By the time we reach the Sworn camp, the trike has made it clear that this is the end of the line. Various sputters and rattles have become increasingly dire over the last few minutes, and when Atrax finally kills the engine it stops with a screeching wrench of metal-on-metal that emphatically conveys this is one piece of machinery that is simply Done.

  The air in the camp is confusion. The bulk of the raiders, watching from a distance, aren't quite sure what's happened yet. The woman in the eye-patch knows, though, and she jumps down from the rock where Slaughterborne's lieutenants are gathered. Behind her, a furious argument is getting started.

  "I believe we are the victors!" Atrax says, climbing out of the driver's seat. His legs, I notice, are shaking; he's not completely made of iron after all. I climb down from the back, pain from various minor injuries starting to make itself felt as the adrenaline high wears off.

  "You have no idea what you've done," the woman spits. "There is going to be a any minute --"

  "Then we'd better take our leave." Atrax manages a slight bow. "The honor of my clan is restored, and I believe our guest has seen all he needs to see."

  I'd almost forgotten we were running a game on them, but his prompt gives me enough warning to put my court accent back on. "Oh, yes. I am satisfied."

  "If I had your heads," the woman says, almost thoughtfully, "it would be a lot easier to get the others to stay in line." Her hand drifts to a knife at her belt.

  "No call for that," Atrax says mildly. "A challenge was issued and accepted, in accordance with custom."

  "Fuck custom --"

  I step between them, drawing myself up with an effort and hitting her with every ounce of hauteur a noble of the City ought to possess.

  " represent the interests of First-in-the-City, Earth-as-in-Heaven, greatest of men and ruler of the world," I hiss. "And

  say this man and his clan are now under our protection. Touch him and there will be ."

  She matches my gaze, one eye against two. She's not bad, but this sort of thing has been my bread and butter most of my life. I can feel it when her nerve cracks.

  "Go," she mutters. "Just get out of here."

  Atrax turns and heads for the rest of the trikes. I wait a moment longer, making it clear that leaving is choice, not a response to her orders. Then I sweep up the ragged remains of my costume and follow.

  The clanspeople have the vehicles packed and running, as eager to be gone as we are. Grindau grabs Atrax's wrist and helps him swing up into a rear seat.

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  "Your … companion," Atrax says. "She helped us against Slaughterborne's treachery. Will she be all right?"

  "We can stop to let her catch up once we clear the canyon," I tell him. "She'll be fine." Mercy might not be able to outrun a trike on the flat, but I have confidence she can get past any stray raiders who might be looking for her.

  We ride out the way we came in, past the pinioned bodies. The guard posts are empty as everyone drifts to the camp to be in on whatever complicated showdown is brewing. I let myself breathe a sigh of relief as the canyon walls fall away and we reach the open desert.

  It worked. Somehow it , in spite of -- well, everything. Now Theo won't lose her brother, and the clan won't be conquered by the raiders. Twelve know what'll happen when the Navy does show up, but I'm sure we'll think of something.

  think of something, rather. I'll be gone, right?

  I think of Gray in his bag beside my bed. Revolution against the Princeps. Blood and fire, as Rekka would say, the only way any change is going to happen. Not that I have any love for the old bastard, but ? , against the ruler of the world? No matter what shiny sword Gray wants me to dig out of the dirt in the north, it seems unlikely. More accurately, it seems suicidal.

  But if not that, then what? Spend the rest of my life hiding at the ass-end of the world?

  "There!" someone shouts as we crest a dune. "Someone's coming!"

  I follow the pointing finger and see a figure running across the sand with long, floating leaps that barely seem to touch the ground, her cloak flapping behind her like wings. Atrax orders the party to stop, and the trikes slew to a halt between dunes while Mercy catches up.

  "She's …" Atrax frowns, trying to understands what he's looking at. It's hard to square Mercy's human stature with the fact that she's running as fast as a sandship. "Unique, isn't she?"

  "That's one way of putting it." I can't help but get a smile on my face. Mercy's waving her one arm and shouting something. I can't quite hear her, but I don't really need to, do I? "Yes, you did a great job with the mur--"

  An engine roars, loud and close. Something big blasts over the next dune in a spray of sand. A man on a bike, roaring down the face of the dune in a power dive. Steering one-handed, because the other arm ends in a bloody, torn-open stump.

  . The war-priest is a mess, his skin torn away in a dozen places, one cheek ripped open and showing the sharpened teeth behind. There's a harpoon tucked in the crook of his arm, the harpoon that was until recently a part of his body. He gives an unintelligible roar as he guns his bike directly toward us.

  Toward , in particular. I feel frozen in place.

  "Dextral !" he shrieks. "Your City will !"

  At the last moment, he leaps from the bike, huge and feral and monstrous. Atrax, beside me, grabs an axe from the cargo rail and tries to intercept, like a stickball batter swinging for a pitch. But Hunter twists in mid-air, the axe-blade taking a chunk of his side, not enough to arrest his momentum. He slams his bleeding stump into Atrax's face, knocking him sprawling, while his good hand grabs the harpoon and raises it high.

  "!" someone shouts.

  There's a blur.

  Abruptly I'm looking into Mercy's face instead of the mangled, screaming war-priest's. She smiles at me, huge eyes cheerful, as six inches of harpoon emerge from between her breasts. Her new dress tents for a moment before shredding on the jagged point.

  "Protect!" she says brightly.

  Then she sags, the red light in her eyes dying away, and I catch her in my arms. Behind her, Hunter screams and tries to jerk his harpoon free, but Atrax brings the axe around at head height. It catches the war-priest in the jaw, shearing off the top half of his head and spattering the front of the trike with gore.

  Too late. I scream.

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