None of them were looking for Gyre, which made things easy. He stepped in behind the larger of Yora’s two opponents and drove his long blade upward at an angle into the man’s back. As he staggered forward, his companion turned, cudgel swiping desperately to keep this new enemy at bay. Gyre danced out of range, feinted to keep his attention, then turned away as Yora’s spearpoint erupted from the guard’s chest, unmetal edge slashing effortlessly through flesh, bone, and leather. Two and one.

The guard in Harrow’s grip saw her companions go down, and her eyes went very wide. She said something—too low for Gyre to hear, but Harrow paused, relaxing a fraction. In an instant she was twisting, fingers coming up to tear at his face as she fought to draw the knife at her belt. Before she got there, though, Yora’s spear licked out, catching the woman in the eye and pinning her to the side of the wagon, unmetal passing easily through wood and bone.

Done. Gyre straightened up from his fighting crouch. Harrow let go of the shuddering body and stepped away, breathing hard. Yora pulled her spear free, letting the dead guard fall to the cobbles, and bent to pick up Harrow’s two-handed axe from where it had fallen. It was a heavy steel weapon, but her arm didn’t tremble as she handed it back to him.

“There’s a time and a place for mercy, Harrow,” Yora said. “But this isn’t it. Once you’ve decided to kill somebody, make sure you follow through.”

Harrow gave a nod, brushing lank brown hair off his sweaty forehead. He was eighteen, big and broad-shouldered but still with a hint of teenage gawkiness. He was in love with Yora, like half the tunnelborn his age, and Gyre saw the pain in his face at even this mild rebuke. Idiot boy.

“Good evening, my friends.” Ibb stepped around from the front of the carriage. He looked as flamboyant as usual; he wore a long leather tunnel coat, like Yora’s, but decorated with flashing bits of silver embroidery, and he added a broad-brimmed hat with one side rolled up in the Khirkhaz style. A long curved sword rode on one hip, and a blaster pistol in a worn holster sat on the other. “No difficulties so far, I take it?”

“Glad you finally decided to join us.” Yora whipped her spearpoint down, spraying the dripping blood across the cobbles. She was shorter and slighter than her legend indicated, but her frame was corded with muscle, and her orange eyes blazed with enough force to make up for any deficiencies in stature. The frown she directed at Ibb could have spoiled milk, but he absorbed it with the aplomb of long practice.

“I was in the agreed-on position,” Ibb said mildly. “It’s not my fault Halfmask works so quickly.”