Chapter 83: The Narrow Turn

Chapter 83: The Narrow Turn

The first time they took the narrow turn, they lost both charges inside twenty seconds.

It was obvious why the moment it happened. Strikers came from two bays at once, one on the inside of the bend and one on the outside, timed so that they arrived just as the charges reached the split. Silas was in the inside lane with his charge; Alden was in the outside lane with his. The partition between them was too tall to see over. Silas could hear Alden fighting on the other side, could hear his charge clatter over, and could do absolutely nothing about it, because his own striker was already on him.

Then his own charge went down too, because he’d turned his head toward the noise.

The bell rang once.

"Again," Alden said, before Ferrow could say anything.

They talked it through in the yellow lane. Neither of them could cover the other’s lane once they were in the split. Neither of them could stand still at the corner and cover both, because the charges kept walking and the strikers came from opposite directions. Whatever they did, each of them had to protect his own charge, alone, while moving through a space barely wide enough to turn round in.

"So we can’t help each other there," Alden said.

"Before and after," Silas said. "Not during. During, it’s just me and mine and you and yours."

"Then we have to get there clean," Alden said. "No strikers on our backs when we go in."

He crouched and drew the turn in the dust with a fingertip: two lanes, a wall between them, a bay on either side. Silas looked at the sketch and saw the problem laid flat. There was nowhere in it for one person to stand and see both lanes at once. Whoever had built this hall had meant it that way.

It took four more attempts. They lost charges at the split twice more, and once just before it. Each time Silas came out of the attempt knowing exactly what he’d done wrong, and each time it was a different thing. An early throw left the dart returning when he needed it; a late one let the attacker close too far. Once, he turned without checking the track behind him and lost half a step. Ferrow let them identify the mistakes before adding his own corrections.

On the fifth attempt, it came together.

They reached the narrow section with their backs clear. Alden called "Split!" and peeled away into the outside lane with his charge, and Silas went into the inside lane a step ahead of his, walking backward, the dart already out of its case and hanging at his shoulder.

The inside bay opened.

The striker came over the top of the partition rather than round it, all long arms and iron joints, dropping toward the charge’s head. Silas didn’t stop. He kept walking backward, kept his charge coming toward him, and sent the dart up into the striker’s shoulder joint as it dropped. The joint locked. The construct came down crooked, its reaching arm useless, and hit the floor beside the charge instead of on it.

He brought the dart back in a short loop over the charge’s head without breaking stride. His heel brushed the lip of a track groove. This time he lifted his foot clear without losing the dart’s path.

A second striker came round the corner ahead of them, low and fast, straight at the charge’s legs.

Silas was already where he needed to be. He didn’t have to plant his feet. He was half a step ahead of the charge and slightly to the side, and the dart went out from there, flat and fast, into the striker’s knee. It skidded. The charge walked past it.

He kept moving. He kept the dart up. He backed around the corner with the charge still in reach and the lane opening out behind him, and on the other side of the partition he heard Alden shout, "Clear!"

"Clear!" Silas shouted back.

The two lanes rejoined. Alden’s charge came out of the outside lane beside his with its light still glowing, and Alden behind it, sword up, a fresh scuff on one cheek and his eyes very bright.

Both charges reached the painted gate. The bell rang twice.

Alden let out a yell that echoed off the roof.

Silas didn’t yell. He stood with the dart hovering at his shoulder and his heart going hard and felt a grin take over his whole face. He had done it. Not in the room, where everything was doubled and easy. Out here, walking backward over iron rails, he had hit two moving targets while keeping a third thing alive. That was what he’d wanted. That was what the courtyard had shown him he couldn’t do.

"That’s a pass," Ferrow called. "Don’t let it go to your heads."

"Too late," Alden said, and Silas laughed.

Ferrow looked down at Silas. "You checked the track that time. Keep doing it, even when you think you know the layout."

"I will," Silas said. He remembered the jolt of landing on his backside. He had no interest in repeating it.

Ferrow made a note. "Good control through the second attack, too. You didn’t stop moving."

Silas let the dart settle back into its case and checked his reserve. A little under half. Every recall loop cost more than a straight throw, and he’d made a lot of them. It was a cost he could feel and plan for now, which was more than he’d been able to say that morning.

They drank their water in the yellow lane while Ferrow made notes. Alden kept replaying the outside lane with his hands, describing where the striker had come from and how he’d known which way it would duck. He was happy. It looked good on him.

Silas listened, and underneath the satisfaction, he felt the other thing.

It’s the right building. It’s the right exercise. And he’s exactly as D-Rank as he was this morning.

He’d known it might not happen. He’d known a game location wasn’t a recipe. The afternoon had already been worthwhile; his own grin was proof of that. But better footwork wouldn’t replace the awakening Alden had missed. Silas wanted this exercise to give his friend more than a useful lesson, and he had no idea how to make that happen.

"One more," Ferrow said. "Harder pattern. Then we’re done for the day. Yellow lane, both of you, and stay in it till I call."

They followed the yellow lane back toward the start, keeping between the east wall and the carriages’ normal travel. It was wide enough for two people, with open floor at its end. Behind them, the partitions began to grind out of the narrow-turn arrangement and into a new one.

Silas was looking at the charges in their racks, wondering how much harder harder could get, when he heard the crack.

It was sharp and loud, like a bone breaking, and it came from beside them.

He turned his head. The partition on the outermost rail, the one sliding past the yellow lane, lurched. Its carriage jumped in the track. The whole slab tilted, slowly at first, then faster, leaning out of its line and over the painted lane.

Over Alden.

"Stop!" Ferrow roared, and Silas heard the lever slam home and every carriage in the hall shudder to a halt at once.

The leaning slab didn’t stop. It had already left its mounting.

Alden was looking up at it. He hadn’t moved yet.

Silas reached for him.