She said it was like sewing: she wove an invisible, magnetic strand around each lodestone in the loop along the grayskin’s spine. When she ripped the strand free, Ward’s system was erased, giving Ashlyn control of the lodestones.
For weeks, it seemed like winning the war was just a matter of getting Ashlyn to the right place at the right time so she could tear the grayskins apart, then use the lodestones to forge another band on her arm.
But everything had changed at Fallon’s Roost.
After that disaster, Ashlyn and Jolan had retreated to the Deepdale castle to figure out what went wrong, and how to prevent it in the future. That was three months ago.
Bershad was hoping they’d finally made some progress.
Jolan had filled the tray with twenty grape-sized lodestones. They were all white except for one in the middle, which was black. He placed the tray on the ground in front of Ashlyn.
“Let me connect the diagnostic tool,” he said.
Jolan went back to the table and grabbed a machine Bershad had never seen before. It was about the size of a dinner plate and looked like about fourteen different clocks all rammed together with screws, gears, and springs. There was a crank on one side, and two copper nubs protruding from the top like the horns of a goat.
Jolan produced a bundle of wires from inside his robe, and quickly twisted a wire around each of the nubs. He wrapped one wire around the black lodestone in the center of the tray, and plugged the other into a little socket on one of Ashlyn’s thicker bands.
He wound the crank three times, then released. The machinery of the diagnostic churned and spun as the crank slowly unwound.
“I recognize this loop,” Ashlyn said. “It’s from the spine of the grayskin Silas killed in Vermonth, right?”
“That’s the one.”
Ashlyn nodded, still frowning with focus as the diagnostic finished unwinding.
“Okay, I have it. I’m ready.”
Jolan disconnected the machine from both Ashlyn and the lodestone, then returned to cover behind the dragon scale. He motioned for Bershad to move behind a stone pillar for protection.
“Go ahead,” he said.
Ashlyn’s bands started rotating, which caused her five lodestones to move into positions above the tray. When they were all in place, she started increasing the speed with which her bands rotated, until they began to make a high-pitched whine, similar to a mosquito buzzing near your ear.
The black lodestone didn’t move.
“Not getting anywhere with brute force,” she muttered. “This is like trying to sew a quilt without a needle.”
“Try the cascade again?” Jolan asked.
“Yeah.”
Her bands froze, then started rotating in a measured pattern that rolled down her arm, then back up again. Ashlyn increased the speed of her bands with each cycle, until instead of a steady mosquito’s whine, there was an erratic and piercing roar that sounded like a forest demon’s wild shriek.
No wonder nobody went into the castle anymore.
But despite the spinning bands and horrific noise, the black lodestone still didn’t move.
Ashlyn licked her dry lips. Sweat droplets were pouring off her forehead. Steam rose from her damp hair and Bershad could smell the acrid scent of her fatigue filling the room. The bands of her arm continued the rolling cascade, but the pattern turned more complex and rapid.
Finally, the black lodestone started to spin. A little plume of smoke arose from beneath it as the wood of the tray began to singe.
“Progress,” Jolan said.
The white lodestones started to shake. More smoke arose from the black one as it spun faster and faster.
“Come on, you little bastard,” Ashlyn muttered. “Let me in.”
The white lodestones were rattling around so much they threatened to spill out of the tray.
Then the black lodestone froze.
“Wait. Shit.”
Without warning, Ashlyn’s lodestones were sucked toward each other with a loud crunch.
“I’ve lost control,” Ashlyn said. “Trying to back out gradually.”
She gritted her teeth. Her lodestones started to crack from the pressure. Metal instruments on the desk started to twitch and move. Bershad felt a rising pain in his back where the iron crossbow bolts were embedded.
“It’s no good!” Jolan shouted. “Use the kill switch!”
Ashlyn cursed, then, with what seemed like considerable effort, she pulled her arm in front of her chest and tightened her hand into a fist. Her bands froze. Her lodestones dropped to the floor and scattered. The pain in Bershad’s back disappeared.
Ashlyn puked on her own feet. Then she picked up the tray of lodestones and threw it into the corner.
“Black fucking skies!” Ashlyn snarled. “Fuck those stubborn fucking bastard spinal cords and fuck Osyrus Ward and his opaque security measures.”
She spat some vomit onto the floor, then she stood up, grabbed the chair she’d been sitting on, and threw it against the far wall, breaking two of the legs. With that done, she took a long breath in and out.
“Catch you two at a bad time?” Bershad asked, coming around from behind the pillar.
Ashlyn turned around, the frustration disappearing from her face.
“Silas. You’re back.”
“Brought another stubborn bastard with me, too,” he said, lifting the sack.
Ashlyn glared at the sack as if it was full of snakes, then moved to a big table that was littered with scraps of papers and spools of wire. She picked up a waterskin and drank deeply.
“Are all the lodestones from the spinal column intact on this one?” Jolan asked.
“Yeah,” Bershad said. “That’s not easy to do, by the way.”
“Maybe not, but the last one you brought back was so chewed up we couldn’t even try to break into it.”
“That asshole tore every muscle off my left leg. Keeping the corpse pristine wasn’t really a priority.”
Jolan opened the bag and started rummaging around. Taking out metal orbs and shafts and casings—all the crap that Osyrus Ward put into the grayskins to make them so difficult to kill.
“If you hadn’t stopped, felt like you’d have ripped the crossbow bolts straight out of my back,” Bershad said, rubbing one shoulder.
“Cormo still hasn’t gotten them all out?” Ashlyn asked.
“Nope. The last two are wedged deep in the bone.”
Ashlyn swallowed a big gulp of water. Raised her arm. “You know, I could pull them out anytime. Little scraps of iron like that are easy to manipulate if I’m close to them.”
“No need.”
“Why not?”
Bershad shrugged. “They don’t hurt.”
Ashlyn raised an eyebrow and gave him the face that said she knew he was lying, but didn’t push the issue further.
She was right, though. The real reason he didn’t want the bolts out was because they did hurt him. Always. And he’d committed enough crimes in his life that being saddled with a scrap of constant pain seemed like fair punishment.
Jolan finished arranging the lodestones into little groups on the table.
“This gives us more to work with,” he said, although he didn’t sound excited by the prospect.
“Glad to be of service,” said Bershad.
“Were you injured collecting them?” Ashlyn asked.
“Nothing permanent.”
“How much moss did you use?” Jolan asked.
“Not much.”
“A pinch? Ten pinches?”
“Enough so I could jump off a holdfast tower without dying.”
“Silas, don’t be obtuse. Jolan needs to know the exact amount so he knows how strong the tonic needs to be.”
Bershad grunted. “Four pinches.”
Ashlyn raised her eyebrow.
“Fine. Seven.”
She turned to Jolan. “Go ahead and get started on the suppression tonic.”
Jolan moved to an alc
hemical station in the corner and lit a few of the burners. Within moments, the entire room smelled of acid and tar. Bershad’s stomach turned.
“I hate this shit,” he muttered. “And every time we use it, the Nomad disappears for days. Last time, she was gone for a full week. I need her with me to win this war.”
“You can’t win this war if you turn into a tree,” said Ashlyn.
“That’s going to happen eventually anyway.”
Ashlyn tossed the waterskin back onto the table. “Are we going to have this fight in front of Jolan, or do you want to find a private chamber? Or, better yet, do you want to just skip the argument entirely and take the shot?”
Bershad sighed. “We can skip it.”
“Good.” She wiped some sweat off her forehead. “Was Simeon hurt?”
“Just a few cracked ribs. He’ll be fine.”
“Did he bring back a bunch of heads again?” Jolan asked without looking up from his work.
“Yeah.”
Jolan shook his head. “It’s a very unsanitary practice.”
“You’re welcome to try talking him out of it. I haven’t had much luck.”
“No, thanks,” said Jolan, scooping a spoonful of thick, black sludge into the mixture he was brewing.
Ashlyn was still looking at him, studying his face. “Did something else happen?”
“I might have found a way to get to Vergun,” Bershad said, remembering what Rigar had told him about the warren symbols. “But it’ll have to wait until the army’s in a better spot.”
“Am I hearing a level of restraint coming from the famously wild dragonslayer?”
“Just a little.”
Ashlyn smiled. Moved to the table and started scratching a few notes on a piece of paper.
“So, couldn’t help but notice there’s one less tower on this castle than when I left,” Bershad said.
“Yeah. I passed out during an experiment. Sorry about that.”
“You know, Ashlyn, you have a pretty clear pattern of destructive tendencies when it comes to castles. Maybe you should do this outside?”
“Wind and humidity add more external factors and complexity. Anyway, we installed countermeasures.”
“That kill switch?”
“Yes. Which I need to unlock.”
She started twisting different bands in what seemed to be a very specific sequence. Bershad was going to wait until she was done to keep talking, but the process went on for over a minute.
“How many turns does it take to unlock it?” he asked.
“Thirty-seven,” Ashlyn said, continuing to turn the bands. “It took two sleepless weeks to build, but testing goes much faster this way. And I’m destroying fewer rooms in your castle.”
She turned a final band, and then everything came to life again for a moment before settling down.
“I can lock the system myself, like I just did, but the entire system locks down automatically if I lose consciousness. When that happens, nobody can turn it back on except me or Jolan.”
“No offense to Jolan, but why’s he get the codes, too?”
The two of them exchanged a quick glance. Ashlyn answered.
“The line between temporary unconsciousness and a permanent coma is pretty thin. If that were to happen, Jolan needs a way to keep going.”
“Fuck, Ashlyn.”
“It’s just a precaution. I haven’t passed out in weeks.”
“You’re taking too many risks.”
“And you’re jumping off too many towers.”
“Doesn’t make me wrong.”
“Just hypocritical.”
Bershad sighed. Decided to drop it. “How’s progress, generally?”
Ashlyn stopped writing. Then scratched at her hair with the same hand that was holding the quill, which left a smear of ink across her cheek.
“You saw how it’s going.”
“Maybe you should try it out in the field again. Could work differently.”
“Sure. Seeing as I can’t conquer a set of lodestones sitting in a tray without causing a massive backfire, I’m definitely ready to take on a horde of grayskins again. That’s brilliant, Silas. Thank you.”
“Ashe. I know that you’re afraid of repeating Fallon’s Roost, but—”
“Can you please stop referring to it like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like the whole incident is just a fortress on a map.” She paused. “I was reckless and arrogant and I got eighty-seven wardens killed because of it.”
Ashlyn had been having so much success killing grayskins that when their scouts reported fifty of them gathered at Fallon’s Roost, they hadn’t hesitated to launch a full attack, thinking that this was their chance to turn the tide of war.
But it had been a trap.
The grayskins at Fallon’s Roost were the first to have security systems installed in their spines. When Ashlyn tried to break through them, the same thing that had just happened in the pantry happened on the field, but there wasn’t a kill switch to stop it from getting out of control.
The wardens closest to her were crushed by their own armor. Bershad had needed a pound of Gods Moss to recover from his wounds. Hundreds of others survived, but had been peppered with shrapnel like Oromir.
Bershad swallowed. “Simeon and I went back. That’s where we killed the grayskin.”
“Why?” Ashlyn asked.
“It was vulnerable. They moved most of the soldiers down south, chasing Willem’s crews.” He paused. “And the men were still out there on the field. They needed shells.”
Ashlyn nodded. “A proper burial doesn’t change the fact that I killed them.”
“You’re right, Ashe. But we’re losing hundreds of wardens every moon turn. You understand? We’re not winning this war. We’re just losing it as slowly as possible. And we’re going to run out of soldiers a long time before Osyrus Ward does.”
“If I go back out there now, the only thing I’ll do is get more men killed.”
Bershad looked around the workshop. Then he thought of the half-filled war camp outside the city, and all the wardens who should have been there but weren’t. He felt a rage rise in this throat.
“Are you getting any closer?” he pressed.
“It’s not like chopping down a tree,” Ashlyn said. “There’s no easy way to gauge progress. It’s more like digging a well blind. There might be water a stride down, there might be nothing at all. There’s just no—”
“Don’t hide behind some metaphor. Just tell it to me straight. Are the spines that I’m bringing back even helpful?”
Ashlyn glanced at the sack he’d brought. “I’ve tried to break into every acolyte spine you’ve brought back. I’ve tried it a dozen different ways. The result is always the same. I don’t know what Osyrus changed, but I can’t get through it. We thought the diagnostic was the key, but that turned out to just be a way to get a better look at the problem, not solve it. To make things even worse, we can’t add more bands to my arm until we find a way through Ward’s system, so I’m stuck at only being able to balance five lodestones in the air.”
“Then what’s the point of me even bringing this shit anymore?” Bershad asked.
There was a silence.
“I’ve started disassembling the pieces that Ashlyn can’t break through.” Jolan motioned to one corner of the room, where a mess of cleaved lodestones, copper orbs, gears, wires, powders, and scraps of metal were arranged on a table. “I’m trying to rebuild them into something we can use.”
“Use how?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure yet. But we have so many raw materials at this point, I have to believe there’s something we can use them for.”
Jolan moved his tonic off the burner, then drew the liquid into a long syringe.
“This is ready,” he said.
Bershad stayed where he was. Arms crossed.
“Can you sit down so that I can give you the injection?” Jolan pressed.
“Well, I�
�d use that chair over there if our even-keeled queen hadn’t shattered it.”
Ashlyn gave him a look, and Bershad gave in. He muttered a curse to himself and sat down on the cold floor next to Jolan, who rolled back the sleeve on his left arm and tapped a finger against the syringe, forcing the liquid to congeal. He moved it toward Bershad’s skin, but he stopped him with an open hand.
“Just give me one second, kid.”
Jolan nodded. Bershad closed his eyes.
He reached out, across the city, and focused on his connection to the Nomad. She was still in that Daintree.
“Sorry about this, girl,” he muttered. “I’ll meet up with you down the line a ways, when you decide to forgive me.”
He gave Jolan a nod, and the boy pressed the metal needle into his flesh and filled his veins with fire that spread from his arm to his lungs and eventually into his heart. His connection to the Nomad snapped. The thousands of sounds and sensations she funneled into his body went quiet. Far off, she released a bone-chilling howl. The Daintree shook and shuddered as she took to the sky and flew away.
Bershad rolled down his sleeve. He felt hollow and dead inside.
“Kerrigan is due back from Dunfar tonight,” Ashlyn said, moving to a trunk in the corner and removing a yellow poncho, which she threw over her head and adjusted until it completely covered her left arm.
Early on, Ashlyn had tried explaining to the people of Deepdale that her abilities came from technology and magnetism, not sorcery. That little campaign hadn’t panned out, so she resigned herself to wearing the poncho in public.
It was easier to conceal something people feared than help them understand it.
“We’ll inventory her shipment, distribute everything to the army, and then we’ll see where things stand,” she continued. “We might be losing this war slowly, but so long as we have a steady stream of supplies, we have time.” She motioned to the materials strewn across the tables. “And time gives Jolan and me a chance to find a path forward.”
4
ASHLYN
Jaguar Army War Camp
“What do you mean, you lost four supply carracks?” Simeon growled, leaning forward on the table so hard that the legs squeaked. “You left with five. That’s not a good ratio of return, Kerrigan.”
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