Elariel conducted them to their rooms—either the same chambers as before, or others near identical—and advised them to get some sleep. Gyre expected to have trouble with this, since the last time he’d been in this chamber had been just after Naumoriel had slowly disassembled him and put him back together, and his main memory was waking over and over to mind-shattering pain. Even so, exhaustion was a powerful motivator. The fight in the Spike had taken something out of him, more than just physically. We did it. We really did it. And now … what? He wanted to talk to Kit, but she’d retired to her own room immediately and firmly closed the door.

A construct woke him later—how long, in this sunless world, he had no idea—with a gentle tap at the door. The little thing scuttled away, leaving behind folded, clean clothes and an energy bottle with a bright white glow. The ghouls didn’t wash, as far as Gyre could tell, so he cleaned himself as best he could in the basin before dressing and settled down to wait.

It wasn’t long before Elariel appeared, with Kit trailing behind her.

“Are you prepared for your journey?” the ghoul said.

“I suppose,” Gyre said. “I don’t know where we’re going. And I haven’t got food or water or any other supplies.”

“Naumoriel has accounted for your needs,” Elariel said. “Come with me.”

“Yeah, Gyre,” Kit said. “Of course Naumoriel has accounted for our needs. Let’s go.”

Gyre shot her a look, and she smirked. Under Elariel’s wide-eyed gaze, he didn’t want to say anything further, so he merely fell in behind the two of them. They followed another identical-looking passage back to the large tunnel, where the rest of the expedition was waiting.

There were the now-familiar soldier-constructs, a double rank of them, twenty in all. Another five larger versions, still humanoid but at least two and a half meters tall, and a pair of what Gyre guessed were cargo haulers, flat platforms with legs not unlike the carriage they’d ridden. Largest of all, though, was a thing like an enormous spider-crab, eight-legged, with two large, clawed arms and two smaller limbs curled in close to its ovoid body. It was easily twice Gyre’s height, and the egg-shaped central core of it was bigger than he was. The reason for this became clear a moment later, when the top of the egg, made of smooth, dark stuff like smoked glass, hinged upward. Naumoriel sat cocooned in the thing, resting in a padded chair, banks of crystalline, incomprehensible controls all around him.

The monstrous thing was like his chair, Gyre realized, only on a massive scale. Built for war, he decided, looking at the gleaming, razor-sharp claws of the large arms. So who are we going to be fighting?

“Everything is prepared,” the old ghoul said. “Humans, are you fit to play your part?”