When the bodies fell, three men stood, stupefied, holding guns Wax couldn’t sense.

He brought them down with a Sterrion—his other guns were out of bullets—then turned as he heard something distant. Horns blaring, a command. He leaped to the side, enough men dead or dropped that he could get a clear view out one of the doors into the night.

Men were streaming out of the buildings in the village. Dozens. He had a sinking feeling of dread. How long until his metals gave out? How many could he fight until someone with a crossbow or an aluminum bullet got lucky and hit him? He roared, launching himself upward in a leap over the fallen men he’d Pushed. Many were climbing to their feet. He was one man, not an army. He needed to run.

“Back!” he shouted at Wayne, who already had a crossbow bolt sticking from his thigh. The shorter man joined him, running toward cover inside the wrecked ship.

Marasi squeezed her eyes shut against the pain. It had finally come, arriving with a vengeance. MeLaan had given her a painkiller to chew, but it hadn’t done anything yet.

“Dieten,” the masked man said, putting her hand on her wound, which he’d bound with a strip of cloth from his shirt. She cracked an eye and saw him nod encouragingly, though with the mask down over his face she could see only his eyes.

Well, she wasn’t dead. Even if rusts it hurt. And she thought she remembered reading somewhere that getting shot in the stomach—even on the side—wasn’t good.

Don’t think about that. What was going on? She gritted her teeth, shoved down her panic at being wounded, and tried to assess their situation. MeLaan watched the battlefield from beside the hole in the ship. Waxillium’s sister stood nearby, cradling a handgun, eyes intense. Outside, gunfire, grunts, and screams accompanied Waxillium and Wayne doing what they did best: creating havoc.

Apparently the havoc quota had been filled, for a few moments later Waxillium swooped in through the hole. He nodded to MeLaan, his face shining with sweat, breathing heavily. Wayne scrambled in a moment later. He had a crossbow bolt sticking from his leg.

“Well, that was fun,” Wayne said, plopping down and taking a deep breath. “Ain’t been whooped so bad since the last time I played cards with Ranette.”

“Marasi,” Waxillium said, walking over to her. He pushed the masked man aside. “Thank Harmony you’re alive. How bad is it?”

“I… don’t really have much to compare it to,” she said through clenched teeth.

Waxillium knelt beside her, lifting the bandage and grunting. “You’ll live, unless that nicked the intestines. That could be bad.”

“What kind of bad?”

“Painful bad.”

“I might be able to do something,” MeLaan said. “I’ll check it out once we’re safe. Speaking of which, how exactly are we going to get away?”

Waxillium didn’t respond immediately. He looked exhausted. He glanced up at his sister, who was still muttering and holding her pistol. Outside the ship, it had gone unnervingly quiet.