Rashana collapsed into the mouth of the cave, too exhausted to reshape her body. The tempest had roared with so much force that she’d had to drain nearly the entire energy reserves in order to survive the hail and shearing force of the winds. The metal of her shell had stretched as thin as she could flatten it, just to cover the cave’s opening, but it had made the metal too fragile to withstand the pounding of hail, so she’d been forced to imbue it with extra energy to hold off the raging storm.

Telyim kicked against her ropes, shimmying farther into the cave. “What is this sorcery? Keep the metal demon away from me.”

“I just don’t have the energy to eat you,” Rashana said. She’d meant it as a joke, but the words hung in the air. Jarkoda frowned at her. She’d need to recharge again soon, or else she would power down, and he’d guessed that Telyim was the easiest target to drain if they needed to re-energize Rashana before another fight.

Rashana gathered herself off the floor and reknit her body to appear more human. “Don’t worry. I’ll only take what I’m given.”

“Thank you,” Jarkoda said, inclining his massive, scaled head toward her. “For saving us, and for your restraint. I will lend you what strength I can.”

“Not a drop from me, mini-Chancellor,” Gruvrik grumbled, but he winked at her.

For the first time, she envied mages. They could project power out from their bodies and manipulate the very nature of reality. She could only stretch and morph her own being. She was a good melee weapon, but that didn’t make her much different from a halberd or morning star, and that was less flattering than she’d like to think. Mages didn’t fall prey to the temptation to steal life force, either, because they were human.

Rashana was simply an executioner’s blade.

She pressed against the far wall of the cave, away from Telyim’s terrified, accusing stare, but she breathed in a small stream of life force that Jarkoda radiated toward her. “We should get moving while there’s a lull in the storm. No saying how long we’ll have traveling weather.”

Gruvrik popped up and trotted outside the cave. He stopped and let out a low whistle at the devastation the hail had wrought. “I haven’t seen the ground torn up like this since I threw a tantrum as a wee baby when my mum wouldn’t give me ale for breakfast. I broke my toe kicking down stalagmites in our cavern. Got a paddling afterward like you wouldn’t believe!”

Maeda shuffled after him, much improved in her recovery from the poison after sleeping in the cave. “Must have been some woman to paddle you. Me, I wouldn’t want to get that close to your backside.” She pinched her nose and waved her hand in exaggerated motion.

Gruvrik flicked a pebble at her and ran off chortling. He soon dashed back and scooped up his pack. “Almost forgot my moonshine still.”

Maeda threw a pebble back at the dwarf. “You brought a still?”

“Course I did. Once we take care of that storm-ball doodad, I’ll set up shop and start on my new concoction. Bridgestorm Brewery, I think I’ll call it. Nice ring, don’t you think?”

“If you keep me away from the metal demon, I’ll show you the best seaweed to use for brewing your drink,” Telyim said. She made a warding sign against Rashana.

Gruvrik spat. “Seaweed? What kind of amateur do you think I am?”

Telyim’s eyes grew cold. “As the Seer of the Eastern crèche, I’m also the brewmaster of the region. My seaweed rum is the best drink you’ll ever have, dwarf.”

“No offense, but ya ain’t exactly seen much of the world, now, have ya?” Gruvrik crooned back at her. “I’ll be happy to judge your statement, however.”

“Take me with you,” Telyim blurted out. “I’ll be disgraced forever if I’m brought back to the crèche alive after my entire squad died. If there’s a bigger world out there, like you claim, then I want to see it.”

“Sure thing,” Gruvrik said, grinning. “We’ll have Rashsana carry you on the way back.”

Maeda joined in the laughter, but Rashana pulled away from the group as they gathered up supplies and marched away from the cave, toward the command tower. She knew it was all in good fun, but the fear in Telyim’s face haunted her. Maybe it would be best to return to Indara after all. She didn’t belong in this world.

She was still indulging in a luxurious bout of self-pity when a scream filled the air, rising in a cacophony of dissonant notes and shrieks. Telyim jerked at the sound, writhing in the sling Jarkoda wore around his shoulders. “Run!”

Rashana lifted her head just in time to see a monstrous set of pincer jaws crest the rise of the gentle slope in front of them, followed by a spearhead-like face. The long teeth snapped in machine precision, and then the creature opened its maw wider than she thought possible, sucking in air into its distended body. It unleashed another banshee howl, and even from two dozen paces the breath rippled by, hot and foul. Rashana disliked the feel in her sensors.

“Run,” Telyim screamed again, panic distorting her voice.

“Squashed bigger bugs than that,” Gruvrik said, unhitching his pack. He sat, folding his hands together. “Go on. I’ll take care of this.”

Maeda hobbled away as fast as she could, her stamina still low after the brush with the poisoned throwing knife. Jarkoda shifted Telyim to one shoulder and lifted Maeda over the other, running back along the path to give Gruvrik room to fight.

Rashana hesitated. She was nearly spent already, and Jarkoda hadn’t yet had a chance to let her siphon off more energy. But as she watched Gruvrik’s eyebrows draw together and his beard shift as he muttered to himself, she got the sense that he didn’t have the strength for a full transformation. He’d had nothing to drink since the kraken, and since then he’d suffered through capture and forced marches without rations.

She merged her fingers together, forming a blade. “Save your strength, mischief maker. They will need you for the storms to come.” She sprinted past Gruvrik, toward the monster. He didn’t protest.

A dark purple light formed, spinning around the monster, ruffling its mottled patches of fur with an unseen wind. It slammed its claws into the ground and sent out a shockwave. Thick pillars of stone punched up in an irregular row from the rocky ground, knocking her into the air. It lunged forward, rows of razor teeth clicking shut on her ankle.

Rashana twisted into the air, slashing at its eye. The monster recoiled, chittering in pain, but it didn’t release its grip. She forged her other hand into a battle hammer and slammed it into the monster’s jaw. Teeth cracked and a gout of blood drenched her. She drove the blade into the wound, sending a thrust of energy into her attack. The bite broke loose.

The monster whirled as she fell, smashing her with its tail, which snapped in the air like a whip. Her body splintered and one leg hurtled away. She flipped through the sky and drilled into the ground headfirst, demolishing a rock formation in a spray of sand and dirt.

Shaking the ground with every step, the monster lurched after her, roaring a battlesong. It knocked her free with a blow that dented her chest in, nearly crushing the breastplate. Rolling and bouncing, she banged into an old tree stump and abruptly stopped, shaking her focus and sense of orientation. She dropped her arms, the weapons melting back into hand and fingers, her concentration shattered.

Rashana struggled to stand on her one remaining leg, bracing herself with the opposite arm. Dissolving the metal shell took a burst of energy, but she tried not to calculate how little she had left. She was cutting it close, but she had enough for one last attack.

The monster roared, circling her with its big, bloated body. More talons unfolded from a set of arms she hadn’t seen previously. They hovered over her, poised to strike.

Rashana launched upward, toward the most bulbous swell of its body, transforming into a long, curved blade. She pierced through its hide, through a chitinous shell, and buried herself in its heart, expanding suddenly into a wire-thin ring of death, forcing energy through her narrow, circular frame.

The carcass quivered and fell apart, sliced completely in half.

Rashana dropped to the ground, gouging the earth. She rolled like a runaway hoop at a cooper’s shop, spun on her axis, and tipped over. Energy bled out of her from a hundred leaks in the soulbond, but she felt no panic, only a steady sense of peace as she drew her metal body back into its original form.

Running feet announced the return of her friends. She sat up, tilting to the left side where her leg was missing, and waved as they approached.

“What are you?” Telyim asked, voice soft with wonder.

Rashana collapsed, the last dregs of her energy spinning out, but she managed a smile. “I am the executioner’s blade.”

=+=

Jarkoda combed through tall, yellow grass, looking for Rashana’s leg. He found the fractured bit of machinery at last, wedged between two boulders. Twice, this metal monstrosity had sacrificed her consciousness for him. Twice now, she’d risked her very existence to save not only her squadron, but also an enemy combatant. He owed her.

He yanked it free, marveling again at how heavy the metal was for its size, and picked up the little leg. Rashana was made of some material he didn’t recognize. Its toughness gave him a new appreciation for the awesome power of the monster she’d slaughtered. For all his battle training, he wouldn’t have lasted long against its fury.

“Fool little bucket of bolts,” Gruvrik muttered from the campsite. He cradled Rashana in the crook of his arm, her metal head motionless in his lap. “How did she wake up last time? We need the whole team for the final climb up that tower. My gut tells me it’s the hardest challenge yet, and no mistake.”

He fell silent, rubbing his nose and sniffing every few moments. Jarkoda let him be. Guilt had settled on him like an ill-fitting cloak. He blamed himself for not recovering enough energy to shift into a mighty beast more quickly, and nothing the others had said could assuage his sense of blame.

“We ran,” Jarkoda said, snorting steam through his nostrils. “You were the only one who was willing to stand and fight. Does that not count for something?”

Gruvrik shrugged. “I sat down, actually, but point taken. I’d still feel better if she woke up. Indara’s puppet or no, we need her out here, much as I hate to admit it.”

Jarkoda lined up the splintered bits of Rashana’s shell. He unwound the straps of leather he wore on his wrists and bound the leg and torso together, using a few relatively straight sticks to fashion a rough splint. “Gather around. We must share our blood to revive her.”

Telyim, now unbound, shuffled forward. Her face was bruised and swollen where Maeda had struck her, but her spirits had improved since he’d cut her shackles. She knelt down. “I owe her, life for life. I volunteer for sacrifice.”

Jarkoda jerked back as though struck. “A drop only! We do not steal lives.”

Telyim spared a furtive glance toward the monster. “She stole the Dhambro Shade’s life, and I’m grateful for it. I did not know that it could die.”

“You run into these critters often?” Gruvrik asked. “Seems like hunting a beast like that is an easy way to stay tough. I don’t think you need the storms to forge yourselves into steel.”

Maeda raised an eyebrow. “You’ve come a long way from wanting to gut her and dump the body.”

Gruvrik cracked the first smile Jarkoda had seen since the fight. “Well, I’ve noticed the way she admires my magnificent beard. I’ll keep her around.”

Jarkoda slid his finger along the sawtooth edge of Rashana’s broken leg, catching a barb and splitting open his skin. He squeezed the finger, inscribed a rune on her cheek with the blood that flowed out, and bowed to her still form. Gruvrik joined him, biting down on the fleshy part of his palm below the thumb until it bled. He smeared a shapeless blob on her other cheek, and motioned for Maeda and Telyim to take their turns.

The Bridge woman added her tribute, but Maeda hung back, a sickly pallor on her face. Jarkoda stepped toward her, but she flung out a hand at chest level, cutting him off. “Rashana said she gains our memories. I have things I cannot—will not—share.”

He considered for a moment, then nodded. “She would not wish to impose. Freely given, freely received. Any other way leads to corruption.”

Telyim wandered over to the monster’s remains, stepping around a puddle of its blood to poke it with a stick. “What about the Dhambo Shade? Could she feast on its energy?”

Jarkoda shook his head. “It’s not a sentient being, at least not that I can tell. She needs the soul’s life force to feed, not just blood.”

Telyim retreated, shuddering. “It is better that way. But I did not want to waste a potential gift, especially when it was so costly.”

The sat around Rashana’s body for an hour, waiting for her to rise.

“Now what?” Gruvrik finally growled, arms crossed. “Time’s wasting.”

Jarkoda gathered flame in his throat. He knelt and breathed out the fire onto a stack of grass and twigs. He’d spent the hour breathing on them with heat to dry them in preparation for a campfire, and his patience was rewarded when they kindled into a cheery blaze. “Cook dinner. Prepare for a rest. We should spend the night and recover our energy. None of us are fit for a fight, and that tower looks like a long climb.”

Gruvrik grinned. “From a baby shark to a half-grown dragon. I’ve got the worst luck in picking my leaders.”

Jarkoda bowed over his fist, accepting the honor—and burden—of leadership. “We need to ready ourselves as though the others didn’t survive the storm. I want to find them, but I’m not naive, despite my youth.”

“Ah, wise beyond your years,” Gruvrik said, elbowing him in the ribs.

Jarkoda’s ears twitched. “I try. But as I was saying, we need a plan. We can’t charge into the command center at the top of the tower and expect to simply take the Stormorb and leave.”

“Why not? That’s pretty much my plan,” Gruvrik said.

Maeda elbowed Jarkoda from the other side. “Mine, too.”

The banter continued into the evening. Jarkoda struggled to take it in stride, as befitted a dragon, but inwardly, he seethed at the lack of reverence. Couldn’t the Chancellor have chosen more serious companions? He shouldn’t have to be the voice of reason.

Night fell in earnest. He extinguished the fire and meditated before sleep, clearing out his mind and restoring order in his body. They had made good progress today and fought a terrible enemy. He couldn’t ask for much from life. His teacher had recommended him for this adventure because he’d grown discontent with the vanity of daily training, with no goal in sight. He snorted. Now he’d seen enough to last a lifetime. The quietness and consistency of training seemed like paradise. Perhaps he was just as foolish as the rest of the team, always looking for something that he didn’t yet have. For once, the thought he might be foolish was vaguely comforting. Jarkoda rested his head on his arms and slept.

=+=

The ground shook. Jarkoda sprang into a crouch, prepping fire. Waves of dark purple energy pulsed over him, tugging at his soul. He resisted the pull, but turned to measure his opponent. At the epicenter of the rolling mass, the Dhambro Shade twitched and writhed, lifting into the air on the strange currents. Its limbs straightened. The severed halves of its body reached out tiny tendrils, groping through the empty space between them. The filaments knit together, binding the monster into a grotesque, unified whole.

Telyim shrieked and ran for the tower, begging them to follow. Her words devolved into a steam of gibberish, fear ruling her mind. Maeda lurched after her; the shark seemed protective of Telyim, perhaps because she was responsible for her predicament.

"Ready to transform, dwarf?”

Gruvrik shook his head. He stuffed equipment the packs. "Right idea to run. We might make the tower before it recovers."

Jarkoda shouldered his gear, hesitating only a moment before placing Rashana in the sling. Who else would need a ride before this madness was over? They started off after Telyim, who was already disappearing from view over the next small hill. Jarkoda hooked his arm under Maeda’s shoulder and helped pull her along. It couldn’t be comfortable, but speed was mercy in this moment, not gentleness.

A wave of power nearly knocked them off their feet. Behind them rose the hideous shriek of the shade, now reconstituted from its brief brush with death. Jarkoda urged them faster, but a ripple of the bruised purple energy tunneled past him in the air, leaving behind a rancid trail of singed air. A bulky shape rampaged through the tunnel and emerged ahead of them.

The Dhambro Shade, its stitched-together carapace barely visible in the gloom, loomed up fifty paces away, on a warpath that would cut in front of the team. Telyim sank to the ground, both hands over her face.

Jarkoda set Maeda and Rashana on the ground and sprinted forward, hoisting Telyim up and running back to the other injured women. He piled them up, one in the sling, the other two over his shoulders, and cut left, hoping to lose the shade in the maze of brambles and rivulets in the rock formation. Water had flowed there once, long ago, cutting a labyrinth in the stone. They might find a place to hide.

How had he collected this little band of patients, anyway? Taras should have been here to heal them, or perhaps Rhae. He only knew how to fight.

The ground trembled as the Dhambro pounded toward them on clawed feet, tearing up a broken path of destruction. The Dhambro scythed through the underbrush with its long, powerful front talons. Brambles and twisted trees flung into the air.

Jarkoda pushed the wounded team members into a cleft in the rock and pulled a boulder in front of the crack, leaving a few fingers of airflow. “Stay still. Keep quiet.”

He sprinted off in the other direction, no longer caring about stealth. He couldn’t outpace the shade with the others in his care, but he might be able to lure the creature off if he struck out solo. Shouting, Jarkoda veered from the gully and bounded from rock to rock, fluttering his short wings to keep his balance. Ahead, a small, slag-covered hill appeared to end in an abrupt cliff. He scrambled up the slope, claws digging into the dirt as he fought to keep his footing. Maybe he could reach the top and glide to safety, at least long enough to sketch a quick plan.

A blast of acid breath tore a chunk from the red rock a few yards to the left, scoring stone with deep purple striations. The sludge sizzled and hissed. It ate into the side of the ravine and dissolved. Any contact and Jarkoda knew it would sear even his scaled skin.

Jarkoda glanced over his shoulder every few steps, beating the air with his stubby wings to lift up higher and twist around. The Dhambro Shade had already half-closed the gap between them, lurching forward on its multi-jointed, unsteady legs. It crashed through a bramble, swayed, stumbled, and managed to catch its balance, lumbering sideways. When it realized Jarkoda was almost to the top of the hill, it sucked in a breath, swelling its already bloated body, and heaved out the air in roar. The air grew solid and pushed forward from the beast in a wave of power. It rippled around Jarkoda, spinning him off course, and then exploded. The waves slammed into his eardrums, deafening him.

The sonic blast slapped him out of the sky. He crashed into a thornbush, ears ringing, and tumbled over the little spikes, tearing his tunic. A tree stump arrested his progress, knocking the air from his lungs, and spike of pain rammed through his chest, accompanied by a crack in his right side. His legs splayed and he tumbled to the ground, clutching his broken ribs.

Hot, foul air flowed over him. He pushed aside the pain and crouched, ready to run. The Dhambro Shade bunched up its long, voluminous body above him, lidless eyes burning with a pale flame. The sky darkened, stormclouds twisting down to wreathe the monster in a crown of aubergine. The shade inhaled tendrils of the dark smoke, the flickering burning brighter behind its eyes. The Dhambro erupted in a torrent of darkflame.

Jarkoda ignited his own flames, breathing out a volcano.

The fires collided in mid air, molten red and deep, sickly purple, consuming each other in a shockwave that stunned the Dhambro Shade, driving it to its knees. Jarkoda staggered, but did not fall. “I summon the fury of the dragon!”

Halfdragons lacked the awesome, destructive power of the full bloods, but Jarkoda had never believed in boundaries. He summoned fire again, but this time he held his flame inside, growing in strength until it devoured him from the inside out.

Agony lanced through him, but Jarkoda pushed on, gathering his wrath. He called on his heritage and training, twin disciplines united in hatred of evil, and just before he split in half with the strain, he felt a surge of vitality fill his body, resetting his broken bones, knitting new skin and forging new scales. He lifted off the ground, glowing with righteous anger, and unleashed the full force of his fury.

An inferno exploded outward, cleaving the Dhambro Shade’s head off its body. It writhed on the ground, its severed head crackling in the flames, body twitching and flailing with spiked limbs that would kill Jarkoda if he got too close. He pushed more fire into the body, trembling as he wrestled with the flow of power coursing through him. It burned at him, demanding freedom, threatening to unchain itself.

Jarkoda growled and bent the flames to his will. He didn’t fight the power raging inside him, seeking to burst from his control. Instead he simply commanded it to obey, and it relented under his unyielding demands, leaping out to lick up the body of the Dhambro Shade, tongues of fire lapping up the remains of the monster. Its hunger grew the more it feasted, until Jarkoda shouted and let it die out. He trembled with a desire to destroy everything in sight.

He staggered toward the scorched earth where the fiend had stood. Nothing was left of the shade, only furrowed earth and melted slag where he’d immolated the creature. He stood in the middle of the smoking rock and nodded in satisfaction. His spirit felt lighter, and this time he knew that it would not return. The stain of the abomination was gone.

Time to recover the others and continue on to the tower. They were free of the ghoulish monstrosity, but something warned him that it was only a watchdog. The storm itself would not die so easily. Jarkoda shuffled back to where he’d left the wounded, triumph buoying his steps, but he tripped and nearly fell over when he found the spot. The stone was rolled away.

The cave was empty.