Eyes darting behind her, she ran through the twisting corridor, past the kitchen and dining hall, the larder and the library, down the stairs and around the bend, toward the safety of her secret place, where the big’uns could never find her.
Someone stepped in front of her, tall and slender, like the alvessi her mam always warned her about. She smacked into the skinny lady with a squeak and fell backward, eyes going big and round.
The alvesse weren’t dressed like the pictures in the stories; all leather and leaves and flowing dresses. Her legs were covered in a tight blue cloth, rough to the touch. A softer garment hugged her upper body, leaving the lower parts of her arms exposed. There were a funny symbol on it: a cute animal face, grinning broadly. The lady’s ears were rounded, not pointy, and her skin didn’t have the green and gold speckles of the forest folk, nor the blue streaks of the mer. Mayhap not an alvesse then?
“Don’t be scared, child,” said the strange lady, smiling down at her.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I’m…” The lady frowned. “Who are you?”
“Nadi,” she said.
“Ruhildi’s daughter? But you’re…” The lady swallowed hard.
Nadi shivered. Something told her she wouldn’t like what the lady were about to say. Best not think about that.
“Where are we, exactly?” asked the lady.
“Home,” said Nadi.
“And where is home?”
Nadi pouted. “Spindle, silly.”
“You live in Spindle?”
“Where else would I live?” Nadi raised her little copper wand. There were no arlium at its tip, but she liked to pretend there were. One day, she’d get a real wand. “When I grow up, I’m going to be a shaper, just like Mam and Grandpap.”
’Twere then that the armoured big’un who had been chasing her came rattling down the corridor, breathing hard. Choosing the lesser of two scaries, Nadi darted behind the lady’s legs.
“Don’t tell him I’m here!” she pleaded.
“You seen a little’un come by, lass?” wheezed the big’un as he drew close.
“Why?” asked the lady, raising her eyebrows. “What’d…he or she do?”
“That little scamp Nadi snuck into the humping chamb—I mean the Solemnity of Stone. Scratched the words ’Nadi were made here’ on the highest pillar.”
A smirk crossed the lady’s lips. “Could’ve been a different Nadi.”
“There’s only one Nadi, thank the forefathers,” said the big’un. “So did you see her?”
“Oh! Yeah, she went that-a-way.” The lady pointed to a side corridor.
Tipping his helmet at her, the shield-bearer ran off in the direction she pointed.
Nadi threw her arms around the lady’s legs, hugging her tight. “You saved me, pretty lady!”
“Oh, I’ve graduated to pretty now, have I?” The lady beamed at her, and in that moment, she were indeed the prettiest lady Nadi had ever looked upon.
“You can come to my secret place,” said Nadi, taking the lady by the hand. ’Twere a generous offer. She’d never showed anyone her secret place afore.
She led the lady into a large storage chamber, stacked high with tools and supplies. They squeezed behind a shelf and into the hidden crevice, where water always drip-drip-dripped down the whistling hole. Dashing inside, Nadi drew up short with a startled gasp.
Standing afore her, with hands on hips, were her mam. Ruhi’s face were creased in a scowl. “Nadelone! You’ve some explaining to do, young lassie!”
Frantically, she looked to the pretty lady for help, but the lady were nowhere to be found. Swallowing, she turned to face her mam’s baleful glare.
One tearful apology later, her mam snatched the wand from her fingers and hauled her out into the corridor. There, she laid down her punishment: “No minor magic for thirty bells.”
“Aw Maaam, you’re such a meanie!” wailed Nadi.
“Forty bells, and not a moment sooner.”
“What?” screeched Nadi. “You said thirty!”
“Fifty bells.”
“Maaaam…”
A chill passed over her. She glanced fearfully at the mist roiling at the end of the corridor. Her mam saw it too. Drawing in a sharp breath, she took Nadi by the hand and ran the other way. Out of the mist floated a pale figure with a face like smooth, white marble.
They kept running, until they were both gasping for breath, and a river of tears were streaking down Nadi’s cheeks. Her mam’s hand slipped free from her wrist, and she fell on her face.
When she lifted her head, she were in a different place, at a different time. She sat on the floor with a bunch of fidgeting little’uns, listening to Bulgort the Scribe prattle on about dusty old dwarrows from a time long gone. A history lesson. Boooring.
There came a scratching at the wall, then a thump, and a horrible gurgling scream. Bulgort stopped prattling and rose to his feet. He went to the door, opened it—and fell back in a spray of crimson.
Into the room stepped a big’un in a dark cloak, holding a long, thick blade that drip-drip-dripped onto the standing stones. He were tall—taller than most any dwarrow—but heavy too, with arms like tree trunks. The skin of his hands were green with gold flecks. If he were to lift his hood, she kenned she’d see a pair of leaf-shaped ears.
Little’uns shrieked and scattered, while Nadi stood on trembling legs. She raised her toy wand in shaking fingers.
In the corner of the room, the lady stood, meeting her gaze with glistening eyes.
The blade came down, hard and cold. So very cold.
Crimson smeared the walls and furniture. Strewn across the broken stone they lay, scattered and broken; one larger, bearded form by the door, the others much smaller. She had eyes for only for the smallest. In the centre of the chamber, a crumpled dress; a toy wand resting near bloody fingertips.
A thin, keening wail echoed inside her head.
Her daughter’s face, pale and still. Tiny arms limp. Legs buckled behind her. Sweet, mischievous little Nadi. Her light extinguished.
Her world ended.
She were on the cold stone, cupping the torn body in her arms. Her body shook, but she couldn’t even find the will to cry.
Soft arms slid around her. Warm, familiar arms.
The one who held her were weeping enough for the both of them. Great wracking, shuddering sobs. Tears drenched her bloody tunic as a face buried itself in her shoulder. Why were she crying? ’Tweren’t Frey’s daughter who had…
It didn’t matter. Her friend were here for her. She gripped the arms tightly in her own, and they lay that way until they both stopped trembling.
“Ruhi,” murmured Freygi, resting her head against her shoulder. “My sweet Ruhi. ’Tisn’t fair that you suffered so, for so, so long. I wish I could be there to ease your pain.”
“What are you talking about, Frey?” said Ruhildi. “You’re here right now.”
“No, Ruhi, I amn’t,” said Freygi. “I were never there when you needed me. Some friend I turned out to be. But you have new friends now. You’ll be alright. Tell my lunkhead of a spanmate that I…no. He already kens. Tell him…when the time comes, I’ll be cheering for you both.”
Ruhildi rolled over to face her friend. “Tell him yourself, Frey. I…”
’Tweren’t Freygi lying beside her. ’Twere another familiar face. Familiar and yet…fair odd. She were small—so much smaller than she should be. Her skin were smooth and soft. No claws. Where were her claws?
“Sashki,” said Ruhildi, looking over her friend as they both rose up off the floor. “You’re…not much taller than me now.”
Sashki sniffed and wiped her eyes. Her eyes, so different from what she kenned. Her face were different too, yet still undeniably Sashki. “This is what I looked like back home,” she said. “Minus the scars.”
Ruhildi blinked at her, still struggling to reconcile this slender almost-dwarrow with the towering trow she kenned so well. “By the forefathers, Sashki, you’ve a fair pretty face. I mean, not that you didn’t afore…” She trailed off, looking at the ground.
Her friend laughed, then blinked as new tears began to form. “She called me pretty too…”
“Who?”
Sashki looked away. “Never mind.” She tugged at Ruhildi’s arm. “We have to get out of here, before he shows up again.”
“What’s going on, Sashki?” Ruhildi stared down at the scattered bodies. Her lip quivered. “This happened a long time ago.”
Mist gathered at the doorway. The icy pit in her stomach hardened.
Cupping Ruhildi's face between her hands, Sashki spoke in urgent tones. “Listen to me carefully. We’re in your dream. Abellion’s attacking your mind, just as he did to me back in the Dead Sanctum. We have to leave, right now. You need to find your place of power—the place where he can’t touch you.”
Ruhildi looked down. A bloody knife rested in her hand. A shadow loomed over her own; splayed fingers reaching for her head.
“Hurry, Ruhildi!” shouted Saskia. “You’re in control of this dream, not him. Get us out of here!”
Her place of power? What might that be? Willing herself to calm, she closed her eyes and tried to think of a moment when she’d felt true power.
When she opened her eyes again, they were stalking through the woods with her old crew. Beloved faces, all of them. All long dead, save Baldreg.
“The Vindicals?” said Saskia.
“Aye,” said Ruhildi. “After Nadi…they were my strength. Nothing could stop us. Nothing…”
At the edge of a coastal town whose name Ruhildi had never larned, they lured a pair of wardens away from the docks and shot them full of arrows. Calling upon a sliver of essence, she sent the corpses beneath the ground. They dashed aboard a bulbous tree-ship, cutting down another leaf-ears as they made their way into the hold. Inside, they found fistfuls of dishevelled dwarrow slaves, pressed together like spinefish in a barrel.
The leaf-ears spotted them on the way out. Two enemies became four, then ten, as the alarm sounded and wardens came running from all sides.
By the time ’twere over, the slaves were free, and singing their praises. The town were burning. Leaf-ears stained the forest floor with their life’s blood. Among the bodies lay a young lad with an axe in his back.
“We did this,” whispered Ruhildi. She stared down at the blood-slicked blade in her hand.
A shadow passed overhead. Sashki's eyes jerked skyward, and Ruhildi followed her gaze. Through a hole in the canopy, she saw him. And he saw her; a pale figure, tall as a spur, reaching down through the white mist.
Prising the knife from her fingers, Sashki flicked it away. “Snap out of it, Ruhildi! This clearly isn’t your place of power.”
Another day. Another liberation. This one weren’t going so well. They were running through a small gully with a pinch of slaves they’d freed; a horde of angry leaf-ears on their heels. Ruhildi were limping badly with a bone-deep gash across her thigh. Her thoughts became as morning mist as the passion of the moment took hold of her.
“Go,” she said to the last of her beloved Vindicals. “Take the freed folk, and go. I’ll hold them off as best I can.”
“I can’t just abandon you here!” protested Baldreg.
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Ruhildi took his hand as they ran. “Go. ’Tis an order. I ken how bad you are at following orders, but this one time…”
She pressed her forehead against his, and in that moment, though it would have been the death of them both right then and there, she longed to kiss him—to flick her tongue between his lips, the way he’d once tried to do to her. All she’d given him in return that day were a swift punch in the belly. Why had she turned him away back then? Baldreg were nothing like Luchom, the bollocking arse whom she’d first taken for spanmate—who had stayed by her side just long enough to sire Nadi, then slunk off with the tunnel raiders and gotten himself killed. Baldreg were thoughtful and sweet and funny when he had mind to be, and…bollocks! She couldn’t let herself be distracted right now.
“Live,” she insisted. “For me. Lead these people home. And bring word to my pap. He’ll see to it that we’re avenged.”
“I can’t leave you,” he whispered.
“You can,” she said, shoving him forward with gentle firmness. “It’ll be alright. I get to see her again in the Halls Beyond.”
Tears ran down Baldreg’s face as he turned from her and led the freed folk through the gully.
Ruhildi spun about, raising her wand. She took a deep, steadying breath, planted her feet wide, and brought the hillside down upon the charging leaf-ears—and herself.
The moments that followed were a maelstrom of falling rocks and snapping bones and dull, crushing pain. Then she were looking down over the buried gully from atop the hillside. She noted with some satisfaction that not a single pursuing alvar had escaped the landslide.
“Am I dead?” she wondered aloud.
“Clearly not,” said the lady standing by her side.
“Sashki!” Ruhildi starting in surprise. Then she remembered. This weren’t happening to her now. ’Twere but a memory. A dream.
“I never did larn how I survived the landslide,” she said.
“Well maybe you will now,” said Sashki.
“How? If this is a but a dream…”
Sashki smiled at her. “Oracle, remember?”
Ruhildi frowned. “But this is my dream, not yours.”
“Look, I don’t actually know how this works, okay? Just go with it.”
They watched as another group of leaf-ears arrived and began to pick through the fallen rocks, finding several battered corpses. Someone ran off, and returned with a pair of wand-toting alvessi.
Sashki squinted, then her eyes grew wide. She pointed at the younger of the two: a dark-haired lass, fair gorgeous by the standards of her people. “That’s Nuille! Garrain’s lifemate. Her hair is different, but I’m sure it’s her.”
The two healers—tenders, they called them—stalked across the rocks, eyes downcast. Then Nuille cried out, pulling a limp, bloody body free from the debris.
Ruhildi’s body.
The second alvesse came up beside Nuille. “A dwarrow?” she muttered, casting her gaze skyward. “Why’d she have to be the one to live?”
Nuille pressed her wand to Ruhildi’s forehead. The wand shone brighter.
“What are you doing?” shouted her partner.
“What the fuck’s it look like I’m doing?” snapped Nuille, not taking her eyes from the dwarrow. “Healing her, obviously.”
“Watch your tongue, fledgling!” hissed the older alvessi. “And stop that at once! She may be the one who killed them all!”
“Fuck that,” said Nuille. “We’re tenders. It’s not our place to withhold healing from one who needs it. You taught me that, Mistress Tienne.”
“She won’t thank you,” said Tienne. “A life of slavery and hardship awaits her.”
“That’s also not for us to decide,” said Nuille.
Mist seeped in from the corners of the forest, and the air grew chill. Pale fingers reached down toward Ruhildi’s body, which were just beginning to stir under the alvesse’s ministrations.
“Time for us to skedaddle,” said Sashki.
Ruhildi were still reeling at her discovery that this alvesse, Nuille, had taken it upon herself to heal her. There were many years when Tienne would have been right. Ruhildi wouldn’t have thanked her. But now…
Spindly fingers closed around the prostrate dwarrow’s head.
Pain erupted in her forehead. Her nose began to drip. She dabbed at it, and her hand came back dotted in crimson.
“Ruhildi!” shouted Saskia, reaching for her.
She closed her eyes, willed herself to calmness and…
They were in an underground chamber, filled with ragged, dirty dwarrows pounding on anvils and stoking furnaces. Each of them had a tattoo on his face; the same symbol that marked Ruhildi's own cheek. She kenned these dwarrows well—not as well as the Vindicals—but she counted them as friends. They too had perished for her.
A slender figure loomed, and for a moment she mistook him for the ethereal visage of the tyrant. But no. It were a robed leaf-ears with a wand in his hand and a sneer on his face. A hated sneer she kenned all too well.
Ifilwen grabbed Ruhildi by the arm and yanked her away.
Snarling, Sashki sprang forward, smashing her fist into the forge master’s face, afore planting a knee in his crotch. He doubled over on the floor, clutching his groin.
“If only I could have been here to do this in the real world,” said Sashki. “What the hell, Ruhildi? Why are we here?”
“I had a kind of power here.” Ruhildi looked at Ifilwen, groaning on the floor. “Power over him. I…weren’t completely honest with you when I told you about the forge master. ’Twere him that did this to me.” She patted her chest. “But I were the one who implanted the idea. I were the one who showed him how. Made him want to do it. Such a pathetic, broken creature he were, by the end. The only thing I didn’t anticipate were my friends; my fellow slaves. If they’d just waited just a wee bit longer…”
Bodies littered the floor; mangled, barely recognisable heaps of flesh and broken bone. Ruhildi’s gaze flicked between the corpses of her friends and the knife in her hand. It would be so easy…
Pale fingers probed at the sides of her head. Blood began to ooze from her eyes and ears and nose.
“This isn’t working!” cried Sashki, taking her by the hand and dragging her away. They ran up a winding ramp and out into the light. She found herself staring into her friend’s eyes. “Ruhildi, please keep fighting. Do it for me, and for yourself. You can beat this frocker! I know it can be done, because I did it. You just have to believe that. Truly believe it. And take us to a place where he has no power over you.”
Ruhildi stared back at her for a long moment as an idea formed in her mind. She nodded. “I ken my true place of power.”
They sat in the mouth of a cave, looking out over a snow-covered mountain valley. Glancing up at her friend, she saw that she were once again a trow, though no less beautiful to Ruhildi’s eyes, even if the trow herself didn’t ken it.
“Ruhildi, you can’t be serious,” said Sashki. “Here is where you were at your most vulnerable. You almost died.”
“Not the place. The person.” Ruhildi met her gaze. “You, Sashki. My place of power is by your side.”
Saskia made a ridiculous face. “If you try to tell me we’re gonna use the power of friendship to defeat a god, I might just have to throw up.”
“Oh this is getting good,” said a voice behind them.
They both jumped to their feet and whirled to face the speaker. A dark-eyed dwarrow sat on a rock, munching on a striped paper box of white, crunchy kernels. He grinned at them.
Sashki let out an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes at him. “Took you long enough to show up.”
“Who is this, Sashki?”
“This…” Her friend gestured. “This is my father. His annoying ghost, at least. Though apparently the real Calburn is still alive somewhere out there, in another world. It’s complicated.”
Ruhildi’s eyes went as wide as a nightscreecher’s. “Calburn…the demon king.” Her knees threatened to buckle beneath her. After meeting Sashki, she’d ceased to think of him as an object of worship. But to actually meet this creature of legend…
Old beliefs were not so easily dispelled.
“Oh yeah, quail before me, flatlander,” said Calburn. “I love it when they do that.”
“If you’re just going to be a donkhole, you can just bog right off,” said Sashki.
Abruptly, his expression turned serious. “The dwarrow has the right of it. You are her source of power. At least you could be.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Sashki.
He grinned. “If she were to become your vassal…”
Sashki frowned. “My what?”
“Your vassal,” said Calburn. “It’s like the bond you share with the greenhand, only this one would be stronger, because it would be forged with her consent. Assuming she gives her consent, of course. Also, two foci are better than one, right?”
“Wait, Garrain is my vassal?” Sashki looked horrified, as well she should.
“Yeah,” said the demon king. “By some definitions.”
“So what does that even mean, in practical terms?” asked Sashki.
Calburn sighed. “There isn’t time for the full lecture, but the gist of it is: the natives of this world get their power from the world tree. Your vassals get their power from you.”
“What, really?” Sashki’s eyebrows rose. “Where do I get my power from then? This oracle thingie has to come from the world tree, right?”
“In the beginning, yeah,” said the demon king. “Now? Not so much. From the moment you absorbed arlium into your body, you’ve been forming your own parallel system, inspired by the world tree, but…unique. It’s a power unto itself. One that will only get stronger over time.”
“I want to be your vassal, Sashki,” said Ruhildi. She needed no time to consider it. ’Tweren’t like her friend were ever going to make her do something against her will.
“Are you sure?” Sashki looked at her with doubt-clouded eyes. “We don’t even know—”
“The alternative is Abellion slowly devours her brain,” said Calburn.
Sashki stared at him. “Nope. Nope nope nope. Okay, so how do we do this?”
“It’s not so much a matter of how as it is where,” said the demon king. He waggled his eyebrows.
Ruhildi stood on a mountainside, gazing up at the beating wings of a great dracken. The beast gazed down at her with eyes like twin suns, searing into her core. Those eyes weren’t the eyes of her friend, but at the same time, she kenned Sashki were in there somewhere.
The focus in her chest grew hot and bright, lighting her flesh from within.
The dracken landed atop the swaying peak, lowering its neck in clear invitation. Grabbing hold of vine-covered spurs, she hoisted herself up, just as the great beast leapt skyward.
Far below, the tyrant let out a roar of impotent rage, and collapsed into a spreading pool of white mist.
She soared lazily around the deep place, wings undulating in the warm currents. A tiny dwarf sat astride her back, eyes bulging as she looked wildly from side to side.
“I thought you said this place is metaphorical,” said Saskia.
“It is,” said Calburn. “Your friend is seeing something quite different from what you’re seeing.”
“Oh. Right. The dragon.”
“It’s not important,” said Calburn. “She probably won’t even remember this part.”
“So how do I—”
“It’s already happening. Look.”
Sure enough, one of the tentacle-vines was worming its way toward her friend. She watched in fascinated horror as the tip of the vine plunged into the back of Ruhildi’s neck, waggling from side to side, plunging deeper and deeper into her flesh. The two began to fuse, until it was hard to tell where the dwarf ended and the tentacle began. The dwarf’s eyes rolled back in her head, and she drifted free, floating on the end of the bizarre tether. Her flesh began to glow steadily brighter, until it almost matched the intensity of Saskia’s doppelgängers, still bobbing at the ends of their own vines.
“Very good,” said Calburn. “Now it’s time for you to wake up. There’s a Chosen out there who’s in dire need of some death therapy. To that end, tell your little friend I sent her a gift. She can thank me later.”
Blinking, she took in the sight of Ruhildi’s face, smiling back at her.
“You’re awake!” Saskia tried to hug her friend, before hastily pulling back. Oh yeah. Troll. Wouldn’t want to crush the poor dwarf. “So did it work? Are you my…vassal?”
“You tell me, Sashki. I feel…fair odd.” Ruhildi rubbed at her temple.
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
That had been one of the weirdest dreams she’d ever had. On some level, she’d been Nadi and Ruhildi and herself, all at the same time. And now she felt like she knew her friend in ways she’d never known her before. Knew her thoughts, her secrets, her desires, her pain—so much pain. It would take some getting used to.
She’d been asleep less than half a day, according to her oracle clock. Just a little snooze compared to her three-day dream battle with Abellion back in the Dead Sanctum. It could have been much worse, but she shuddered to think what might have happened in the hours since she abandoned everyone at Spindle.
“We have to go,” she told Ruhildi. “I’ll explain what happened on the way, but our friends need us. This city needs us.”
Something skittered forth from Ruhildi’s satchel and stood waggling its tiny white legs in the air.
Saskia scrambled away from the bone spider. “Ruhildi, now isn’t the time for games! I’m sorry, but we have to move!”
“I didn’t do that, Sashki!” said Ruhildi, her eyes wide. “’Tis no spell of mine making it move about like that.”
As Saskia stared at the dancing spider, a thought occurred to her. “Calburn said he sent you a gift. Maybe that’s what he meant?”
“Mayhap,” said Ruhildi, frowning. “I don’t ken its purpose though.”
“Well don’t look at me,” said Saskia. “He’s probably just messing with you. Anyhow, get that thing under control, however you can, or we’ll have to leave it behind.”
The dwarf’s eyes closed in concentration. A tiny surge of heat flowed through Saskia’s body. The bone spider lifted off the ground, legs flailing wildly.
“I don’t think it likes that very much,” said Saskia.
Ruhildi lowered the spider into her satchel and held it shut.
Saskia let out a breath, feeling the trickle of essence subside. “Fantabulous. I am now officially…your mana battery. Now up you get.” She crouched low so her friend could climb aboard.
“By the forefathers, Sashki!” said Ruhildi. “You’ve a forest of arrows in your back!”
“Oh yeah,” said Saskia, wincing as her friend began to pluck them out. “Forgot about those.”
As they made their way through the crypts, Saskia found a second little mirror on her interface and used it to leap into Ruhildi’s head for a moment—just long enough to bring up her minimap.
Ruhildi flinched in the harness. “Dracken’s breath! What the shite was that?”
Saskia chuckled. “Don’t worry. You’re not going crazy. You just saw what I can see. Oracle stuff. That one was a map of the area around us.”
After a long moment, her friend said, “Bring it back. I want to see.”
“Okay,” said Saskia. “But you need to keep your eyes fixed on where we’re going, or I might run into a wall.”
No sooner had she enabled the minimap than blue dots sprang into being all across the crypts. At the same time, she watched through Ruhildi’s eyes as skeletons began to crawl from the nearby alcoves, flexing bony limbs.
“I thought you could only raise corpses you can see,” said Saskia.
“Not any more,” said Ruhildi. “With this map to guide me, and with the expansion nodes extending my reach, I can command the dead from afar. We can take back this city quick as a sneeze.”
Wow, it took her, what, ten seconds to work out how to do that?
“Uh, let’s not be too hasty,” said Saskia. “There’s still a limit to how many you can control at once. Probably. And I have an…overheating problem.”
Actually, it might not be as big of a problem as she thought. An army this large took an awful lot of essence, which should be generating a lot of heat inside her. But she was barely breaking a sweat right now. The heat was far less intense than she’d come to expect after watching Garrain’s spellcasting. Maybe controlling the undead was more efficient than druiding. Maybe Ruhildi’s separate focus made it easier. Or maybe the additional arlium she’d absorbed over the past few days had given her a bigger reservoir. Whatever the case, she wasn’t going to catch on fire just yet.
Next, there came the difficult task of telling her friend what had happened outside Spindle. And about her father.
“Och,” said Ruhildi in a low voice. “Well at least ’twere quick. And he died a hero.” Blinking rapidly, she looked at the floor and snorted. “Now he’ll get his own statue.”
“If there’s anyone left to build it,” said Saskia with a sigh.
They emerged into smoke-shrouded streets, lit by the morning sun. Fires still raged across the city. A series of loud cracks punctuated the silence, followed by distant shouting.
Somewhere high up in the column of Spindle, a battle raged. She could only hope they wouldn’t get there too late.