“We were overrun. The survivors fell back. I made a sortie alone and lived. The traitors sent a group in behind me I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop them. I got back, and a few were still living. They drove off the enemy, made them regroup. Everyone was wounded, then they all died. The enemy is still regrouping on the other side.”

“How many? How many?”

“Fifty. I’d say. At most. No more than that. No more.”

The clouds are denser still. I see the outer wall coming near. We draw close. I hear sounds off in the distance, a few shots, raised voices.

“They’re at the prominence.”

“I thought you said everyone was dead ...”

“They are—I don’t know why they shoot.”

We’re through the first gate.

“Can they see the gate from there?”

“Yes. If they look.”

Second gate goes by, and the third. I startle to one side wildly as a bullet clangs off the brass wall a dozen yards away. We break in to a run, Silichieh hopping on his free leg in wild discoordination, another bullet bangs into the brass closer to us and we veer to one side passing through the last gap into the open, putting the wall between us and the enemy. Breathing hard, we run for the trees.

*

Deeper into the woods now, out of sight of the walls. Silichieh drops swooning to the ground as we let up—his face is grey. I check his bandage—soaked through with blood—his wound torn open by our flight. His breathing is weak.

“Will he be all right?” Saskia asks.

“No.”

I am redressing his wound as fast as I can.

“We can’t move him any more.”

“If they come for us, we’ll have to leave him.”

“You’ll have to leave him,” I say without a thought in my head.

I can tell he’s conscious, but he doesn’t speak. His face goes whiter and whiter, rigid with fear. The light in his eyes turns fixed, glassy. He’s watching something coming for him that he knows won’t stop. I call his name. His hand is clutching my arm, squeezing it with all his strength. His hand rests on my arm. His white face is turned up, in terror forever.

“He’s gone,” I explain.

*

She wanted to return through the city and start the machine I’d seen from the window.

“The machine is set off by light tripwires that are too close to it for you to be able to get away before being affected, or even killed,” someone is saying. “They might already be in the city themselves anyway, waiting for you.”

*

Trees, walk, dark, sleep, wake, walk, trees. Come out into colorless clay heath covered with puddles, some mountains bathed in fog in the distance. Muffled, close, hot my face against the cold air. We are heading toward the mountains.