The tunnel ahead was filled with a dense sulfurous fog, so thick that when Han extended his hands, he couldn’t see them.

“What the blazes is this?” Bayar demanded.

“I…I don’t know,” Han stammered. “It wasn’t like this before.” Cautiously, he breathed in, thinking it might be some kind of poisonous fume that Crow had neglected to warn him about.

Nothing. It was damp and stank of sulfur. That was all.

“There are fumaroles and springs this way,” Han said. “Maybe one of them just spewed.”

Bayar pushed Han forward into the mist. Then stood back, waiting for something to happen to him. Nothing did. The moisture plastered down his hair and trickled into his collar.

“We’d better wait until this clears,” Han suggested, knowing that whatever he suggested, the Bayars would do the other thing.

“No,” Fiona said. “Let’s keep on. You first.”

Han walked ahead cautiously. Everything looked different in the fog, and the torches were of little help, turning the mist into a white, opaque soup. I’m not in shape to outrun them, Han thought. But if I can just get loose for a split second I can disappear.

But Fiona kept the chain taut, low across his body, so he couldn’t reach his amulet without asking for the privilege.

Then Han heard a sound, the rattle of stone hitting stone. The Bayars heard it, too, because they both swiveled in unison and peered into the murk.

“Who is it?” Bayar said to Han, his voice gritty. “Who else has been down here?”

“Nobody,” Han said.

Bayar shouted, “Show yourself or Alister dies!”

Nothing. No response; only silence and a swirling white blankness.

Fiona sent a blast of flame roaring down the corridor.

This was answered by the unmistakable snap of a longbow from somewhere ahead of them. Fiona stumbled backward and collapsed to the floor, eyes wide with surprise, clutching at the black-fletched arrow that centered her chest.

A Demonai arrow. Demonai, inside Gray Lady?

Han ripped the magical tether out of Fiona’s slackened hands and looped it around his arm as Bayar fired a charm toward the hidden archer. Han heard a muffled cry as a wayward arrow clattered against the wall. Then the sound of a body hitting the floor. Then nothing. The archer was down.

Han took hold of his amulet and extended his damaged hand, his fingers tingling with flash. “I’m giving you one chance,” he said. “Take her and go.” He tilted his head toward Fiona. She lay on her back, chest rising and falling, her breathing ominously wet. “You might still save her if you can get her to a healer.”

“Do you take me for a fool?” Bayar said contemptuously. “Do you expect me to leave so you can clear out the armory before I return?” He kept his eyes on Han, not sparing a glance for his daughter on the stone floor.