Kale snagged the tech weapon strapped to his back and brought it across his padded shoulder, moving fast despite the thick, defense-oriented uniform he wore. Instead of the fake knightly armor he displayed for the execution, he now swam in black, tech-centric gear; shoulder pads, breastplate, gauntlets, greaves, heavy boots, the coat layered in long strips of shiny material that would reflect beams. He probably had a marching shirt beneath the coat, too; would her gauntlet beams tear through it all, or would his defense protect him as intended?

She needed to aim for his head; no helmet graced his brow, so made the best target. If he prepared for a tech fight, why go without that protection? Maybe his waist-length beard got in the way.

A stray tech beam shattered the remains of the awning, and the chunky wooden pieces fell next to him; with a surprised bark, he dodged, flailed as his boot slipped on the door’s window, crashed down and slid off the carriage, towards the building.

Lost visual. Not good.

Lapis jerked at shouts from the right; the guards who brought up the rear of the king’s train arrived, adding more horses and noise to the chaos. An explosion followed; Patch? What had he struck?

She crouched and scurried to the vehicle’s underside, avoiding the still-rotating half-wheels, as horses surrounded the carriage, their riders shouting and waving weapons. The volley of tech beams increased.

She plastered herself against the belly, hoping the jut of the axles kept the horses away from her. Mounts reared, more shouts; too much movement, to focus properly. Mud and slush flipped from hooves, splattering her with the cold stuff. She hunched, wincing, eyes drawn to the slide of water off the bottom; she had seen the silvery material before, on vehicles the empire built to withstand a ground-originating explosion. Good for her, it had not coated the wheels as well.

“What are you doing?”

That sounded too cultured to be a Grey Streets voice. She peered around the front wheel and over the driver’s seat. The panicked driver snatched at a handful of papers the general squinted at.

Kale snagged his uniform collar and thrust him away; he hit the wall and slid down, dazed. He shoved the pages into his coat’s hip pocket, whirled, and pointed the weapon at the square. He needed both hands to hold it steady; the round middle barrel had two layers of rectangular metal on top, and a box on the bottom in front of the trigger, making it heavy. Lights zipped back and forth, reflecting off the black surfaces, but the glow seemed dim.

She surged up, swiping with her left gauntlet; she did not lengthen it fast enough, and he jerked back, dodging the strike, the tip of the tech swinging towards her. She stabbed with her right; the beam cut through half the firearm before he yanked it away, and oily blue dripped from the bottom casing.

“You fucking parasite!” Kale flared, mouth grimacing in frustrated anger. He heaved the weapon at her, and she ducked; it clipped the top of the seat and spun, striking a horse steps away. The poor mount flinched, scrabbled for traction, and went down, taking another with her; the rider shrieked as he tumbled from the saddle and rolled beneath the hooves of other animals. Two more stumbled over him but did not lose their footing, while the fallen ones fought to stand.

“General Kale!” A demanding shout came from the carriage. “Get us out of here!” A thump came from the interior. “KALE!”

No reply. Lapis peeked; no general, either. She looked to the left, along the front of the stores; he snagged a shopkeep out of a doorway, shoved them aside, and fled into the building.

Hoofbeats; she whirled. Chiddle.

He clopped to the broken tongue, his attention on taking riders out with precise shots from his forehead. He cleared the immediate space around them as a loud roar cut through the cacophony. Lapis gasped, whipping her head around, adrenaline rushing through her, and demanding she fight, but unable to see through the horses. What was the threat?

“Mint and Tia have arrived,” Chiddle said. “They are not in a good mood.”

She sagged. Well, terron help against tech weapons was welcome. “We have to get Kale,” she said. “He’s a general, and we can’t let him get away. He fled into Bits and Shells.”

Thump. Thump. Thump. “KALE!”

“There are people in there,” he said, focusing on the vehicle.

“The king, at least,” she told him. “This is the royal carriage.”

“I will tell Dov to guard it. Such a prize cannot be lost.” He held out his hand, and she took it. He pulled her to her feet, and she hopped over the tongue, ignored the cowering driver, and ran to the store’s door.

Bits and Pieces owner huddled against the outside wall, hunched and trembling. Lapis cast him a quick grin before speeding into the interior; more people, all looking towards the back, some sobbing, some yelling. The door hung open, and rats she recognized raced through it.

What were they doing?

“Lady, he took one o’ the Wings!” a stallkeep said, waving her hand at the door. “Gots a big knife, ‘n threatened her. She’s jest a little thing!”

Coward.

She slid around the counter, waded through bodies to the opening, and raced through, intent on the receding backs of the Wings. The teens had bravery and cunning on their side, but she did not think they could defeat Kale and rescue their friend. Hopefully  she did not lose them; the fog lay too thick in the alley, and she could not see the lead runner—though, if she had to guess, it was probably Jes.

She rounded the corner onto a narrow side street, gaining ground on the rats bobbing ahead of her. Good. If she caught them—

Chiddle galloped by, holding out his hand. Her self-congratulations at her speediness evaporated; she did not equal a khentauree’s swiftness, especially when weariness, not freshness, rode her. She grabbed it, and he hefted her onto his back without slowing down. They reached the rats, and she leaned over. “Get to the Eaves!”

“Lady, he grabbed Six!”

“I know! We’ll get her back.” She waved her hand, and they continued.

Six was a newer member of the Wings, so Lapis had not interacted with her much. She wore her brown hair in a short bob, swam in oversized clothing, and had a naturally thin physique, which made her look twelve rather than sixteen; Kale probably grabbed her because he thought her too young to fight back. While there were shy and panicky street rats, the Wings members were not among them, and she hoped the teen did not struggle so much that the general decided to ditch her in a permanent way.

“Who is this man we chase, that kidnaps children as shields?” Chiddle asked, his voice deep with furious buzz.

“Kale. He led the soldiers into Nicodem and killed my family and everyone there. He’s Gall’s favorite military shank—I guess it’s not reciprocated, though. Leaving the puppet in the carriage while he escapes is a pretty loud rejection.”

“Yes, Dov says the king yells, but no one helps him. He does not know why; even with the battle, someone should have attempted to extract him from the carriage.”

Lack of respect?

He swiveled his head to her, then back to facing forward. “This is hard for you.”

“Hard?” She swallowed. What had he heard in her tone, that he felt he should say something? “Revenge is always hard.”

“Yes.” His sadness carried enough punch, the emotions she smashed into the recesses of her soul burst out. Dammit, she did not have time to mourn. She needed to rescue Six first—and then end the man who butchered families in the name of the throne.

She had always focused on the rebel traitor, believing Kale too far out of her reach. He lived in the palace under bodyguard and kept company with the heavily guarded king. She had needed a dream of vengeance she could accomplish, not one brimming with unattainable wishful retribution on a man she would never encounter. But now . . . now she could exact long-awaited, sweet revenge.

She trembled, anticipation settling like a cold lump in her breast; both Kale and Gall would pay that day, for her family, for harming Patch, for daring to string Faelan up.

They passed other Wings, bent over, gasping, but not Jes. She yelled at them to get to the Eaves, but she doubted either her or Chiddle could convince the rats’ leader to stay behind while they cared for Kale; she took her role seriously and had endangered herself in the past for those who swore loyalty to the group.

Energized fighters filled the next thoroughfare; Lapis noted knives, swords and makeshift maces, and no one in uniform. They wore typical Grey and Stone Street attire; patched coats and pants, a bit rough at the hems, a couple in the shiny Dentherion cheap stuff. She did not recognize a soul as Chiddle wove through them, knocking more than one around to keep the three Wings in front of them in sight. Shouts followed them, but no one took a swing. Who were they, that they did not react to a khentauree’s presence?

No time to find out.

They reached a teen, hand to her chest, puffing hard, leaning against a building on the opposite side, viewing the fight with concern. Lapis leaned over as they passed.

“Get the others. Take them to the Eaves. You’ll be safe.”

“But Six—”

“We’ll rescue her, don’t worry.”

The rat shouted something after them, but only caught the frustration, not the words.

“I have kept the children and the man in sensor,” Chiddle said as he took a side street. “There is something odd.”

“Odd? Like what?”

“He stopped, and the children hide.”

“Get to the Wing’s first.”

He ran down two more alleys, hopping over icy debris and the random, bundled guttershank, and slowed to a creep. Three backs bled into view through the fog; they hunched down behind a cracked crate, one peering over the top. Chiddle buzzed, soft, and one turned; her eyes widened and she smacked her companions.

Lapis slid off the khentauree, and he sank to his knees as she joined the three. “What’s up?” she asked.

“He met some people on the walkway over the ditch,” Jes whispered. “They shot at us.” Her firm lips, coupled with her bright eyes, hinted she had no idea how to proceed. Lapis gripped her shoulder and smiled.

“Well, we followed you here, so good job not losing him.” She looked startled at the praise. “The people he met, what did they look like?”

“They looked like syndicate shanks, with black uniforms.”

Mercs? Probably. “Any badges?”

“Couldn’t tell.”

So either palace-paid fighters from the fort or Gredy’s men, though she wondered if much difference rested in the distinction. Mercs were mercs. Kale must have run to the spot the royals planned to meet them. Though why chose the walkway? That overpass led north, crossing through the Grey Streets, the Stone Streets and the Vale, before exiting into farmland. One could land an evacuation Swift there, but why keep to the city when the Shells exit or the Docks gate were much closer to the Lells? They could then take the southwestern roads from there, and either meet a Swift in a snowy field or continue until they hit northern Dentheria and perceived safety.

Did they expect to land a swift in the ditch? Of course, the ditch wasn’t a ditch so much as a paved-over ravine that held another road. It sat between two hills and had enough foliage along the sides that she had lost a few shanks in the rough. With the overhanging tree boughs and narrow way, she did not think it had the clearance to hold a Swift. The walkway certainly did not. Had someone in the palace, unfamiliar with western Jiy, made a mistake?

If so, good on them.

Chiddle looked up. “There is a Swift,” he said.

She sighed, annoyed. Did they not hear her thoughts, telling them the ravine was too small? “There isn’t room to land on the walkway or the road below.”

“He still holds the child.”

“Six isn’t a child,” Jes said, snagging her blonde hair behind her ears and glaring at the khentauree. “She’s sixteen.”

Chiddle swiveled his head to her. “I have existed centuries. She is a child.”

Lapis laughed; she could not help it. Did that mean he thought of her as a child as well? “Well, this kid is going to sneak closer and see what’s up.” The khentauree cocked his head, then buzzed a sigh.

She looked expectantly at Jes. “When she’s free, you lot get to the Eaves. No arguing, apprentice.” The rat narrowed her eyes at the reminder, but said nothing. Good choice. She needed those who wanted to become chasers to follow orders; lives often depended on it.

She slid around the crate and, keeping low, crept along the crumbling brick buildings to the walkway. The overpass had chain-link fences to either side, blocking the way down to the lower road, and she hoped they, combined with the fog, provided enough cover for her and Chiddle. She did not want to dodge merc shots when she could not see who fired.

They reached the fence without incident, and she cautiously stepped into the snow, wincing at the crunch. Chiddle’s hooves made no sound as they sank through the shoveled drift, and she envied him the ability.

“I did not mean to insult you,” he said as she leaned around the edge and peered down the walkway.

“I’m not that much older than they are,” she whispered.

“There is a maturity to your carriage they do not have.”

There was? Must come from chasing, because rats had hard, soul-twisting histories as well.

She heard muffled demands, and not from the mercs; Six kept shouted, and the rumbling threats did not phase her. Lapis did not know whether being a handful would help; she might end up with a tech beam to the temple. If she could get away—

“They say she has lost her usefulness.” Chiddle hopped into the road and fired.

No time to plan. Lapis rushed after him, hunched down, cursing his rashness. Return fire zipped past, lights above them flashed, surprised shouts and confusion mingled with the hum of a motor.

Kale stood in the middle of the walkway, a tight grip on Six’s arm as he held her close to his face; she pulled against his strength with everything she had. He raised the hand with the knife—a long, deadly blade Lapis would have mistaken for a machete in another circumstance. She triggered her gauntlet, hoping the beam was long enough to reach.

She hit the back of his thigh—a broad target, and better that, than accidentally striking Six while attempting to nail his head. Howling, he shoved her, and she hit the ground. He swung the knife as she scrambled to her feet and Lapis hissed; she did not have the familiarity with the gauntlets she needed to strike the blade and expect not to hit the rat. Stars’ luck he missed, but he swiped it back around, and Six dropped, rolled. The tip slashed across her patched coat, but did not slice anything else.

Pain, in her left shoulder. Lapis stumbled, reached up, grabbed; blood. Blood.

Numbing incredulity tore through her mind. She’d been hit?

Six screamed. She pointed and triggered her right gauntlet, sobbing as agony flew up her neck and broke apart her stunned reaction; the beam shot between Kale and the rat, missing both. The teen scurried on hands and knees, surged up, pelted past her, terrified.

“Get to Jes, Six!” Lapis shouted.

Kale whipped around to face her. His brown eyes hardened and his face twisted in ugly disbelief.

“You’re not her,” he said, flinching as the return fire against Chiddle seared the ends of his hair. Whatever mercs he met, they did not much care about his wellbeing. Hopefully one struck him in the back.

“No. You missed a Nicodem that day, asshole. Vengeance comes for you through me.”

He laughed, a forced mockery belying his mental state, flipped his knife, and threw.

She avoided it; he meant to distract her, not hit her. He turned and limped into the fog; she followed, saw the ladder dangling down from the grey clouds. The mercs knelt among the fallen, sighting and firing into the ground-hugging mist in hopes of striking an enemy they could not see. Chiddle’s grey chassis blended with the grey, a nice camouflage, and one she wished she had.

Brilliant white spears zinged past. They soared through the hands, arms, chests of the mercs, ignoring armor, and the men fell back, some loud in death, others choking on frothy blood.

Kale stuttered to a halt, then grabbed the ladder and stepped up with his good leg. She sent the purple beam out as far as it could go and sliced at the rungs. She cut one side rope and a stair in half, but only grazed the second rope. Smoke puffed from the touch and Kale sagged down, the damaged twine fraying under his weight.

He dropped, cursing loud enough to wake the dead in the Pit as he landed on his ass. He rolled, rose, and staggered for balance, then swiped at the next viable stair, missing by a fingerlength.

The ladder wobbled, swinging out of his reach. It swayed back and forth, then trailed to the east as the Swift’s lights fled into the clouds to the west. She saw brilliant flashes of white trail the lights, then nothing. Had Chiddle hit it?

Kale hopped to a dead merc, dragging his injured leg behind him, and grabbed their tech weapon; he pointed, fired, but no beam exited the tip. Too damaged; as far as she could see, Chiddle had destroyed every single firearm held by the dead men. And she only saw dead men; if any mercs remained standing, they had retreated, leaving the general to them.

“So much for loyalty, eh?” she asked as she walked to him, thickening the purple beam on her right gauntlet. Her left shoulder screamed at her, and she promised it she would get healing help, as soon as she destroyed one of the demons that haunted her dreams.

He spit at her, the globby stuff catching in his greying beard rather than passing his lips. “Who are you?”

“Maybe you should have checked to make certain all the dead were actually Nicodem.” She raised her hand, her heart thumping so loud, she could barely hear her own voice. She smiled, feeling anxious, feeling mean and malicious. “My vengeance, for my parents, my siblings, my best friend, and everyone else you slaughtered that day. My vengeance, for those left behind.”

He laughed and slapped his breastplate with his hand. “I’ve survived more than one assassination attempt. Some little junkie isn’t going to succeed.” He chucked the tech weapon at her; she did not flinch as it bounced and skidded towards her, missing her legs. Blue oil leaked from it, leaving behind a thin trail in the snow.

He bent, picked up another one, turned to point at her, a wide, enraged grin wrinkling his face. He did not fear her? She could fix that.

He choked, dropped the weapon, shock, pain, disbelief, vying for supremacy as the purple beam punctured his chest. She pulled it to the right, cutting through him, his armor. Blood leaked out as he collapsed to his knees.

He rocked back after an aquatheerdaal beam struck him in the forehead. If her attack did not end him, the explosive nature of Chiddle’s did.

She turned from the mess, reaching for her shoulder, feeling nothing but agony. No relief, no joy, no celebration that vengeance sang true. Tears leaked down her cheeks as she mentally grabbed for some bit of happiness, satisfaction, anything. If Perben lay there, she would have screamed her triumph. But Kale, who led the charge, elicited nothing. What was wrong with her? Chiddle trotted up, gently touched the wound, and buzzed at her pain-filled cry.

“You are injured. I will carry you, so you do not have to hold on. Dov says the fighting is near done. The guards could not harm the terrons, and they . . .” He trailed off, then clicked. “Let us say, they proved they are warrior terrons.”

She nodded, wooziness combining with the pain to make her feel sick. “We need to check Kale first. He put some papers in his coat pocket. We need to know what they are.”

Buzzing, Chiddle pointed imperiously for her to remain where she was, and rifled through the dead man. He cut his shirt to make a pouch, stuffed more than the papers inside, and swept back to her. He caught her up and held her to his chest before leaving the walkway behind.