He found Kit with her saber laid across her knees, back to the construct’s mutilated body, breathing hard. She was covered in blood, both black and alarmingly red, the latter coming from a slash across her midsection and another on her biceps.

“Chosen defend,” Gyre said, kneeling to help her. “Can you stand?”

“Yeah.” She waved her free hand vaguely, panting. “Not as bad as it looks. Just. Winded.” She touched her stomach and winced, her fingers coming away sticky. “Ow.”

“Hang on.” Gyre bent closer, peering at the wound. “That needs stitching and quickheal, at least.”

“Not sure our taskmaster will give us the time.” Kit nodded at Naumoriel’s war-construct, which had shaken itself free of the dying plaguespawn. Other constructs, in obedience to his silent instructions, were forming up, ready to continue the march.

“Plague that.” Gyre took Kit’s hand and pulled her to her feet, sending a fresh wash of blood into her already sodden shirt. They walked together over to Naumoriel. “Hey!” Gyre said.

“Humans,” Naumoriel’s distorted voice answered. “We proceed up the valley.”

“Kit’s hurt,” Gyre said. “She needs to rest. Plague, I need to rest.”

“We have no time.” One smaller arm waved at the assembled constructs. There were less than a dozen left. “Our forces are depleted. The plaguespawn will return. We must reach the head of the valley. If she cannot continue, leave her.”

“No,” Gyre said. “She comes with us. You promised you’d help her, once we finish this.”

“If we delay, none of us will survive.”

Gyre thought of the remote trigger, buried in his pack, and gritted his teeth. “Then, do something about it!”

The canopy opened. The construct’s two smaller arms reached in and brought Naumoriel down to ground level, holding him face-to-face with Gyre.

“There is a limit,” the old ghoul said, “to the insolence I will tolerate from your kind.”

“You’re welcome to leave me behind, too,” Gyre said. “But you won’t, will you?” He tapped the brow above his silver eye. “You gave me this because you knew we’d need it to get here.”

“Do not overestimate your importance. I was merely determined to make use of every available resource.” He sighed. “However, given our depleted state, I cannot deny your contribution. Here.”

He extended a hand and placed it on Kit’s forehead. She gasped, and Gyre watched the long cut on her stomach knot and close, as though it had never been. Naumoriel withdrew, and the construct’s tentacles lifted him up again.

“Conserve your energy as much as you can,” the ghoul said. “I do not have much left to spare if you run low.”

“I will.” Gyre inclined his head. “Thank you.”

“We proceed.” Naumoriel looked up the valley, then over his shoulder. “We are nearly there, but we do not have much time.”

As his canopy resealed and the war-construct stalked off, Gyre bent beside Kit. “Doing all right?”