“Bring me the Abyssal Lance.”

“This isn’t good,” Linsha muttered beside Sir Hugh. She scanned the blackness on both sides and saw nothing. “This reminds me too much of the ambush when Sir Morrec was killed. All we need is the rain.” A cold, queasy feeling settled into her stomach at the memory of that night. She never wanted to repeat it in any manner.

“Are you thinking they will ambush us?” Hugh asked in a voice just above a whisper, while keeping his eyes on the draft horses pulling the wagon.

Although the fog, the late hour, and the fire in the warehouse district had served to cloak their escape, the Tarmaks were not completely lax. Several patrols had already attacked, and they had been forced to slow down and fight their way through the dark streets. They had finally entered the ruins of the North District where many of the streets and buildings had never been rebuilt and the old city wall still lay in ruinous disrepair. There were no lights in this part of the city, no torches or lamps or fires, only eerie shadows and the fogbound darkness of night. The wagon and its escort had to slow down even more to avoid injury to the horses. There was only one road that had been repaved and repaired to serve as a highway out of the city, but it was difficult to follow in the mist, and to either side lay treacherous sunken holes, half-buried foundations, and heaps of rubble.

“It’s possible,” Linsha replied. “There are surely warriors by the wall, even if the wall isn’t complete. The Tarmaks are fanatical about setting guards and keeping watch. They would have heard the warning horns, and they know this is one of the few roads out of the city.”

“They can see the glow from the fire, too. Maybe they’ll think that’s the problem?”

Linsha continued to peer into the darkness. “It’s too bad Varia went to find Falaius.”

Sir Hugh looked up. “Is Crucible still flying up there?”

“I don’t know where he is.”

They rode on in tense silence, listening to the moans of the wounded in the wagon behind them and the clatter of hooves on the old road around them. The thick mist began to settle in a light drizzle that quickly soaked clothes and chilled the skin.

Linsha, Crucible’s warning spoke in her mind. There are Tarmaks ahead. Stop where you are.

“Stop the wagon,” Linsha ordered. “Everyone stop. Now!”

The wagon and the riders drew to a nervous halt. “What is the problem?” asked the eldest elf from the back of his small horse.

A gust of wind blew over them and they caught a glimpse of a large, winged shape flying in the mist overhead.

“Crucible sees something in front of us,” Linsha replied in a hushed voice. “Since they’re not too close, he can deal with them.”

They waited, not daring to move or even breathe too loudly in the dense blackness.

A horn blew one single note before it was cut short by an intensely white beam of light that shot through the clouds and mist somewhere on the road ahead. There were muffled shouts and sounds of confusion. A second beam seared from the sky to the ground, creating more chaos.

Crucible called to Linsha again. Go, now, while the Tarmaks are disorganized. There is only so much I can do while I’m carrying the eggs.

Linsha gave the order, and the troop started out once more. They urged the horses into a canter in spite of the road and hurried as fast as they could through the ruins. They reached a curve, followed it around, and there in front of them was the smoking ruins of a Tarmak patrol. A few bodies lay sprawled on the ground, and the two large wagons that had been used to block the road burned furiously. The troop pushed on without a second glance. A stray arrow flew at them from the scattered Tarmaks in the ruins, but that was all. There was no sound of pursuit from behind.

The foundations of the old wall appeared before them, and they saw a crude stone gate, a watchtower, and a small group of sentries who raised their bows and drew the strings to their cheeks. Then the tower, the sentries, and a section of the wall vanished in a bright explosion of fiery light and thunder. Smoke billowed up into the mist.

Linsha blinked in the sudden light, and when she could see again, the portion of the wall was a smoking ruin.

“He is very useful to have around,” Sir Hugh said, “Now that he can fly again. I take this to mean you got that bolt out of his back.”

“Yes,” Linsha said, as they drove past the wall. “With a little help from the Grandfather Tree.”

“When will he leave for Sanction?”

Although his comments sounded terse to her, from what she could see of his face in the dark, he looked cold and fatigued. She reflected for a moment about his words and what he was not saying. “Are you angry about the Scorpion Wadi? You were there, weren’t you? We thought for a while you had been killed.”

“Fellion, I, and a little girl were the only ones who survived the massacre and the capture.” He hunched forward over the reins and glared at the night. “He should never have left, Linsha. No city is worth that many deaths.”

“No, it’s not. But he’s not clairvoyant, Hugh. He never thought the Tarmaks would do that. None of us did. His first loyalty was to another city that needed him, a city he called his home. So he left, thinking we would be all right for a while.”

“And what about now? Is he going to dump those eggs somewhere and leave again?” He stopped and listened to his own question. Eventually he wiped his damp face with his sleeve, and sighed. “Could I sound any more petulant?”

She smiled at him in the dark, relieved by his change of mood. He really was exhausted. “You could add a little more whine.”

He coughed hard but managed a smile. “You will have to tell me what has happened to you-and to him.” His voice dropped into sadness. “And what happened to Mariana.”

“I will tell you everything when we have a few hours of peace. For now, we need to put as much distance between us and that city as possible. If Lanther really is here now, he will be after us with all the warriors at his command.”

“Lanther,” he said. “The traitor. I can still hardly believe it.”

Linsha did not reply. Her shock at Lanther’s betrayal had worn off the past months, mostly because of her constant proximity to him and the Tarmak people. But what had not worn off was the hurt and the outrage that he had so thoroughly deceived her to the detriment of everything she held dear in the Missing City. Crucible had deceived her about his identity, too, but whereas he had hidden his human shape out of the mistaken concern that she would hate him for his lie, Lanther had hidden his monstrous self in the desire to harm. She could forgive Crucible. She would never forgive Lanther.

She glanced back into the wagon bed and saw Callista wrapping a crude bandage around a man’s slashed leg. The other wounded men were either unconscious or groaning on their rough pallets. The wagon jostled them over the rough road, but no one complained.

They continued their journey through the night, taking a northerly course along the old rutted road that wound its way through the Rough, the rocky, scrubby grasslands on the outskirts of the city. A few miles beyond the end of the Rough, the road broke into a path that forked east and west. The company came to a halt, and some distance away Crucible flapped down to lay the net of eggs on the ground. He landed heavily beside them and tucked his wings against his sides. The weary riders dismounted to give their horses a rest.

Callista earned the gratitude of one and all by revealing a supply of water, trail food, and a bottle of homemade blackberry brandy that Mae had left for them in the wagon.

They passed the bottle around to salute their escape and the liberation of the eggs.