Maybe not, Henry thought. Maybe crazier things hadn't been done before.

Perched high in the narrow tunnel, some hundred feet above the ground, he shifted and ducked instinctively, suppressing the urge to cover his ears against the incessant buzzing. But he remained fixed on the enormous, grayish structure, anchored on both ceiling and floor, that loomed in the middle of the vast cave ahead.

The trek here had taken around a day, just like the flutterers had said. Kuthe's guide had turned back as soon as they had heard the first sounds; he had said that Henry only needed to continue ahead and he would not be able to miss it—the nest.

It was gigantic; some sixty feet tall, it seemed to consist of a gray, organic material that almost pulsated with life, and here and there the black-and-yellow-striped tail of a wasp poked out. The most astonishing part, however, was how Henry was able to see it at all. He squinted his eyes, attempting to determine a light source, but couldn't. The nest seemed to glow from within; maybe whatever they produced in there had a natural glow?

Henry didn't know. But he was not here to find out. Now that he was actually here, what he needed was to make a plan—and a damn good one—for that.

The first semblance of a plan began to form in Henry's mind only when he, after some ten minutes of maneuvering the tight, dark tunnels in the vicinity of the nest, finally found a body of water.

A broad river leisurely streamed nearby, and upon closer inspection, Henry found that it was not just a river. Below him, there seemed to be an extensive network of caves that lay underwater, accessible through the river.

When he knelt to feel the water temperature, he found it colder than he would have liked, but not so cold that he couldn't stand it. At least, if he did catch a cold, he had medicine now.

The water's glow didn't meet his desired level of brightness either; it barely sufficed to see more than shadowy silhouettes, and he hoped that it would intensify over time. And yet, he still thought he couldn't have asked for a more perfect hiding spot.

Henry sat his backpack down, looking for somewhere to store it, and thought that he should wait a few hours until the glow would intensify and make aiming with his slingshot easier. If he was going to lure the buzzers here and use the water to hide, he couldn't afford to miss even one shot.

Maybe he should use the time he had to scout out and memorize the fastest route to the river from the nest, Henry thought, and heaved his backpack into a niche on the far side, across from the river. Or . . . maybe he should explore the river and the underwater caves instead. He needed to know exactly where he would be able to hide there, whether there were air bubbles further in, or how extensive the system even was.

Henry knelt and tried to make out with his eyes how far down it went, but he couldn't see very well. The river ran along one cave wall, and the bank on his side was shallow, but on the other side, it dipped pretty quickly, suggesting an unknown depth beneath the wall. Some naturally formed archways that lay partially underwater gave the impression of half-submerged tunnel openings. It appeared almost like a natural canalization system, and even though they hated water, Henry found himself wondering if the buzzers used it for anything.

Without further ado, Henry stripped off his boots and shirt and stored them with his backpack. Then he tied his hair together and gave one concerned look to his still-injured thigh. Swimming in freshwater would likely not do well for the injury, but he had no choice. After some consideration, he relinquished his sword as well, although he left Mys at the back of his hip for emergencies.

Then he stuck his slingshot into the back of his belt and began filling his pockets with stones. Henry managed to fit eight again and thought that should suffice.

As he twisted one in his hand, contemplating whether it was better suited than the one he had just discarded, he began having doubts again. Soon, this cave would be filled with trigger-happy wasps, and he did not even have armor. Though he had never been fond of heavy armor, Henry found himself longing for a breastplate or similar protection. Maybe he should consider trading for something of the sort eventually for situations like this.

Just when he had finished gathering stones and approached the river to begin his exploration, Henry suddenly made out a buzzing noise—from behind.

He jumped and nearly plummeted into the water. Whatever buzzers made it, they were approaching fast. But no, Henry thought. He wasn't done yet. He wasn't ready! Henry desperately swallowed the rising panic. He had not explored the underwater caves, nor had he scouted a way from here to the nest, nor—

But he had no time to panic. He veered and slipped behind a ledge just in time to not be spotted by a group of five buzzers who appeared to be returning to the nest, coming from the opposite direction. Curiously, Henry leaned forward to see better in the still much too dim light. And so, for the first time, he got a good look at them. They measured over three feet in length and boasted a striking yellow and black-striped pattern. Four transparent wings shimmered from their backs, and their rumps sported razor-sharp stingers that measured a full seven inches.

But only when Henry inspected the buzzer that flew in the middle did his eyes widen in surprise. He was a little taller than the others and donned a striking sash made of vibrant red spinner silk—the same that Lakethe had described as the hallmark of the generals.

Henry dared not release the breath he was holding and tightened his grip around the handle of his slingshot. This was one of his targets, and he had only four guards with him.

Technically, Henry knew he had wanted to wait until the light brightened. He knew that he hadn't done any scouting and that he wasn't as well prepared as he had wanted to be. He knew that he'd had a plan. But . . . screw the plan.

The stone struck the buzzer-general out of nowhere. He sounded a short, sharp scream before he dropped where he had hovered—dead.

The buzzing of the guards became louder and angrier as they swarmed the body of the dead general, but as soon as they spotted Henry, they began heading for him. He hastily tore his pocket open to fire what he estimated to be five or six stones at random, but as soon as the first guard dropped, the others veered and made a direct path for the exit. For the nest.

Panic speared Henry when he understood what letting even one of them reach the nest entailed. He aimed again and again, yet to his horror, one guard still lived when he had run out of stones, and Henry could do nothing except watch him disappear in the direction of the nest.

Henry gazed after him and fervently cursed himself for going against his own damn plan. Now the guard would alert his friends, and they would all be here soon, searching for him. Like I wanted, he suddenly thought. He had wanted to lure them out regardless, and now he had achieved that and even taken out one of two targets along with it.

But he hadn't wanted to do it yet. Henry stared at the unexplored underwater system and envisioned sniping the second general in the dim light.

What a professional mercenary he was, indeed. He had wanted to be, and here he was, making foolish amateur mistakes. But there was no time for self-pity or regret; he had to hide.

Henry hurriedly scooped up as many fresh stones as he could and vaulted toward the water. He had only just dropped himself in and dove, ducking into one of the flooded caverns, when he heard the sound. It was the same buzzing, only a hundred times louder . . . and polyphonic.

Then chaos ensued. A horde of buzzers swarmed into the cave, their angry hum filling the air as they frantically combed every corner and crevice in search of him.

Henry submerged entirely in the water and retreated; then it occurred to him that he should at least now explore the underwater caves. He stuck his sling into his belt and swam deeper, in search of air. The cave reached farther than he had anticipated, and the current wasn't strong; Henry could effortlessly swim against it. When he finally found an air pocket, he was so deep that he almost couldn't make out the buzzing anymore.

He prepped himself up onto a stone ledge and took a few deep breaths. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all. His improvised kill earlier may not have been the most strategic move, but it had taken out one of his targets, leaving him with only one more.

Henry shivered from the cold and anxiously felt his leg; it had started aching again. At least it wasn't bleeding. He beat the water with his feet quicker to warm up and turned upward again. He had to go back and kill the second target, and there was really no reason for delay. If he was even in the cave.

Henry shook the pesky doubts. He did not know, and the only way to find out was to stop overthinking and check. He would go up and look for the second red sash, and then he would escape . . . Henry's eyes flew back down. Where would he escape to? Was there another exit to this cave system, perhaps? This was one of the many things he hadn't gotten to scout out.

Well . . . Henry took another deep breath and pushed himself off the ledge and underwater. No time like the present for that.

His search of the underwater cave system was prolonged as he had to frequently resurface for the scarce air pockets, but eventually he came across a crack in one of the back walls that supplied water to the river.

Henry fought against the current and widened the opening by removing a few loose boulders, then slipped through. When he pulled himself out on the other side, his jaw dropped. As he swam into the depths of a vast cave, he found himself in the midst of a colossal lake that must span over one hundred yards. On the opposite side, a fountain of water burst forth, causing an abundance of bubbles to form, revealing the presence of a subterranean spring.

This is where I will escape to, Henry thought, looking around in awe. All he had to do now was go back, snipe the second general, and swim back here. The underwater passage was the only visible entrance, so the buzzers wouldn't be able to follow.

Henry swam a full round before diving again, squeezing out of the crack he had previously widened. When he reached the cave with the river and carefully inched his head out of the water, he was greeted with the deafening buzzing of hundreds of frantic wasps.

Henry searched the cave for his target, but he was not in sight. He retreated and ducked again, moving further down the stream beneath the surface of the water until he finally spotted the second general. With his bright red sash, he was the only one not actively participating in the search. Instead, he seemed to be supervising from where he hovered close to the exit, maybe twenty yards from Henry's current position.

Under normal circumstances, Henry could have easily dropped him with his slingshot—if only the light was better and he could dare come out of the water for a moment.

Henry left the general not out of sight as he contemplated his options. At least he should get as close as possible without drawing attention. So he submerged again and swum with the stream until he had come within ten yards of the general.

For a heartbeat, Henry eyed the guards who hovered around him in a half-circle and dipped his head out of the water to take a deep breath. He loaded his slingshot, and then he leaped forward, out of the water, and shot.

The buzzer with the sash dropped as his colleague had, but every single other wasp in the room instantly turned his way. It was even something along the lines of silent for a moment before the buzzing resumed, even more fervent.

Henry staggered back, but one of the general's guards had already aimed its stinger. He leaped to the side at the last moment, and it scraped the wall behind him with an unnerving screech.

Henry gritted his teeth and instinctively got a hold of Mys. Catching the dazed buzzer by surprise, he rammed the dagger into its bright yellow and black torso. He dropped dead, and Henry immediately submerged. Still clutching Mys, he watched the rest of the buzzers angrily circling above where he had dived, but they could not follow.

It took a few moments until his brain caught up and an overwhelming triumph engulfed him. He almost swallowed water when he attempted to grin.

As quickly as he could, Henry found his way back to an air pocket and spent the next minute coughing, then laughing in pure relief. It was done—it was over and done. All he had to do was swim back to the lake and wait—then reap the gain.

***

Henry didn't know exactly how much time had passed when he dared to peek into the cave where the fight had taken place again; judging by how he started to feel peckish again, even though he had eaten shortly after arriving at the nest, it must have been a few hours. And as he had hoped, the cave was now completely empty.

As much as Henry loved swimming, after spending the last hours in the lake, he felt immense relief when he could get out of the water again. He had swum, practiced with the sling, and swum some more to keep himself warm.

He dragged himself out of the river and found his teeth chattering. He quickly shook out his soaked hair and tiptoed over to where he had left his stuff to dry himself off. As he slipped into his shirt, he suddenly regretted having left his coat at the flutterers' headquarters.

When Henry turned to retrieve his backpack and get the hell out of there, he jumped and dropped to his knees, inching behind a ledge. How had they not spotted him yet? The two buzzer guards had hovered into sight from the other side of the cave, seemingly patrolling.

Well, this shouldn't be a problem. Henry pulled out his slingshot; he had practiced firing two stones in a row after the episode with Goldfang's henchmen, and when he aimed, he registered that the glow of the water had indeed intensified. He saw his targets clearly, and they dropped easily. At that moment, Henry wished killing rats was this easy.

Henry finally shouldered his backpack and made his way over to the exit. If today had taught him anything, it was that he liked the buzzers as little as the cutters, if not less. And, of course, that plans were made for a reason.

Another job done, he thought with pride. In a day's trek, he would be back at the flutterers', and they'd have news on Thanatos . . . maybe. Henry swallowed the lump of anxiety that formed in his throat at the thought that he would soon have confirmation of his—no, the flier's—fate. Henry frowned. Since when had he been referring to Thanatos as "his" flier? He was not his flier, not his bond. He had been a useful ally, and he may be soon again—if he was alive.

Henry had already made his way out of the cave when he suddenly remembered something else: As payment, you may keep the wings, Kuthe had said. The wings! He'd almost forgotten.

Henry sprinted back into the cave and found only the bodies of the guards he had just dropped—the general and the one he had stabbed in defense had already been carried away. He sat on his haunches and carefully severed all four wings from each of the two. After some consideration, he pulled out an empty container from his backpack and siphoned their venom as well. Who knew when that would come in handy?

When he had stored the delicate wings as well as the flask with the venom in his backpack, he finally turned to leave.

He couldn't tell for how long he walked, but eventually, the water's glow faded, and Henry dared to relax for the first time. He caught his breath, and it hit him that this was his second successful mercenary job. No matter how smoothly it had gone . . . the result was what counted. He had much to learn, but . . . he was getting a hang of this.

He thought about the wings in his backpack and felt some pep return to his step. Now he had not only outsmarted a whole colony of trigger-happy wasps, but he also had the means to find and free Thanatos. And maybe then the flier was interested in joining his little business?

Henry walked confidently, snapping his fingers every second to not run into obstacles or wander off track. It felt good to feel successful for once. And he was—if Lakethe had spoken the truth, he had just ended an entire war. Who'd have thought?

Was this it? When he found Thanatos again, could he claim to have fulfilled his promise? To have become a . . . successful outcast? Henry stopped. If this was it, if he was successful now . . . Thanatos had promised to stay with him only until this point.

And, well . . . it wasn't like Henry exactly needed the flier around anymore. He had managed well over the last two weeks. Not only had he met and arranged himself with new species and started orientating himself in the Dead Land, but he had also established a possible occupation—one that would never leave him feeling bored or aimless again.

The rush of confidence that came with the realization overwhelmed Henry, and a wide grin spread on his face when he picked up his pace again. Yes, this was what he had worked for and what he had been trying to prove. He had earned the right to be proud because he had won his challenge. He was no longer dependent on anyone. Because he was not only alive but also successful. And if Thanatos were alive, it would be his choice whether to renew their alliance. An alliance that would no longer be based on mutual need but on . . . what?

Henry stopped again. If he was really so independent, why was he even going through all this trouble to save the flier? He had sought out a new species, risked his life going up against an army of wasps, and all that for someone he had no official obligations toward and didn't even have mutual need with anymore?

Teslas' talk of an emotional attachment tried to rise, but Henry shoved it back down. He began walking again and stopped only when he reached a creek that he had camped at on the way here. There, he sat and quenched his by that point pungent hunger and rested his aching leg for the trek back to the flutterers.

He had no need to overthink his motive for attempting to rescue Thanatos. It had already been done, and with a bit of luck, the flier would never even bring it up.

***

"How much further is it?" Henry tugged at his backpack. He regretted having taken all his things with him; the pack was heavier than what he was used to.

"We are nearly there," said the brown moth Kuthe had ordered to escort Henry to the spinners' land.

Upon Henry's return and his success a few days ago, the flutterers had rejoiced. They had instantly announced a celebration to honor the war's end and Henry as the one who had ended it.

Let it be known that the Wielder of Light is the savior of not only the crawlers but the flutterers as well, Lakethe had proclaimed, and Henry had wondered if he, slowly but surely, would work his way through becoming the savior of more or less every one of the Underland's weaker species. Maybe he should aim for that; it couldn't hurt.

Henry had been welcome to stay and partake in the celebrations, and they had swamped him with supplies and gifts; he was happy to restock his supplies of medicine and especially torch fuel. But it wasn't until his second day at the flutterers', when the scouts who had been sent to discover Thanatos' fate returned, that he could relax properly.

Thanatos was alive; Henry made himself aware. Held in the spinner's headquarters . . . alive, after more than two weeks.

He and his flutterer escort continued in silence. Henry thought they had to be taking a different route than they had during the quest for the Prophecy of Gray because nothing seemed familiar.

As they traversed the narrow tunnel, Henry, for the first time, asked himself how he would even do this. Last time, they had immediately been taken prisoner after entering the land of the spinners, despite being on a peaceful mission and in the company of Vikus and Solovet. Hadn't he told Luxa that nothing could ever drive him to return there?

Now look at me, doing what I said I never would, Henry thought. Then again, doing things he said or thought he never would had become something of a habit since exile. Going back to the spinners was a rather harmless example, too.

"I will not go further." His guide suddenly stopped at the exit of the tunnel. "I do not want to anger the spinners. If you do, that is your choice." He pointed ahead. "Cross the river, enter the passage on the other side, and you will be in their land."

"Very well," Henry replied, stepping past the moth to look around. "Many thanks. And tell your queen it was a pleasure to make deals with her. Should she ever need a mercenary, she may always call me."

The flutterer gave a low, respectful nod, then retreated back to where they had come from. Without delay, Henry made the jump down into the cave ahead, only about three feet below. He approached the river, and as he stared at the lazily streaming, shallow water, he finally recognized where he was.

His gaze instantly flew to the tunnel to his left; a part of him expected to see a large, gray gnawer with a prominent scar on his face leaning in it. But of course, Ripred wasn't here now. Henry's hand tightened around his right wrist. The hardest lesson for a soldier to learn is to obey orders he believes are wrong.

Crossly, Henry dropped his backpack on the riverbank and sat next to it. If that really was what soldiers did, maybe he understood now why Cevian had claimed that he wasn't soldier material.

Asshole, he thought and unsheathed Mys to catch food. He would eat and rest, and then worry about how to get to the spinners and Thanatos. Wouldn't it have been for the best if Henry had succeeded in killing Ripred? Had he succeeded, the rat couldn't have stolen his credit or made fun of him in front of Gorger.

But as much as Henry tried to convince himself that he should be upset with his failure to kill Ripred in his sleep, his quarrel with the rat had never been personal. Or at least it hadn't started as such. It hadn't been the reason Henry had tried to kill him.

In one swift move, Henry stabbed a fish and bashed it against the floor to kill it. But in his mind, he was back on the quest. He recalled lying awake, contemplating whether he'd made the right decision to ally himself with Gorger and what consequences it may have for his family. For himself. He recalled feeling torn, scared, and confused, yet utterly arrogant—untouchable. Nobody would thwart his plans. His was the only right and admirable choice.

Henry snorted. In the next moment, he wondered whether he only found it so foolish because he knew where it had led him. Were he stripped of this knowledge, how would he act? Would he even act differently?

Ripred had told him, flashed in his mind. Henry angrily flung a fishbone at the wall. Really, Henry, you are not fool enough to believe they will deliver. He had known all along what Henry's fate would be. At the cliff, he had known. What a lot of togetherness you are planning. And what a lot of solitude awaits you.

Henry hurled the rest of the fish's spine at the wall. What a lot of solitude awaits you. How the hell had he known? Had he known? Or had he guessed?

For a moment, Henry banned all his frustration and pondered how much Ripred had actually known—or, more specifically, when he had found out. When had been the first time he had dropped a hint?

Take care, lad, Henry heard his voice as if the rat were sitting beside him, or you shall end up like me, stripped of any respectable rank and warming your shabby old hide at the fire of your enemies.

This time, he bothered not to suppress the snort. Yes, he thought. Stripped of any respectable rank and warming your hide at the fire of your enemies. It was exactly what Henry was now.

Oh, if only he had succeeded in killing him! Henry narrowed his eyes at the tunnel Ripred had first appeared in. If only he had . . . Then Henry stopped. No, if he had succeeded, he would have done Gorger and all those who were loyal to him a favor. To earn the approval of his supposed ally, prove his own might, and yes, partly also in retaliation for the constant teasing, he had attempted to kill Ripred.

But if Ripred were dead, he would have done them a favor—those who had dragged him off the cliff that day. Henry tugged at the hilt of his dagger. Fine, maybe it wasn't such a bad thing that he had failed after all.

Henry blew out a frustrated breath. Why was he even thinking of Ripred now? The rat wasn't here, and with some luck, they would never meet again. With some luck for him, yes, a voice in his head remarked. Realistically speaking, Henry was nowhere near Ripred's match.

This thought increased his irritation until he could almost not bear it. He wanted not to be inferior to a gnawer in any way, especially not Ripred. But he was. And should they ever meet again, he was as good as dead.

Enough. Henry leaped to his feet, yanking his backpack up. Ripred was, at the current and hopefully every future moment, irrelevant. He had more important things to concern himself with, such as deciding how to free his . . . the flier from a damned spinner prison without getting himself killed.

His eyes wandered to the tunnel across the river that he knew led to the spinners' land. For a moment, he envisioned the wall of crawlers blocking it after Gregor and his sister had fled inside. Hadn't they demonstrated this ability here, he would have never thought to utilize it at the citadel. The thought amused and scared him at the same time, somehow.

Henry wondered whether he could afford to just wander in and announce his request. Their queen—Weaver . . . something, or whatever her name had been—knew his name and had seen his face, even if only briefly. Henry groaned. Did he really have to introduce himself as "Wielder of Light" again? The name was fancy and all, but it didn't quite fit him so much that he would have considered making it his official outcast name. It was too long and too . . . posh for his taste. Not intimidating enough—not even remotely.

In front of the tunnel, Henry pulled his hood over his head and covered his face with a cloth, just as he had before embarking on his hunt for Goldfang. It was dark in the cave, so he was fairly confident that this disguise would suffice. Although . . . maybe he should look into acquiring a proper mask soon.

Inhaling deeply, Henry banished all worries about relying on the assumption that the spinners would not web him if he declared his intention to trade. His mind was made up anyway.

Henry brushed away a few webs that covered the entrance and took his first step into the tunnel. He would do it because it was what he had to do—for himself and for Thanatos.