24 – Back

The inside of the Convoy’s engine car hummed with enough magic to make her teeth ache, which was impressive considering she’d spent three years at the Institute.

Artificing lines covered both walls, centering on eight brilliant white orbs—the power cores. Those same markings radiated down across the car, and would have continued to the rest of the train as well had the carriage not been ripped away from the Convoy.

Otherwise, the interior of the room was rather plain. She had no doubt the engineering both physical and magical had been monumental, but all of that genius was compacted into an arrangement of glowing lines that Saffra couldn’t make heads or tails of. The language of artificing was similar to enchanting—which used the same language as spells—but decidedly not the same.

“Good gods, girl. How did you even get here?”

Saffra took a second to catch her breath, then, having been bent over with hands on her knees, straightened out.

There were two engineers: a bald one and a hairy one. The latter was short and musclebound, and the bald one was thin, tall, and wearing spectacles. She mentally nicknamed them ‘Hairy’ and ‘Glasses’, since she was too pressed for time to be making introductions.

“Convoy derailed,” Saffra said. “Um, obviously. A Ghul-Feather, level 1200 undead, somehow tore the engine from the rest of the Convoy. Which means the aether cannons are down, and we’re stuck in the Emberblade Fields. A ton of monsters will be swarming soon. Already starting, actually. We need to get the cannons back up. Apparently there are emergency power slots in the Lounge? I need two of those.” She pointed at the glowing orbs. “Do I just…yank them out of the wall?”

Glasses seemed alarmed at her explanation, eyes widening the more she talked. Hairy was even more obvious about his shock, mouth falling open.

“That’s what’s been attacking?” he asked. “A level twelve hundred?” As if to emphasize his words, the carriage shook as the Ghul-Feather perched onto the engine car and pecked, a deafening gong-like sound that rang in her ears. He said over the racket, “Guess it’d have to be, for it to have broken us apart from the Convoy. Still. Heavens Above. Twelve hundred.”

“People are fighting even as we’re talking,” Saffra said.

At that, he grew serious. “How did you get past a Titled-rank monster?” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Yes, there are emergency sockets in the Lounge. In the floor, center of cab. Rip up the carpet, slot them in, and pull the lever. In that order, mind you, there are no safeties.”

Glasses had already walked over and deactivated two of the power cores—the other six seemed to glow brighter in response. The now-inert ones had faded from bright white to dull gray.

Saffra breathed a sigh of relief that she wouldn’t have to convince them.

“Just two?” Hairy asked. “We can spare all but one if need be—that’ll keep the defensive enchantments going.”

A single one of these power cores could maintain a barrier that was holding off a Titled-rank beast? Saffra suspected she was about to be holding a second artifact that was worth its weight in starmetal.

Well, maybe not that dramatic. The cores looked heavy, and the hard part had to be charging them, not the crystal itself, whatever the objects were made out of.

Saffra squirmed in place, wondering if she should explain. “Yes, only two. So that the engine car has six, and keeps the Ghul-Feather’s attention.”

Hairy blinked, and Glasses paused in his work. The corner of his mouth quirked up, and Hairy boomed out in laughter.

“Using us as bait? Fair enough. If it hasn’t gotten in yet, we’ll be fine a while longer. Even if there was risk, better us than the entire Convoy.”

Saffra relaxed, and admired how easy the man made his decision. Not everyone was selfish and awful…Saffra had just seen more than her fair share of such people. “Back-up is on the way,” she told them. “It shouldn’t be more than an hour before a Titled is here.”

Hairy reared back in surprise. “So quick? How?”

“Not from the city. It’s complicated.”

Glasses held the power cores out, and Saffra took them. They were heavier than they looked, and she almost dropped them.

“No time,” Hairy said. “I understand. You’ll be fine out there?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Would love to know how, against a Titled-rank monster.”

“I’ll explain after?”

Saffra tried to deposit the items into her inventory, and sighed in relief when it worked. Some objects were weird about inventory access, especially artificed and mundane ones. Her professors had explained that it was some inscrutable function of size, weight, value, rarity, ownership, composition, and level or power density—and probably other factors.

“I’ll be going then,” Saffra said.

“The gods watch over you.”

They opened the door, and Saffra slipped out. The moment her feet touched withered ash—remnants of what had been grass a few minutes ago—she sprinted away.

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The Ghul-Feather screeched and flung attacks at her, but it didn’t pursue. It was clearly unhappy she’d smuggled away some of its coveted treasure, but overall happy to see the strange, invulnerable creature leave. It settled onto the engine car and began pecking and clawing again, with more urgency now, as if sensing time was running out.

Saffra found herself laughing, somewhat hysterically, as she ran through the tall grass. She hadn’t thought she’d left on a suicide mission, but still. She’d faced down a Titled-rank monster and walked away without a scratch. Was she dreaming this whole event?

The Convoy was well and truly under assault by now. Even the weakest monsters of the Emberblade Fields were a match for most of their defenders. Bursts of elemental magic—primarily lightning—exploded out of the upright aether cannons, but without the main power cores fueling them, the attacks were light slaps to what should have been sledgehammer blows. Even that was probably what kept the Convoy from being overrun, though.

She couldn’t see Jasper anywhere, which invoked some irrational—or maybe rational—panic. He would be the one fighting the worst of what appeared. Was he alive? She pumped her arms and legs faster, gasping down air as she sprinted for the Lounge.

Saffra trained her endurance as any adventurer should, but she didn’t have the benefit of a physical class, so her stamina was only moderately better than most thirteen-year-old girls’. She moved as fast as she could, which was still painfully slow. A [Cinder Hound] intercepted her, but when it bounced off her shield two lunges in a row, it decided to try its luck elsewhere.

She scrambled up the metal bulk of the Lounge. Finding the door, she pounded her fist into the metal.

“It’s me,” Saffra shouted. “It’s safe. I just need in again. Please open?”

It would be awfully ironic if the Lounge turned out to be the sticking point in this plan.