Wardens poured in, panting and exhausted, caked in dirt and mud. Blood streaked their limbs and backs, purple bruises blooming on their skin, but they laughed and cursed and clapped shoulders as they filtered inside, snatching water canteens, or collapsing into seats. None seemed deeply injured, and the few that bled were bandaged hastily by Ficar and Tybur. One stonemason waved a hand, removing all the dirt clinging to a comrade, while a tidebreaker conjured a sphere of water to rinse out a gash.

  Though minutes ago they’d terrified him, Skye couldn’t help but admire them now. He knew that if he’d been in their ranks, he would’ve frozen, just like Tybur. He couldn’t imagine himself poking bouldered behemoths and living to laugh about it.

  “It’s good seeing you all safe, Commander,” Tybur said. “Did we lose anyone?”

  “None,” Sether replied. “Rosh and Garrian from the third carriage are out of commission, but they’ll make it.”

  Tybur sighed in relief, and Skye found himself breathing easier too. Deaths among the wardens were weekly occurrences, and their funerals never stopped in Troqua. Their constant sacrifices were the reason everyone reacted with fury whenever he accused them of conspiring against the city.

  Commander Sether drained his canteen and tossed it aside. “Brat tried anything funny?” he asked, casting a disgusted glance at Skye.

  “Not really,” Ficar replied, throwing him another bottle. “I made him watch the fight, let him see what’s waiting for him back home.”

  “Good. That ought to loosen his tongue,” Genma said, eyeing Skye coldly.

  “How long’s today’s route?” a warden asked, collapsing into a seat beside Ficar.

  “About… forty-two minutes,” someone near the light map answered. “We should be home in three hours.”

  “Any more fights like that one?” asked another, as his partner bandaged a deep cut on his arm.

  Genma traced a path across the map with a finger. “There’s a flight of aeroxii nearby, but they’re flying away.”

  “Best we avoid them,” said the medic. “I used up most of my charge during that fight.”

  Sether bit into an apple he’d gotten from somewhere. “If you’re burning through your charge making basic drills with geoxii, you need to spend more time training at the barracks.”

  “Those basic drills nearly got me killed,” scoffed a warden near Skye.

  “Same here,” added another. “If I hadn’t given it my all, my head would be a trophy on some geoxos’s shoulder.”

  “Then it’d finally be used for something useful,” a third chimed in, drawing laughter from the group.

  “Runs’ve been getting rougher,” muttered a mustached warden. “We’re more and more forced to fight.”

  “It’s those damn barons,” spat an older woman with streaks of gray in her hair. “Before Solarite existed, the elexii were dormant. Now they’re agitated all the time.”

  “They’re just selfish coalsons,” Genma said. “The more they expand their district, the worse our job gets.”

  “I’ve been sayin’ this for ages, but no one listens,” the older warden continued. “That district will get lots of people killed. The duke tried to warn ‘em, but the barons don’t listen. It’s only a matter of time before the elexii attack.”

  “She’s onto something, this one,” Redeyes said.

  “Everyone, listen up,” Sether called. All eyes turned to the front of the carriage where he stood beside a clean-shaven, blonde warden holding a folded parchment. “Dersin here received a note this morning, promising payment for information about the Duke’s Road.”

  Disapproving murmurs rippled through the carriage.

  “This is a serious crime, and we’ll spare no effort finding whoever’s behind it.”

  Skye felt several eyes shift toward him.

  Sether continued. “It doesn’t matter how much you’re offered. If you share any information about the Duke’s Road, you’ll be hanged before you get to spend a single coin on account of treason. If you accidentally mention the road to anyone, you and whoever heard it should have your wills ready. And if someone asks about the road, it’s your duty to report them immediately to a Dawn or Twilight Warden. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, sir!” the wardens chorused.

  As Dersin returned to his seat, wardens leaned in around him.

  “Who gave it to you?” one asked.

  “I don’t know,” Dersin said. “Someone slipped it into my pocket. It’s unsigned.”

  “I bet it’s the Rikals,” one affirmed. “No one in Troqua’s greedier than that Reloux.”

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  “No, it’s the Obtundrils,” said another. “The duke snubbed their party invitation at Solarite last week. Bet they’re making a move cause they’re pissed.”

  “Doubt it. They’re not that reckless,” offered a third. “My money’s on the Alektoms. No one has tried to leave Troqua more than them. Bet they’re planning another expedition right now.”

  “That’d be great for us,” a fourth warden laughed. “If the barons waste their treasuries on another useless excursion, they won’t be able to afford our protection.”

  “Oh, but that means we won’t hear Lieutenant Sether whining about the sun burning his bald head anymore!”

  The wardens laughed until Sether yelled at them to shut it.

  Skye listened intently. These rumors were juicy, but unsubstantiated. He wished he could steal a peek at the letter to see what’s promised exactly.

  The carriage lurched.

  Everyone was thrown from their seats. Some slammed into the center cabinets, including Skye, while others nearly struck the ceiling. Before anyone could shout or ask what was happening, the carriage lurched the other way and tilted downward, skidding across the ground. A great screech rang out as the amegravos below scraped against the dirt road. At last, the drivers righted the carriage and accelerated.

  “Rustom, Dalio, what in the Void are you two doing?” Sether shouted, rushing to the driver’s cabinet.

  The small connecting window snapped open. “We’re under attack!” one driver yelled. “We’re surrounded!”

  Skye cradled his numb arm, having fallen hard on his elbow. The road had been clear just moments ago, the map empty of threats. Now, dozens of flashing white dots blinked around them. It couldn’t be the geoxii; those were territorial, rarely leaving their growing grounds.

  A warden opened a nearby window, revealing a whirlwind of jumbled bones flying alongside the carriage. A screech like nails on a board pierced the air as the translucent creature darted away.

  “Aeroxii!” Ficar shouted.

  Curses rang out, commands were barked, and astra clacked as wardens sprang to their feet.

  “Everyone ready will engage immediately,” Sether bellowed through the chaos. “The rest follow in groups of three. Pull them away from the caravan!”

  Bruised and bandaged, the wardens lined up at the doors. In the silence that followed, woven into their fidgeting fingers and glances to the windows, Skye sensed a tinge of tension and fragments of fear. Yet, no one complained. Willpower blazed in their eyes, passed between them in backslaps, firm nods, and whispered encouragements. Skye wanted them to rest, they’d just escaped death.

  Through the side doors, Genma led a team of five atop a rocky platform, instantly drawing some of the white dots away. Near the sonolar, Sether stood tapping fiercely at the crystals.

  Beeb beeb. The sonolar sounded.

  “Emery, we’re under—”

  “Yes, yes, I know,” Emery’s voice cut in, hurried. “Something’s not right.”

  “Something’s not right my ass,” Sether yelled back. “We almost died, Emery! Why didn’t you warn us?”

  “Mind your language, lieutenant,” Emery replied sharply. “The elexii are riled up; I’m trying to figure out why.”

  Emery went silent as the battle surged outside. A fireball exploded nearby, snapping and toppling a tree.

  Four more wardens leaped from the side door. As another tried to close it, a violent gust flung him back, smashing him into the cabinet violently. The wind stormed into the carriage, growing into a tempest, haphazardly throwing anyone and anything that wasn’t fixed. Skye flailed, grabbing the armrest of a chair for dear life as the wind tried to suck him outside. Through the open door, he glimpsed their assailant.

  Its wings were folded, shaped like a bird mid-dive. Its body was composed of winds and white bones, but it was very much alive. Intelligence gleamed in its eyes, or where there ought to be. For its skull was hollow, yet it could still somehow see. There were emotions in how it glared, how it chased, how it clicked its beak. Hatred for starters, anger as well, and a determination with a source mystique. Its feathers were a sharp breeze, its muscles the gales of a raging cyclone. It surged forward, slicing through trees.

  And as the branches fell, it revealed that it was not alone.

  The aeroxii looked almost identical, different only in the shapes of their skulls and the bones swirling inside them. Most bore the skeletons of birds of prey, but some carried the craniums of deepbats and knife-toothed lizards.

  Together, the flying monsters released a bone-chilling shriek that was cut off by Ficar closing the door with a counterblast of wind.

  As the winds died and the chaos settled, the wardens rushed to check the injured. Skye had a fresh bruise on his knee, but it was nothing compared to the others. One warden’s arm was broken, white bone jutting through torn flesh in a spray of blood. Another lay with her head crushed, skull and brain splattered against the wall. Her eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, unmoving.

  “Void take you, Emery!” Sether roared, slamming his fist against the wall. “Give us a solution!”

  Heart pounding, Skye ran to help a warden struggling to stand, only for Ficar to grab his arm.

  “Don’t move from here,” the windrider snapped, shoving him into a corner away from the doors. “And keep away from the windows.”

  “I—I can’t find a safe road!” Emery’s voice crackled through the sonolar, shaking. “My calculations keep changing!”

  The wardens looked at one another, eyes wide. Even the injured man’s screams faded as he slumped unconscious, his feet twitching. Without the map, they were mice in a deepbat’s roost, waiting to be picked off.

  “Hang on!” a driver shouted, and the carriage skidded sideways again.

  “Get the duke if you can’t do it!” Sether screamed, clutching a cabinet.

  “I’m here, Sether,” a calm new voice replied through the sonolar. It was the unmistakable deep tone of the duke. “There are no paths forward. Turn around and return to the city. I’m sending a reinforcement party to meet you halfway.”

  Sether gritted his teeth. “With all due respect, my duke, what in the Void is going on?”

  “I don’t know, Sether,” the duke said evenly. “The elexii are acting irrationally.” As he spoke, the map flickered, displaying a new path, leading back. Dozens of flashing white dots covered it, and it kept adjusting every few seconds. “I’ve just sent you a new course, and will be updating it as you move. Follow it home.”

  “This takes us near the Cerulean,” a warden said, tracing down the blue line on the map.

  “I know,” the duke replied. “It’s your best chance of making it back alive. Good luck.”

  The sonolar beeped, and silence returned, thicker this time. Faces turned pale, and the fire in the wardens’ eyes dulled to frost. A few dropped to their knees, staring blankly into space.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Ficar shouted, running around, pulling them up by their arms. “Stand up! Remember your training!”

  “Void’s coals, Ficar, we’re all going to die!” one kneeling warden cried.

  “Bethen isn’t breathing anymore,” said the warden beside the one with the broken arm. “And Lyna’s gone too.”

  “No one else will die,” Sether declared. “Lyther, Ten, get to Genma and inform him of the new plan. And keep those sooting birds off our tail.”

  “Yes, sir,” the two replied. They rushed to the door, astra trembling in their grips, yet they nodded readily at Ficar to open. As he wished them luck and pulled the sliding door ajar, a burning blast tore through the back quarter of the carriage.

  ?????Days until Green Eve: 22?????