filling. The supercarrier’s immense sound seemed to come from everywhere, but his HUD’s thermal scanning revealed it.

The ship was still cloaked, but the form of its heat showed a monster that swallowed the entire eastern horizon, away from the Emperor Valley and the tight pass toward freedom. But the gap between the Pinnacle and the flagship was barely more than the size of the vessel itself.

The Manifest Destiny wasn’t moving, but there was other motion, just above the Pinnacle’s roof. Orson saw a freestanding lift like the one built into the underside of Franklin West’s ship, the Hofvarpnir. But it was larger, and Orson counted several moving figures riding it, all white-armored, officers, Shapers – all knights.

Orson’s HUD zoomed in on them. He recognized the scaled gauntlets of one knight, and the sheathed cleavers worn by another. A third was a towering figure, eight feet tall or more and as wide as two other men standing side by side. There was a knight of average build, but his helmet ended in tall antenna that moved against the wind. One carried a sheathed blade on each hip and three more across his back. Another carried only one, but it stretched all the way from the top of his head to the tips of his boots. The knight in the rear was hidden under a voluminous cloak.

In the front stood another man, with short gray hair and thin cheeks. Orson focused his HUD on him. The man wore a dark cape and armor decorated with gold and purple and red accents. The raised likenesses of eagles stuck out from the shoulder pauldrons. An ornate sword with a complex guard of interwoven metal bands was sheathed at his left hip. And his belt was lined with heavy cases, a complex array of containers. Some were white like his armor, but others bore symbols or metal accents.

Baron Helmont had marshaled his knights.

Orson saw where they were headed, toward the far end of the unloading platform, where two figures stood beside an unloading arm with a man trapped in its grasp.

Orson flew toward Enoa and Jaleel. Before he cleared the roof, he saw the distant heads of the baron and his knights turn toward him. Orson flew just above the unloading platforms, and he finally heard the metal whine of a second skimmer in motion. He saw the crowd outside the final skimmer jostling each other to board, but had no time to help. He saw Dr. Stan push an open and empty cart from the Aesir’s door, but he took no time to acknowledge her.

Orson landed beside Enoa and Jaleel. The man trapped in the unloading hand laughed hysterically at the sight of Orson, hard enough that he went short of breath. He wheezed. Orson saw a hint of white armor, where the man’s shoulders were visible between the curled mechanical fingers.

“You never met Sir Rowan,” Jaleel said. “Did you, Boss?”

Orson looked at the trapped man, cackling, tears rolling down his cheeks. Even gasping for breath, he didn’t stop laughing.

“He came after you a third time?” Orson asked. “One way or another, he won’t be back for a fourth.”

“Orson,” Enoa said. “I sense him. Helmont’s coming here.”

“I know.” Orson rested his hand on Jaleel’s shoulder. “You kids need to go.” Enoa had the dazed look of Thought Fatigue, and she leaned against Jaleel.

“No one is leaving!” Sir Rowan gasped out the words.

“Go back to the ship,” Orson said. “I’ll be with you when the last skimmer connects.”

Jaleel nodded and guided Enoa away. Looking after them, Orson found the old man, Aneirin, standing there, wand in hand. The earth elemental, Melanthymos was with him. And further beyond them waited Allbrook and the pale enigma woman who’d been rounding out their outlandish quartet.

“We could miss our ride,” Melanthymos said. “If we kill him here can we have a lift with you?”

“If we finish this now.” Orson watched Jaleel lift Enoa back through the Aesir’s door. Dr. Stan and Kol still stood outside. “I’ll fly you wherever you want.”

Sir Rowan laughter finally died away when the lift touched down to the platform, only yards distant.

Baron Helmont stepped from the lift, his knights behind him. He held a helmet under his arm. The design was the same as his knights’, but his was detailed and painted with purple and gold symbols. His other hand rested on the sword hilt.

Orson waited for all knights to step from the lift. Then he hefted the lantern, the rock still faintly warm like the hearthstones around an hours-dead fire.

Orson opened the lantern at Helmont.

The red flame broke before it reached the baron. It exploded out in a starburst. The air around the baron kindled into its own fire, violet tongues of flame that matched the accents on his armor. The lantern’s red fire dissipated. Then the violet faded too.

Baron Helmont had drawn his own sword. Its blade wasn’t metal, but fire. A long, thin rapier, it was made of that same violet flame and it burned out from the ornate hilt.

“As you can see, Gregory,” Helmont said. “I am no pretender, no dabbler or magpie, like you. I know the arts of the fallen covenant. I know their swordplay and their ignitions. You will need more than your lover’s runecraft to reach me.”

A thick stone disk spun past Orson before he could speak, Melanthymos in action. The disk flew so close that Orson felt the breeze from its passing tug at his coat.

The stone broke when the violet fire burned in the air. The disk fell to the ground, its edge hardened like obsidian.

Aneirin stepped around Orson, wand raised. A solid red orb grew from the wooden edge, like a water droplet expanding before its fall. The orb sped toward the baron, but the violet fire appeared again. When red and purple met they exploded with a smell like sulfur and a thick smoke that enveloped the unloading station.

And Orson still had no time to speak nor to act again. Melanthymos shouted. She yelled first, as if surprised, but then she screamed. It was an instinctual sound of sudden, unexpected agony. She fell to the deck.

Orson glanced back at her and his HUD showed her figure contorted on the ground, her fists clenched.

The sulfur-smelling smoke cleared, and Orson found Helmont holding three transparent tubes in his free hand, all filled with red. Then there was another, almost-avian, scream.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong, Miss?” Orson heard Kit Allbrook’s voice beyond the screams. Aneirin called back to him in Manx, and he whispered something else, before stepping around Orson. There was a medallion dangling around Aneirin’s neck, a round pendant with a hole in the center. Green, glowing writing danced around the rim, and it reminded Orson of the fire writing that moved across the lantern.

Aneirin raised the wand and swung it through the air, like it was the hilt of an unseen sword. A real, curved blade formed in the air, all of golden light, and it flew at Helmont.

Again, the violet combustion formed, but the fire was extinguished when the golden light struck it. The shining light flew farther, right at Helmont’s face.

The baron raised his sword and stabbed it into the center of the golden blade with a screech like metal scraping stone. The golden light fought with the sword’s edge, but then it broke and was extinguished, and Helmont was left standing, still unhurt.

“There is nothing you know that I haven’t seen, Aneirin,” Helmont said. “Lay down your wand and enjoy the fresh air. Now is the last you’ll taste it.”

“Without noise,” Anerin said. “I kill you a hundred times. You learn nothing.” He muttered under his breath and raised his wand again. That time when the golden blade formed and flew, Orson triggered his blaster to hand. He fired a volley after the blade, blast after blast after blast.

The golden blade broke the violet fire and the blaster shots followed after. Helmont again deflected the golden blade, like the first, but there was no second combustion to take the blaster shots. One energy bolt Helmont caught on the sword’s edge until it steamed away to nothing. One missed entirely. But the last grazed Helmont’s shoulder pauldron and left one of the eagle’s wings melted, the likeness of its feathers smeared together.

“Good,” Helmont said. “Very good. You learn well, Gregory. You see all the workings even with no understanding of their reasons. But that isn’t enough.”

Aneirin raised his wand the fourth time, but something shot out from Helmont’s belt. It looked like a twig, but something was wrapped around it that reflected the sunlight.

Helmont dropped the tubes in his hands. They floated beside him, and he caught the twig. He snapped it in two between thumb and forefinger.

Aneirin’s wand broke. It snapped in half with a small explosion that left the old man stumbling away from the pieces. Orson saw something thin, like thread, sticking from the broken ends that reflected the sunlight.

Turned back, Orson saw that Melanthymos was still prone on the ground, but her hands were flat against the deck, and her eyes were open and alert. And far behind the avian keening had also ceased.

Orson looked to the floating vials, and he knew then the red liquid inside them – blood. And when the vials had been released, Helmont’s grip had eased as well.

“I delayed them for you, my lord.” Sir Rowan twisted in the giant hand. He tried to turn back toward Helmont. “I delayed them. Now they are—”

“I know your motives, Rowan,” Helmont said. “Don’t take me for a fool. I know all the thoughts of your mind, all your lowest desires. Now, be silent.”

“Aneirin.” Orson took his own chance to speak. “If he can’t hurt you, take the others. Get out of here. I’m figuring out the rules, like he said. When I do, I’ll get through his fire. I’ll break the bastard’s nose for you. You have my word.” Aneirin bent down toward Melanthymos. Orson heard strong footsteps and the soft pad of bare feet, but he did not watch after them.

The dangling Sir Rowan began laughing again at the threat. Some of the standing knights joined him, but Helmont just raised his hand, fingers pointed toward Orson.

The blaster jumped from Orson’s hand. It yanked free, and Orson felt the grip on the metal track and wires up his sleeve. He caught the metal and the cords and held on, but he felt his feet slipping, felt himself dragged across the platform. This was impossible strength, inhuman, magical.

“Surprised?” The baron laughed as well. “I am too. It’s a joy to know my knowledge can break even the complexity of Ruhland’s shells. Even his metallurgy has its limits, or so we now see.”

Orson swung the sword and severed the metal and wiring. The blaster fell to the deck and spun away.

This wasn’t normal T.K. Orson’s armor was still strong and covered most of him. Orson could have asked for no better reassurance than his encounter with Parade Balloon. That telekinetic had taken no hold on the armor.

Had the blaster reached too far from his sleeve, too far from the unfathomed patterns of the armor’s construction? What else could break his protections?

Helmont had used the prisoners’ blood against them. The wooden piece had let him break Aneirin’s wand. Could another blaster or similar technology give him that same influence on Orson’s weapon?

“Finally, silence,” Helmont said. “Now, you can plainly see that you have no true understanding of my power. So fall on your sword. Remove your stolen armor and bury your stolen fire in your belly. And then I will be lenient with your crew. Or I will leave you alive to watch them die, to watch while I learn them and force them to kill themselves first.”

Orson heard the whine of the last trailer in motion. With any luck all prisoners were aboard, his crew was aboard the Aesir, the floppies were secure. Orson stood alone against Helmont and his knights.

Orson pressed his fingers to his visor, opened his comm. “Jaleel, fly now! Go now. Get out of here!”

The Aesir revved awake, but it didn’t fly. The tri-cannon spit light and death at Helmont and the knights. Their laughter stopped.

The air between was suddenly filled with shining shapes. The Aesir’s energy blasts sizzled to nothing amid the metal. Glittering shards swirled around the knights. The Shaper with the scaled gauntlets held his arms toward the swarm.

Helmont raised no fire defense toward the Aesir. The baron secured his blood vials, donned his helmet, and he raised his sword. He flew at Orson. It was not a jump. There was no force from his legs. It was Shaping, more real sorcery.

The baron was still in flight when he raised his sword in a high thrust. Orson raised his own blade up to parry.

The two swords of fire met. Even under the afternoon sun, everything was bathed in the colors of the clashing blades.