Halfway there. Gyre was falling behind, Naumoriel’s construct surging ahead like a runaway wagon, Kit hard on its heels. He concentrated, and with a click in his skull the world went slow and shadowy. His steps became leaps, as though gravity had gotten lazy.

Another seven constructs turned and planted themselves in the path of the plaguespawn, leaving only a pair beside Naumoriel. The war-construct had nearly reached the wall, and it planted its legs stiffly and slewed to a halt less than a meter from the rock. Its tentacle-arm brought up a small, flat-ended device that Gyre recognized as a ghoul code-key, like the one Kit had used to open the way to the destabilizer. Naumoriel pressed the thing against the wall, and something deep inside shuddered to life. The ground shook under Gyre’s feet.

Slowly—too slowly—the rock began to part. Kit turned and started firing her blaster at plaguespawn only moments behind them, blowing three of them apart before her sunsplinter went dry and the weapon emitted only a thin whine. Gyre drew his sword, watching the shadow-paths of the coursing monsters multiplying like a wave.

“Inside!” Naumoriel bellowed. He’d turned his war-construct around, swinging its massive claws in horizontal arcs that sent the broken bodies of plaguespawn tumbling. “Now!”

Kit needed no urging. She holstered her blaster and ran for it, darting between the legs of the war-construct and through the gap in the rock. Gyre went after her, ducking under the swipe of a claw as it left shadow-trails across his vision. It was dark beyond the door, but his silver eye showed him a vast, high-ceilinged space, and—

He was on his knees. What? There was a click, and the world of shadow-lines faded. Then the vision from his silver eye went black, leaving him with only the thin line of daylight from the doors behind them.

“Gyre?” Kit skidded to a halt. “Gyre, what’s wrong?”

I … I can’t … He couldn’t move, as though his limbs were lined with lead. Couldn’t speak. Unconsciousness beckoned, like a deep, black sea.

“Naumoriel!” Kit said.

Dimly, Gyre saw the war-construct back through the door. With a grinding crunch, the rock face abruptly reversed its motion, the huge slabs sliding closed again. Naumoriel’s claws smashed the plaguespawn that threw themselves at the gap, driving them back, and his two surviving constructs handled anything that got past their master. A moment later, the doors closed, with a spurt of black blood from the desperate plaguespawn caught in the gap.

“Naumoriel!” Kit shouted. “Something’s wrong with Gyre!”

“I expect his energy bottle is exhausted,” the ghoul said as his war-construct turned delicately about. “Replace it.”