Jace stayed silent until a crackle came from the radio. No words, just a crackle. Still, he didn’t break character. He maintained the fake accent, and asked, “Can…can you hear me?”

No response. He tapped the upright cylinder. Still nothing.

But no one was listening in. He turned to Kinfild and whispered, “Can you get us to the surface?”

The Wielder rested his staff against the wall and stepped up to the pilot’s seat. He pushed the blue-uniformed body to the side, then sat down. “Let’s see…” He flicked a lever back and forth. Nothing happened, and by the look on his face, Jace suspected something should have. Kinfild pointed at the red-hot gash in the dashboard that Jace had cut while killing the guard. “We will make it to the surface. I can’t guarantee that I’ll successfully land the brigship.”

“Oh, now this is not how I wanted to die, either,” Lessa complained. “What are the chances Kinfild crashes us straight into the ground?”

“They will be higher if you keep nattering.”

The viewscreen shimmered, then lit up with a white holographic projection. He couldn’t understand the letters, but a few white lines formed a crosshair, and a few others pointed a path to the surface.

“They are sending us a flight path,” said Kinfild. “We’d best follow it.”

Lessa put her hands on her hips. “If we don’t?”

“Then they will be even more suspicious.” Kinfild pushed down on the control yoke. The brigship adjusted accordingly. It shuddered and complained, and a panel ripped off the nose. It bounced off the viewscreen and tumbled down the hull. The atmosphere gripped the cockpit in a basket of fire, and Jace couldn’t see anything.

A minute passed, and he averted his eyes from the blinding flames. Finally, Kinfild pulled a lever. The starship bucked like a feral horse, but it still slowed down. Jace gripped the back of the co-pilot’s seat to stay upright.

“You’d best take a seat—both of you,” Kinfild said. “Strap down. The landing will be rough.”

Jace scrambled up along the vibrating deck and strapped himself into the co-pilot’s seat, and Lessa clambered into the radioman’s chair off to the side. They both fastened their crash harnesses, and Jace feared that this time, they would need them.

Now that they had slowed down, he had a clear view of the alien landscape. Red sand fields, topped with monolithic hoodoos of orange stone that reached kilometers into the air. Clouds of pitch-black, tar-like moisture clung to the rock formations like clouds on mountains. Carrion birds circled high above. Below, millions of burrowing holes had been drilled into the badlands.

Jace gulped, then narrowed his eyes. Something about this didn’t feel right. Stenol had said something about building an army. “Kinfild…” he breathed, hoping his tone felt like it was warning.

“Yes, Mr. Baldwin,” the Wielder said, his hands tight on the control yoke. “Kobold holes, and likely, kobolds. There may be ancient, dark dungeons on this world.”

“Kobolds?”

The Wielder sighed. “They’re an ancient species, a variant of darklings. They were once wolfmen, but the darkness beyond the Wall twisted and tortured them into their current abominable state. They are slave-soldiers of the Enemy Beyond the Wall.”

Kinfild pulled up on the control yoke, stopping their descent—sort of. The starship’s nose angled upward, but they were still losing altitude. Jace didn’t think the blaring alarms could get any louder, but somehow, they did. Another higher-pitched tone shrieked out of the dashboard in front of them.

“The kobolds,” Kinfild said between grunts of exertion, “consume the blood and flesh of other sapient beings to survive. They must be starving.”

The brigship dipped under a massive sandstone arch, and once it emerged, a plateau filled the viewscreen. A landing pad nestled in atop it, with a monorail track leading off into the distance. Jace followed the track with his eyes until it faded away into the dark haze.

“Are we landing there?” Jace asked.

“That appears to be the general cargo pad,” said Kinfild. “We are going to overshoot it, whether we want to or not.”

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Sure enough, they shot past the pad. Jace gripped the chair’s armrests and clenched his teeth. Below them, a cluster of Koedor-Terginian soldiers began to wave their arms frantically. They had their helmets off—at least there was a breathable atmosphere.

The starship’s shudders became lurches and jolts. The crash harness scraped against Jace’s shoulder, and his head bounced against the headrest. “Kinfild…”

“I’m doing my best, Mr. Baldwin,” the Wielder said. “Unless you would like to try flying…”

Jace shook his head. In front of them, the dark haze peeled away, revealing a blocky building perched on the edge of the plateau. He couldn’t tell how tall it was, only that it towered over the sandstone plains. Its walls were angular. Some sloped upward diagonally, and some were perfectly vertical. They all reached up towards a bundle of antennae and round discs.

Near the base, there was a row of hangars in the tower wall. They had rounded corners, and a glowing white emanated from them. They were large enough to fit the brigship. Kinfild just had to get them inside.

But, when Kinfild flicked a set of levers, nothing happened. “We’ve lost control of the repellers,” he stated. “Turn that dial.” He pointed to a blue circle on the dashboard in front of Jace. “All the way to the right, now!”

Jace grabbed it and twisted. He didn’t feel anything happen—unless it somehow made the shuddering worse.

“Lessa, extend the landing struts!” Kinfild instructed.

She leaned out of the chair and reached for a lever behind Kinfild’s seat. She grunted, “This isn’t a radioman’s job…”

“And you’re not a radioman,” Kinfild snapped back. “Quickly!” They approached the hangar furthest to the left. Smoke trailed behind them—and more than normal.

The entire structure filled the viewscreen now, and they showed no sign of slowing down. Kinfild pulled back on the control yoke, and the thrusters stopped roaring. It didn’t help.

Lessa pulled the lever. Something whirred beneath the deck. The brigship crashed over the lip of the hangar, then skidded on its landed struts toward the far wall, plowing through smaller, raggedy starships and equipment. Jace raised his arms, bracing for a collision.

They smashed into the concrete barrier. The viewscreen cracked but didn’t shatter. Jace was flung forward in his seat. The crash harness stretched and protested, but it held him. It locked, then pulled him back into the seat.

The brigship came to a halt. Shattered concrete and sparks fell onto the vessel. The hull held, but he didn’t want to know for how long. He unbuckled the harness and staggered to his feet.

Ground crew in tan fatigues rushed around in a panic, and Koedor-Terginian soldiers rushed towards the ship, rifles raised.

“We’re not going to get out of here like this,” Jace said. “Not without being noticed.”

Lessa and Kinfild both climbed out of their seats and staggered to the window. “Not good,” Lessa said, looking down at the soldiers.

Inhaling through his clenched teeth, Jace said, “Take their armour. Put it on.”

He ran over to the corpse of the cavalryman and began to strip the man’s armour off. Once he had it off and heaped it in a pile beside the man, he realized he would also need the black bodysuit beneath the armour. He tugged that off the man too, then pulled it on over his clothes. It wasn’t perfectly tight-fitting, but it was good enough. He then buckled on the plates, starting at the armoured boots and working upwards. The cuirass had a hole in it from where he had stabbed the cavalryman earlier, but the edges had cooled. Hopefully no one would notice.

Jace pulled the helmet onto his head. The visor was tricky to see through; the orange glass was thick and reflective, and it glowed when he attached it to his head. The helmet’s holographic plume also activated. He looked up, and spotted both Kinfild and Lessa staring at him. “Do you want to get out of here or not?” he asked. “Go, get a uniform.” There were plenty of bodies on the level below.

Kinfild and Lessa both ran to the ladder and descended down a level. Jace heard them tearing the armour off soldiers, and a faint, annoyed chatter between them. He snorted, then picked up his backpack and Whistling Blade. The Whistling Blade could pass as a cavalry saber as long as no one looked at it too long, and his backpack looked militaristic enough to blend in—it was leather, at least.

He followed Kinfild and Lessa down the ladder. Lessa had all of her armour on, including a long gray overcloak that one of the guards had been wearing, which hid her tail. Kinfild pulled his helmet on, and the visor lit up. They both picked up rifles, and Jace grabbed a pistol.

Lessa passed Jace her engraving needle and fuel-cell pack. “It’s almost empty, but this armour doesn’t have pockets. Care to put it in your backpack?”

Jace nodded and placed it in the front pocket.

“Are you ready?” Kinfild asked, almost yelling over the blaring alarms, crackling electricity, and hissing steam. He took a glance at his staff (which he had rested against the wall), then shook his head. “There’s a spare on the Wrath. We just need to get out of here.”

“Where’re we heading?” Lessa pulled her rifle’s bolt back then rammed it forward again, readying a shot.

“I doubt we left much untouched in this hangar,” said Kinfild. “We’ll need to head to the hangars a couple over if we want a functioning starship that can get us back to Lyvarion.”

“Let’s just get out of here,” Jace hissed. The helmet muffled his voice. It made him sound tinny and fake, and he had to speak louder than normal. “Then we can worry about where we’re going.” One step at a time, that’s what always worked. Thinking too far ahead? That led to a rigid plan—and disappointment when it didn’t work out. “How…how do we get off this starship?”

“Follow me,” Kinfild said. “Stick close.”