Chapter Fifteen

Together they bolted to the side, punching their cycles to maximum speed, zipping straight toward that scout.

He saw them immediately. A gaunt man in a white coat with red stripes, he spun his hovercycle and fled, keeping low to the ground and darting into what appeared to be a large lava tube. That was dangerous, but would reduce the chance of being shot from above or behind.

Nomad swung in low to follow, and Rebeke joined him, an intense expression on her face, wind playing with her black and silver hair. Nomad let himself smile. It felt good to be in the air. Moving. A second later, they darted into the lava tube—a large circular stone tunnel. Broken in many places, open to the sky, twisting and turning. Requiring hairpin turns and careful judging of speed not to slam into the wall.

You remember, the knight notes with a roll of his eyes, when we first met? You told me you were "the sensible one" who "didn't rush headlong into every fight that came your way."

"Nope," he said. "Doesn't sound like something I'd say."

Yeah, and what happened to wanting to lie low? Taking the easy road? Does that sound like the current you?

"Just trying to keep this girl alive."

That's remarkably uncynical of you.

"Eh. I'm bored."

Nomad took another turn, barely keeping sight of the scout ahead in the shadowed tunnel, dark enough between broken sections of rock that only the glow of an engine indicated their quarry.

A moment later, a voice sounded over the radio. "What are you doing?" Contemplation demanded, barely audible against the rushing air.

"We're checking on something," he replied, thumbing the communication button. "A scout, we think."

"Sunlit Man," Contemplation said, "you are needed to open the doorway."

"Have you found it yet?"

"No. The landscape is extremely difficult this time."

"Well, we won't get the chance if the Cinder King arrives. So it's best if we stop this scout before he can report."

"And if you die? You promised to activate the key—without you, we'll be locked out."

"If I die," he said, "that immediately stops being my problem, then, doesn't it?"

"Reckless fools," she muttered. "If it pleases you—and I doubt anything does—you should stop encouraging Rebeke. She's all we have left of her family, and I should prefer to see her safely ensconced in the Refuge before my time arrives."

Feeling the epiphany like a punch to the gut, he realized what she was referring to: her time to die in the sunlight, to become a powerpack for her people. This society was all kinds of wrong. But one did what one must to survive; he understood that better than most.

For now, he ignored the radio, leaned down, and enjoyed the chase. The scout flew well, staying ahead of them in the tunnel—but none of them were flying at full speed. These turns were too tight.

And unfortunately the scout didn't need to escape. He just had to get close enough to home to draw attention. So Nomad might have to do something foolish.

"Take the next exit through the broken ceiling, Rebeke," he said over the radio. "I'm going to punch this up a little."

"What?"

Nomad slammed the accelerator beneath his left foot, zipping forward. He couldn't directly attack this fellow, even if he did get close. His best bet was to get right on his tail and push the man to be reckless.

The lava tube spat them out into a canyon a moment later. Nomad wove through it, noting how the rock walls were pocked with holes caused by escaping gases as the magma cooled. He could imagine this whole place forming as rainwater poured through the lava flow—stone solidifying amid explosions of steam as hot and cold clashed.

The scout glanced over his shoulder, showing a face with a long mustache. Then he accelerated in a sudden burst—frantically banking around a tight curve. Nomad followed, closing in, trying to get close enough to breathe down the man's neck. Indeed, as the two of them burst into the next section of canyon, the scout glanced over his shoulder again—and was startled to see how close Nomad had gotten. He sped up, even though this portion was narrower, and full of jagged lava stone occlusions.

Engines aflame, twin roars echoing down the canyon, they slipped in and out of shadow as tall peaks alternately obscured and revealed the rings.

The knight wonders, with increasing uncertainty, if his faithful servant has any storming idea what he is doing. He does realize what he is doing, right? Getting into a high-speed chase with someone who lives on a planet full of expert pilots?

They might be expert pilots, but Nomad was an expert in being chased. While he doubted he was as good a pilot as his quarry, the scout's motions were becoming increasingly erratic. He took turns too sharply, speeding up into curves instead of straightaways. Constantly checking over his shoulder.

Such a familiar feeling. So many times, the Night Brigade had nearly gotten him. Right at his back, their sights on him. Nomad knew that sense of panic, that scrambling burst of adrenaline. The dangers ahead of you suddenly trivial compared to the one behind you. You fixated on it, taking greater and greater risks.

It was the story of his life.

The scout knew the sun's pursuit. It too gave chase—but in a slow, inevitable, overbearing way. Not quick or immediate. Not like this. Nomad whizzed a little too close to a rock formation, felt it whoosh next to his head. At these speeds, a small miscalculation would cause a big explosion.

Unfortunately, just when Nomad was sure he was about to win, they burst out into an open section of the canyonlands. Surrounded by mesas and peaks, this flatter region was essentially the floor of a large crater. That let the scout maximize his speed. Their cycles were matched in that regard, so Nomad stayed in close pursuit—but there was little he could do if he caught up. He needed to—

Lava erupted from the ground nearby. A geyser of brilliant orange-red heat sprayed flakes of fire, ash, and soot. Sparks washed over the front of Nomad's cycle and kept burning, even when the wind should have extinguished them.

Damnation, the knight exclaims. Voice full of emotion. The surprised kind.

The scout probably should have taken them higher to avoid the eruptions. But he wasn't thinking clearly, it seemed. Instead he turned, trying to swing out closer to the steep crater walls—perhaps thinking the ground might be more stable there.

Another section of stone exploded, hurling chunks of melting rock into the air. They fell around the cycles, shattering on the ground and bursting like fireworks. Muttering a few curses, Nomad broke off from direct pursuit as an entire wall of fire erupted from the ground just ahead—a wave of crimson stone that sloshed back down, parts of it immediately blackening and slumping like wax. Other parts kept glowing, like the heat of life itself.

He swerved around the obstacle, barely spotting another eruption from the buckling ground in time to dodge it. Reluctantly he pulled upward—out of the dangerous region, high into the sky. There, he resumed his pursuit, but the scout was far ahead. Too far. He'd almost reached the far side of the crater. Where—

A shot of light from above blasted the man off his cycle. The body dropped, sending the machine itself tumbling across the earth in a dusty, end-over-end collapse.

Nomad looked up to see Rebeke on her cycle a short distance ahead of him, rifle to her shoulder. Right. He had told her to get ahead, hadn't he?

He pulled up next to her, breathing deeply, heart racing. What had caused those geysers of magma? They were basically as far from the sunlight as one could get. This should be the most tectonically stable region of the planet, though maybe none of it was all that stable. Extreme convection or tidal forces might cause all kinds of issues with the crust breaking and—

Nope. Stop.

None of that.

He wiped his brow as another molten geyser erupted below. "Your planet," he said to her, "is rather emotional, isn't it? Never met one that I could rightly say has tantrums."

She barely seemed to be paying attention. She stared down at the fallen scout.

"Rebeke?" Nomad asked.

"I…" She looked at him. "I shot him."

"Storms. Was that your first time?"

She nodded. "I've shot before. At people. Never hit, though." She shivered visibly. "I'm a hunter. All of us who can shoot are hunters; it's how we get meat. But to shoot at people…I mean, the Cinder King's people do it, but that's always seemed so…awful."

And you're right again, the knight tells him. About the hunters. How do you do it?

A lifetime of paying attention.

"I don't feel different," Rebeke said, "but I feel like I should. Does that make sense?"

Nomad shrugged. "My first time was with a spear. I had to keep fighting, didn't even get time to pause as his blood ran down onto my fingers." He shook his head. "That night, at stew, it just felt like a surreal day of training. I barely remembered the moment itself."

She nodded.

She seems comforted, the knight notes, even though the squire didn't say anything actually helpful.

"Knowing you aren't strange," he explained in Alethi, "is helpful. Knowing others felt like you did. Sometimes it's the only thing that is helpful."

"Why do you do that?" Rebeke asked. "Talk gibberish sometimes?"

"It's my own language," he said. "In other places, Rebeke, people speak all kinds of words you wouldn't recognize."

"But why speak it now? When nobody can understand?"

"I'm offering prayers," he said, picking a lie he thought might appeal to her, "to one of the ancient gods of my realm."

Please, no, the knight says. I'm no god. I work for a living.

Nomad checked to make certain his cycle had some flight time left, then nodded down toward the crash. "Come on. Let's go check on him."

"Why?" Rebeke said. "He's dead."

"Lesson number one about being a killer, Rebeke," he said. "Always make sure."