One moment, white light brightened the lane. The next, darkness descended.
Lapis gasped; Chiddle squeezed her hand. “We dim to not attract attention,” he told her. “Those that remain, we cannot trust.”
“We do not lose power,” Ghost agreed. “Do not fear.”
He must have heard her panic. She pressed into Chiddle, her heart thudding hard, her eyes placing dazzling, fuzzy dots over everything. A tear trickled down her cheek, and she wiped it on her shoulder.
She recalled little about her escape from Nicodem, but she remembered the nights had been cold for midyear. She had huddled against dirt overhangs, arms wrapped around her legs, fingers digging into her skin as night birds and insects sang their merry way through terror-ridden shadows. The ghostly whispers of her family rested with her, the stark image of their bodies in coffins contrasting the laughter and love they shared the morning before . . .
“Lanth?” Sanna asked softly. She looked in the direction of the khentauree, guilt over her weakness hammering her.
“I’m sorry. When . . .” She swallowed. “When my family died, I escaped Gall’s soldiers by running through the forest to Coriy. Most of that was in darkness.”
“Bad memories rear ugly heads when you least need them.” Sanna sounded sad, and she did not think she imagined it. “You are strong, to only shed tears. It is hard to fight the monsters of the past.”
“The enemy stalks us, but I will protect us,” Ghost said, his voice steady, confident. “Tell the child within you that you are protected, you are cared for. Tell the child that we will make fierce memories of this night.”
“You’re all being too nice to me.”
“We live with old terrors, too,” Sanna told her. “And our foes makes new terrors to batter us. But we kick them into pieces and smash the bits into nothing. So will you.”
That might work, if she had hooves. She smiled rather than voice her reservations; they did their best to comfort her, in a situation where they should pay more attention to their surroundings than her weakness.
Silence descended, broken only by the soft crunch of hooves on hard-packed snow. They wove in and around objects she could not see; what blocked the path? It had been clear when she, Patch and the guards trotted up it.
Flashes flared through the tree branches. The area beyond the wall glowed two different shades of red. She recognized both; bright red for the lower-grade Dentherion tech guttershanks favored, dark ruby for the Minq. How horrible for the nearby residents, to be caught between such a deadly volley.
The light reflected off the metal of a vehicle. Lapis squinted, attempting to pick out its shape in the hazy darkness. Random spurts and sparks startled her; the bent iron gate bars tangled with the bulbous front and the tires, hinting that the line between them and the shack had not completely severed.
The thing must have self-destructed once it hit the buzz. That would explain why it blocked the entrance. She did not see the blinking dash lights she expected, and the exterior ones were dark. Chiddle moved to the right; the lamp that once rested above the estate sign sat amongst collapsed stone from the wall, illuminating the vehicle’s ebon side. The sliding door sat open, the interior of benches faintly visible.
She did not see humans, but she heard them shouting.
The three khentauree pivoted to the left. Kneeling to the side of the vehicle were dozens more mechanical beings. A bare squeak of snow rose from their hooves; as one, the heads swiveled to them, and several triggered their forehead weapons.
“We will rescue you, but not if you fight us,” Sanna said, low enough Lapis wondered if she directed the words at her and communicated with the others through tech signals. Most halted the speed-up and their glow dimmed, but not all.
Sprites whipped to the ones who refused to listen. They crashed into the gleaming foreheads, and the mechanical beings fell into their companions, buzzing before all lights and motion faded away. Their compatriots swiveled to study the injured, then hunched over, arms over bowed heads, hands flat against the back of the neck.
“Is that a programmed response?” Lapis asked softly.
“Yes. It is military code, meant to signal commanders that we are complacent,” Sanna said. “We of Ambercaast grew beyond the compulsion to follow it and we deleted it, but these khentauree have not.”
Hopefully Jhor could rid them of the bad code and they could live a fuller existence. “I’m Siscousige Lanth,” she said, keeping her voice quiet yet firm. “If you wish for safety, you must take the lane to the mansion and wait with the other khentauree there.”
“Hmm,” Sanna buzzed. “They say they only listen to Danaea.”
Danaea? She squashed her shock; she knew damn well Jetta had taken Danaea out, completing the rebel stake on her head. “That’s odd, because Danaea’s dead. I’m not.”
Every khentauree jerked up and swiveled their heads to her. As one, they lifted their right legs, sank their hooves into the snow, pushed up with their left, stood, and headed for the lane, making enough noise that nearby humans would know their secret weapons fled the battle. The Ambercaast khentauree faced the vehicle, subtle humming the only hint they spoke to each other. She waited, squashing the questions burning her tongue. The last being faded into the trees before Sanna wagged her finger at her.
“That was smart.”
“It’s true, though. Danaea is dead. Someone must be using her name, which is strange. So why did they leave?”
“If a siscousige dies, then the khentauree follow the next in command. You declared yourself a siscousige, so they followed your lead.”
“That’s very literal.”
“That is base khentauree action. They follow their programming.”
“I hope the invisible do not intercept them,” Ghost muttered.
“They will tell them a new commander issued orders. Then they will listen to Lanth.” Sanna shrugged before crouching, then leaping onto the top of the vehicle. Lapis clamped her legs against Chiddle, and he pressed his arms against hers, his hands over her clenched fingers, before he did the same. She did not fall, and breathed a sigh of relief as Ghost joined them and they knelt on top of the bangy top.
The wall stood high enough she could not see the length of street, so studied the vehicle instead. It appeared a train car was right behind it, at a sharp angle to the gate, sliding doors on both sides thrown wide. She doubted the driver could have gotten it through the gap without taking out the fence across the street.
“Is this the only transportation, or are there three more like it?” Lapis asked. “Because we’ll be facing a lot more khentauree, if the latter.”
“These are the only vehicles,” Ghost said. “The other two are hooked to the first one. The humans made the khentauree kneel in small cages stacked upon one another to fit them inside, then piled the rest on top of one another. They remained inactive until they reached the gate.”
Lapis hated that. Diros or Kez or whoever was in charge did not respect them or their legacy. They cut off heads, mismatched parts, treated them like an uninteresting toy to be flung away. How many more did they have at their disposal? Guilt tore through her; the rebels should have returned to the underground smuggling cave, taken whatever khentauree parts they could find, and then destroyed the rest of the cargo. Would that have been enough, to deter further harm?
Shouts rose from the street. Five humans jumped over the tumbled wall stones, ran around the front of the vehicle and headed along the eastern wall, the one in front wildly swinging a fruit oil lamp. The Minq must be winning, for a group to detach and chance entering the estate to run away.
Another, larger man barreled after them and fell as his knee struck a large chunk, his tech weapon tumbling from his hands as he hit the ground.
“You little shits! Bring that back!” he roared.
He voiced nothing else; Sanna jumped to him and slammed her right hoof into his head. He slumped, and no one rushed to help.
“Chiddle, Lanth, follow them,” Ghost commanded. “Stay alert; the military khentauree roam the trees, and they are not listening to reason.”
“But—”
“Sanna and I will stop the fighting.”
The finality in his words gave her a good idea how he planned to do that, and she did not want to be around when the sprites carried out his will. Wondering what the men stole, she tightened her grip on Chiddle as he rose, hopped down with a jarring landing, and raced after the thieves.
They breezed down the trampled trail, a soft crunch and the random crack of a twig the only hint of their passing. Lapis strained to hear anything that would give away the military khentauree, since her eyesight proved useless in the deep nighttime shadows.
A voice waxed, then fell. Another blared, and that one sounded peeved. Chiddle slowed to a careful walk, pushing low-hanging branches from their way so he did not break them. She bent over her right leg to look around him; Illumination lit the area beyond the treeline, and the yellow cast meant their targets had not yet leapt the wall. What stopped them?
“What ‘bout that one, Dandi?”
Dandi? And that voice . . . Lars? What were they doing there? Asinine gutter-rats, what had they gotten themselves into?
“He said not to press that one, so we’re not going to.” Dandi’s voice trembled hard enough, she guessed at what he said.
“It’s a combination.”
“I know that! Weren’t you listening? I thought Loschyd said these three, but nothing’s happening.”
Chiddle buzzed softly. “In Taangin, Loschyd is short for mercenary, loschydinak. I do not think humans would have such a name.”
Neither did she. “One of the military khentauree, then.”
“It’s a good guess.”
“Can’t believe we’s doin’ this,” a third voice said, disgruntled. “Shoulda left, when I said.”
“Yeah,” Lars agreed, his tone heavy with regret. “Dandi’s grand-da’s not worth dyin’ fer.”
“I . . .” A snuffle from Dandi followed.
Lapis tapped on Chiddle’s stomach. He swiveled his head. “I know them,” she whispered. “One’s a Grey Streets rat, one’s a merchant’s grandson. Looks like they’re in more trouble than they know how to handle.”
“The tech they have is emitting a strange signal. I think they try to turn it off, without success.”
It sounded that way. “Do they have weapons?”
“Knives.”
She could avoid knives; Lars thought himself a shank, but his ability with a blade did not go beyond typical Grey Streets knowledge. Her gauntlet beams would intercept him before he took a step. “We need to take them alive. If they stole something from the shanks, they know something about what’s going on. Let me talk to them first.”
“I do not like that plan.”
“Yeah, neither do I, but they know who I am. Once they get over the shock, I might be able to convince them to come with us. Is there anyone else around?”
Chiddle studied her, then swiveled his head to the front. “No. But that does not mean the khentauree are not near.”
“Think Loschyd will show up?”
“Yes.”
“Well, let’s make ourselves useful so when he does, he’ll see we help instead of hinder.” She slid from his back with help from his arm so she could slowly set herself in the snow, and stepped away, toes pointed down to keep from making too much noise. “Once I get them calm, I’ll introduce you. Lars and his boys are fond of their skin, and Dandi’s a coward. I doubt they’ll attack.”
“I will wait.”
She gave the finger sign of agreement and crept towards the panicked voices.
Sure enough; Lars and four buddies, and Dandi. The guttershank wannabes wore better gear than their customary street clothes, and while the uninspired Dentherion coats looked warm, they hunched over with their gloved hands shoved under their arms, preserving what heat they could. Dandi sported a gleaming, thigh-length blue coat and matching hat pulled low over his ears, his woolen pants stuffed into sleek, calf-high, brown boots. He appeared dressed for a late-night trip to the Night Market rather than a raid. None had scarves, either, and considering the cold, they should.
They weren’t prepared to be there. Why were they? Had the enemy conscripted them? Were they so desperate, they forced untested rats and a pampered merchant’s grandson into combat?
Dandi shook the device and then thrust out his arms. “I can’t get it to stop,” he said, rubbing at his cheek with the back of a fuzzy glove.
“Then maybe I can?”
She hoped they pissed themselves in shame and carted that embarrassment to the mansion. She smiled and crunched through the bushes before snagging the device from an astonished Dandi. The screen flashed a steady beat of red, and her tummy rushed up to her throat. She held it behind her, and Chiddle grabbed it. The collective gasp made her sigh.
“This is Chiddle,” she said. “And as much as you don’t deserve it, we’re going to help you.”
“Lady,” Lars whimpered, eyes round as he took in the khentauree.
“So what was this about not touching buttons?”
“How do you know about that?” Dandi asked, confused, as the rats froze.
“How do you think? It wasn’t like you were quiet as you raced away from the battle, and you haven’t shushed yet.”
Lars glared daggers before looking at the device, worried. “Lady, you knows khentauree.”
“Yes. Some, like Chiddle, I know pretty well.”
“Well, we met some, at Diros’s cave.”
“The smuggling cave in the Reeds?”
“Yeah.” His surprise faded quickly. “One of them’s called Loschyd. He’s been kind, when thems that works fer Diros’s been cruel. We overheard them sayin’ they’s wantin’ to trigger some explosions in the khentauree with that thing,” and he waved at the device. “Loschyd asked us to steal it, so we did. We needs to stop it, Lady.”
The enemy wanted to destroy the khentauree? Despicable shanks! “Does Loschyd know the buttons to push?”
“He’s makin’ an educated guess.”
“Who did you overhear talking about this?”
Dandi whimpered. “My grand-da,” he whispered as more tears fell.
“His grand-da’s only interested in savin’ his own skin,” Lars said with venom. So Orinder had betrayed them? Would surprises never cease. “Offered us up t’ help, told them shanks we’d fight with ‘m.”
“That sucks, since you went to all the trouble of sneaking him out of jail.”
Dandi snuffled louder as Chiddle tapped her on the shoulder. Branches moved, and in more than one place; she fought not to cower against him as three military khentauree bled into view, their focus on the device in the Ambercaast being’s hands. They had long heads with jutting eyebrows, chiseled cheeks and firm chins, making for a stern countenance, and tall, dark grey horse chassis with thick legs. Two had a combination of cyan and blue stripes on their arms, while the third had green for medic.
Chiddle shook his head and showed the one nearest him the buttons. The being waved a finger over them, and they buzzed, heat in the tones.
“And you are?” The medic, asked, staring as if they could see through her skull. Their voice was monotone, set in the center of the human range, so she could not tell if they had grown into emotional khentauree akin to the Ambercaast ones, or if they remained the same, like those at Torc Bedan.
“I’m Siscousige Lanth,” she said. She should have asked their names first, in keeping with a commanding presence, but too late to rectify that.
“You told the khentauree to kneel before you at the mansion.”
“I did, but it was to save all involved, not to subjugate them. I don’t want them destroyed for the pleasure of a spineless shank like Diros.”
She swore the three unknown khentauree shuddered. An interesting reaction to his name; his people had traumatized them, and whatever trust they had left in humans was likely not enough to help her in this situation.
“This’s the Lady,” Lars said. He sounded careful but not hesitant, and she wondered how well he knew these three. “The one I’s tellin’ you ‘bouts.”
The medic studied him, then her. “He said Lady Lanth would help us. That is you?”
“Yes. And Lars is right, I will do everything I can,” she agreed. It shocked her, he proclaimed it; their last few encounters had not exactly gone her way, especially since he blamed her for Miki’s death. It gave him an out to forget his own hand in guiding the traitor to her door, which led to the devastating murder of his friend. Funny, the only place she had expected to see him again was the Pit.
A squeal tore through the air, static crackled, and a voice speaking Taangin yelled. It came from the direction of the fight, and from the panic infusing the words, whoever commanded them was still under fire.
“The commands force us away,” the one near Chiddle said. As one, they backed up a step, flickering.
Uh-oh. “I am Siscousige Lanth. You will not follow the commands of anyone but me and those I designate, and only those spoken in Jilvaynan. You will listen to Chiddle.” She motioned to the tense khentauree at her side. “You will listen to Sanna and Ghost.”
The voice rose in volume. They, as one, stumbled to the side, and grabbed branches to keep themselves upright. What had the man said to cause that reaction?
Chiddle stamped his front hoof. “Choose who to follow.” His buzzy growl made her skin prickle. Did it affect the khentauree, too?
The three heads swiveled to him, and they buzzed, loud, desperate, as their fingers bit into the branches and snapped cold twigs in half.
“Choose the one who asks you to stop. We will not force you to battle. We will help you save the other khentauree.” He looked down at the device. “I am unfamiliar with this tech, and I worry, I will press the wrong button. We need Jhor.”
“Who is Jhor?” the medic asked, suspicious, as they struggled to stand.
“Sanna’s companion,” Chiddle said. “He rid us of the bad code and bad modifications other humans implanted, and provided helpful code, like the language modules. He once worked for the Dentherion military before disgust overtook him, and he knows their tech.”
The red flashing had become faster. “How quickly can he get here?” Lapis asked.
“He is at the mansion, but I do not think we should bring this device near. The further away, the less likely the signal will reach the khentauree there.”
“There is a failsafe,” the being near Chiddle said. “We travel outside its range, we detonate. It is a precaution to keep us with the humans.”
Hate sang like a blade, cutting through her fear. “OK. What parts will explode? If it’s an arm or leg, can we take them off?”
The medic patted the chest of their chassis. “It rests here,” they said.
“Then I must bring this to Jhor, before the signal triggers you.” The Ambercaast khentauree pivoted and raced along the wall, the red light illuminating his way.
Lapis sucked in a breath. “If you want to stay whole, I understand. But we can keep your heads in our care, get you away from your chassis. All your memory and stuff is in your head, right?”
The khentauree looked at each other, and her tummy twisted at the sight, of heads and necks rotating up and off a chassis. That such an act did not end them made sense—their bodies did not behave like a human one—but the unnatural behavior squicked her. The heads she had dealt with so far had trauma associated with the chassis removal, but these three did not seem to have difficulty abandoning them. Was that because they were military?
“We are not wed to these chassis,” the medic said as they held out their head to her. She accepted, nonplussed. Had they realized what caused her distress? “All of us wear one not our own. But perhaps we can put them to use.”
“What do you mean?” she asked as Lars grabbed the one who helped with the device, and a buddy retrieved the other.
“The enemy demanded we return to them. We send our chassis instead.”
Oh. “See, you know how to work around your programming.” She smiled as the bodies turned and rushed away. “Do I need to tell the other khentauree that?”
“Yes. They will listen to Siscousige Lanth.”
She held up her yeller. Good thing she still had it. “Hey, could one of you contact Chiddle and ask him where I can send the other chassis? If they all go to the gate and Jhor can’t stop the signal in time, that might make a large enough explosion to take out nearby homes.”
The one she held buzzed. “He says to tell them to run northwest. There are open fields beyond the orchards there.”
“Alright, let’s go.”
Lars stayed at her side as they sprinted down the snow-laden path between the wall and the trees, he with the lamp lighting their way, she yelling at the hidden khentauree to head for the mansion, or at least drop their heads and send their chassis away. She thought she saw wisps of grey between the trunks but could not stop to study them; she needed to reach the yard before it went up in a fireball, triggered by all the khentauree huddled so close together.
That Lars proved helpful astounded her. That he did not mutter in sullen discontent, or accuse her of some misdeed, stunned her more. He wanted to help the khentauree, and if that meant aiding her, he willingly did so. How badly had Diros’s people treated him, that he formed a strong enough kinship with the mechanical beings that he ignored their bitter past?
Would this divert him from becoming the undershank he desperately desired?
By the time they reached the yard, most khentauree had done as she ordered; heads lay on the paving stones, their chassis absent. She had assumed, if disconnected, that they could no longer control their bodies, and she found her mistake disconcerting. How much of an attachment did they form to their original chassis? From the bits and pieces the Ambercaast khentauree uttered, the mismatches caused issues, so there must be some connection they preferred.
To be stripped of that, no recourse . . . she hated Diros and his Pitish thugs even more.
Several people from the mansion and a couple in red Minq uniforms retrieved the khentauree and carted them behind the inactive buzz wall, and she belatedly realized she should have told them to give themselves to the people behind the barrier. Too late for that, and she had created another problem.
She needed to get better at thinking during stressful events.
Patch and Heiden were with one of the five khentauree who had yet to shed their chassis, helping them detach their head. The other four cried for help; Chiddle headed to another, his forehead gleaming a bright cyan. Concerned that he prepared for an enemy attack, she waved the yeller at the rats.
“Get inside,” she said, handing Dandi the medic. He squeaked, fumbling them, and one of the others grabbed them and hauled both to the buzz wall poles. She ran to the nearest khentauree. “What’s wrong?”
“I cannot detach the hold mechanism,” they said. “I do not want to go to silence.”
“Alright, I’ll help you.” She set the yeller down on the now-wet pavers and ran her hands over her thighs. “How does the hold mechanism detach?”
“It is here,” and they tapped at the fine line between their neck and their torso in the front and back. “It is reached by the back panel of the torso.”
Lapis ran her hands over the back; she did not see a panel. “How does the panel open?”
“Without a tool, you must press the top and bottom corners of the right side at the same time.”
She started at the backbone and dug her fingertips into the sleek, cold skin. She felt a depression at the top, but not the bottom. Pressing harder, a corner jutted out, and she snagged it with the pads of her fingers. It popped after she pushed her thumbs down hard enough they numbed, revealing the metal spine, ribs, and a mass of wiring.
Ducking, she peered under and up; too dark. Sliding her fingers inside did not help; her armhair prickled and her hand heated. She withdrew, and the sensation disappeared. How badly would it hurt, to probe further? She set her fingers against the inside metal and scooted them towards the neck.
Chiddle skidded to a stop at her side. “We do not have time. I will cut you free.”
“No!” they shrieked. “I do not want to be cut. Free the mechanism.”
“We don’t have time. It is a cut, or you will explode with your body.”
“No cut!”
Chiddle snagged Lapis by the waist and ripped her away from the khentauree. “Chiddle!” she screamed, reaching out for the being who did not want to go to silence. They reached back with a high-pitched shriek. “We have to help them!”
They rose, unsteady; the Ambercaast khentauree bounded through the inactive wall and crashed to his knees behind one of the metal shields. He folded over her as explosions rocked the yard.
Dammit. Dammit.
Glass shattered. The air vibrated. The night turned orange as metal parts and chunks of stone hurtled into the ground and the walls, some bouncing and striking the hunched people. Smaller particles rained down, some on fire, some charred beyond recognition. Dark splatter reached the mansion’s walls—sponoil, she guessed from the smell—and gooped down to congeal in the piled snow.
“They didn’t want to go to silence,” she whispered. Too fast, too late . . . a hot tear raced down her cheek.
“No, but they refused what would have saved them,” Chiddle told her softly, his arms tightening as if he expected her to break free and rush to the remains of the khentauree. “We did not have time for convincing. They knew this. It was their choice.”
She could have ordered it. She could have . . . but they barely made it behind the shield in time. Precious seconds, and they might have suffered severe injuries.
He flinched as a larger piece struck his rear. “Are you alright?” she gasped, craning around as the lower half of an arm bounced away and smacked one of the poles, smoke rising from the open sockets.
“A dent, but not serious. I can move without difficulty,” he said.
The clatter of metal against stone caught her attention. Jhor set his elbows on his bent knees and ran his hands through his hair, the device lying to his side, all buttons on the detached front panel blinking simultaneously. His square tech with the screen sat next to it, the plug attached to the interior.
“Someone didn’t want a modder to undo their work,” he said, voice heavy. “We’re going to have a lot of cleanup to do.”
She hunted for Patch among the clustered, shocked people plastered against the shields; he hunched down with Heiden behind the one next to Jhor, a khentauree clutched to his chest. He met her eyes, and another tear escaped and raced down her cheek. He softened, smiled in reassurance, but that would not salve the ugly guilt.
