How do the Unspoken survive out here? Silas thought, squinting into the desolate darkness.
Ilyra and Corin flanked him, silent sentries against the frozen dunes. Corin's starbloom lantern cast prismatic shadows over the frost-crusted sand. Silas, deaf to their bootsteps, didn't notice the larger formation assembling behind him until they were already moving. Ilyra's barked orders snapped her soldiers into line, and any grumbling died the moment she cut them a glare.
Silas paused for breath, but a sudden tug from the Voices in his skull pitched him forward. The pull echoed what he felt at Coldspire—only weaker, more like an insistent prod than a takeover. Silas was in control of his body, but if he rebelled against the Voices, an irritating sensation tickled the nape of his neck, forcing him to continue. The longer he ignored it, the more irksome it became. The Voices said nothing discernible, but their constant nudging coaxed Silas to their hiding spot.
Silas glanced over his shoulder, startled by what he saw. He gasped, lost his footing, and slid face-first down a dune. Clearing sand out of his mouth and eyes, Silas shook his head, burdened by self-doubt.
I'm responsible for all of those soldiers. The thought chilled him worse than the frigid air.
Corin stooped to offer a hand, amusement tugging at his lips. Ilyra didn't bother hiding her annoyance; one flat, unimpressed look from her urged Silas onward more effectively than the Voices did. Silas ducked his head and trudged in the direction of the pull, pretending he wasn't escorting people to their doom.
I am leading lambs to slaughter—on both sides. The Unspoken who volunteered to die, or the humans who followed close behind. Silas wondered who would be the first to shed blood.
It's for the greater good, Silas reminded himself. Sometimes you have to lose the battle to win the war.
To calm his nerves, Silas slipped into a daydream. He wasn't guiding soldiers to willing sacrifices. No, he was on an adventure like in the last novel he read. Silas imagined the dream he had on the drive to the Garrison Mordant. Pa was there—Vera and Oscar, too. If he closed his eyes, Silas could picture them beside him. Vera took Ilyra's place, and Oscar Corin's. Pa represented the soldiers, lingering behind at a leisurely pace. Where were they going?
Back home, Vera said beside him, flashing a lopsided grin.
The daydream snapped apart. Home wasn't real anymore. He opened his eyes with a scowl. How he craved to be reunited with Pa and the others! Disgruntled, he kicked at the sand and was rewarded with a spray of dust to the face. He sputtered while Corin laughed, nearly dropping his lantern. Ilyra said nothing, but her expression wiped the mirth from Corin's face.
Silas lunged forward, propelled by an intrusive jab to the base of his skull. The Voices were frantic, their shouts like whipcracks snapping him into a trot. When he ran in the wrong direction, they screamed their frustration, urging him the other way. The others struggled to make sense of Silas's meandering course. He zigzagged across the dunes, lurching west one moment and veering east the next. The formation behind him grew restless; even Ilyra clenched her jaw to keep her temper in check. She said something to Corin. The young soldier hurried to Silas, already tugging a notepad free.
Silas stopped short, panting. The Voices quieted, the chatter blurring into the background noise. He saw nothing to indicate any Unspoken hiding nearby. Had he made a mistake? Did he veer so far off course the Unspoken left him in exasperation? Panicked, Silas spun around, scanning every direction. Nothing around him looked different, yet the hairs on his arms rose. Someone was watching.
Corin faltered to a stop beside Silas, his boots sliding over fine dust. He thrust a notepad at the boy, wavering lantern light illuminating its pages. "Is this where you thought they'd be?" was printed in Corin's hand.
Silas nodded, then hung his head.
Corin rested a hand on Silas's shoulder. When Silas looked up, he was met with the soldier's easy smile.
It's alright, it conveyed.
Ilyra had other opinions. She sauntered over, her long braid swishing back and forth. Blood rushing through his ears, Silas watched her fingers creep toward one of her many daggers. He gulped, resisting the urge to hide behind Corin.
Ilyra ripped the notepad from Corin's hand. She extended her palm, curling and uncurling her fingers. Corin reached into his pocket. Lips pressed tight, he placed his stylus on her palm, then closed her fingers and gave them a gentle tap. Unamused, Ilyra wrenched her hand back and wrote, her scrawl so heavy the parchment snagged and tore.
"Have you deceived me, wretch?"
Silas shook his head fast, stumbling back.
Ilyra grabbed his collar and hauled him close, scrutinizing his face. A yelp escaped his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for a blow.
Ilyra scoffed and released him. Silas tottered backwards, crashed into Corin. He looked up at the soldier. Corin didn't acknowledge him. He was watching Ilyra, who was writing again.
"If you dare trick me, your right hand is mine. Do you understand?" The notepad was shoved so close to Silas's face he went cross-eyed trying to read it. His head bobbed up and down rapidly. He understood clear as day.
I really hope Echo knows what she's doing.
While Ilyra continued to threaten Silas, the soldiers broke formation to search the perimeter. Finding nothing, they returned to their neat rows, their feet dragging in exhaustion and annoyance.
Silas's thoughts raced. I don't understand. This isn't what Echo and I agreed on.
Corin wrestled his notepad away from Ilyra. "Are we still on their trail?" he wrote, gently showing Silas the page. Silas couldn't look at him. He shrugged, gaze on his feet. He shivered, but not from the cold. Invisible eyes watched him from nowhere. Realizing it must be the Unspoken, his lips twisted into a snarl.
They're toying with me. I was supposed to be this game's moderator, not a player.
Nothing. Silas's temper was close to erupting when he was hit with such an intense desire to run his legs moved of their own volition. He wobbled, struggling to balance on the sand with his bound hands. Regaining his footing, he scrambled forward, hastening into a sprint.
Silas gasped for air. The Voices were merciless, refusing him a moment to catch his breath. They forced him to plow onward, beckoning like siren song. Silas asked himself why the Voices had abandoned him only to come back with such vehemence. Then an idea struck him. Maybe they needed him confused too. The soldiers wouldn't believe the act if he didn't stumble.
The Voices heard his thoughts, and rewarded him for figuring it out. He slowed, allowing his burning lungs the air they craved. A small smile found his lips.
Echo was looking out for me all along.
Silas stared at the ground as he walked, thinking. They're watching me, but from where? He scanned the murk, again finding nothing. The only place they could be is underground. It would explain why the Unspoken were rarely spotted, even in their territories. Silas knew that carrion wolves, at least, were terrestrial. Do the Unspoken use carrion wolves as their eyes above the surface? Silas frowned and shook his head. If they do, they're not using them now. I must ask Echo when we next speak.
The Voices screeched—then quieted. Silas froze. He shuffled his feet. The sand beneath his boots felt different. Silas crouched and dragged his left hand through the sand. The ground was firmer than it was before. It felt like the sand was supported from underneath. Was there a—?
Something solid scraped beneath his fingertips—rough stone.
Corin set down his lantern to write. Before he could put stylus to parchment, his head jerked up. Silas followed his gaze.
Ilyra was so far away—and the darkness so dense—Silas could hardly see her. She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted. Silas blinked. Ilyra stood alone.
The soldiers were gone.
Corin's mouth fell open. He picked up his lantern and jogged toward Ilyra. Without stopping, he glanced over his shoulder and waved for Silas to follow.
Confusion made Silas pause. The soldiers had vanished! Reluctantly, he straightened, grimacing as sand trickled into his boots. He followed Corin's quivering light, growing dimmer the farther away he traveled. Silas had to run before the glow was engulfed by the darkness.
Corin stood at the entrance to a tunnel, his grin haunting in the meager lantern light.
Silas turned around, then faced forward, comparing what he saw. He was amazed the soldiers managed to find the tunnel. Its entrance was completely shrouded in shadow, the stone archway blurring into the surrounding darkness. Standing right before it, Silas could hardly tell it was there.
"I'm guessing this is where you heard them?" Corin wrote. While Silas read, he jutted his thumb at the tenebrous entryway.
Not exactly, Silas thought but nodded anyway. He figured this wasn't actually where the Unspoken were hiding, but he couldn't let Corin know that.
Someone—probably Ilyra—must have called for Corin to come inside. The young man rolled his eyes and yelled something over his shoulder. To Silas, it looked like he said, "We're coming!"
Corin gave Silas his lantern and coaxed him into the passageway. Silas cradled it to his chest, nestled within his chains. There was an unanticipated change in elevation; Silas slid a few feet down the slope before regaining traction. The ice didn't help, either. A thin, slippery layer of it glistened over the rock, moisture dripping from overhead stalactites. This cave was the opposite of Coldspire—the temperature increased as Silas progressed deeper. Ice gave way to slush, then puddles of stagnant water. Silas's boots squelched with every step. Wet, sandy socks were almost as overstimulating as the endless Voices reverberating inside his cranium. Silas ground his teeth and steadied his breath, forcing himself to keep walking despite the discomfort.
Beside him, Corin sped up. His glistening eyes stared off into the distance. Winding Silas's chains around his hand, Corin sprang forward—practically skipping with excitement. Silas stumbled after him, feet dragging with trepidation.
Are the Unspoken down here after all?
The tunnel opened into a cavern. Soldiers milled about, but their bodies were cloaked under thick shadow. The lanterns they carried floated eerily, will-o-wisps dancing in the dark. Silas shuddered at the ghostly illusion and hugged his lantern close.
The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can leave this sinister place.
Silas's boot crushed something brittle. He felt it snap through the sole.
The lantern slipped through his fingers as he screamed.
He couldn't get away fast enough. Moving so hurriedly his chains yanked free from Corin's grasp, Silas bolted back into the tunnel.
Away. He had to get away. The floor. Every inch of its surface. It was covered in bones.
Human? Unspoken? Silas didn't care who the bones belonged to. He didn't even think the Unspoken had bones. It didn't matter. It was too much. What were so many corpses doing down there? He wouldn't wait to find out.
A monster! It must be a monster! Nothing else would hoard so many skeletons. Unless—
Silas planted his feet. His heart was beating so fast his head rushed. You're being foolish! Silas chastised himself. You have a job to do. There's a reasonable explanation for this. Stop being such a coward.
A fist seized his hair. His neck snapped back as the fist pulled down. Silas flailed, bound hands reaching for his scalp. The fight left him when his eyes met Ilyra's.
She regarded him like he was the grime under her fingernails. Silas felt something cold and sharp bite into his neck. He locked his legs. One twitch and she'd open his throat.
Ilyra didn't bother trying to speak. She didn't need to. Her actions resonated louder than words ever could.
She's going to kill me! Silas was so scared he couldn't move. He couldn't draw in breath. But his mind knew what to do. Dying here wasn't an option. Lives were depending on him.
Ilyra's eyes widened. She wobbled, gaze unfocused. Silas pushed her away. She staggered to the wall. Her blade fell from limp fingers, splashed into a puddle. Silas took a shaky step toward her. Then another. Inches away, he looked up, forcing her glassy eyes to meet his.
Ilyra stiffened. Silas struggled to maintain the connection, trembling with the effort. Cold sweat dripped off his chin. Seconds before his control shattered, Ilyra turned and hobbled back the way she came.
Silas's knees buckled. He collapsed, his shins slamming to the wet ground. Silas stayed on his knees, breathing hard, until Ilyra vanished into the shadows.
I can't believe I did that. Giddy with adrenaline, a laugh bubbled up from Silas's throat. Controlling people shouldn't be so easy.
He lurched to his feet as Corin rushed toward him. The lantern he carried was shattered, starbloom oil leaking out of its reservoir. Corin kept looking over his shoulder. He wasn't wearing his usual smile. Without a word, he gathered Silas's chains and directed him back to the cavern. Silas had a sinking suspicion Corin knew exactly what he had done.
Silas walked on the tips of his toes, trying unsuccessfully to avoid the bones. They were everywhere. Arching ribs, stubby phalanges, and thick femurs splintered and snapped with each step. Most of the bones were old and brittle, some partway fossilized. Others were so fresh their marrow stuck to the bottom of Silas's boots. He was glad he couldn't hear. Just imagining the sound made his stomach churn.
Silas mustered his courage and examined the skulls. Stout mandibles. Three pairs of serrated incisors. Robust, conical teeth in the back of the jaw for masticating bone. I was right, Silas thought, these are all carrion wolves.
Silas tried garnering Corin's attention. He shook his hands to rattle his chains. No response. Corin plowed ahead, striding over the bones heedlessly. Silas's shoulders sagged. All he wanted was to know where the bones came from. When he saw where Corin was guiding him, he dug in his heels. Corin didn't stop. Silas careened forward, fighting against his chains. He was dragged a few feet before he gave in and started walking again.
Arms crossed, Ilyra leaned over a long metal table. She waited to turn until Corin and Silas were right behind her. When she spun, her braid smacked Silas in the face.
She did that on purpose, Silas fumed, glaring at her feet.
Corin finally dropped Silas's shackles. As he spoke, Ilyra scrunched up her face in confusion. Corin waved at Silas. She shook her head. Silas looked back and forth between them, attempting to keep track of their conversation.
It worked! Relief washed the rest of the adrenaline away. She doesn't remember what I did to her.
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Corin sighed. He handed Ilyra his notepad and stylus before walking away. Silas pretended he wasn't disheartened by Corin's rejection. Being left alone with Ilyra was the last thing he wanted. But he also didn't blame the young soldier.
He has every right to be afraid of me.
Ilyra studied Silas's fidgety demeanor. He offered her a tremulous smile. She narrowed her eyes. Finding nothing incriminating, she shrugged and lazily flipped through Corin's notepad.
"There are no Unspoken here," she wrote, this time without tearing the parchment. "I trust you have a good explanation for this?"
Silas blinked. How did she expect him to answer? He raised his manacled wrists, wiggling his bandaged finger for emphasis. This is your handiwork, he thought, willing his face to remain impassive. You said it yourself. I won't be writing for a while.
Ilyra looked like she was considering breaking another of his fingers. When a soldier approached her, she slammed the notepad to the table. The soldier jumped in surprise. Slowly, she backed away until her form melted into the dark. Silas tilted his head and batted his eyelashes at Ilyra. Her predicament filled him with glee.
"This is an abandoned Unspoken wasteyard." As Ilyra wrote, her eyes flicked to the table. "Why did you guide us here?"
Silas craned his neck, peering over her shoulder. Strange devices littered the table—metal cylinders, glass rectangles, boxes sprouting wires. Silas glanced left and right. Around him, soldiers carted similar objects. They organized them on the ground, brushing bones aside to make room. Smaller items were pocketed or packed into satchels and drawstring sacks. Silas straightened. The technology at Coldspire and the Garrison Mordant—did it belong to the Unspoken after all?
Ilyra interrupted his train of thought by thrusting the notepad in his face. She pointed to her newest unanswerable question: "Where to next?"
The Voices responded.
Silas was pulled toward the tunnel.
They were close. Very close. But too far away. That must be why Silas could hear them so clearly. And why they were still beyond his reach.
He emerged from the tunnel. This time, nobody attempted to stop him. If they tried, Silas wouldn't have let them. Stopping meant he wouldn't be able to hear the singing. He didn't want that. The music was ethereal—angelic and addictive. Silas closed his eyes and soaked it in. He didn't need to see where he was going. As long as he listened to the song, he knew the way.
The Voices grew louder with every step. Their melody was physical—it seeped into his skin, coursed through his veins, and rattled his bones. It became a part of him. He could feel it like he felt the beating of his heart and the rush of air in his lungs. The music sang from his soul.
Dysol rose. Its light filtered through Silas's eyelids. How long had he been walking? The temperature climbed. Sensation returned to his fingertips. Where was Ilyra? Corin? The song was no longer beautiful. It was urgent, frenzied. Silas's heart thudded like a drum. Or was it the music? Why was there music? He was trapped. It was dark. No, it was bright. Dysol was shining on his face.
Where am I?
Silas opened his eyes and peered down.
The sand beneath his feet looked no different than it had before. He brushed the toe of his boot across its surface, digging a shallow trench. There was no hard rock beneath.
Corin and Ilyra stood stiffly behind him. The soldiers lingered farther back. Ilyra's expression was impossible to read, but she fiddled with a sheath on her hip. The one that was empty. Corin's feet were hip's width apart, his chin slightly raised. Unblinking, he scrutinized Silas like at any minute the boy would attack.
Instead, he sank.
Suddenly, Silas was up to his knees in sand. He dug his fingers into the loose soil, clawing desperately for leverage. He cried out, reaching with his good hand.
Corin tensed. Shaking off the surprise, he stepped forward. Silas sank to his chest. His feet slipped, kicking empty air.
Corin was running now. Ilyra gaped, frozen in disbelief. Corin's shout spurred her into motion. She bared her teeth and broke into a sprint. Faster than Corin, she dove, skidding across the sand. Her fingertips grazed Silas's wrist. His hand slipped through her fingers.
The ground yawned wide. Silas sucked in a gasp. For a moment, he hung in the air. Then, he fell. His screams chased him down.
A cold, hard surface caught him. His back hit first, then his head. The impact rattled his brain and forced the air from his lungs. Coughing, Silas rolled onto his side, then staggered to his feet. Rubbing his smarting skull, he stood about ten feet below a perfectly rectangular hole. Above was the only source of light; Silas was enveloped in total darkness. Corin's face popped into view. He shouted down the shaft.
"Are you alright?" his lips said.
Silas checked himself over. He stomped his feet, took in a deep breath, and traced circles with his arms. His head ached, but he didn't seem to be afflicted with anything worse than bumps and bruises. Silas raised his arm, offering Corin a thumbs-up.
Corin's head disappeared. Sand rained down from the hole, landing on Silas's head in dollops. He hung his head upside-down and shook it to dislodge the heaps. When he next looked up, Corin was reaching down. In one hand, he held his notepad. In the other, his broken lantern. Silas dodged droplets of starbloom oil that oozed down in sticky strings.
"Wait there. We're going to build a ladder," was written on the page.
Silas gave another thumbs-up. Corin nodded sharply and retracted his notepad. He didn't return to the opening.
Silas kneeled, scooping starbloom oil into his hand. It wasn't much, and exposure to air was rapidly dimming its vibrance, but it provided enough light to illuminate a few inches in front of Silas's face. Just enough for him to explore.
The floor, walls, and ceiling—every surface was metal. Silas pressed his hand to the wall. He gasped and let go, flapping his hand like it was wet. The wall was warm, almost hot. It hummed with a deep vibration that traveled up Silas's arm and sent a jarring jolt through his elbow. The floor had the same effect, but his boots absorbed the vibration.
Silas reached high and swung low, mapping the perimeter with his glowing hand.
Everything is so rectangular. The hallway he walked down was all tight right angles and straight parallel lines. This is too perfect to be natural. Who built this place?
Silas's shin rammed into a sharp corner. He hissed and hopped on one foot until his leg stopped throbbing. The oil was nearly spent, but Silas could just make out a cubical, waist-high object. He ran the length of it, surprised at how large it was.
What is this thing? It's as long as the ceiling is tall! He drew his hand closer, trying to make out the shapes protruding from the object. They were smothered under inches of dust. Silas sneezed, blowing away a billow of white powder. Sniffling, he leaned in for another look.
There were knobs and switches of all different shapes and sizes. Silas saw big red squares, small metal nubs, circular buttons, and little nodes that could be dragged back and forth through straight cut-outs in the metal. Silas tried every switch and slider. Nothing responded.
The oil stopped glowing.
Blackness swallowed him. Eyes open or shut—it didn't matter. Silas’s stomach roiled. He gripped the wall to steady himself. It felt like he was falling.
No response.
Silas took several hesitant steps, his hand dragging along the wall. His fingers brushed across evenly-spaced cracks in the metal, one every three steps.
Are the walls made from sheets of metal welded together?
The wall ended. Silas tripped, his hand pressed against nothing. Regaining his balance, he realized the hallway must have ended at an intersection. Fumbling along the walls, Silas mapped out the branch. He could go either right or left.
The Unspoken must be enjoying themselves, watching while I bumble around like a blind man.
Silas held his breath.
He remained silent. His words would have offended the Unspoken.
There was a pause. Do they expect me to say something? Silas sighed. Fine.
Silence.
Silas's lips drew into a thin line. At the end of his patience, he prepared to project an insolent comment.
Oh no.
An explosion obliterated the darkness. It started as a small flash. The spark smoldered. As it grew brighter, an itchy pressure built in the center of Silas's forehead. It tickled like a feather against his skin, but tugged like his brain was being pulled out. Annoyed, he tried scratching it. He panicked when he couldn't feel his arms.
The light flared, brighter than Dysol at high noon. Blinded by the blaze, Silas tried closing his eyes. That's when he noticed: He was no longer in his body.
Weightless, Silas loomed above himself. Below, his empty body slept. His eyes were closed, chest slowly rising and falling. Disoriented, Silas swam through the air, trying to fall back into his body. His transparent, intangible arms whirled helplessly. Ghostly fingers phased through his skin, as solid as mist.
He tried to scream, but his sleeping body’s lungs wouldn’t respond. The sound came out as a wisp of thought, formless and terrified
What is this? Silas was now floating upside-down. His feet passed through the metal ceiling. Unable to get his bearings, Silas aimlessly drifted, slowly rotating through the air. His body was growing farther and farther away. Instinctively, he knew that if he strayed too far, he could never return.
When Silas projected, he heard his Voice like it was physical. It echoed, tinny against the metal surfaces.
the Unspoken said.
Voices murmured from behind. Human, not Unspoken. Silas could hear again. When his roaming revolutions finally faced him in the right direction, Silas saw soldiers filing down the hallway. Their lanterns shone upon the walls, reflecting back with startling intensity. The soldiers blinked and rubbed their eyes, clearing black specks from their vision. One in the front spotted Silas's body slumped against the wall.
"General Curne!" he called and ran over.
Silas was once again facing the wrong way. Staring at the ceiling, he listened to the conversation below.
Hurried bootsteps. Then, Ilyra's voice. "What happened?" she said.
"I don't know," said the soldier who first spoke. "When we walked in, he was like that."
"I take it the Unspoken are actually here this time," said Corin. "Maybe he's fighting them." There was a pause. "Like, mentally."
"Most likely. Let's continue." Ilyra's tone dripped with delight. Silas didn't have to see her face to know she was smiling.
That itchy, tugging sensation in his forehead returned. Light began to fade. The sensation tugged harder as the darkness slowly flooded back. Silas scratched the spot. Puzzled, he looked at his hand. He was back in his body.
Someone was carrying him on their back. In his confusion, he thrashed, kicking them in the side.
"Ow!"
They let go. Silas landed hard. That was the second time today he'd fallen on his back. He sat up and looked around, dazed.
When he was dropped, the soldiers nearby scattered, getting as far away from him as the narrow passageway would allow. Only Corin—who had been carrying him—stayed. The young soldier grumbled a curse. Silas laughed. He could hear him!
Corin blinked. "Your ears're working?"
Silas nodded.
"Oh, thank the Emperor. That was getting old." Corin hoisted Silas to his feet. "Are you okay?"
Silas nodded and gave a thumbs-up, a wide smile splitting his face. He couldn't hide his happiness. He could hear!
"Get up here, Lieutenant!" Ilyra snapped. There was commotion toward the front of the soldiers' formation. Ilyra shouted something else, but Silas couldn't discern it above the soldiers' unsettled murmurs.
Corin's expression hardened. He grabbed Silas's wrist and pushed forward, dragging the boy behind him. Silas avoided the soldiers' gazes, but he noticed their hands creeping toward scabbards and hilts.
Ilyra stood alone, confronting the darkness with a blade in each hand. Every muscle tensed yet poised—she was ready to spring into motion at the slightest shift of shadows. Cautiously, Corin approached. Silas squinted into the unlit passageway. Something hiding within glinted in the lantern light.
It happened faster than Silas could blink.
His eyes were open. Ilyra pinched a blade between her index and middle finger. His eyes were closed. Barely perceptible, Ilyra's fingers quivered. His eyes reopened. The blade was gone.
It struck something in the darkness with a wet, squelching noise. Green goo sprayed, spattering the walls, ceiling, floor. A heavy thud hit the ground. Ilyra's eyes flashed with predatory intent.
"Attack!" she bellowed.
The soldiers answered her cry with one of their own. They sprang forth, flying into the darkness in a blur of scarlet and steel. Blades rang as they sliced through the air—each resonant note an Unspoken's death knell. The Unspoken lingered in the dark, only emerging when felled by a blade. Knives, daggers, and swords cut through exoskeleton with ease. Silas remembered how ineffective alchemical ampules were on Echo at the Foundry School attack. That must be why the military uses blades against them, he surmised.
Ilyra moved so quickly Silas couldn't keep track of her. She weaved between soldiers, honing on Unspoken slinking around in the dark. Silas was impressed by her ability to see them; vague silhouettes were all he could distinguish.
Ilyra never ran out of blades. After throwing one, she leapt toward a fresh kill, reclaiming her weapon before her most recent victim hit the ground. She was quick and nimble, but her technique lacked the grace of Arbiters. She's a killing machine! Silas wrinkled his nose in disgust but forced himself to keep watching. Pay attention. The more information I can relay to the Unspoken, the more I can help them later.
Silas stood still in the middle of the fray, surrounded by a swarm of violence. Hemolymph splashed against his cheek and pooled in puddles that stuck to the bottom of his boots. Severed insectoid limbs flew from dismembered bodies. A three-fingered manus rolled along the ground, bumping to a stop against Silas's boot. Don't look, don't look, don't look. He looked. The fingers twitched, convulsed, then stilled. Silas gagged into his hand and squeezed his eyes shut.
Someone crashed into Silas, knocking him to the ground. Buried beneath a burly torso, Silas writhed, struggling to get free. The soldier crushing him was so heavy he could hardly breathe! Silas crawled out from under her. As he slid free, he saw something protruding from her neck.
Whizz!
A needle-thin dart shot toward Silas's face. Reflexively, he ducked. The dart soared over his head, embedding in the thigh of the soldier behind him. The soldier yelped in surprise and pulled the dart free. A baffled look passed over his face before his eyes glazed over. He dropped the dart, his hand flopping uselessly to his side. When his knees gave way, he landed face-first on the metal floor.
The gears in Silas's mind turned. He crouched above the soldier that fell on him and plucked the dart from her neck. It was a fine, hollow cylinder—blunt at one end and pointy at the other. Careful to avoid the sharp end, Silas turned it between his fingers. Thick, opaque fluid seeped onto his palm.
Carrion wolf venom!
Silas's gaze dropped to the soldier. Her lifeless eyes were open, staring at nothing. Her lips were tinged blue, skin deathly pale. Silas held his ear to her chest. Her weak heartbeat fluttered; Silas could not hear her draw breath.
A strong hand clamped around Silas's wrist and hauled him to his feet. He whirled, brandishing the dart like a knife. Corin plucked the weapon from his hand and tossed it over his shoulder.
"Let's go," he said, pressing a hand between Silas's shoulder blades. "You've done your part. I'm getting you out of here."
As he was led away, Silas glanced back.
Scores of Unspoken lay at the threshold between dark and light. As Silas watched, more fell, their bodies adding to the growing pile of corpses. Weapons dropped from their three-fingered manus: primitive spears, blowguns, and cudgels made from sticks and stones. Their big black eyes stared in all directions, unseeing. Silas made eye contact with one of them. Its mouth quivered.
The instant the Unspoken died, the connection severed. It rippled back to Silas, causing him to stagger and trip. As Corin reached to steady him, Silas looked over his shoulder.
Silas pushed Corin away, both in his mind and physically. Corin scrambled backwards, narrowly missing the blowdart that hurled toward his cheek. The projectile bounced harmlessly off the metal wall, spinning to a stop at the soldier's feet.
Corin's chest heaved like he was out of breath. His eyes flicked back and forth between Silas and the dart. "T-thank you," he eventually said when his breathing slowed.
Silas nodded.
Corin wouldn't look at him. Roughly, he prodded Silas's back, forcing him forward. Silas fiddled with his chains, wrapping them around his fingers. Guilt held his gaze at his feet. I need to stop doing that, he pledged. If only controlling others wasn't as easy as breathing.
Silas was guided to the hole he fell through. A makeshift ladder hung down. Silas stared at it incredulously. The ladder was constructed from strips of cloth twisted and knotted together like ropes. Had the soldiers really climbed down such a flimsy thing?
Corin tugged the ladder, pulling it taut. "Go on," he said with a wave. "It'll hold. I promise."
Silas predicted which would fail first: the concerningly loose knots, or his coordination. He held up his bound hands to remind Corin. The young soldier pursed his lips, staring upward at the opening.
Silas ended up hitching a ride on Corin's back. He wrapped his legs around Corin's torso and looped his manacled hands around the soldier's neck.
Effortlessly, Corin ascended the wobbling, swinging ladder. Dysol was painfully bright after spending so long in the darkness. With his eyes closed, Silas gingerly unwound himself from Corin's back and dropped to the sand. He shifted his weight, testing for a stable spot to stand. He missed the sensation of solid metal beneath his feet.
In tense silence, Silas and Corin waited for the fight to end and Ilyra to rise from below with her soldiers. The longer he stood above ground, the less he could hear. Again Silas was immersed in a deluge of noise. Frustrated, he kicked sand into the opening. Moments later, a livid Ilyra poked her head up, blinking grit out of her eyes. Silas gulped.
Behind Ilyra, the soldiers emerged, along with ten wounded Unspoken. The poor creatures could hardly stand; one was even missing a leg. They said nothing to Silas, but they sent him their intent. Silas felt their determination. They had no regrets. Their jobs were done, their lives exchanged for the benefit of their species.
The journey back was long and arduous. Silas hadn't eaten or slept in over a day. Neither had the soldiers, but they were probably used to it. When they finally made it back to camp, it was night once again. So tired his feet dragged and his vision blurred, Silas was loaded into Ilyra's boiler. Before she shut the door, Ilyra scrawled something in Corin's notepad.
"Your performance was satisfactory," she wrote. "The operation was a success. I look forward to working with you again."
Silas scowled at her back after she closed the door.
The drive back to the Garrison Mordant was uneventful. Silas wanted to sleep, but his tumultuous thoughts scared away slumber. Silas had survived his first round of experiments and his first military jaunt with Ilyra. Now the real mission began. Silas stared out the window, imagining Unspoken running beneath the boiler, chasing him toward the Garrison Mordant.
When Dysol next rose, Silas would be a traitor.