“You stupid bi—”
The talker doesn’t have a chance to finish his insult before I knock his head into the ground and render him unconscious. His buddy silently shakes his head, but I can’t risk it. An instant later he’s just as unconscious as his friend.
I resist the urge to push them into the moat—I don’t know what’s down there, and the two morons aren’t necessarily bad guys—so I just drag them out of the way.
With the guards dispatched, my focus shifts to finding Ursula. Running along the walkway, I twist my head left and right to check the cages on both sides of the moat, scanning for any sight of her and her silver hair.
I’m almost back around to the start when I finally see her.
“Ursula!” I shout. Then, using her true name, “Euryale!”
Through the haze of smoke and brimstone, I can see her in a cage on the far side of the moat, hanging limp from her shackles. She is chained to the wall, and her body is too weak to provide any support at all.
She doesn’t move when I call her name.
“Ursula!” I scream again.
Thane appears at my side. “It’s soundproof.”
He reaches forward. Even though there seems to be nothing but air in front of us, his hand connects with something, sending a shimmering ripple through the empty space, like touching the surface of a pond, only without the water.
“What is this?” I demand.
“A shield,” he says, “raised up by Nemesis.”
I bang at the air, and my hand hits something soft but unyielding. Wave after wave ripples out in every direction from where my fist connects with the shield.
“How do you know that?”
He doesn’t respond.
I fight the urge to punch him in the face. We don’t have time for games and secrecy. As much as I want to pound the whole truth out of him, that’s not the highest priority at the moment.
“Then how do we get across?” I ask.
He shrugs. “No clue.”
I turn my attention to the little monkey. “Sillus?”
“Sillus no see,” he says, his big brown eyes sad. “Never before.”
I look at the golden maiden, who slowly shakes her head.
“There must be a way.” Someone has to be able to get across the moat to feed the prisoners. Or beat them.
Leaving the group, I circle the perimeter again, this time more slowly, more observantly. I walk the full length of one side, then turn and walk another, and another, and finally the last. Half of the prisoners call out to me as I pass by—some in English, some in other languages, some in nonhuman speech. The others are too weak to speak.
My inspection turns up no clues. No bridges, no paths, no sign that anyone has ever made it across to reach the prisoners within.
Even if we figure out how to get the shield down, there’s still the matter of the moat—twenty feet of open space with the gods know what down below.
I turn my attention back to this side of the moat. If there’s nothing directly over it, maybe there’s something else around here that will give me a hint at how to gain access. A lever, a ladder, anything. I circle the moat a third time, now facing the outer ring of cells. They are spartan—each containing nothing but a stone bench, rusty shackles, and a disgusting bowl. And a downtrodden prisoner.
Men, covered in dirt and wearing nothing more than loincloths that look like they’ve been doing overtime as baby diapers. Pathetic, skinny beasts that look like they’re being slowly starved to death. Their empty eyes glance up and follow me as I walk by. Even though I know some of them are bloodthirsty monsters, it’s horrible to see them in such terrible conditions.
“What are you?” a hoarse voice whispers as I pass a cell.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up in warning, but I stop and look inside.
“What are you?” I throw back.
Inside the cell, a thin, haggard man lifts his head. He watches me with sagging, hollow eyes.
His tongue darts out over his lips before he says, “Innocent.”
I scowl. “Isn’t every convict?” I retort.
“I have been convicted of no crime,” he says, his voice smoothing out as he uses it more. “I have been sentenced to a lifetime of chains and beatings without trial.”
“For what?” I ask.
“For daring to disagree.”
That sounds like a bum deal. On any other day, I might be swayed by his sad story and inspired to do something to help—argue his case, maybe, or break him out of jail. But not today.
“Sorry, bud,” I say, actually meaning it even though it comes across as sarcastic. “Can’t help you.”
I don’t have time for this right now. I don’t have time for anything except saving Ursula from torture. But as I continue on my search, the image of his vacant eyes haunts me.
By the time I circle back around to the group again, I’ve exhausted every last inch of the walkway around the moat. I’ve studied every block of stone, every line of mortar, every keyhole and footing and iron pipe. Finding nothing but cells and prisoners, I am no closer to getting through the shield and across to the other side. There’s no sign of a secret button, hidden lever, or magical key.
“What the hell?” I shove my fingers into my braid.
I pace back and forth, running over the space in my mind. There has to be a way across. How else would the prisoners get over there? How else would the torturers get to them?
A tiny voice at the back of my mind suggests that maybe the only way across is a magic I don’t possess. I punch that tiny voice in the throat. That’ll shut it up. I don’t have time for negative thinking.