Eirwen’s face was white. Noise spiralled up from outside. “We should go down to the others,” she said. “In case the knights start a fight again.”
Cole nodded. “Can you stand?”
“I feel fine.” She climbed to her feet. “You two?”
“Bruised, not broken,” Onyx reported. “Cole?”
The name sounded unfamiliar on Onyx’s gravelly tongue. “I, er, nothing serious,” he responded.
“Good.”
They found the others waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. The stone and marble had been obliterated, the rock resembling chewed-up mush. A dozen houses lay in ruins. Blood, black and red, stained the site. Two knights were nowhere to be seen, another was injured, but the dwarves were all still standing. Eirwen ran to them as Blackwall hastened towards Cole, dropping into a bow.
“Your Highness,” said the knight, “I am relieved to see you unharmed–”
“What’s the package?” he said. It was lying behind the remaining knights, still covered, their swords drawn around it.
Blackwell avoided his gaze. “I… I cannot say. But if you come back with us–”
Cole shook his head. “You have two choices. Leave now, or forsake my mother. Do not support her madness, Blackwell. It’s too dangerous.”
Blackwell exhaled, his jaw tight. “Going against her is too dangerous. She has… has powers. Knowledge that no one should–”
“That’s not a reason to help her!”
“I’m not helping her,” Blackwell said. “I’m helping myself.”
Cole’s eyes sharpened, but he didn’t press it. Had she threatened their families? Had the Mirror searched their souls for things to blackmail them with?
“You should come with us,” Blackwell tried again.
Cole shook his head. “No. My place is here. Beside her.”
Before he could glance at Eirwen to gauge her reaction, something shifted near the palace entrance. A couple of the guards who were still scouting the area yelled something, and everyone moved at once.
The creature that was once Jasper pooled out of the building, dripping down the steps. The sunlight did nothing to him, but his body moved slowly, its twisted limbs staggering.
“He’s still alive,” breathed Merry.
Onyx pulled out his pistol. “Not for much longer.”
He fired it into the mass. Black flesh, more like liquid, splattered the ground. He was not a shade, Cole realised. He was something else. But he was weaker than before, damaged by the sun or the loss of swathes of his followers, he didn’t know.
The knights fired too, bolts, arrows and bullets smacking the monstrous form. The creature roared. Unlike the other things, this felt pain.
Eirwen leapt from his side, her blade slashing across the limbs, darting backwards every time it swiped. He joined her, diving under its arms, its punches loose and slippery, as the others fired at its head far above them.
It crashed to its knees. Cole pinned an arm to the floor, skewering it with his sword. It jerked underneath him, the muscle refusing to settle, to give up.
He hated this part of a hunt, he always had. The thrill of the chase heated his blood, the joy of victory he could revel in, but the moment something struggled in pain was when he wanted to look away.
Eirwen held her blade to its head, and hesitated.
Onyx reached her side, reloading his pistol. He held it to the monster’s face.
“If there is any dwarf left within you, Uncle,” he said, “for all your sins… be at peace now.”
He fired the shot.