“Yes,” Bran croaked as he lay there. “I just . . . got the breath . . . kicked out of me . . .”
The traitor. The changeling. Poor Bran had joined Smiles, the boy lost in some ditch or anonymous grave, someplace where the body wouldn’t be found and spoil the impostor’s ruse. Hatred burned through Avena as she held the topaz to her shoulder.
Sweet, innocent, energetic Bran. Full of life, eager to go on an adventure. To show Ōbhin all his skill and prowess. All stolen away by that monstrous changeling. As Fingers went to help the thing masquerading as Bran, she wanted to snarl a warning.
The fuzziness struck her body hard. She gasped and swayed. Sagged against a rusting carriage door. Spots of darkness danced on her vision. Through it, she watched Fingers help Bran stand. The fake-youth flexed digits.
“You can’t be okay,” Fingers said. “That blow you took, boy . . . Let me get a healer on you.”
“Doesn’t need one,” she struggled to say, but her tongue grew numb. The signal interference worsened. She had to stop Fingers from helping the thing. She had to expose the vile creature. She struggled to stand.
*
Ōbhin swung his blade hard at the incoming attack. He struck the fist, deflecting it to the side. He flowed forward, now within the crystalman’s reach. He slashed with his sword, using all his strength and weight, to strike the automaton’s chest. He held tight to his hilt, not expecting his blade to cut through it. He landed hard, square on.
His blade didn’t so much as scratch it.
“Perhaps if we had diamond,” said Dualayn. “It’s harder than amethyst. It’s how we actually shape gems. Use smaller ones. Isn’t that fascinating?”
“Not really,” barked Miguil.
Ōbhin pivoted to his right to dodge a kick and ducked an elbow slamming down at his head, feet shifting. He cleared the crystalman’s reach and whirled around. As he backpedaled, he struggled to think through his boiling rage. Bran might have annoyed Ōbhin with pestering questions, but the youth had a bright future before him. Ōbhin would have gladly answered the youth’s every last query, patiently describe every last fight, just to let the boy have that unsoiled life.
Dajouth gripped his binder in two hands. Shouting, he slammed his weapon hard into the forearm of the crystalman. A loud chime rang through the carriage house. The energy bound the arm to the torso. It lasted not even a heartbeat before the crystalman broke the energy and lashed out.
The young man was already moving, but not fast enough.
The blow struck Dajouth’s arm. Bone snapped. A blood-stained shard thrust out his arm and through his gambeson. The impact spun him around. He hit the ground hard, screaming. Blood soaked red through the quilted armor.
“Dualayn!” Ōbhin barked. “Help him!”
“Right,” Dualayn said and darted forward.
Miguil picked up Dajouth’s binder and stood trembling as the crystalman advanced on Ōbhin. “I don’t know how much I’ll help, Ōbhin, but . . .”
“I appreciate it,” said Ōbhin. The groom had only a basic amount of training. He had courage, though.
Rage wasn’t helping Ōbhin. It burned through him, powering his attacks, but it also distracted him. He needed to focus. He couldn’t make any mistakes. He had to think. There had to be a way to kill this thing.
Brute force . . . Bring the ceiling down?
They were fighting near the ramp. There were three support columns that held up the roof near him. It was insane. He could kill them all, bury them in rubble, but what choice did he have? He glanced over his shoulder to spy the nearest one.
He backed towards it as the crystalman thundered after him.
*
“Fyungerz,” Avena’s numb tongue slurred. Her lips felt as fuzzy as a yellow-spotted caterpillar.
She stood by, brazing her left shoulder against the carriage. Her legs quivered. Fingers dug around in his pack, searching for a healer. A loaf of hard bread spilled out. He scooped it up and shoved it back in.
“Fyungerz, hez nyot Byranj,” she struggled to say.
“What, Avena?” Fingers asked.
“I’m fine,” Bran protested. “Attend to Avena, she’s having trouble.”
“You are not fine, boy! Sometimes you don’t feel injuries right away.”
Avena opened her mouth to speak when the lumbering crystalman drew her attention. It advanced on Ōbhin. He lay trapped against a support column. Primal terror rippled through her. She swayed and screamed out his slurred name.
The crystalman swung a powerful fist at her lover, a blurring streak of amethyst.
*
Ōbhin dived to his right.
It was a mistake.
The amethyst fist crashed into the support column behind him as he landed on his upper back, head tucked down, and rolled into the rotten wheel of a carriage. Metal bolts thrusting out of the rusting wheel jammed into his back through his leather jerkin, bruising skin. His head smacked into the metal fender. Flakes of rust burst off, bloody snow dusting his shoulders.
The column didn’t collapse. The crystalman’s punch left a small dent, hardly more than a chip. Some stone crumbled away, revealing a braided chord of steel running vertically in the column. The thing could punch it a dozen times and do nothing.
The crystalman turned to face him, diamond eyes shining. He had nowhere to go, trapped by the vehicle, the column, and the automaton. He scrambled to his feet, his back sliding up the frame of the vehicle. He felt an opening. The window was missing.
He dropped his resonance sword and squeezed himself into the carriage. He landed on a rotting seat. The leather burst beneath his touch, mildewed stuffing erupting along with metal springs. He coughed as the padding filled his mouth. He spat out the dusty filth while scrambling to the other side.
The crystalman seized the
