TODAY IS TOO LATE by Burke Fitzpatrick

in testing his constructs, if I had to wager, milord. He does not seem political. But he assures me he can track the girl. All he needs is a personal item for the beasts to scent.”
    “Bring him in.”
    A few moments with Biral, and Tyrus smiled because Elmar had described him well. Large but poorly formed, too round in the shoulders and belly, his black robes clung to his midsection, magnifying his girth. He had an untrimmed beard that twitched as he talked and seemed more nervous than ambitious, but many were nervous in the presence of the Lord Marshal. Tyrus didn’t buy it. Anyone who wanted to help Azmon was political.
    “What kind of a name is Biral?”
    “Holoni, milord.”
    “I see.” Tyrus remembered conquering Holon years ago when they defeated the Five Nations. Biral would have been one of the traitors defecting to Azmon. That he had become a bone lord spoke to his ambition. “What do you need?”
    “Something of the lady’s. A hairbrush. An unwashed garment.” Biral stood a little taller. “I assure you, Lord Marshal, my dogs are better than any breed found in nature.”
    Tyrus found one of his clerk’s long swords and unsheathed an inch of it; the edge glinted in the lamplight. He sheathed it and tossed it to Biral, who caught it with ease and feigned surprise. He held the sword outward, as though he didn’t have calluses on his hands or thick forearms.
    “You’ll need that.”
    “Is it necessary?”
    “The remnants of Shinar fled west through some tunnels. So did the girl. We might find a small army sheltering her.”
    Biral licked his lips.
    “You didn’t think impressing the emperor would be easy, did you? It’s hard work, keeping that man happy. Backbreaking work.”
    “I see. Yes, well—”
    “Don’t waste my time with games. Your beasts fail, and we’ll both be flayed.” A half-truth: Azmon had never whipped Tyrus, but it was a common punishment in the army. “Next time, word your promises more carefully.”
    Biral frowned.
    “One more thing,” Tyrus said. “It should be obvious, but I’ve found some of the bone lords need to hear the obvious. If you cannot control your dogs, if they should get excited at a woman running and knock her down or in some way harm the child, you will answer to me.”
    “I have complete control.”
    “Elmar, how many times have we heard that?”
    “Many times, Lord Marshal.”
    “How many times has it been true?”
    “Not as often, Lord Marshal.”
    “I assure you, I took every precaution with my beasts. They are far more intelligent than those lumbering brutes they used on the walls.”
    The bone lords bragged about their latest constructs until the unexpected happened in the field. After a disaster, they produced dozens of excuses and promises on why it would never happen again. Tyrus hated the process, but a beast that could track had its uses.
    “Elmar, find the man a horse. Where are my men? We should be riding by now.”
    “Some of them were mapping the tunnels. Messengers have been sent.”
    “I’ll take what we have now and send messengers if we find the lady’s path.”
    What felt like hours later, Tyrus trailed three bone beasts that resembled large mastiffs. He rode with a dozen of his champions, Etched Men, not as strong as himself, but a few might have challenged King Lael. The sun crept into the morning sky; the dark horizon purpled.
    Tyrus tried not to think of all the things he had to do before the sun set again. A dozen men moved more slowly than one determined rider. So little time—delays slowed everything down. A horse threw a shoe. They had sent a runner for one of Einin’s hairbrushes. The wasted minutes itched like an old scab.
    His mind wandered as he let his horse follow the dogs. The mounts of the Etched Men, like their riders, were more comfortable with the beasts than most. He hoped Einin’s mount didn’t startle when it heard them.
    They scented Einin near their old siege positions. Tyrus saw the outline of