Gyre fought for consciousness as Kit rummaged in his pack. He felt her pull the bottle away from his side and fasten another to the strap on his belt. As soon as it was close enough to his skin, it grew warm, and he could feel power flowing into him. His silver eye flickered to life again, pushing back the darkness.

“Gyre?” Kit said, standing back. “Are you okay?”

Gyre tried to speak and nearly vomited. He swallowed hard, nodded, and pushed himself to his feet, swaying a little.

“I’m …” He swallowed again. “All right. I should have switched that out earlier.”

“I didn’t realize it would hit you so badly,” Kit said, handing him the exhausted bottle. Its glow was totally dead.

“Neither did I,” Gyre said. “Remind me not to do that again.” He took a long breath, stomach settling. “Are you okay?”

“So far.” She rummaged in her pouch and came up with a vial of nighteye, adding a drop to each of her eyes. After blinking for a moment, she stared around with huge, dark pupils. “Wow. This place is … big.”

“It is unique,” Naumoriel said. “We had never attempted anything like it before, and certainly nothing like it has been constructed since.” The canopy of his war-construct popped open, and he took a deep breath of the cold, dusty air. His undistorted voice echoed from the distant walls. “Welcome to the Leviathan’s Womb.”

Chapter 24

Maya had never traveled into the Shattered Peak mountains, except for her brief foray to Deepfire, but from everything she’d heard she expected it to be a difficult and dangerous affair. They’d agreed that speed was of the essence, so she’d used the bulk of her travel funds to buy three swiftbirds in Grace, and stocked up on supplies and maps to supplement Marn’s mumbled directions. Unlike the crossing from Uqaris, once they were away from Grace, the land was sparsely populated, so she and Tanax could protect the party from plaguespawn without risking exposure as centarchs. When they’d ridden out through Grace’s considerably less busy northern gate, just skirting the unmetal hull of Grace in Execution, Maya had prepared herself for a rigorous trip.

Instead, if anything, the journey had become more pleasant as they went along. The foothills of the mountains rose rapidly north of Grace, and they left the stifling heat of the plains behind. Maya’s swiftbird was a friendly, biddable creature named Blackbar for the color of her tail feathers, and her long, loping pace devoured the distance and coped easily with the rocky ground. Contrary to their name, swiftbirds were slower than a warbird over short distances, but they had much greater endurance, and Blackbar seemed to be able to maintain her steady stride indefinitely.