Page 65 of Ship of Smoke and Steel

“Any chance we can pull one of them away?”

She shakes her head. “Doubtful. Close as two crows in a cage, those two. I suspect they will have to be taken together or not at all.”

“Can Thora hold a shaggy, with Berun helping her?”

“Perhaps,” Jack says. “She’s a mighty one, our Thora. But surely not for long.”

“It just has to be long enough for you and me to take down the other one.” I raise one eyebrow. “I trust that won’t be long.”

“Oh, delicious confidence,” Clever Jack says, “of course not.” But Clever Jack is never less than supremely overconfident in her own abilities.

“Thanks for the assessment,” I deadpan. “Go back to Thora and tell her to grab whichever one looks smaller. When she does, you and I will take the other one, like we planned.”

“Orders heard and understood,” Jack says. “Through this next hole, to the left. I will give you a few heartbeats to get into position.”

The Center isn’t the only place the crew goes to hunt crabs. The Stern is enormous, extending down many levels from the paltry three the Council can claim some authority over, and even on those three large sections are barricaded and abandoned to the scuttling, squirming creatures of the dark. That’s where we are now. Instead of trekking across endless bridges and platforms, we’re stalking through broken-down corridors, floors and walls flaking with rust, with jagged-edged holes in addition to the usual doorways. Given what happened last time I went to the Center, it’s a relief that here there isn’t too far to fall.

Meroe, much to her irritation, stayed behind, unable to keep up on her broken leg. I left the Moron with her. Now that we’re trying to work together as a pack, he’d only get in the way. That leaves me, Berun, Thora, and Jack. I’ve worked with worse gangs, in spite of a few … eccentricities.

I duck through a rusted-out hole in the wall and turn left, moving just slow enough that my footsteps won’t echo. When I reach the next doorway, I pause. Unlike the Deeps, here it isn’t truly dark during the day. Enough sunlight seeps in through the holes in the deck to take the edge off the gloom.

Up ahead is a dark silhouette, a long, low thing bigger than a horse. I stare a little longer, convincing myself that I can make out features that match the description of a shaggy—six fat legs, a long neck, hung all over with curtains of dripping moss and fungus. It’s hard to tell, but Jack seemed certain, and she knows what she’s doing. Probably.

Thora and Berun are still getting into position. I grip the metal at the edge of the hole—When they’re ready, I—

“Isoka…”

I practically jump out of my skin, clenching my jaw tight to avoid a yell. My blades come alive with a snap-hiss and I spin, but there’s nothing but darkness behind me.

For a long moment, there’s no sound but the crackle of Melos power.

“Hagan?” I say, very softly.

No answer. I turn back to the hole, and faint movement catches my eye. Gray motes, flowing in a stream through part of the wall, skirting the edge of the broken section. Hesitantly, I reach out my hand, laying one finger on the metal. The gray energy swirls around it.

“Isoka.” It is Hagan’s voice, a little stronger now.

Blessed’s balls. I’d just about convinced myself I was crazy.

“Hagan, can you hear me?”

There’s another pause, the faint crackling buzz that accompanies his voice rising and falling.

“… not strong enough…,” he says. “… somewhere … power…”

“I’m not strong enough?” I blink. “I don’t understand.”

“Garden … anomaly coming … Garden…”

His voice fades again. Before I can speak, I hear a bellow and there’s a flash of blue. Jack has made her move. With a shout of frustration I turn around and throw myself through the doorway.

The room is a large one, with holes in the ceiling letting a few rays of sunlight dapple the chamber. As my blades add their light to the tableau, I see the shaggy is aptly named. It looks a bit like an ox, if an ox had six legs and were taller than I am at the shoulder. Where the head of an ox would be, there’s a long, flexible neck, ending in a small sphere equipped with a wide, toothy jaw. Along its flanks and neck, curtains of dark green moss hang like matted hair, swaying with every movement.

Jack is standing in front of it, arms crossed, grinning like a fool. The shaggy gives another hooting bellow, swinging its head toward her. Jack bows, her shadow stretching behind her and up the wall. The shaggy bellows again, and lunges, its neck moving with the speed of a striking snake. Before it can hit home, Jack vanishes with a flicker of dark magic.

Her shadow remains, skipping neatly away from the confused shaggy. Jack’s well is Xenos, the Well of Shadows. It’s supposed to be one of the rarest wells, to the point that there isn’t a full-fledged Xenos adept in the whole of the Empire. I don’t know if Jack’s an adept, but the little I’ve seen her do is impressive. With another dark flash, she reappears atop her own shadow, in time to attract the shaggy’s attention again.

I have to admit it’s a thrill, fighting alongside other mage-born. I’ve spent my life in the certain knowledge that, no matter how much I trust them, none of my allies can truly match me. Now I have my pack. I wonder for a moment if this is how the Invincible Legions feel, going into battle, or the Immortals.