Then there were the barrels of black powder on the third floor.

There was a circularity to it all, he thought. All those slave workers who had perished when the rest of his complex had burned. They had not been able to escape. They’d been chained to their machines. Their deaths were on him, and now they’d have some measure of justice. He hoped they would, at least, forgive him for taking the easy way out, a choice they had not had.

He picked up his pistol and pressed the muzzle to his head.

It was time for others to lead and carry on the opposition. Cade would protect Arhys, he knew. Perhaps Karigan G’ladheon would even reach her own time and change the course of history. A pity he would never find out.

He pulled the trigger.

When the professor had sealed the hatch on the penstock, Cade sensed he would not see his mentor again. Now he crouched at the very bottom of the mill in the tailrace tunnel. The turbine with its rusted vanes and gears had been shifted out of the way at the bottom of the penstock, leaving just enough space to maneuver. How the professor had managed to move the turbine, and secretly, too, he had no idea. In fact, only now did he realize how little he knew about his mentor.

He could not dwell on it. He was on his own, and he had someone else to take care of. Karigan lay on her side on the granite masonry floor of the tailrace, quite oblivious to all that had gone on so far. He hoped the professor had not irreparably harmed her by giving her such a large dose of morphia. Cade did not know how, precisely, it would affect her, for morphia could be unpredictable, but he did know she’d be out for quite some time.

He shone the light of the taper around, surprised to find the subterranean tunnel high enough for him to stand up—so long as he remained in the center of the arching ceiling. He had never been beneath a mill before—tailraces were usually filled with water, except when some repair must be made. He would never have thought of using a tailrace tunnel as a path of escape, but the professor had. He shook his head. The professor’s paranoia was well honed.

The tailrace was constructed entirely of granite block masonry. In places he saw where silt had collected, imprinted with the ghost ripples of flowing water and the footprints of large river rats. The tailrace went far beyond the glow of his taper. To reach the river, he’d have to pass not only beneath this mill, but the width of the abandoned courtyard of the complex, and beneath the ruins of yet another mill. If he was going to reach the river anytime soon, he had better get at it. There was no telling what was going on up above.

When he started to lift Karigan, her eyes fluttered open. She squinted at him, unfocused. “Cade?”

“Yes?”

“You have . . .” she began.

“Yes?” he asked, gently shaking her when her eyes started closing again.

She blinked hard. “You have a nose.” And just like that, she was out again.

“Glad to hear it,” he muttered, and he hoisted her once more over his shoulder. Fortunately she was not heavy. Juggling the staff, the taper, the satchel, and one Green Rider altogether, however, proved more of a challenge, but he managed, moving swiftly down the tunnel. His footsteps echoed loudly around him, and he was pursued by his own shadow. This dank tunnel felt more like a tomb to him than what he had seen beyond the Heroes Portal.

Thinking of the tombs and of the Weapons gave him fresh strength, and he hurried onward. He was one of them now, a Black Shield, and his responsibilities ranged beyond the workings of opposition groups, and even beyond protecting Arhys. While he had been with the Weapons, he’d learned how distorted the world he lived in had become under the emperor. Instead of progressing into a bright future, the descendents of Sacoridia, and all the other nations that now comprised the empire, lived in a repressed gloom. Except for a privileged few. Including the professor.

Cade did not know if it was possible for Karigan to return to her own time and set things right, but he aimed to help her try. This, he believed, was his mandate as a Weapon, above and beyond all others. He did not see himself as abandoning his duty to Arhys by doing so. Not at all. Conversely, he believed helping Karigan would be the ultimate way to protect Arhys. He would help alter his time for the better, to restore Sacoridia to its rightful rule by kings and queens. In this way, he reasoned, he would protect Arhys, give her a world in which she could fulfill her destiny as a princess, out in the open as was proper, not as an exile hidden away lest she be hunted down like an animal should the empire learn of her existence. Nor did he intend to simply abandon Arhys in the here and now to some unknown fate but do whatever was in his power to keep her safe.

As for Karigan, he would personally deliver her to her king if he could. He wanted to see the old realm in all its glory, to see what Sacor City and the castle had really looked like before their destruction—not just some artist’s fanciful renderings. He wanted to meet figures out of history—King Zachary and Queen Estora. Would the Weapons of that time accept him? Maybe or maybe not, but if he were there, he too could help prevent the rise of the emperor, fight in the past for Arhys and for the people of his present.

And he’d be with Karigan.

The subject of his thoughts shifted on his shoulder.

“Cade?” she said.

He halted. “Karigan? Are you awake?”

“Cade, why is the floor down there?”

He eased her off his shoulder and helped her stand when her knees buckled. Her eyes were open, but again unfocused.

“Where in the hells am I?” she asked in a dazed voice, her gaze wandering.