“Yeah, Gyre,” Kit said. “Of course Naumoriel has accounted for our needs. Let’s go.”
Gyre shot her a look, and she smirked. Under Elariel’s wide-eyed gaze, he didn’t want to say anything further, so he merely fell in behind the two of them. They followed another identical-looking passage back to the large tunnel, where the rest of the expedition was waiting.
There were the now-familiar soldier-constructs, a double rank of them, twenty in all. Another five larger versions, still humanoid but at least two and a half meters tall, and a pair of what Gyre guessed were cargo haulers, flat platforms with legs not unlike the carriage they’d ridden. Largest of all, though, was a thing like an enormous spider-crab, eight-legged, with two large, clawed arms and two smaller limbs curled in close to its ovoid body. It was easily twice Gyre’s height, and the egg-shaped central core of it was bigger than he was. The reason for this became clear a moment later, when the top of the egg, made of smooth, dark stuff like smoked glass, hinged upward. Naumoriel sat cocooned in the thing, resting in a padded chair, banks of crystalline, incomprehensible controls all around him.
The monstrous thing was like his chair, Gyre realized, only on a massive scale. Built for war, he decided, looking at the gleaming, razor-sharp claws of the large arms. So who are we going to be fighting?
“Everything is prepared,” the old ghoul said. “Humans, are you fit to play your part?”
“You haven’t told us what our part is,” Gyre said.
“You have proven to be skilled and resourceful,” Naumoriel said. “Our destination is a valley deep in the Shattered Peaks, known only to a few. We will certainly encounter the creatures you call plaguespawn. And, given your earlier failure, it is just possible that the Twilight Order will attempt to interfere as well. You will assist in the event of either contingency.”
“Sounds great,” Kit said. “Let’s get to it.”
What is she playing at? Gyre tried to catch Kit’s eye, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. He hesitated, then nodded his assent. It’s not as though I have much of a choice.
“Elariel,” the old ghoul said. “You understand your duty.”
She inclined her head. “I do.”
“Then take care of my city,” Naumoriel said. “Until I … return.”
The canopy of his massive construct swung closed. At some silent command, the soldier-constructs started their march, with the others following behind in perfect time.
“I wish you good luck,” Elariel said. She hesitated, ears drooping, then turned away.
*
For most of a day, they followed a curving tunnel, walking in near-total darkness. It was enough to make Gyre miss the carriage-construct. Eventually, their path turned upward, and after a leg-cramping hour or two, they reached a set of massive doors. These slid open at Naumoriel’s approach, letting in late afternoon sunlight.
They emerged onto the side of a mountain, sloping down to a narrow river valley. Scrub grass clung in patches to a rocky landscape, but at least they were well below the snow line. The door ground closed behind them, outward surface worked to resemble the stone all around it.
“Do you have any idea where we are?” Gyre said to Kit, looking up at the unfamiliar peaks all around them.
“Nope!” she said cheerfully. “Does it matter?”
“Not really, I suppose.” He raised his voice. “How far are we going?”
Naumoriel’s voice, slightly distorted, echoed from his towering construct. “Four days’ walk, given your human frailties. We follow this valley until it meets up with another, then turn upstream and follow the river to its source.” His construct extended a leg, testing the slope, then started its smooth glide forward. “Come. It will be safer to travel by day.”
Why? Gyre wondered as they tramped along in the huge thing’s wake. What could he be worried about? He was hard-pressed to imagine a plaguespawn big enough to challenge even one of the ghoul constructs, let alone a whole squadron of them. And he couldn’t see any signs of habitation in this valley, human or otherwise.
They stopped by the side of the stream as twilight was fading from the sky. Naumoriel’s construct planted itself next to the water, along with the two cargo carriers, while the rest fanned out to man a wide perimeter. It certainly beats a few trip wires. To his surprise, Naumoriel’s construct opened up, and its two smaller arms reached down with many-tentacled grips to lift the old ghoul out and deposit him gently on the sandy riverbank.
“I thought you’d be spending the night in that thing,” Kit said.
“I will,” Naumoriel said. His huge eyes scanned the darkness, ears erect and searching. “But it has been a long time since I was aboveground. I find that I desire … reflection.”
“Fair enough.” Kit looked back at Gyre. “Shall we see what Elariel packed us to eat?”
She’s up to something. He watched Kit suspiciously as she rummaged through the strapped-down packages on the cargo constructs. But what is it? With Naumoriel sitting a few feet away, he could hardly ask. Instead, he helped her inventory the supplies. The old ghoul had to instruct them which of the several tightly wrapped bundles was food—it turned out to be boxes of small dried pellets, which according to Naumoriel were some sort of nutritious fungus. Adding water made them balloon to the size of small oranges, and they had a salty flavor and a slightly slimy texture a bit like raw fish. All in all, Gyre concluded, he’d eaten worse, though he imagined a steady diet of the things would get old.
Naumoriel ate a few of the fungus balls and drank from a bulky canteen. He trailed his fingertips in the water of the stream, letting his claws carve lines in the flowing water. Gyre had never seen him in such a contemplative mood, and he decided to take advantage of it, while Kit rummaged to see what sort of sleeping arrangements the ghouls had provided.
“May I ask you something?” Gyre said politely.
“I suppose,” Naumoriel said.
“Elariel. You two seem … close. Is she your daughter?”
“Daughter?” The old ghoul’s lips spread in a toothy grin, and his ears twitched. “She is family, but my daughters are all long dead. You would say she is my great-granddaughter.”
“Great—” Gyre raised his eyebrow. “I see.”
“You wish to ask how old I am,” Naumoriel said.
“Honestly I don’t have any idea how long ghouls live,” Gyre said. “You look older than Elariel, is the best I could manage.”
“I doubt Elariel has many more years than you do,” Naumoriel said. “Whereas I was born … I suppose our calendar would mean little to you. It was the eighth year before the war began.”
Before the war? That made Naumoriel over four hundred years old. “Then you remember the war. The Chosen.”
“Of course I remember.” The ghoul’s eyes narrowed. “I was a child, but I remember. The sun-lovers chased us from their world, this world, above the earth, but that wasn’t enough for them. They cracked our mountains like eggs to get to us. The tunnels flowed with their fire. They sent your kind, their slaves, to root us out. However many we slaughtered, there were always more.” He stared, unseeing, into the darkness. “I remember moving from one city to another, always just ahead of the fire. Knowing that all who hadn’t fled in time, everyone we’d left behind, had perished at the hands of the Chosen.”