Tanner vaulted the forge toward Captain Brutus, and Castor charged from the right with the shovel.

Brutus raised the whip over his shoulder. “You little fools!”

He whirled toward Castor, who tried to dodge him. Tanner winced as the whip sliced over Castor’s head. He leaped forward, stabbing at the captain, but the big man turned aside, and his sword only gouged across his breastplate.

Brutus thumped him with a meaty fist, sending Tanner stumbling toward his friend. Castor threw the shovel aside and drew his sword, but the captain laughed, an ugly noise that thundered around the cavern.

“Drop your weapons, and I’ll only cut off one of your hands. I’ll even let you choose which one.”

He paced toward Castor and Tanner, flicking his whip and forcing them away from the forge, toward a rock wall. “I’ll take your fingers off, boys. I’ll dip them in your own blood” — he tapped his armor — “and add them to my collection.”

As Brutus forced him back, Tanner could see beyond him that Gwen had slipped away from the forge toward the cages. She was gesturing desperately to Corrin, but he and the other boys were all frozen in their spots, watching the fight through wide, frightened eyes. Two guards must have spotted the swords in their hands, because they walked over with their clubs. Another came from a different part of the cavern, leading the varkule. The animal’s ears were erect and the striped fur on his spine stood up as he snarled, sending out a putrid smell.

The plan’s not working, Tanner thought, panic bubbling through him. If the boys don’t fight, there’s no way we can get out of here….

Brutus’s whip snaked through the air again. It caught the heel of Castor’s boot and pulled him off balance. He landed with a thud, his sword clattering on the ground. Brutus snapped the whip and it cracked against the stone floor in a spray of tiny rocks, a hairs-breadth from Castor’s face.

Tanner raised his sword, ready to attack, but Brutus was surprisingly quick. He lashed out, and Tanner felt the cut of the whip around his wrist. Brutus grinned as he pulled Tanner toward him. With his other hand he seized a hammer from beside the anvil. “I’ll bash your brains out, boy!”

Tanner could do nothing as he was dragged across the floor. His sword arm, held tight, was useless. Brutus raised the hammer. On the ground at the captain’s feet, Tanner saw Castor shaking his head free of dizziness. He reached into his belt for his dagger. With a lunge, he buried the tip in Brutus’s foot.

The captain bellowed in pain and dropped his whip, falling backward to clutch at the dagger. Tanner untangled his hand from the leather. His arm was soaked with blood.

“Now!” Gwen yelled.

Tanner saw her draw a pair of throwing axes from her tunic and charge the nearest guard. She chopped into his club with one ax and swung her other ax at his head — he dodged, but she yanked away his club, which was still embedded in her ax. “Help me,” she called to Corrin. “We’re here to get you out, but you have to fight — all of you!”

Corrin and the other boys raised their swords. They ran into an attack, crying out angrily, their chests heaving as blades were brought down on the guards. In the chaos, Tanner saw the varkule rear as the boys swarmed over it, stabbing and hacking. Lips curled back from his yellow teeth as the boys punched and stabbed; soon the varkule lay in the dirt with blood pooling around his fur. The boys swarmed over the body, raising their blades against soldiers who backed away, eyes wide.

“Hurry!” Tanner shouted, as Gwen hacked at the thick cage bars. “We need to get to the eastern tunnels before it’s too late.”

The cage splintered and cracked, but it didn’t break.

Castor was cornered, blood trickling down his shoulder, his sword gripped with both hands. Captain Brutus limped toward him. “I haven’t finished with you yet.”

“Hey!” Tanner called. “Brutus!”

The captain spun toward him. Tanner feinted left, and when Brutus swung his whip, Tanner leaped right, onto a coal cart. The cart capsized behind him as Tanner jumped off, flipping in midair to bring his feet forward — and slamming his boots into the center of Brutus’s chest. The impact knocked Tanner down, but it also rattled Brutus’s breastplate loose. The captain tripped and fell backward with a cry.

Castor brought his blade around and sliced Brutus’s whip in half. It fell to the ground uselessly.

There was a splintering sound of wood cracking. Gwen had broken open the first cage. Snakes slithered across the cave floor toward dark corners. A boy scrambled out, and despite his starved, emaciated limbs, he grabbed a hammer from a nearby rack and charged at an injured guard crawling across the ground with his sword. “Get back!” ordered the guard, but the boy batted the guard’s sword clean out of his grasp. Without hesitation, the boy brought the hammer back up and smashed it into the guard’s face. Blood spurted from his nostrils as he fell backward. Other boys drove their blades into his side in fast, deadly stabs. He collapsed facedown, and lay motionless.

But more guards streamed into the cavern, carrying swords and shields. They must have come from deeper in the mines, alerted by the sounds.

Corrin led the boys in a war cry as they grabbed rocks and swords, hammers and clubs, to help Gwen open the remaining cages, breaking the bars to free the boys trapped inside.

Captain Brutus climbed to his feet. His breastplate slipped off and banged to the floor, exposing a black tunic. Gesturing with his ruined whip, he yelled at the incoming guards. “Kill them! Get into your formations. They’re only children — cut them down.”

“Gwen!” Tanner yelled. “Group the boys. Don’t let them give up.”

Gwen gave him a sharp nod and directed Corrin and some of the older boys toward the new attackers. She’d lost one of her axes but raised another defiantly and drew her rapier with her free hand. She shouted across at Tanner, “We can’t hold them for long!”

Tanner just had time to duck as something flew past his head and clattered into the forge behind him. Brutus was using his massive strength to hurl shields from a heap of armor at them. In between throws, he ordered the guards to fight their way across the cavern and to form groups, back-to-back. The guards rushed the boys, knocking them back in a clatter of swords. They cried out in pain and fell as the guards trampled them to the ground. The tide was turning again.

“You can’t win,” Brutus sneered at Tanner and Castor.

“Oh, I think we can,” Castor said, and he nodded to Tanner. “Where’s Firepos?”

Of course! Tanner thought. The tunnel was small, but the Beasts might be able to squeeze through — it was worth a try.

“Firepos!” he shouted.

Gwen heard him and joined the cry. “Gulkien!”

I hear something … a cry from deep in the mountain. Gulkien springs toward the cave entrance. When he looks back at me, I see the anger in his eyes. The Chosen Riders are in danger. They are calling for help.

Tucking my feathers against my flanks, I follow Gulkien into the darkness. My talons grip rock, pulling me through the tunnel. My feathers brush and tear against the walls. Ahead, the sounds of clashing metal and blood cries echo. The tunnel widens. I spread my wings and screech into the cavern, fire blazing across my wings.

With a ferocious howl, Gulkien leaps onto an armed man, his fangs and gums bared, his yellow eyes flashing. The shouts of triumph turn to screams.

I swoop over the evil men that have surrounded the Chosen Riders. There are smaller boys, too, who must be protected. Their faces brighten with terror and awe as I open my wings and call out my war cry. The evil men scatter around me, waving their weapons and wailing for help.

As the men form groups, I dart between stalactites, then drop low to hook my beak into a man’s shoulder. He screams as I fly higher with him. The men shout and point, their faces lit with terror, and I toss my catch across the cavern. He hits the wall hard and lands in a crumpled heap of broken limbs.

A man raises his shield at me — I catch it in my talons, bending the metal back on itself. Fire flares from my talons, engulfing him like a human torch. He moans in the crackle of flames.

Below, Gulkien lunges at another man, who drops his sword to cower behind an anvil. Growling, Gulkien backs a trio of men toward the far cavern wall. They wave spears at him, but he swats them aside with his massive paws and shakes the life from his foes.

“Help!” the girl calls to us. “The cages!”

Evil men have formed a wall of shields and blades to guard their captured boys. The children are locked behind wooden bars. I understand; I can tell Gulkien does, too.

I can see the horror in the men, the way their swords shiver. My friend, the Wolf Beast, stalks toward them. When he snarls, his eyes wide in the firelight, the line of men staggers back. I fly behind the furnace, and, as Gulkien leaps closer, the men turn — directly into me. I crash into their shields, shrieking as they fall over one another, struggling to get out of my way. I snap my beak, and Gulkien smashes them to the ground.

I am Firepos. Fear me.

Brutus laughed, a low, ragged sound, and casually walked to a weapon rack. He seemed to have no fear of either Beast and fixed his eyes on Tanner and Castor as he grabbed a heavy club that was shaped like a sharp, grinning skull, with long black spikes on the end. The spikes gleamed in the orange light cast from the torches lining the cave walls.

Brutus pointed the weapon at Castor, then at Tanner. “Now. Who wants to die first?”

Tanner charged, swinging for Brutus’s throat, and when Brutus blocked his blade, Castor came in fast, stabbing and swiping in quick thrusts that made Brutus stagger backward. His club was short, but he moved it in efficient, defensive circles, expertly knocking their swords away. When the club connected with Tanner’s blade, his whole arm shook with the impact.

“Peasants!” he spat. “You don’t deserve to live.”

But Tanner could see the panic in his face. They were pushing Brutus back. He couldn’t attack, could only defend himself from their blows. We need to get closer, Tanner thought.

Brutus banged Castor’s sword down again, twisted back, and stopped Tanner’s sword near his chest. He shoved Tanner away and blocked Castor again. They had nearly forced Brutus right against the wall — and Tanner saw his chance.

“Castor, brace yourself!”

Immediately understanding, Castor put his hands to his knees to create a springboard. Tanner ran and jumped, planting his feet on Castor’s back and launching himself at Brutus. Brutus swung his club and missed — and Tanner kicked his heel into the man’s chin, sending his head jerking back. Tanner landed in the dirt behind him.

“You filthy little runt!” Blood ran down Brutus’s face. Tanner came up behind him and wrapped an arm around his throat, bringing his sword down and twisting it behind Brutus’s club, hooking it the same way Castor had trapped the skinny boy’s sword back in Colton. Tanner yanked up, but Brutus was too strong. The captain’s free arm locked on the back of Tanner’s head, his fingers grasping his neck. Both of Brutus’s arms were up in the air — his left gripping the locked club, his right on Tanner’s throat —

“Now!” Tanner choked out.

With a roar, Castor drove his sword through Brutus’s chest.

The captain made a startled, wet noise. His fingers fell limply from Tanner’s neck, and he dropped his club. As Castor pulled out his sword, the captain crumpled to his knees. Tanner jumped free and watched Brutus slump. He choked out a clot of blood. “You …” His lips moved, but no further sound emerged.

Castor stepped back from the body. He stretched his wounded shoulder and wiped the blood from his sword. “That’s for the men of Colton,” he said.

Fighting for breath, Tanner stared at Brutus’s sagging corpse. The blood pooling around the captain’s gaping mouth was already darkening.

Gulkien and Firepos were corralling the last of the soldiers, who realized that fighting on was useless. They dropped their swords. Gwen and Corrin gathered the boys around the forge. All of them carried weapons, and most were smeared with the blood of their captors.

“We did it!” Castor shouted.

Gwen looked at Tanner, her face tense. She was thinking the same thing.

It’s not over yet.