No Fear of the Future

Flavius leapt, the new sphere emitting a deep peal as he landed upon it. Upward they soared, knocking and jostling for position. Through the chaos of the spheres, Flavius glimpsed the service way, far to his left.

Gritting his teeth, he leapt again, and again. Each jump brought him closer. On his next jump, the sphere rolled, dumping him over. He hit the next sphere awkwardly, and tumbled sideways as it rolled as well. Again and again he fell, unable to regain his balance, until finally he landed and stuck, flat on his back.

Approaching quickly from above came the service way.

"Ach, this is gonna sting..." Flavius grabbed at the support struts underneath the walk an instant before the sphere hit. The impact knocked the air out of him, and for a moment Flavius knew he'd be crushed. The sphere rolled to the side then, and Flavius hooked an arm around the strut before he fell. Heaving a few deep lungfulls of air, he shoved Memory onto the walk, then hoisted himself over the railing onto the service way. His legs quivered warningly. Wiping his face with a sleeve, he scanned the service way for Anacaona, the Empress and the rest. There, far down the service way, amid the cascade of spheres, the orange bulk of Djserka lurched along, followed by the smaller figures of the women.

"Right then. Always the running after and catching up." Flavius stooped to pick up Memory, and suddenly the world twisted, stretched, then snapped back into place.

Flavius found himself lying prone on the walk, Memory beneath him. "What," he managed, climbing back to his feet, "in God's good name was that?"

He tested his limbs cautiously, wary they might break off at the joints or turn to limp strands of rope, but all seemed in order, save for the deep burn of over-exertion. Flavius charged after the others.

The service way grew steeper as he approached the others. It was impossible to see far through all the rising spheres, but Flavius was certain the walk hadn't torn loose from its supports. The Palace of Un-pic Ja'ab was listing.

Anacaona caught sight of him, waving and shouting. Then reality buckled once again. The palace turned inside out, boiling away in a thunderous gale.

As quickly as before, reality snapped back to normal. Flavius stared up into the sobbing face of Anacaona, her tears raining down upon him.

"Oh, Flavius, what's happening? What was that?"

"I donnae ken, Lass, but it cannae be good." Flavius shot a look to the others. "Empress?"

Empress Malinche, scowling imperiously, offered only a terse shake of her head. Even Papantzin's guise of cool confidence had cracked, as she scanned randomly about for a host of perceived threats.

The service way shuddered. A series of rolling booms echoed around them as the Ketza'qua strained against its bonds.

"If I may, there is an egress but a short distance ahead," Djserka said. "At this point, it is my belief the Ketza'qua will cast off its bonds long before we are able to make our way back to the Nexial gaps. The palace will not last much longer, I fear. Our best course would be to vacate."

"Then forward, ya beastie! Move!"

With Djserka in the lead and Flavius in the rear, they fought their way toward the door even as the way grew steeper. The tilt was unmistakable now, nearly ten degrees by Flavius' reckoning. The lifting spheres no longer rose directly past, but rather increasingly angled the same direction they moved. And the flow had slowed as well.

"The way forward is blocked," Djserka announced abruptly. "I cannot force a way through."

Flavius leaned over the rail, but couldn't see beyond Djserka's bulk. The way back, even if they wanted to retreat, was already blocked by coagulating spheres. "I could climb past ya, but I nae want to be skewered by yer spines there."

"It is possible for me to retract my defensive spicules temporarily."

"Then get retracting." Flavius swung himself over the railing, muscling for space against the spheres. "The rest of ya, follow along." Anacaona clutched his arm.

"Flavius... uh, please be careful."

Flavius patted her cheek. "Ah, lass, had ya only offered me that sage advice a week ago."

Flavius gingerly worked his way along the railing, wary of the warty black puckers of retracted spines. This close to the Naga-ed-der, he could smell the creature's astringent odor. Flavius blinked as his eyes watered. Anacaona followed close behind, with the Empress and Papantzin after. As Flavius reached the front, Djserka plucked him over the rail with a long, spindly arm, then helped Flavius pull the rest over.

"Stay close. When I start cutting," he said, "I donnae ken how long the path will stay open--"

"So keep pace or be left behind," finished Empress Malinche impatiently. "Yes. You've said that already."

"Right. But it, ah, bears repeating." Flavius swung Memory in a wide arc, shattering two spheres. Feather-light crystal shards rained down on him. He pushed forward, before the crush of spheres could fill the gap, and slashed again, breaking another. The women followed close behind, but the spheres pressed in quickly, making a tight fit for Djserka.

"I see it!" Flavius shouted, steadily smashing his way forward. "It's only about 20 more feet."

The doorway loomed ahead, a dark slash against the wall.

"Is it opening wider?" asked Anacaona.

"Opening?" Flavius peered forward. The opening was growing wider. And extending up and down the wall as well. "Sweet mer--"

A cascade of debris fell through the opening, smashing through the straining, buckled struts anchoring the end of the service way. "That's nae doorway, that's a break in the palace wall!"

The struts snapped. The service way twisted and bucked against the spheres, dropping from a ten degree rise to a twenty degree drop in rough, jerking fashion. Then it rumbled forward, smashing spheres left and right, through the growing fissure in the wall.

Through the cloud of dust and rubble they rode, through the breached wall, into the shrill night air. The length of service way snagged back inside somewhere, jerking to a stop. The railing collapsed, dumping Flavius, Anacaona, Empress Malinche and Papantzin into open air.

Flavius landed on something hard and metallic. Anacaona landed atop him, as did the Empress and Papantzin. "Get... off!"

Flavius pushed them off, and rose to a kneeling position. "Djserka?" he called.

"Here," Djserka said, lowering himself via thread. "You only fell seven mlara. Any farther and you may have sustained significant injuries."

A burning wej spun out of control in the distance, trailing smoke. Streaks of cuyab flame streaked here and there. Larger plasma beams lanced out from palace gun placements, burning moironteau into shriveled char. Moironteau... moironteau swarmed everywhere. Thousands of them, on the ground, in the air, illuminated by furious eruptions of crimson and emerald throughout the battlefield.

The steel-hard surface beneath them undulated then, and a fierce, rapid clattering in the distance rushed over them and past. It was a familiar clatter, one Flavius had heard before. "Oh, damn me sideways to hell. We're atop the wee beastie."

"Speak sense, Flavius," snapped Empress Malinche.

"I believe, Your Imperial Highness, that he means we currently stand upon a scale of the bound Ketza'qua," Djserka said.

"The Ketza'qua?" the Empress repeated with distaste. "For a servitor creature to debase the Imperial Personage with physical contact..." She shuddered. "No, no this is unacceptable. It will have to be disposed of."

"Oh, Yer Imperial Majesty's got much bigger problems than that just now," Flavius said, standing ready with Memory gripped tightly in both hands.

"The Ketza'qua is breaking free!" cried Anacaona. "It will kill us all!"

"Nae, Lass," Flavius answered, gesturing Memory toward the raging battle. "Yer wee beastie willnae get the chance."

Through the carnage of battle streaked a crimson blur, a serpentine body of scarlet propelled by wings blurred with motion. It raced toward them, its three pair of eyes locked on Flavius, antennae twitching in fury, casting off sparks of pure hatred.

Rapteer had come.

Flavius cautiously backed away. The black pupil, taller than Flavius by half, narrowed, straining to focus on his too-close form. The lid slid down smoothly, shifting spheres out of the way as it moved, closing with all the gentleness of a steel door.

Flavius sat in the dark, barely breathing, praying the Ketza'qua would go back to sleep... or whatever the gigantic serpent did.

The eye snapped back open, the strange, emerald glow spilling over Flavius. A subsonic rumble rose up from deep inside the Ketza'qua. Its massive scales clattered against themselves like a cavalry charge across a field of cobblestones. The buoyancy spheres shifted again, and Flavius hastily considered the inherent instability of his footing. All around, the protesting groans and whines of cables and scaffolding reverberated through the spheres.

The Ketza’qua sensed opportunity amid the chaos. The opportunity for freedom.

Flavius clambered between the translucent spheres, away from the Ketza’qua. The glow from the beast’s eye cast an odd illumination, reflected and diffracted in unnatural ways by the spheres. The beasts rumbled again, and the spheres resettled, threatening to alternately crush Flavius between them or pitch him away entirely.

His boots struggled for traction on the hard shells. The spheres weren’t slick, but they were smooth, offering little upon which to grip. He wriggled and heaved himself up through the ever-shifting gaps, smaller spheres slipping between the house-sized ones, obstructing his way and forcing him to retreat to find a different route. Steadily, he put as much distance between himself and the Ketza’qua as possible. Every so often, he heard Acaona call out for him. He shouted in reply, but amid the incessant chiming of the spheres, clattering of the Ketza’qua scales and distant explosions and alarms, he had no hint that she’d heard him.

He reached up and sought a hand-hold against one sphere, a smaller one that spanned maybe twice the width of his outstretched arms, and froze. It hadn’t chimed when his palm struck it as the others had. He rapped it with his knuckles and got a dull, hollow echo in reply. Quickly he ran his fingers across the surface in the weak light. Were those cracks he felt? Flavius peered through the surface, but could see nothing. He looked over the top of the sphere. Nothing. He slithered down onto his belly--grunting in the tight confines, and craned his neck to see the underside. There, at the very edge of his line of sight, he could just make out a sword pommel adorned with the whortleberries.

“So there’s where ya got yerself.” Flavius tried to squeeze through the gap, but his shoulders wedged hard against the abutting spheres and blocked any further progress. He pulled back and reached for it, straining with one arm, but Memory remained a good arm-length away from his grasp.

“Come on, come on, ya bugger,” he muttered, climbing atop the sphere. A larger one blocked his way directly across the top, but he worked his way around the side enough to peer down through a narrow gap. He had a clear view of Memory now, just a couple of feet away. The sword had buried itself up to the hilt in the sphere, and a spider web of cracks radiated out from it.

A deep-throated growl burst from the Ketza’qua just then, and a violent shudder jolted Flavius as the creature strained against its bonds. The spheres shifted, and he barely avoided having a leg pinned as one large sphere shifted enough to allow a smaller one slide closer to Flavius’ perch.

Breathing heavily, he turned back to Memory. “Bastard,” he muttered through clenched teeth. The sphere had rotated, carrying the sword just out of reach. “Why is it that these things can never, ever work out easily? That’s what’d I’d like to ken.”

He tried a different angle, then looked for a different vantage with no luck. Memory was well out of his reach, and unless the spheres shifted again, it would remain so.

Of course, another shift could just as easily crush him into pudding.

Somewhere above, Acaona was calling his name. For a moment, he marveled at the fact she hadn’t been devoured by the moironteau yet, and then a rage at the injustice of his situation welled up so that he felt he’d burst. For lack of ability to do anything else, Flavius kicked, bringing his boot down onto the sphere. A dull snap answered, and he heard a new fissure snake across the surface.

That gave him pause. He pursed his lips in thought, then checked Memory again, shifting so that he wasn’t directly over where he judged the blade to be. Then he kicked again. And again.

Suddenly, with a crisp report, the sphere shattered. Flavius dropped with the shards as the spheres rushed to fill the void. He grasped wildly for Memory, his left hand closing over the end of the blade. Flavius cried out as the edge bit into his palm, but he refused to loosen his grip, even as spheres battered him from below.

He lay gasping, finally, wedged between two spheres, blood from nicks and scratches streaking his forearms and face. Ever so carefully, wincing from the pain, he reached over and grabbed the flat of the blade with his free hand.

"Ya damn near got away from me that time, dinnae ya? Donnae try that again," Flavius said, lifting Memory over himself and wedging it securely beside him. He then tore several strips from his tattered sleeves and tied a makeshift bandage over his wounded hand.

The Ketza'qua rumbled. Flavius could no longer see the creature, or its eye, but the menacing green glow cast a faint sheen over everything.

"Right. Time to find our way out," he said. "I cannae be far enough away when that beastie breaks--"

The Ketza'qua snarled, thrashing against its bonds more violently than before. The spheres lurched and shuddered. They shifted and rotated, two coming together to press Flavius between them like a vice. He struggled to squirm away, but their grip was too tight. He gasped for breath, but could not overcome the constriction on his lungs. Desperate, he tried to shatter either sphere with Memory, but could manage barely a tap. His vision began to swim.

From above came a string of high-pitched twangs in rapid succession. Then music.

Soft at first, only a few ethereal notes cut through the cacophony of the Ketza'qua's struggles, moironteau roars and the moaning of abused palace foundations. The music grew, more and more pure notes joining together in a disordered, elegant chaos.

Flavius gulped in air as the crushing sphere lifted from him. He gazed wonderingly as it soared above, joining a cloud of hundreds. Spheres rose all around him, suddenly loose as those holding them down from above soared to freedom.

His sphere hummed softly as it rose up, muted by Flavius perched atop it and weighed down by his bulk. Other spheres bumped them from below. Flavius wobbled, crouching to maintain the best balance possible, and rode the sphere up into the swirl of music.

The restraining netting had completely torn away. The buoyancy spheres were free.

There was no time to tumble, no chance to leap free. The catwalk plummeted. Screams echoed from the sleek walls and shattered gestation tanks, mixing with the roars of the moironteau.

Flavius jerked violently, ripped away from the catwalk. It vanished into the darkness amid a continuing shower of debris. An instant later a pure, bell-like tone washed over him from below.

Flavius shook his head to clear away the fog, then took his bearings. In the feeble light spilling out of the hole above, he saw Acaona dangling beside him. As did the Empress Malinche and Papantzin. Djserka em Naga-ed-der gripped each of them with a long, spindly arm, his own flabby bulk suspended precariously by a single silken thread.

“Er... ’preciate the catch,” Flavius managed.

“You’re welcome. You’re also most unbearably heavy,” Djserka hissed through clenched mandibles. “And, might I point out, that at any moment a sliver of glass may sever my line?”

“Right, right. Parric! Parric!” Flavius called, but the Crafter of Ominik was nowhere to be seen. “Damnit, Parric, nae around when I need you. Acaona! Can ya give us some light with that wee torch of yers?”

She held out her cuyab and a cool green brilliance blazed forth.

Flavius whistled.

“What is this place?” wondered the Empress Malinche.

“The underneath,” answered Acaona. “We’ve gone all the way down.”

Not more than thirty feet below, straining against taut, crystalline netting, gleamed iridescent spheres the size of cottages. The twisted remains of the catwalk impaled one broken, motionless moironteau. Two others lay a short distance away, their splattered blood virtually luminous in the cuayab light. A fourth moironteau twitched feebly, it’s body nearly severed through in several places by the netting. As chunks of shattered glass, peq and other debris rained down, soft, ethereal tones rang out from the spheres as if giants were running fingers across enormous wine goblets.

“Over there,” Flavius said, pointing to a narrow service way with a single hand rail crossing the steep mass of spheres. Along the way, it intersected other service ways cris-crossing the space above the netting. “They mound up toward the center. There’ll be access back inside there, most likely. Djserka, will yer thread hold enough for us to swing over?”

“I’ll have to spin another length or two for us to reach, but yes, my thread will hold our weight.”

“Do ya want us to--”

“Please, no. Just be still and let me do this on my own,” Djserka said, spinning out a length of thread to drop them lower. “If you start thrashing about, you’re more likely to dislocate and arm or three than anything useful.”

Djserka shifted its bulk subtly, and they swung back several feet. A moment later they’d moved twice as far forward.

“You’re good at this,” said Acaona.

“Dear girl, I’ve had plenty of practice,” Djserka answered. “It’s what we do.”

A large block of floor tumbled past, barely missing them. Flavius looked up to see two moironteau climbing through the hole. The beasts hadn’t yet noticed the thread amid the poor light and chaos.

“Let out more thread!” ordered Flavius on the backswing. “Enough to drop me down there without breaking my neck!”

“I do that and we’ll overshoot the service way,” Djserka protested.

“Donnae argue with me! Just do it!”

Djserka let out another ten feet of silk, the lurching extension imparting a wobbly spin to the party. As they swept through the lowest part of the arc, Djserka swung Flavius out and released him. With an involuntary shout, Flavius soared for a moment before planting his feet squarely atop the two dead moironteau.

Djserka fed out more thread as their arcing path carried them along, passing underneath the service way. The thead pressed taut against the bottom support rail, and Djserka’s momentum carried the em Naga-ed-der and passengers up and over the opposite side. Djserka quickly grabbed the safety rail with its hindmost suction pads, balancing precariously before setting Acaona, the Empress and Papantzin down roughly. Djserka hung precariously on the narrow service way, wrapped nearly all the way around it and dwarfing the three women.

“That was...” gasped Malinche, “entirely unacceptable.”

“Donnae just stand there yammering!” shouted Flavius as he clambered down the dead moironteau. “Them beasties are still coming! Get a godamned move on!”

The moironteau had spotted them, letting out squeals of recognition. One pushed off from its jagged perch and dove at Flavius, teeth bared in all eight footheads.

Flavius slashed Memory across the strands of netting. They separated with a whipping snap, and three iridescent spheres burst through like shot from a canon.

The first sphere hit two footheads a glancing blow with a beautiful, ringing tone, enough to send the moironteau spinning. The second struck it more solidly before shattering with the sound of a thousand jingling bells. The moironteau flailed as it fell, crashing through the service way scant feet ahead of Acaona before slamming into the netting below.

The impact caused a lurching shift among the spheres, and two more escaped from the rent in the net.

“Back this way,” Flavius shouted. “We’ll follow the perimeter until we find another connecting service way.

One escaped sphere rolled uneasily upon the ceiling above, its movement hampered by various utility pipes and vents protruding from the palace’s underside. The second moironteau clung to the ceiling, footheads keeping wary watch on both the spheres and Flavius. The third and fourth escaped sphered had found the gaping hole and escaped through into the ruined peq cloning chamber. One took a startled moironteau along for the ride after it chose an inopportune moment to pass through the hole. Through the opening shadows mingled as more moironteau joined the hunt.

The women passed over Flavius, followed by Djserka, almost comical as it clambered along the too-small service way. It dropped a loop of thread down to Flavius as it went.

“Thanks again,” Flavius said as Djserka hauled him up.

“There certainly is a prodigious number of those vile creatures,” Djserka said as they moved. The damaged service way wobbled with every step.

“That there is. And to ken it only took one to kill me before.” Flavius cast a worried glance back. No fewer than six moironteau had gotten through and were following along the roof. “Acaona, lass, can ya give us some cover fire?” he shouted past Djserka.

In answer, Acaona sent a spray of emerald bursts back at the moironteau. A few even struck home, slowing their pursuit noticeably.

“We’re nearly to the perimeter, Flavius,” Empress Malinche announced. “It looks wide enough to land a wej on.”

“I ken Djserka will appreciate--”

The rumble came upon them like rolling thunder, but at a much deeper pitch. Far more menacing. Flavius grabbed at the railing a hair’s breadth too late. The shockwave struck, throwing him from the service way. His innards slammed against his ribcage as he fell. Massive fissures snaked through the underside of the palace. Steam burst from ruptured pipes. Moironteau fell like rag dolls. The cut Flavius had made in the netting zippered open under the strain, and hundreds of buoyancy spheres launched themselves up, some shattering along the way, but all of them singing their ghostly music.

Flavius hit a sphere, snagged his foot on a strand of netting and tumbled. He slipped and slid through the gaps in the spheres, losing his grip on Memory along the way. The thought of skidding all the way through the spheres to fall to his death on the other side flashed through his mind, but he abruptly came up hard against a rough, unyielding surface.

“Ow. Ach,” he muttered, twisting his body a less mangled position. He felt his throbbing forehead and found it wet, hot and sticky. Flavius quickly realized he was thoroughly soaked, and more than a little disconcerted that in the darkness he couldn’t tell if the blood was his, peq or moironteau. As he stared at his hands, a soft green glow illuminated them, black with blood.

“Acaona?” he said, looking up. She was nowhere to be seen. The illumination grew stronger. “Acaona!”

“Flavius!” Her answering call was distant, high above him. “Where are you? What happened?’

Flavius flexed his fingers, intensely aware of Memory’s absence. He swallowed, then deliberately turned to look behind him.

The blazing green eye of the Ketza’qua stared back.

Apologies for the long delay in this installment. It wasn't intentional, I swear. I've posted some personal thoughts about chapter 40, as well as the whole "Memory" experiment thus far, over at my personal blog for anyone who's interested.

Flavius leaned forward against the railing, mouth agape, staring at the thousands of cylinders filling the vast chamber.

“Those are peq!” Flavius said, half bafflement, half accusation. “Yer growing goddanmed peq in here!”

“Of course we grow our own peq. You don’t expect us to rely on wild populations, do you?” Empress Malinche said weakly, rousing from unconsciousness. “Captain, you may put me down.”

“Certainly, Your Imperial Highness,” Pacal said, setting the Empress on her feet. Papantzin came instantly to her side, offering support.

“Ya grow yer own peq?” Flavius repeated, pronouncing the words slowly as if looking for some nuance he’d overlooked. “Am I the only body here what finds that just a wee bit mad?”

“You haven’t met many peq in the wild, have you, dear Flavius?” Malinche looked at him as she would a particularly dim child. “They are a brutal and uncouth breed of lesser sentients, wholly unsuited for contact with the Eternal Dominion. It took centuries of selective breeding to produce a suitably docile servitor. Given the established genetic unpredictability of the breed, cloning was the only rational course to pursue.”

Flavius looked to Acaona. She shrugged. “They’re peq. What do you expect?”

“Ah, nevermind I asked. Ya people scare me sometimes, ya ken? On second thought, ya scare me all the time.” Flavius nodded at Parric. “Which way?”

“Alonging this way,” Parric answered, motioning to a catwalk that ran along the perimeter of the chamber. “Then downing more levels to the bottom.”

“Down where? Where are we going?” Malinche demanded.

“To the portal chamber, the nexial gaps,” Pacal answered.

“Absolutely not. We will not so much as flee the palace. When--”

The skylights far overhead shattered. Shards of glass rained down as multilegged forms surged into the cloning chamber.

“Move!” shouted Flavius, shoving Acaona along the catwalk. Djserka heaved its bulk after her, flabby flanks spilling over the guard rails. Flavius winked back at Malinche as he followed. “Be seeing ya around!”

The wall crumbled above the entrance, a spray of stonework shattering the closest peq tanks. A scarred and bleeding foothead forced its way through the opening, snapping wildly.

Captain Pacal grabbed Empress Malinche and chased after the others, with Papantzin close behind.

The columns of tanks buckled under the weight of the moironteau. Flavius dodged chunks of jagged acrylic and fetal peq. Viscous amniotic fluid.splattered in great globs, smelling like a dead fish left under someone’s bedcovers too long.

“Up there! Up there! Burn the bastards while they’re far enough away!” shouted Flavius.

Acaona unleashed her cuayab at the moironteau above, but her erratic aim did little more than bathe various peq clones in fire. Pacal followed her lead, though, sending up quick, precision bursts of emerald flame, the well-placed streams searing several footheads. There were at least four of the otherwhereians, clambering from column to column as the support grids buckled and moaned. After the first volley from Pacal, they quickly moved to keep peq cylinders between their bodies and the cuayabs, exposing only their footheads.

“They’re coming down too quickly!” Pacal said. “We’re exposed like bulbous gloids here.”

“Parric! If yer going to work yer magic, now’d be a bonny time!”

“Craftings are not magicings,” Parric snapped, antennae twitching with concentration. “This is more than I’m wanting to Crafting, but under the circumstancings-- uh-ohing.”

“Wha? What’s this ‘uh-ohing’? There’s be nae of that!” Flavius shouted as he ducked away from a falling peq arm. “Ya do that Crafting thing with yer antennae and we go on our merry way, that’s what ya do.”

“Blockings,” Pairric said softly. “Blockings of my Craftings.”

“Who? What? That’s nae possible!”

“Rapteer.”

“Rap–? Oh, bugger!” Flavius kicked at the railing in fury. “Why the hell dinnae ya contract with the Junsturs? Their particular style of violence would be a wee bit handy about now, eh?”

A tremendous crash behind them wrested their attention from the moironteau above to the one beind. The battered and scarred creature had broken through completely, destroying hundreds of peq tanks in the process. Footheads clawed at the wall, jagged teeth biting into the solid surface. The moironteau came after them.

Pacal leapt past Papantzin and the Empress, dropping to a knee and throwing a full blast of his cuayab into the moironteau. The fire washed over the beast, blackening a foothead. The burning foothead whipped wildly back and forth, trailing flame as it smashed dozens of peq tanks. The amniotic fluid smothered the fire, filling the air with choking, bitter smoke.

“Get her back!” Pacal ordered Papantzin while keeping a steady fire trained on the moironteau. “Protect the Empress!”

Engulfed in flames, the moironteau reared back a foothead, and lightning-fast struck hard, crushing the catwalk and Pacal. The foothead pulled away from the wall, and Captain Pacal’s shattered body tumbled away.

The moironteau crossed the break in the catwalk, the foothead teeth grinding menacingly as they dug into the wall. The moironteau was breathing heavily, rumbling groans surging up from deep within.

Empress Malinche crouched in a ball, her arms covering her head. Papantzin stood between her and the moironteau, slender stiletto in her hand.

“Flavius!” Malinche called, voice wracked with sobs. “Flavius save me!”

Instinctively, Flavius moved to her defense, but pulled up before Djserka. The em Naga-ed-der’s girth blocked the way.

A foothead lashed out. Papantzin nimbly ducked away. The open maw bit hard against the wall, the bulk of the limb passing over Papantzin and the Empress and shoving hard against Djserka’s back.

Angry crimson blisters erupted across the foothead. The moironteau recoiled in pain, wrenching the foothead free of the em Naga-ed-der spines embedded deep in its flesh. The blisters grew at an alarming speed, bursting open to release a black, watery puss. More blisters formed even as the moironteau convulsed violently then released its grip on the wall.

The moironteau shattered cloning column after cloning column as it fell. Undercut, the towering pillars toppled, breaking apart in a chain reaction. The moironteau above found themselves falling among the shattered tanks, flailing arms wreaking destruction as they plummeted.

The first moironteau hit the distant floor with a resounding crash. Fissures radiated out from its carcass, broad lines clearly defined even amidst the debris and dismembered peq. The second hit with greater force, and the fissures grew three fold.

The battered catwalk shifted suddenly, pulling away from the wall. Flavius grabbed the railing, sheathing Memory as he did.

The next two moironteau hit nearly simultaneously, and the floor dropped away into nothing. All the shattered columns and tanks and peq followed into the darkness.

“Grab something lass!” Flavius yelled to Acaona. “We’re going for a ride.”

The catwalk shuddered, then tore free, plunging them through the cavernous hole below.

Flavius jabbed at the moironteau with Memory, skewering one of the glassy black eyes rimming the gaping maw. The foothead flinched back. Then it roared, thick trails of slobber flicking over concentric rows of jagged teeth.

“We’re cut off!” shouted Acaona.

“Tell me something I dinnae already ken, lass,” growled Flavius, scanning the walls of the passage. “Do ya ken we can muscle our way through these walls here? In another minute or two this beastie’s going to figure out it can come down on top of us through the ceiling.”

Captain Pacal struggled to direct his cuayab at the foothead blocking the other end of the hall while carrying the empress’ limp form. The green stream of fire seared the foothead, which thrashed and snapped in response. Dust and rubble rained down from the hole. The walls around the foothead smoldered from the blast.

“It’s not enough,” Pacal said. “I can’t hit it with anything stronger–the blowback’ll burn us all.”

Acaona shrieked, cowering against the wall.

More debris rained down on them. Ominous fissure spiderwebbed across the ceiling.

“Whole damned place going to come down on us at this rate,” Flavius muttered. “Right then. Captain, try blowing yer fire down this other one’s gullet-- And ya cannae understand a word I’m saying.” Flavius grabbed Pacal’s shoulder and spun him around, relaying his intent with emphatic gestures clear in any language.

“Acaona! Acaona, lass, look alive. When I cut into that foothead blocking our way, yer only going to have a few seconds to get by,” Flavius said, pulling her up by the elbow. Acaona looked at him with eyes wild with fear.

“I don’t want to go. Not anymore. They’re too big. Too many.” The words tumbled out of her in a panicked rush.

“Keep yerself together just a wee bit longer, lass,” he said, clasping his hand to the side of her face. “When the beastie pulls back, ya get yerself down that hall as fast as ya can. Can ya do that? That’s a good lass.”

He motioned to Pacal, who loosed a stream of flame at the snapping maw of the pursuing foothead. Flavius lunged at the blocking foothead, stabbing and twisting with Memory. The foothead jerked then slammed Flavius broadside, throwing him to the floor. Memory fell to the floor beside him. The foothead thrashed wildly, crushing sections of the wall and ceiling to rubble.

“Cover yerselves! It’s coming down!” Flavius shouted.

Abruptly, the footheads pulled back from either end of the hall with startling speed.

The sounds of fighting and explosions echoed from distant parts of the palace, but the hall was otherwise silent, save for the crumbling, shifting debris of the hall.

“Is it gone?” Pacal wondered.

Flavius held up a hand of caution. He pulled himself deliberately from the remains of a partially collapsed wall, his right hand picking Memory up. “There’s something up there,” he whispered.

His eyes followed some unseen threat above them, moving this way then that. A blur of motion swept in through the hole in the ceiling. Flavius pivoted to meet it, Memory’s point halting less than a finger’s breadth from Parric’s clicking beak.

“We are leaving now,” Parric said, antennae contorting in extreme agitation as the Crafter hovered in midair. “Must be hurrying. No time to be losing.”

“Damn it, Parric!” Flavius shouted, mock-clutching at his heart. “Don’t do that! This poor man’s heart cannae take the shock!”

A fat, orange-segmented creature the size of a horse slid down a silken thread through the hole in the ceiling behind Parric. Nictating membranes blinked over its dark compound eyes. Its back bristled with hairy spines.

“Is the, ah, kitchen help here with ya?” Flavius asked.

“Yes,” answered Parric. “And Djserka is wanting muchly to be departing.”

“I am hardly ‘kitchen help,’” Djserka rumbled. “I am Djserka em Naga-ed-der former head of the Imperial--”

“And it’s a right bonny pleasure to meet ya, too,” Flavius interrupted before turning away. “Listen up, the lot of ya. Follow Parric. He’s the only one what kens where to go. He moves fast, so if ya don’t keep up, ya get left.” He cast a warning look to Acaona, who answered with a terse nod as she wiped her eyes. He took his pack from her and fished out a long, white shirt.

“Here. Ya put this on. It’ll nae fit worth a damn, but at least ya’ll feel less, uh...”

“Naked. Thank you.” She slipped it on. It hung tent-like over her slight frame. “I– I’m sorry for–“

“Nae time for that now, lass. We’re on the move.” Flavius gave her a quick kiss, then whispered in her ear. “Remember, follow Parric if yer still serious about taking yer chances at Tradefare. If nae, well, yer going to have plenty of chances to slip away in these next few minutes, I’ll wager. Nobody’ll think worse of ya if ya do.”

She managed an uncertain nod.

“I’m not understanding,” Parric said. “Are you sayings goodbye, or are you merely delaying us to all be victimings of the moironteau?”

“Right. Everyone, after Parric!”

Parric darted off down the hall, and the troupe lurched after him. Flavius fell in at the rear, beside Papantzin.

“Ya seem to have recovered from yer earlier mishap,” Flavius said.

Papantzin narrowed her eyes.

“Not enough, though, to use those unexpected fighting skills of yours against the beasties what were trying eat us. Or stomp us. I dinnae quite ken which.”

“It seemed reasonable,”she answered in measured tones, “that the odds of your surviving would be somewhat enhanced with my participation.”

“Oh, is that all? Well, why didn’t ya say so earlier?” Flavius slapped her on the back hard enough make Papantzin stagger. “I’m very glad we’ve had this talk. Remind me to garrote ya in yer sleep next chance I get.”

Parric led them down several flights of stairs and into a maze of corridors. The finely maintained carpets and paneling gave way to bare walls and exposed pipes. Alarms continued to pierce the air and so often they caught a whiff of smoke. The tremors came steadily now, although abrupt lurches had subsided. An oversized pair of doors blocking the passage flew open with a flick of Parric’s antennae.

Blazing white light blinded Flavius as he entered the chamber, and he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his had as they adjusted. Blinking hard, he took in his surroundings. He cocked his head to the side.

“Well,” he finally said. “There’s something I donnae see every day.”

Crystalline cylinders floated in stacked columns extending above and below as far as the eye could see. The columns were arranged in hundreds of rows to the left and right, each one extending back a seemingly infinite distance. Within the cylinders, suspended in buoyant translucent fluid, floated peq curled in fetal positions.

“Flavius!” Acaona screamed.

The foothead reared back suddenly. As it did so, a dark fissure snaked its way across the mottled skin. A great crescent slice of jaw fell away, streaming purple blood. Neatly bisected lip-to-lip, the foothead thrashed wildly, jagged teeth gnashing against others no longer there.

Flavius stood in the same spot, drenched in purple blood. The point of Memory had buried itself a good foot into the ground from the momentum of Flavius’ stroke. Flavius twisted his wrist to free the sword, holding it defiantly overhead.

“I am Flavius MacDuff, of Clan MacDuff,” he bellowed, his words echoing off the palace walls, “descended of Bellona's bridegroom, the great Thane of Fife who slaughtered the Norse and Cawdor, and toppled the tyrant MacBeth! I am the bane of both the Whistard Holdchau and the Phatrical of Koor! Death has claimed me a thousand times over, and I jam my thumb into his rheumy eyes and rise to live another day! Yer chase ends here, beastie. I am yer doom!”

Screaming to wake the dead, he charged the moirontea. The great beast stomped at him with a snarling foothead, but Flavius neatly pivoted and with an upswing nearly severed it from the leg. He stabbed upward, Memory slicing though the knobby hide as if it were paper. Violet blood rained down. The moironteau howled in agony, lurching and stumbling to escape its tormenter. A quick slice here laid open a hip joint, and the foothead slumped to the ground, crippled. Another foothead bit into the air, desperately hoisting the beast’s enormous bulk away from danger. But Flavius leapt up onto the crippled foothead, and from there struck the other with Memory, splitting the jaw. It’s extra-dimensional hold faltered. Flavius leapt away as the moironteau crashed to the ground.

Moaning pitiously, the moironteau pawed at the ground, unable to support itself. Flavius quickly and methodically worked his way around the beast, dispatching the remaining four footheads with cold precision. Upon reaching the last one, Flavius held up his right thumb, then, without a moment’s hesitation, jammed it roughly into one of the many cold, black eyes ringing the foothead’s maw.

He climbed atop the moironteau’s body, setting to work with Memory. The beast’s twitches and moans ceased as Flavius located the vital organs. Satisfied, he leapt down from the butchered carcass, wiping his bloody brow.

“God damn, that felt good!” he said, then noticed Acaona, Papantzin and Captain Pacal--still carrying the Empress--gaping at him. “What? These bastards never faced me in a fair fight. Killed me a hundred times or more. I ken I’m entitled to a bit of enjoyment.”

“You... you...” managed Acaona. “How did you do that?”

“Well,” Flavius shrugged, suddenly self-conscious, “Memory here’s a wee bit sharper than most other swords. That helps. And then there’s my memories stored in the bonnie blade. Turns out to be more than just my thoughts. My body’s remembering things...” He grimaced slightly, rubbing his shoulder. “But I ken I’ll be hurting come morning.”

Across the garden, a wall buckled. Smoke rose from the rooftops beyond.

“Ah. That’d be more of the beastie’s friends. I ken we’d best be moving along.”

“Where can we go?” Acaona asked.

“Same place as before, yon opera hall,” Flavius answered. “At least now we dinnae have to worry about the doors being locked.”

They skirted the dead moironteau and made for the gaping hole in the opera hall. The palace shuddered continuously now, punctuated every so often by abrupt lurches. All around, flames flickered among the towers and rooftops and the air stank of bitter smoke. A flight of wejii hummed past overhead, rushing to intercept a moironteau.

“These creatures, they’re everywhere,” muttered Pacal, listening to the fractured communications through his earpiece. “There’s not enough of the Eternal Militia in the palace to turn them back.”

“Which is why I want to find Parric and abandon this cosm,” growled Flavius as he clambered over the rubble into the ruined opera hall. “Lass, tell the captain this is where we part ways.”

Pacal’s face tightened as Acaona relayed the message.

“Absolutely not,” Pacal said. “I cannot hope to defend Her Imperial Majesty against these creatures from otherwhere. My squad is dead, injured, scattered. I’m following him.”

In the distance, bursts of green flame roiled around a rampaging moironteau. The creature ignored the attacking wejii, instead loping across the gardens toward the ruined opera hall.

Flavius glared at Pacal and shook his head. “Hell of a time to start making sense.” The floor of the opera hall had collapsed, offering a treacherous path of broken seats and beams down to the level below, where a gaping hold led to levels still lower. Flavius shoved Acaona roughly down into the wreckage, then Pacal and the Empress, and finally Papantzin. “Quickly, people! Quickly! I ken ya’d all love to see me cut another of them beasties to ribbons, but-- oh, hell. The bastard’s got friends.”

Two more moironteau had joined the fray, one plucking a wejii out of the air and smashing it to bits against the ground. The other wejii fell back out of easy reach of the newcomers, dividing their marginally effective cuayab fire among the three moironteau.

“Damn it, this innae imperial receiving line, people! Move!” Flavius bodily heaved Papantzin to the lower level, and gave Pacal a kick to the bottom as well. Hazarding a glance over his shoulder, he saw the lead moironteau was less than 20 yards away. Flavius leapt down himself.

Acaona knelt at the edge of the jagged opening in the lower floor, trying to find a handhold to lower herself down.

“No! There’s nae time for that,” shouted Flavius, running the opposite direction and dragging Pacal along. “Down this hall--quickly!”

The ceiling above shuddered and groaned as a tremendous weight landed on top of it.

“Keep moving,” Flavius ordered, his claymore held ready in one hand. The hall was a narrow one. If it came down to a fight, his use of Memory would be restricted. “Get as far down the hall as ya--”

The ceiling ahead of them collapsed, sending a cloud of splinters and dust into the hall. Acaona cried out. A fat, green-mottled foothead blocked the way.

“Back!” shouted Flavius. “Back the other way!” No sooner had the words left his mouth then a foothead lunged into the open end of the hall, black eyes gleaming in the flickering light as row upon row of knife-like teeth gnashed and snapped their way toward the trapped party.

The militia bodyguards shoved the Empress and her handmaiden roughly through the gaping window. An instant later, an explosion of white-hot plasma geysered out. The concussion threw Flavius to the ground.

“Ach! God... damn!” he muttered, blinking streaks away from his eyes. “Who’s the mad bastard what gives militia weapons that can wipe out a whole battalion if they get knocked about?”

He staggered up, using Memory for support. Acaona lay dazed a short distance away, but apparently unhurt. The force of the blast had snuffed the fires she’d started amid the bloodnettles, but that same blast seemed to have stunned the wretched plants as well.

The several of the militiamen stirred. Several others did not. Flavius picked his way over them to the crumpled forms of Empress Malinche and Papantzin.

“Stop...” demanded Captain Pacal in a wobbly tone. Blood streaked his face. “Don’t you dare--”

“Dinnae be a git. I was nae ever going to hurt them. Well, nae the Empress at any rate,” Flavius answered, then frowned. “It’d help if ya could understand me, though.”

He knelt down over the still forms. The Empress and Papantzin had landed at odd angles, but the bloodnettles appeared to have broken their fall. At least they were breathing and didn’t appear to have any broken bones.

The thunder of distant explosions echoed across the gardens. Smoke billowed out of the ruined apartment above. More smoke rose from various points around the palace, dark streamers against the starry sky. The ground underfoot shuddered urgently.

“Right. That settles it. Up ya go.” Flavius scooped up the Empress’ inert form and threw her over his shoulder.

Papantzin grabbed his leg. He kicked free.

“I’m nae about to hurt yer Empress, but I’m nae going to carry ya as well,” he snapped. “Come along if ya want, but yer on yer own to keep up. And that goes for ya too, Captain.”

Papantzin caught Captain Pacal’s questioning look. “Follow him,” she said. Pacal nodded.

“Why?” Acaona fell in beside Flavius, his pack balanced awkwardly across her back.

“Why didn’t you leave her?”

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Because... I dinnae leave behind women, that’s why.”

“You were perfectly willing to leave Papantzin,” Acaona pointed out.

“Yeah, well, I havenae been naked with Papantzin, have I?” Flavius stopped as he reached the footpath through the gardens, kicking away a last, die-hard bloodnettle tendril. “And God help me if I ever am... Where the hell are we? I’m turned around.”

“A better question is where are we going?” Acaona said.

“Right. Finding a Nexial gap is my priority now. Parric’ll meet us there. I hope,” Flavius said, scanning the grounds for signs of the Crafter. “If we cannae get to a gap, then my second choice is one of those flying things.”

“A wej?”

“Aye. Can ya pilot one?” he asked hopefully.

“No.”

Flavius sighed. “Nae matter. There’s always a first time for everything.” He looked back. Papantzin, Captain Pacal and three stood warily watching him. “Lass, translate for the captain here. We’re going to try and find some shelter, someplace safe--” The ground lurched again. “--nae that I’m confident that’s possible. I give ya Her Imperial Majesty here, and ya let me and Acaona here be on our way. Agreed?”

Acaona repeated Flavius’ ultimatum. Captain Pacal swallowed uneasily, then nodded.

“That’s a smart man. Let’s move.” As they started down the trail, Flavius bent to Acaona. “First likely spot, eh? She’s damn heavy, and my back’s killing me where that bastard speared me.”

Acaona nodded and pointed to an ornate archway ahead. “That’s the palace opera hall. There’s a direct hall leading to the Imperial wing, and backstage we can--”

The entire façade collapsed outward. Dust billowed up, a thick cloud obscuring the stars above. Through the destruction lumbered a massive, many-legged form.

“Bugger me,” Flavius whispered. He sloughed the Empress off his shoulder and pressed her into the Captain’s startled arms. “She’s all yers, now. Good luck keeping her safe with these bastards roaming about.”

“Flavius, what is that thing?” Acaona whispered.

The moironteau had stopped moving. Three of its footheads scanned the gardens. The dust obscured the party for the moment, but it was quickly settling.

“That nasty piece of work is evil incarnate, so far as I’m concerned. Killed me a hundred times or so. I’d like to not make it a hundred and one.” He swapped Memory from right hand to left and back again. “Lassie, that beastie is hunting me, and it’s going to spy me any second. You need to get yerself as far away from me as ya-– Too late. Here it comes.”

Flavius pushed Acaona along the path after Captain Pacal, who’d already begun retreating with the Empress. The moironteau stomped inexorably toward Flavius, unsure of its quarry, but gaining confidence with each step. It stopped abruptly, it’s great bulk looming above Flavius, two great footheads clicking their teeth as the rings of black eyes studied him.

Feet planted apart, Flavius stared up at the moironteau. He flexed his fingers along the hilt as he held his claymore ready. “Memory, I ken we two’ve faced down worse than this in one life or another. But yer still new to me and there’s a lot in ya that’s still foggy to me... so if ya’ve any past experiences what are particularly relevant to this situation, now’s a good time to share.”

Without warning, a foothead stuck. The lightning-quick blow hit with such force to send up a spray of dirt and gravel as it swallowed Flavius whole.

Captain Pacal and his men stared after Flavius, blood splattered and breathing deeply. The wounded groaned and cried from the floor.

“What are you standing around for?” Empress Malinche snapped her fingers and pointed through the shattered window. “After them.”

Pacal nodded and leapt through the shattered window, his squad following after.

Flavius looked up from where he’d fallen and rolled, getting tangled in a thick mass of spiny vines in the process. The drop from the window was only a bit higher than he could reach, but the ropey vegetation that’d cushioned his landing were even better at digging into the skin.

As the militia were finding out first hand.

Flavius tried to stand only to find a vine had managed to wrap around his thigh, holding him down. Every time he moved, the hairy spines gouged a little deeper into his flesh.

“Goddamnit,” he muttered, sawing at it with Memory. The vine parted, but not before giving a fierce constriction. “Yeow!”

He leapt up and kicked his leg free. He found Acaona a short distance away, held fast by a knot of the vines. Flavius could see now they were definitely moving, and not as a result of Acaona’s struggles.

“Lassie, what kind of garden have we landed in?” Flavius demanded as he hacked away at the tendrils coiling around her.

“I don’t know. The gardens along the secure wing are off-limits,” she answered as he pulled her to her feet. The gray-green vines extended perhaps half a stone’s throw from the building, but ran the length of the entire wing. The vegetative mass undulated menacingly in the starlight. “Whatever it is, I think we’ve woken it up.”

A blast of green cuayab fire illuminated the night as a militiaman scoured the ground around him. “Damn bloodnettles are everywhere!” he shouted. “Shit! One’s on my leg!”

“What’d you expect, frothwai blooms? This is the secure wing, you idiot,” another grumbled.

“They’re bloodnettles,” Acaona offered, wincing as Flavius tugged the last tendril from her back. A needlepoint trail of blood blistered up.

“Thanks, but I got that much,” he answered, slashing Memory at a grasping vine. “Can ya burn us a path out of here while I hold off our friends?”

“I dropped the cuayab.”

“Of course ya did. Well, let’s find it.” Flavius turned in time to parry a blow from Captain Pacal. Sparks flew as Memory took another deep bite out of the cuayab. Pacal feinted and jabbed, catching Flavius square in the midsection where the cuayab’s caged fire burned through his shirt into his belly. Flavius backpedaled, his feet sarling among the bloodnettles.

Pacal pressed his sudden advantage, jabbing to keep Flavius off-balance, then raining overhead blows upon him. Flavius warded off the attack with Memory, the sword taking bigger and bigger bites from the cuayab.

Abruptly, the cuayab stuck.

Cage broken and split, braided staff spitting fire from a dozen fissures, the cuayab had embedded mid-blade on Memory, stuck fast. Arms throbbing, Flavius pulled Memory back, jerking the cuayab from Pacal’s hands.

“I’ve just about had my fill of ya,” Flavius said, raising his sword.

Three militiamen charged before Flavius could strike Pacal. Cursing, Flavius swung Memory in broad, deadly strokes. Now unconfined by the narrow apartment, Memory’s reach was a good foot better than the cuayabs, and he pressed his advantage. The impaled cuayab was like a lead weight on the sword, though. It also proved to be a convenient target for the militia, who chose to block at it rather than Memory directly lest their cuayabs end up impaled as well. With every crunching blow, the mangled cuayab spouted more spark and flame.

The bloodnettles continued grasping at his ankles.

“Flavius! I’ve found it!” Acaona shouted, loosing a well-aimed emerald burst at a knot bloodnettles reaching for her legs.

“Brilliant! Burn us a path out of this gorse patch!”

Two militia swung their cuayabs simultaneously. Flavius blocked them, but the shock proved too much for the battered cuayab. The cage broke away completely. Fire erupted from the open end uncontrollably.

“Fall back!” ordered Captain Pacal. “All militia fall back and take cover! The cuayab’s going to blow.”

“These things explode?” Flavius asked accusingly of Acaona.

“How should I know?” Acaona shot back. “I’m Sajal, not militia!”

The fire and smoke belching from the cuayab wreathed Memory in a swirling inferno. Flavius’ hands blistered.

“Come on, Memory, let’s be rid of this faggot, eh?” Flavius whispered. He swung the sword at arm’s length, once, twice, then abruptly pulled back at the apex of the arc. The cuayab slid neatly off the end of the sword.

The spitting missile sailed over the scattering militia and through the shattered apartment window. The window where Empress Malinche, Papantzin and the two militia bodyguards had gathered to watch the melee.

“They can’t understand you,” Acaona said.

“What’re ya getting on about?” muttered Flavius.

“They’re not nobles, they’re militia,” Acaona said, as if the simple statement was as obvious an explanation as anyone would need. Flavius’ baffled stare drew a sigh from her.

“Only nobility in the Eternal Dominion are gene-grafted with a linguistics lobe, dear Flavius,” Empress Malinche offered helpfully, her cool composure recovered with the arrival of the militia. “The expense and effort would be squandered on them, after all. The only times they venture Otherwhere their purpose is to destroy the enemies of the Eternal Dominion, not have a nice chat. This keeps things simplified, don’t you think?”

“Oh. Right,” muttered Flavius, casting an annoyed look at Memory. “I ken that.”

“Your Imperial Majesty can understand that croaking noise?” the militia captain asked suspiciously.

“After a fashion, Captain...?” Malinche answered absently.

“Pacal. Captain Pacal,” he answered uneasily, unaccustomed to imperial attention. “If Your Imperial Majesty will allow, these two men will escort you to safety.”

The Empress considered the suggestion. “No, I prefer to stay and watch.”

“You Imp--” Captain Pacal began, but a sharp look from Empress Malinche silenced him.

“Now, as this diversion has continued far too long, you and your men will bind and escort the lesser sentient to the Imperial wing under guard. I expect he’ll resist, but I don’t want him injured.”

“Uninjured? But... he’s got a sword, Your Imperial Majesty.”

“You may bludgeon him then, if you must. But no open flame,” Empress Malinche allowed. “Feel free to bludgeon the Sajal, too, while you’re at it.”

The braided cages at the end of the militiamen’s cuayabs flared with a menacing green glow. Two men took up guard positions on either side of the Empress as Captain Pacal and three other men spread out, shoulder-to-shoulder in the narrow apartment, warily stalking toward Flavius. As soon as there was room, four more entered to form a second rank.

Flavius backed away from Papantzin, who’d recovered enough to drag herself toward the Empress. Acaona slipped close behind Flavius, clutching his pack tightly.

“What are we going to do, Flavius?”

“Exit through the window there, lass, that’s what we’re going to do.” Flavius swung Memory, a sudden powerful blow that rattled the window.
The glass remained intact.

“This is the secure wing. The walls and windows are blast resistant,” Acaona said. “Didn’t you know?”

Flavius mouthed a silent curse, then lowered his head to hers. “Look to yerself, lass. It’s likely to get a mite rough.” Before Acaona could question him, Flavius hoisted Memory and charged the militia with a full-blown highlander scream.

Flavius swung Memory at Captain Pacal. The captain blocked with his cuayab. Memory bit into the cuayab with a metallic snap. Emerald sparks flared from the cage. Flavius swung Memory back to the right, parrying a blow from another militiaman.

“Mind your weapons! He’s got some sort of enchantment on his blade!” shouted Pacal, jabbing his cuayab at Flavius. Tiny wisps of flame escaped from the gouge in the braided body.

One was a split second too slow bringing his cuayab up. Memory split his chest open. In that instant, another militiaman saw his opening and jabbed his cuayab into Flavius’ back. Flavius cried out as the cage burned through his shirt and into flesh. Instinctively he lashed out, Memory severing the legs of his attacker below the knees.

“Get him surrounded! Press him! Press him!” Urgency drove Pacal’s orders now as the remainder of the squad pressed into the room. A dozen men total, the narrowness of the room that hampered Flavius’ full use of the long claymore also served to keep the militia’s superior numbers bottled up near the door.

As more sparks and flame shot from his damaged cuayab, Pacal adjusted his grip so the gouge faced away from him. As he did so, he pressed the side of his helmet. “Request immediate reinforcements, secure wing. Everything you’ve got. What? I don’t give a damn about any emergency you’ve got! Her Imperial Majesty is here! Reinforcements. Now!”

“Look lively, lass,” Flavius said, kicking a dead militiaman’s cuayab to Acaona.

As Acaona reached for it, another strong tremor shook the palace. A sudden, loud pop followed. She looked up. Several large fissures radiated out from the center of the window.

“Flavius!”

“Cannae it wait?” Flavius shouted back, blood and sweat streaking his face. “I’m a wee bit busy.”

“The window!”

Flavius sliced open the chest of another militiaman, then hazarded a quick glance. “Oh!”

More fissures appeared, spreading like spiderweb across the window. Acaona grabbed up the cuayab with both hands, swinging it into the window. The window shattered. A million shards of glass skittered across the floor.

“Brilliant!” Flavius shouted, a broad grin on his face. Glass crunched under his boots. “Now, if ya’d got yerself dressed when I told ya, I wouldnae have to do this.” He grabbed Acaona with his free arm, heaving her nude body over his shoulder. He bare feet kicked in the air. “Got a strong grip on my pack there?”

“I’ve got it. Ow! I’ve got it already!”

“I just dinnae want ya to drop it when we jump.” Flavius took two quick steps to the shattered window, and with a great lunge, threw himself and Acaona through.

Papantzin slapped the flat of the blade away. Her kick to the chest sent Flavius sprawling. Immediately she turned back to Anacaona, a reed-thin stiletto glinting wickedly in her hand.

Anacaona scrambled away, stumbling over the corner of the bed. She fell hard onto the small pile of her clothes on the floor.

“Damn ya for losing focus, ya git,” Flavius gasped from the floor where he’d fallen. He still held Memory--thank goodness--but his chest burned like fire where she’d kicked him and it felt as if all his ribs were pulling loose as he tried to get up. “She’s nae just some stuck-up handmaiden. Ach! Damn, but she kicks like a mule!”

Papantzin moved quickly and fluidly to Anacaona. She bent over the fallen Sajal, stiletto poised for the killing stroke--

A burst of green flashed, flinging Papantzin away.

Anacaona sat up, a miniature cuayab glowing in her hand.

“What the hell is that?” Flavius managed, glancing over at Papantzin, who lay moaning--and smoking--in the middle of the floor. Empress Malinche stood frozen in place, disbelief and outrage battling for supremacy on her face.

“Palm cuayab. Nobility of Sajal rank and higher are entitled to carry one for personal protection. What? I keep it in my belt pouch,” Anacaona said, staring down at Papantzin with loathing. “They’re not powerful enough to more than stun. Unfortunately.”

Papantzin grunted and propped herself up on her elbows. Flavius quickly directed the sharp tip of Memory menacingly above her chest.

“Ah! That’ll be far enough, I’m thinking,” he said. “I’m nae squeamish about bloodying a lass, or even ya, Papantzin, but I’ll be letting ya live out of respect for my deep, meaningful relationship with yer Empress. We had some good times, didn’t we Malinche?”

The Empress’ disbelief and outrage had compromised to express themselves via a disapproving scowl. “This joke has lost all humor. Sajal, you will help Papantzin up and then accompany her to your suite where she will administer atonement. Flavius will accompany me to the Imperial wing.”

“I ken yer having a wholly different conversation than the rest of us,” Flavius said, staring at the Empress in exasperation. “Right then. Anacaona, whatever’s in the wardrobe, fit it in my pack there. Hand me my sporran, too, when ya get a chance. Hurry now, lass, be quick about it.”

“Have you made up your mind, then?” Anacaona asked as she stuffed Flavius’ few possessions into the much-abused pack. “About my traveling otherwhere with you?”

“Dinnae be a git. Of course yer coming with me. On one condition-- I have to have yer solemn promise yer going to let me sleep at least a week before we finish our business.”

“Yes! Yes!”

“And lass, much as it pains me to say this, ya’d better put yer clothes back on. The Nexus of All Realities is nae place to be flouncing around starkers.”

The room shook suddenly, an unnerving lurch just strong enough to throw Flavius off-balance.

Papantzin reacted, rolling to the side as Memory wavered. She came up thrusting her stiletto. Flavius pivoted, dodging the blade. His momentum carried Memory around, catching Papantzin’s knuckles. She cried out. Blood flew across the room, streaking Anacaona’s breasts scarlet. The stiletto clattered to the floor, along with splattering drops of blood.

“You moved as quickly as she did,” Anacaona said, eyes wide. “Your skill in disarming her--”

“Skill, hell. I was aiming to lop off her goddamned head!” Flavius kicked the bloody stiletto to Anacaona while keeping Memory trained on Papantzin. Anacaona snatched it up. Flavius tried staring Papantzin down with a murderous glare, but she returned it with equal ferocity as she cradled her bloody hand. Finally, he gave up. “Anacaona, that shake we just felt--that something happens often around here?”

She shook her head. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”

“Yer Imperial Majesty...?”

“The Palace of Un-pic Ja’ab has the most advanced inertial dampers in forty cosms,” Empress Malinche said proudly. “It does not shake.”

“Then just what--” Flavius jabbed Memory at the Empress for emphasis, “--do ya call that belly-knotting jitter what came through a moment ago and made the room go all wobbly, eh?”

The door to the room opened. A squad of Eternal Militiamen stood outside in the hall.

“Your Imperial Majesty, a situation has...” the commander trailed off, dumbstruck by the scene before him. The sounds of alarms drifted in from the hall.

Flavius looked at the Militiamen, then at Memory, pointed directly at the Empress. He closed his eyes. “Bugger me,” he muttered under his breath. Quickly he directed Memory away from the Empress, back toward Papantzin.

“Lads, it’s nae what it looks like,” he said, forcing a smile. “I was just having a chat with Her Imperial Majesty, that’s all. It was Papantzin I was having a wee row with.”

The commander’s eyes, if possible, got even wider at the sight of Papantzin’s blood everywhere.

“Damnit man, I ken what yer thinking, and it’s nae like that. She tried to kill me first. Ask Sajal Acaona--” For the first time, Flavius noticed the blood streaking her naked body. “Oh, Goddamn it all to hell. I’m nae getting out of here without a fight, am I?”

“Well,” said Flavius after an uncomfortably long pause. “Bit of water under the bridge since I’ve last been seeing you, eh? How’s life been treating you, then?”

“It is as you feared, Your Imperial Majesty,” Papantzin said, ignoring Flavius. “The Sajal has debased herself with the lesser-sentient.”

“If Your Imperial Majesty would--” Anacaona began, but the Empress Malinche raised a hand, cutting her off as she entered the room, closing the door behind her.

“I’ve never entirely grasped how it is that the imperial cousins are always so eager to bring scandal down upon themselves with this impure fixation on... beastiality,” Empress Malinche said easily as she walked over to Flavius.

“Disgraceful,” muttered Papantzin.

“Hold on, now,” protested Flavius. “Nae need to talk that way about me! I have seen ya starkers, after all. And a whole lot more that I cannae remember...”

“His Imperial Majesty said you had no memory of the affair,” gasped Anacaona in surprise.

“People don’t always tell the whole truth, now, do they?”

Empress Malinche stepped in front of Flavius, so close he had to stop himself from flinching back. Her manner was light, but he could almost feel the heat of her rage lurking beneath the surface. The Empress examined his erection with pursed lips, then ran her hand across his chest. It came away glittering with a dusty sheen. “Oh my. This is most distressing. You’ve shed your passion all over him, Sajal...”

“Anacaona,” Anacaona said. “Your Imperial Majesty knows very well who I am, third cousin--”

“Debased Sajal should know to hold their tongues in the presence of Her Imperial Majesty,” Papantzin said.

“Gently, dear Papantzin. Sajal Anacaona is obviously beholden to her more primitive urges. We mustn’t judge her too harshly. This defect sometimes manifests itself among the distant cousins where noble blood runs thin,” Empress Malinche said, rubbing her thumb and forefinger together thoughtfully. “The only decent thing to do is to protect her from herself. Tell me, Papantzin, do we know of any likely candidates for a union?”

“Nu’n Huyng comes to mind,” Papantzin answered.

“Ah! Perfect! Nu’n and Sajal always do make exceptional marriage pairings. Their unions are always so vigorous.”

“No,” Anacaona said, eyes wide. “You can’t do this. You can’t condemn me!”

“Anacaona, think of this as an act of Imperial generosity,” Empress Malinche said gently. “Think of the scandal. You’ve irredeemably tainted yourself. What citizen in the Eternal Dominion would consent to union with you after you’ve spread your sheen all over this lesser sentient?”

”His corpse fucking glowed when they dragged it out of your bedchamber!”

Silence descended like a vacuum, sucking all the air out of the room.

“You... you...” stammered Papantzin finally, “dare to slander Her Imperial Majesty so? In front of the lesser sentient? The penalty for those words is--”

“Death?” Anacaona offered. The Sajal was trembling, but uncowed. “Her Imperial Majesty has already given me a death sentence should she follow through on her threat to force my union with Nu’n Huyng. I wonder what the unfortunate Nu’n has done to earn her disfavor?”

Papantzin struck quickly. Flavius jumped in surprise. Anacaona lay on the floor, bleeding from a nasty gash running from her cheekbone up to her scalp. Flavius eyed Papantzin warily. The handmaiden had moved so fast he hadn’t seen the blow land. The notion crept into his mind that she might be somewhat more than a mere handmaiden.

“Hoo! Nae need to be getting rough on my account,” Flavius said, easing on his kilt. Not an easy task, unwilling as he was to unbuckle his swordbelt to do so. “Why dinnae we sit down and discuss this over a pint?”

“An interesting suggestion, friend Flavius, although I don’t believe the Sajal will be joining us,” Empress Malinche said, rubbing Flavius’ bare shoulder with her over-jointed fingers. He pulled on his shirt then, using it as an excuse to slip from her grasp. “She has overstepped herself by a wide margin, and needs time alone to contemplate her transgression.”

“She means I get a knife in the back and a toss over the side of the palace walls,” Anacaona said, wiping her bloody cheek. “She can’t stand it that I bedded you out from under her.”

Papantzin hit her again, a lightning strike to the opposite side of Anacaona’s face. Anacaona cried out.

“Hey!” Flavius shouted, and lunged to interpose himself between the two. In an instant, he found Papantzin’s hand at his throat, holding him with more force than he’d thought possible.

“Flavius, take me with you,” Anacaona pleaded as she used the bed to push herself to her feet. Blood streamed down both cheeks now. “She won’t kill me in front of you, because she still wants you in her bed. But I’m dead the moment we separate. Please, let me travel otherwhere with you.”

“Friend Flavius, do you really take us to be so barbaric?” Empress Malinche said.

Flavius managed a strangled wheeze in response.

“Oh, yes. Papantzin, let him go.”

Papantzin released her grip, and Flavius took a staggered step back, rubbing his throat.

“Her venomous attacks on my person must not go unanswered, but all justice is even-handed and well-considered. Papantzin will escort the Sajal back to her suite while you come with me to the Imperial wing. I’ll show you we really are a genteel and loving people.”

“She’s jealous and selfish and loathsome,” Anacaona said. “It’s not enough that she had you to herself for four days last time, she has to possess you again this time as well.”

Papantzin moved to strike Anacaona again, but this time Flavius was ready. In an instant, Memory came unsheathed, its gleaming edge interposed itself between the women.

“There now,” Flavius said. “Nae need to punctuate everything with fisticuffs, eh? As I was saying before-- Wait, did ya say four days?”

“Do not--” began Empress Malinche.

“Four days. Give or take,” Anacaona said, matter of factly. “Then they tossed your body over the wall.”

“That’s nae how I heard it,” Flavius muttered.

“I’ve tried to be tolerant, but your insolence...” fumed Empress Malinche. “You should not have bedded Flavius.”

“It’s not like you left me many alternatives, Your Imperial Majesty,” Anacaona shot back. “You’re the one who had all the peq castrated, after all.”

“Whoa there! I dinnae need to hear that.”

Empress Malinche closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “Just so,” she said softly. “Papantzin, kill the Sajal.”

Flavius eased onto his side, Memory’s scabbard uncomfortably hard beneath him. The room spun in perfect time with the pounding of his head. Barely daring to breathe, he gripped the side of the bed and pushed himself up. An involuntary groan caught in his throat, and he winced.

“Ready for another go, Flavius?” Anacaona popped up beside him, entirely too perky and enthusiastic for such an ungodly hour. She cocked her head and pressed her three pair of copper-red breasts against his bare back, leaving new smudges of glittering dust to join the others covering his body. She buried her face against the nape of his neck and inhaled deeply. “Huna! You have the most erotic scent.”

“It’s called sweat, lass,” Flavius muttered, rubbing a bleary eye.

Anacaona laughed, reaching around the swordbelt into his lap. “Whatever it is, I’ll have some more.”

“Easy there.” Flavius gave an involuntary start as she grabbed him, her over-jointed fingers far more stimulating than should be possible. “Lassie, I dinnae want ya to think I’m nae having fun, because yer a blessed wild ride. But four bouts in only...”

“About two hours,” she offered helpfully.

“Only two hours? Christ. Give us a bit of a rest, eh? My poor head’s pounding and my mouth’s gone all cottony,” he said, lifting her hand away. “Besides, my dobber’s all shagged out. Nae to worry, though,” he reassured her with a quick kiss. “Good as new in the morning.”

Anacaona raised her eyebrows. “Doesn’t look all that ‘shagged out’ to me. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“That’s nae natural.” Flavius stared at his urgent erection in disbelief. “It’s that witch’s brew of foodstuffs at work, innae it?”

“I know a way to make it go away.”

“I’ll bet you do.” Flavius smiled in spite of himself, then stood. “Lassie, as much as I’d love to cater to yer every depraved desire, I’ve nae had any sleep going on... well, seems like days. I’ll be getting me a drink of water to wash away this cotton mouth. Then I’m away to me bed there and going to sleep, and nae even the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse themselves could wake me. Do with me as ya will, but dinnae expect any effort on my part.”

Anacaona’s skin nearly sparkled in the faint light from the window as her lips curled into a sly smile. “I’ll try not to break anything.”

“Ya are a wicked little thing.” Flavius shuffled to the bath and took a long drink of water from the basin. “Makes me wish Parric and I dinnae have to leave tomorrow. Have at ya when I’m fully rested and fed, then see how saucy ya are.”

Her face fell as if Flavius’d just told her a hawk’d just taken her kitten. “You’re... you’re leaving? Tomorrow?”

“Aye, we have to. Yer Emperor made that clear as day during dinner. Ah, do nae look like that!” He came over and cupped her face in his hands. “Just a little sleep, eh? I promise I’ll give ya a good send-off to remember me by.”

“But, but... it’s only one night!”

“Ah, but I have it on good authority one night with Flavius is enough for any woman.”

“Do you pay attention to anything but the sound of your own voice?” She gave him a withering look. “Were you a greater sentient of the Eternal Dominion, we’d currently be inextricably cojoined for the next month.”

“Ya mean...” Flavius frowned, mulling her words over, “when ya said there was a ‘physical bond’ between yer men and women, that werenae just a figure of speech?”

“Our men don’t have the luxury of going up and down like you,” she said, prodding his penis for emphasis.

Flavius stared at her, dumbfounded. “So... So then the night so far--”

“Barely taken the edge off.” Anacaona stood with a sense of purpose, and wrapped herself around Flavius. “I’d thought to have you to myself for a week. I’ll just have to make do with the hours that remain.”

“Damn. Yer serious.”

By way of answer, she pushed him back onto the bed and sidled atop him.

“Oh, I’m going to hurt in the morn--”

A knock at the door interrupted him.

Flavius lifted Anacaona off him and sat back up. The sudden movement set his head back to throbbing. “Who the hell is it?” he bellowed, ignoring Anacaona’s frantic motions for silence.

“Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Malinche, requires an audience with Flavius MacDuff of Clan MacDuff,” a muffled voice answered. Anacaona threw up her hands in frustration, glaring at Flavius.

“Well, what was I supposed to do?” he whispered angrily.

“How about shut up so she thinks you’re not here and goes away?” Anacaona whispered back. “That’s Papantzin’s voice. She’s here to bring you back to Her Imperial Majesty.”

“Nae, nae. Ya said at dinner ya’d shelter me from the Empress’ attentions if I’d shag ya,” he said accusingly. “Now, ya may argue with me regarding the quantity, but ya got nae grounds to complain about the quality. So start yer sheltering.”

“I meant,” she said through clenched teeth, “I’d shelter you in my suite, where she wouldn’t think to look for you. Not in your room, which, unless I’m completely divested from reality, is the first place she’d look!”

“Then why are we here?”

Papantzin knocked on the door again, more insistent this time

“Because you said you’d have me ‘on your terms.’ Your words, remember? You didn’t leave me much room for interpretation.”

“Bugger me. What’s to do, lass?”

“I’m hiding in until you’ve gone,” she said, opening the wardrobe door. “You’re going with Papantzin to your audience with Her Imperial Majesty, and protecting my honor by keeping our private affairs to yourself.”

“Oh, nae ya don’t.” Flavius bodily pulled her back out of the wardrobe. “I’ve nae desire to have nuse--whatever that may be--steep itself in my blood.”

“Damnit, let me go you idiot lesser-sentient!” Anacaona said in a panic, ramming her elbow into Flavius’s hair chest. “Do you have any idea what’ll happen to me if the Empress caught me with you?”

“No,” a clear, honeyed voice cut in. “Please, tell us what will happen?”

Flavius and Anacaona froze, then looked in horror to the now-open doorway, where the Empress Malinche stood with the handmaiden Papantzin before her.

Armor screens flared and sparked as the door fragments hit. Shouts of pain mingled with roared curses from the Eternal Militiamen. Smoke and the stench of burning hair and plastics filled the hall.

Djserka stood dumbfounded in the hall intersection, staring in horror. “You... you attacked them.”

“They are starting it,” Parric said absently, slithering down the adjoining passage. “I am assuming this is out alternating route? Or are we going all the way backing to the stairwell?”

“You attacked the Eternal Militia!” Djserka said, ignoring Parric’s question. “I’m ruined. Oh, today has been utter disaster. Their Imperial Majesties will never retain me now. I’ll be sacked, I just know it. Sent off with scathing references, or worse! If any are dead--”

“If any are deading, then the Emperor is deserving of refundings for worthless armor screens,” Parric snapped. “Now, are you guiding me, or are you taking your chancings with Commander Balam?”

Djserka hesitated an instant, then lurched after Parric. “This way. There’s a public stair up ahead,” Djserka muttered. “I’m regretting this already.”

“Join the crowdings.” Parric Crafted barricades across the hall behind them as they went.

Green fire burst across the first one just inside the intersection. Commander Balam’s reaction was barely muffled by the intervening barriers.

“That may hold off Commander Balam’s squad, but by now he’s contacted the Palace Coordinated Command,” Djserka said. “Squads will be moving in to cut us off from every direction.”

“Militia are not my concernings at the moment.”

The Palace of Un-pic Ja’ab vibrated suddenly, disconcertingly underfoot.

“Did you feel that? I’ve never felt the palace suffer even the slightest instability before.” Djserka’s spines bristled nervously. “You don’t suppose this bears some relation to those creatures attempting to force their way into the palace?”

Piercing alarms sounded throughout the palace.

“It is bearing every relation,” Parric answered. “We are needing to hurry.”

“This is the stair.”

They made it up the curving stair without opposition. At the top, they pulled back from the hall as a grim-faced Eternal Militia squad double-timed past. The commander glanced their way, gave a quick once-over, then continued on with his men.

“Seeing? We are being the least of their troubles.”

Djserka led them down the narrow hall to a crossing corridor, which they followed to another curved stair, passing only a handful of worried peq along the way.

More vibrations rippled through the palace. From some unidentifiable distance echoes of explosions and a great crashing could be heard. Through it all, the alarms continued their relentless scream.

“The breaking through is happening,” said Parric, diving down the stair. “The moironteau are insiding the palace. We must be hurrying.”

“You mean they’re coming after us?”

“No. They’re aftering Flavius. And they’re verying good at finding him.”

The stair opened into a broad alcove adjacent to the main hall. The sounds of fighting were much louder and closer. Parric stole a look around the corner. “I’m knowing where I am now. Much thankings to you,” he said, taking wing.

Djserka shot out a clawed hand and grabbed hold of Parric’s pack straps. “No, no, no. Mere thanks does not absolve you of the fact you’ve destroyed my career within the Eternal Dominion, not does it give you leave to abandon my person in a...” Djserka flailed his free arms in exasperation. “In a war zone, sir!”

Parric offered a pitying look. “Following me if you are wanting, but I’m doubtingful you’ll find it safer in my company.”

“Those commanders will have reported me in your company. The damage is already done.”

“Try to keeping up.” Parric launched into the open hall. Djserka followed.

Far down the opposite direction, where they’d encountered Commander Balam only minutes earlier, a dozen or so Eternal Militiamen fought a furious battle with at least three moironteau. Chunks of marble archway fell through billowing smoke as tapestry and woodwork burned with red-orange flame. The tight, green tongues of cuayabs lashed the moironteau in rapid bursts, blistering the blackened hide of the thrashing footheads. One foothead swept down on a militiaman. The soldier glowed hotly blue for almost three seconds before his armor screen collapsed and the grinding teeth closed over him.

The militiaman’s cuayab ruptured with a sudden report and brilliant white explosion. The foothead--along with a good portion of the body attached to it--splattered across the vaulted ceiling and floor. The moironteau carcass crumpled as the remaining militiamen picked themselves off the floor where the concussion had thrown them and directed their cuayab fire at the other two moironteau.

“They’ve killed one!”

“And two are taking its place,” answered Parric. “But if they are delaying the moironteau, we can get Flavius and be going before--”

Parric noticed the growing fissure in the floor ahead an instant before it erupted great chunks of stone. Parric pulled up, twisting as he did to dodge debris. A block of polished marble twice the size of a man’s fist clipped the right side of Parric’s head, just missing the third eye. Parric crashed to the ground.

Two footheads slammed down on either side of the gaping hole, hoisting the moironteau into the corridor from the floor below.

Djserka reached Parric, pulling him back from the moironteau.

The moironteau heaved itself out of the hole. Immediately, more footheads reached out.

“What... what...” muttered Parric.

“You took a knock on the head,” whispered Djserka. “Those moironteau of yours. They don’t seem to be taking note of us. The first one’s moving off.”

“Moironteau?” The word gave Parric something to focus on. He rose, pushing Djserka away. He shook his head, fighting the wobbles. The second moironteau had climbed halfway through the opening. Parric clicked his beak angrily, then Crafted a heaviness upon the vaulted ceiling.

A ton of ornate stone archway collapsed into the hole, crushing the moironteau. The first moironteau stopped in its tracks, raising its rear footheads to locate the threat.

Without a word, Parric Crafted a collapsing around its body. Immediately, the moironteau sensed it, and fought to break free. Parric flicked his antennae, and the collapsing fell in upon itself, compressing the moironteau’s body as it went. An instant later, the moironteau was gone, crushed into nothingness. Only the dismembered, twitching footheads remained.

Djserka stared, mouth agape. “That was--”

“Not something you’re ever telling Flavius,” Parric muttered. He rubbed the knot on the side of his head gingerly. “I’d never be hearing the end of it. Coming on, his room is this waying.”

The side corridor of the Cobama wing was deserted. Flavius’ door stood closed and undamaged.

“There’s Flavius’ rooming,” Parric said in relief. “He’s still safeing--none of the moironteau are reaching here yet.”

The door to Flavius’ room--and the wall surrounding it--exploded outward with the thunderous report of a cuayab rupture.

Djserka looked back the way they’d come. “So those moironteau things have been sent by Rapteer? Dreadful.” Nictating membranes flicked over Djserka’s eyes. “I daresay that explains why His Imperial Majesty’s restricted Nexial access. Damn. I should’ve spat in Rapteer’s food when I had the chance.”

Parric shook his head. “Should be doing more than just spittings.” More alarms sounded from the chamber. “We must be leaving before they break through.”

“You think those beasts will get past the Imperial defenses?”

“Of coursing they will. This palace is operating on skeleton crewing, remember?”

“Well, staff, yes. But there’s a full Eternal Militia battalion permanently stationed in the palace.”

“Only one battalion?” said Parric in surprise. “That is buying us less time than I’m initially thinking.”

“You’ve got quite a negative demeanor, don’t you?”

“The only way Flavius and myself can be helping is to be leaving,” Parric snapped. “When we are going, so are the moironteau.”

“And these moironteau will abandon their attempts to force their way onto the premises?”

“As soon as they are realizing we aren’t here, yes.”

“Then let us gather your wayward companion and see you both off. I’ve no desire to see these ghastly moironteau rampaging through my kitchens,” Djserka said. “Where is... what was his name? Flavius? Where is he now?”

“If he has any sensings, his room.”

“I see. And where does the Imperial court have him housed?”

Parric thought for a moment, then slowly pointed an antennae upward and to the left. “That waying, I’m thinking.”

Djserka dragged a claw over his chitinous face, sighing. “I meant... nevermind. Of course you wouldn’t know which room he’s in. You don’t know which room you’re in either, I imagine. It’s not like designated guest room names are inscribed over the doorway. Oh wait, they are.”

“Now who’s being negativing?”

Djserka snorted, loping down the hall. “Follow me. You’re most likely in the Tuluxmal wing off the central tower. Were your rooms far from the petite dining hall?”

“Not particularling. Two floors down and--”

“Huh. That’d be the Cobama wing. How odd.” Djserka reached the open shaft they’d come down, and gathered the end of the silk strand he’d left dangling earlier.

“Why is that odding? We are staying there each visiting. Rapteer is staying there, too.”

“Because,” said Djserka, ascending up the shaft with startling rapidity, “that’s a secure wing. It can be sealed off to either imprison or protect Imperial guests who are dangerous or vulnerable. I wonder which category you fall into?”

Parric flew after him in silence, remembering the deterioration of their previous visit to the palace.

Djserka stepped off onto a landing roughly midway up the shaft. “This way.” The em Naga-ed-der puffed down a narrow, well-lit hall, its bulk rippling with exertion.

“Are we belowing the dining hall?”

“Three floors below, yes, but not directly under it.” Djserka turned right at an intersection with a slightly larger hall. A doorway folded down to let them pass. “This is a more direct route to the Cobama wing. I apologize for my slow pace, but I’m more adept at vertical travel than horizontal.”

“Is it much farthering?”

“Yes, but we’re almost to the main corridor. At that point,” Djserka paused to take in several deep breaths, “you’ll be able to find your own way. Here it is, now.”

They entered the main hall with its ornate, vaulted ceilings. Not ten paces past them was a group of eight Eternal Militia walking in the direction of the Cobama wing. In their midst was Parric’s simulacrum.

“Ah! Commander, sir, if I may impose upon you--” called out Djserka before Parric could do anything.

Parric’s antennae sprang alert as he recognized Commander Balam. Balam’s eyes widened. Instantly he looked back at the simulacrum, which chose that moment to evaporate into nothingness. The evening’s dinner fell to the floor, half-chewed Onimik delicacies splattering the legs of the militiamen.

“Don’t move, the both of you,” Balam ordered, his cuayab raised and ready. “Don’t talk, don’t make any sudden moves!”

Djserka looked to Parric, baffled. “I don’t understand--”

“Don’t talk!” Balam repeated, moving toward them warily.

“Get readying for sudden movings,” Parric whispered without looking at Djserka.

“Certainly you can’t be seri--”

Parric flung himself back into the side hall in a blink. Green cuayab flame lashed the archway. Djserka shrieked in terror and lurched after Parric.

“They’re trying to kill us!” shouted the em Naga-ed-der as it loped after Parric.

“Yes. I’m noticing this,” Parric called back. He’d already reached the cross hall and hovered in the intersection, airborn. The doorway lay folded flat before him. “Which other waying can I get to Flavius?”

“There’s not a direct route, not on this level. We can go up one and then back down into the main hall. But why are they trying to kill us?”

“The stay of execution is rescinded,” Commander Balam shouted as the militiamen entered the far end of the hall, cuayabs glowing menacingly. “Set for narrow spread. We don’t want any blowback.”

“I’m thinking because I’m one of the dangerous ones.” Parric flicked his antennae, concentrating on his Crafting. The folded door wrenched itself from the floor. “You should be ducking now.”

Parric hurled the door down the hall. It met the streams of cuayab fire and shattered into a hundred burning missiles tearing into the militiamen.