Deathly silence stretched on for ages. The entire bunker held their collective breath, listening, hoping against all odds that Daana’s sharp elf ears were picking up sounds too faint for anyone else to perceive. Oralia strained but heard nothing over the furious drum of her heart. She waited, and waited, and waited, but there was nothing. No shouts. No footsteps. No hope. No rescue.

  Daana’s panicked ramblings were nothing more than the unfortunate byproduct of the fever racking her broken body. “It’s coming!” The elfling shuddered, her face curled in agony as the words trickled from her trembling lips, growing weaker with each desperate repetition. “It’s coming, it’s coming, it’s coming…”

  Ashwyn was kneeling on the ground alongside the injured elf. She started to push Daana back down when Briony flung out her hand, stopping her. “Wait.” The faun’s ears lifted, flicking from side to side. “I hear something, too.”

  Sergeant Windshot brushed his long hair aside and held his head at an angle, listening. “Hoofbeats.” A puzzled look flooded the sergeant’s grim features. “Cray doesn’t have horses. I mean, he did, originally. But not anymore.” His eyes darted to Briony, adding, “Not after someone set them loose in the night.”

  Briony refused to look at him. “Well, whoever that daring person was, they sound incredible.”

  “The point is,” Windshot raised his voice, speaking with the sort of confidence woefully out of character for a man who spent his time hiding in the shadows, “Cray’s side doesn’t have horses. And Protector Dawnsight’s army came on foot.”

  “Former protector,” Oralia muttered out of sheer habit.

  The faraway thunder of hoofbeats reached Oralia’s ears. Her mouth snapped shut, heart skipping a beat. The low ceiling trembled as the clamor grew closer. Distorted voices rang out, muddled by the clash of steel, galloping steeds, and the distant boom of magic. The dirt walls and floor joined the ceiling in its celebratory rumble. The ground buckled and heaved as sheets of loose dirt fell from above. Oralia heard the muffled battle cry of Captain Bernstein’s remaining force. There were other voices in the mix, as well. Ones regretfully unfamiliar to her. Not only did she not recognize to whom the voices belonged, but the language itself was one she did not comprehend.

  The ceiling rattled violently above them, shaking harder than ever before, clogging the smoke-filled bunker with layers upon layers of loose dirt and debris. The thick cloud of swirling ash and dust particles wormed through the tunic tugged over Oralia’s face and into her nose, filling her lungs with an inescapable, suffocating heat. She dipped forward, gasping, as her head started to swim.

  Daana was the only one left with the necessary breath with which to scream. “It’s in the walls! I can feel it!” Her curled fingers moved up and down her arms, clawing at her skin. “It’s too much!”

  The poor thing had finally slipped over the edge. Still, some lingering survival instinct nagged at Oralia to heed Daana’s warning. Squinting, she peered through the roiling clouds of dust and smoke and studied the bucking walls. A startled gasp burst from her constricted windpipe. The walls were glowing. Rivers of luminescent gold snaked down from above and branched out across the room. The air hummed, vibrating with the same intensity that rattled the ground. With a resounding crack, the four surrounding walls splintered beneath the strain. Several screamed as the group drew together near the middle, anticipating the collapse destined to follow.

  Only it didn’t. The roof remained suspended over their heads for several terrifying seconds before it began to lift. Slowly, it rose, inch by inch, spilling thick sheets of loose dirt and rubble near the broken edges. The ceiling rose as a single slab held together by glowing threads of gold. It lifted higher, higher, higher, until there was a gap along the edges large enough to vent the suffocating smoke and ash. Fresh air poured in, along with the scents of snow, fire, and wet fir trees. There was light, too. Blindingly bright sunlight infiltrated the gloomy bunker, chasing the shadows away.

  Oralia winced, trying to blink the haziness from her vision to no avail. Unlike her vision, her ears still worked. The sounds of battle waged from beyond the surrounding veil of ash and dust. Dark shadows circled the bunker above, but remained hunched along the edge, as if reluctant to scramble down to help. They were waiting for something.

  Oralia was about to ask what when a scrawny shadow broke through their ranks and slid down into the pit, unafraid. “Really? Again?” It squawked at her. “What’s with you and getting stuck in holes, huh? I daresay, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to lift you to safety.”

  Oralia could do little more than gawk at the little goblin that came swaggering out of the churning dust with his hands on his hips. “Snaglebrag?”

  “The one and only.”

  Oralia would have reached out and kissed him had he been any closer. Snag seemed to sense this as well, which explained the generous berth between them. His caution, alas, did not apply to Rali, who came bounding out of the smoke and caught him up in her arms in what could only be described as a loving strangle.

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  “Snaggy!” the dwarf threw her head back with a happy scream and stomped her feet. “I knew you would come! I mean, between you and me, I did get a little worried there when you didn’t show up right away, but I knew that robust conscience of yours would get to you eventually!”

  “For fuck’s sake, Rali!” Snag could do little more than flair uselessly in her arms. “Let go! You’re crushing me to bits.”

  “No! Never! I’m never letting you out of my sight ever again, ya hear?”

  Snag, against his better judgment, attempted to use logic to pry Rali off as opposed to the far more pragmatic crowbar. “Oi! For real. The rest of the dens are holding the baddies off the best they can, but we’ve only got a short window to get all of you out of here. Unless you plan to carry me out, we’ve got to go.”

  Rali saw no issues with this plan. “Then it’s settled. I shall carry you.”

  Snag raised an excellent point. Oralia had many lingering questions, particularly regarding how they’d lifted the ceiling from over their heads—most of her questions were about that, actually—but, alas, evacuating the injured ranked higher on the ladder of importance.

  “Mul,” Oralia barked, swiveling her head in his direction. She found the mountain man trading insults in Laftak with the remaining goblins waiting along the edge of the pit. The Flatlanders knew a Stoneclaw when they saw one and were understandably hesitant to get within striking distance.

  “What?” he said without looking at her.

  “You and Rali start moving everyone out. Quickly. Time of the essence.”

  “Me?” Rali protested, still holding a squirming Snag firmly in her arms. “But that means I have to put the wee babe down.”

  “I suspect the wee babe would appreciate that.”

  “He would,” Snag agreed.

  “I do have one nagging question first,” Oralia said to Snag. “How?”

  Snag went still in Rali’s arms and blinked up at Oralia as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I got Rali’s message in time, that’s how. Said you were in Lonebrook and in trouble. Even brought some gobbies with me.”

  It was all good information, but also not what Oralia meant. “How did you lift the ceiling off our heads?”

  “Oh, that.” He suddenly sounded disappointed. “We found some help along the way. You might recognize a few of ‘em, actually.” Before Oralia could seek further clarification on the matter, Snag flashed his needled teeth at Rali as a final warning. “For the last fucking time, put me down already! I’m a respectable member of goblin society now! I can’t be seen being cradled like an infant.”

  “Never!”

  Snag threw back his head, mouth curled, prepared to unleash all of chaos on her, when something caused him to go unexpectedly limp. “Is that Daana?” Snag’s worried gaze shifted from the crumpled body lying on the ground to Ashwyn, who was still kneeling protectively beside the elfling. His voice was a mix of panic and rage. “What happened? You let her do somethin’ stupid, didn’t you?”

  Reluctantly, Rali set Snag back onto his feet. He raced over to Daana’s side, muttering unintelligible obscenities under his breath along the way.

  “Alright, boss,” Rali sidled up alongside Oralia and cracked her fingers. “The sentimental crap is all out of my system now. Back to work. How are we gonna do this?”

  The sides of the bunker had caved in when the roof lifted, taking out the ladder to the hatchway along with it. The sloped sides, fortunately, were not tall enough to be anything more than a slight hindrance—to those who could walk, anyway. “Daana and Trant will have to be carried out. But Sascha,” Oralia hesitated before admitting, “without rope, I do not see how we are going to get him out.”

  “We could try the witch,” Rali said helpfully.

  “The what?” Oralia followed to where Rali pointed.

  The final piece of the puzzle settled into place at last. In hindsight, it had been obvious. Snag had practically spelled it out for himself, in fact. Not so much in words, as that would have been far too helpful, but his answer at the very least made sense now. Squinting through the churning smoke and ash, Oralia spied a man amongst the bustle of goblins. He was further away, knelt near the ground with his back to them, chanting. That or cursing, given the distance between them, it was honestly hard to tell.

  Regardless of whether he was reciting a spell or cursing the ground to the seventh realm of chaos and back—which, as Oralia’s hearing cleared, was sounding more and more like a real possibility—whatever he was doing, it was working. He held one hand in the air with the other placed flat against the earth. Streams of yellow and gold magic poured from his fingertips. The magic from his left hand dove deep into the ground, and the other stream, pouring from his right, lifted into the air high above him, still supporting the solid slab of ceiling. Gingerly, the man swept his raised hand down, and the airborne mass of dirt and rubble mimicked his movement. With a violent, rumbling shake, the ground beneath rose to meet the airborne rubble. The two forces merged as one. Twisting and turning, the rocky mass took on a new shape, forming a makeshift barrier between the bunker and battle waging in the trees beyond.

  Trant stepped cautiously forward, clinging to his wife for support as he studied the bizarre witch. “Novera, dear,” he said, voice wavering, “are my eyes deceiving me, or is that who I think it is?”

  “Oh my gods.” Novera’s tone was torn between relief and horror. “I don’t believe it. After all of this time, I can’t believe that boy’s still alive. And using his magic, too!”

  “Dear—”

  “Competently,” Novera continued. “Good gracious, I do not envy his poor teacher.”

  Trant nudged Novera with his elbow, his gentle way of reminding her that perhaps she was focusing on the wrong details. “If Rasp is here, then I have no doubt that our son is nearby.”

  Novera’s eyes widened. She slipped her arm from Trant’s grasp and bounded in Rasp’s direction at a desperate sprint. “Faris!”