“Where’s my sister? Did Bilal go after her?”

  “No, I don’t believe so. He’s been busy organizing the defense of the city and making sure you were safe. Doesn’t like to cede responsibility to others, that one. I had to twist his arm to leave you here with me rather than stand watch over you himself.”

  “I see. Well, I’m feeling better now. Just needed to recoup my strength after the battle at the gates.”

  Fevre raised an eyebrow at that. “Yes, I can imagine. Sounds like you had yourself quite the adventure. I suppose I should report to the prelate now that he’s in the city, but… I really don’t want to.” She shrugged. “Are you ready to recover your sister, then?”

  “I am.”

  “Good. I haven’t had a chance to stretch my legs in days.” A wolfish grin spread across her face. “Maybe if we’re lucky we’ll get to cross swords with some of Death’s minions.”

  “Maybe,” Tarana said.

  “We should head to the compound first, though. The six of us could carve a decent path through any force standing against us, but I’d feel better if we had a couple dozen more.”

  Tarana nodded her agreement. Fevre led the way, retrieving a quiver and bow on their way out of the room. She whistled three notes as they passed the exit of the estate, and moments later four rangers in city guard outfits appeared.

  “Khalil, I want you and Sef guarding our flanks. Ran, scout ahead and report back if you see anything that looks out of place. Zo, stick to Blacksword like a shadow. Bilal said we should assume everyone in the city knows who she is now, so we need to be ready in case anyone makes a move.”

  The rangers flowed into the positions she’d mentioned without hesitation, with Khalil and Sef falling so far behind that Tarana doubted anyone watching would realize they were following the same path.

  As they made their way through the city, Tarana felt a tugging at her subconscious. It was stronger than the pull of a typical fire – even a fire burning out of control – but she made herself ignore it. No time for distractions. We have to get Cora out of there. In the back of her mind, she felt a creeping fear that they’d already delayed for too long.

  Their group flowed past a crowd of several dozen milling on a main street. The crowd watched with rapt attention as a man in rags spoke with fervor.

  “The end is nigh!” he was saying. “Soon, there will be no more famine! No more greed! Rich and poor alike will gorge themselves on the dead!”

  Tarana grimaced at the image, studiously avoiding the man’s seeking gaze.

  She felt his eyes on her as he spoke again. “Even the aspects – oh yes, the dirty, mortal aspects – shall feel his wrath. His cleansing flood will prepare the fields for the seeds of our future! But he needs our help to sow them. Brothers, sisters! Will you do your part to create the world that is to come? Or will you remain as ants crawling in the dirt?”

  Blessedly, they slipped into an alley before he could start the next refrain of his sermon. When they exited onto the next street, Tarana saw Ran approaching. He wore a grim expression, the lines on his face writ deep.

  “What is it?” Fevre asked, her tone worried.

  He shook his head, holding up a hand to get them to halt. After a steadying breath, he said, “Something’s happened at the compound, Commander. I didn’t stick around long enough to get the full story, but I saw them preparing bodies. I’d estimate that whatever happened took out as much as a tenth of our number.”

  Fevre cursed under her breath. When she spoke, her voice was heavy with emotion. “Does it look like they’ve dealt with the threat? Is it safe for us to approach?”

  Ran managed a shadow of a smile. “I’ve seen Blacksword fight, Commander. I doubt there are many places in this world that wouldn’t be safe for her.” He exhaled, the humor fleeing his face. “But yes, even if she were a civilian I would say it’s safe to approach. Someone’s ordered the men to high alert. That compound is probably the safest place in the city right now.”

  The tug at Tarana’s consciousness – the thread tied to Calamity – came back stronger, urging her to follow it. She forced it away, following the commander and Ran to the ranger compound.

  Even though she’d been expecting bodies, the scene outside of the compound made her take pause. Piles of forms dressed in rags lay stacked on top of each other, each one thrown amidst the others without care. On the other side of the main doorway, carefully organized rows of dead rangers stared up at the sky.

  “Someone lost a lot of men here,” Fevre said. “My guess is we were right to hide you, Blacksword.” She stepped forward, waving at a pair that had just finished tossing a body on the pile.

  The two women approached, brows raising in surprise at the sight of their commander.

  “Rikke, Oya,” Fevre said, bowing her head slightly. “It’s good to see you again. I’m glad to see you survived… whatever this was.”

  “It was a raid, Commander,” the taller of the pair said. “They went straight to the room where Blacksword had been staying. When they found she wasn’t there, they lit out before we could take down the rest.”

  Fevre cursed under her breath. “Mer. They must have broken him.”

  “Most of them were worthless – clearly not fighters, Commander – but they said there was one man who moved like a wraith. Captain Bilal and Sergeant Sora’s squad fought him outside of Blacksword’s room.”

  Tarana’s throat constricted. “Is he alright?” she asked.

  The other ranger shook her head. “It’s bad, for sure. He and Kuri are clinging to life by their fingertips. The man’s sword must have been coated with some kind of poison; every cut he dealt has erupted in blisters and worse.”

  “Tuqara?” Fevre asked no one in particular. “He might have gotten it from Pestilence.”

  “Perhaps.” The other ranger sighed. “Also, they used the same magic as took down the Villain’s Gate. Three explosions in all, one at each door.”

  “Of course they did.”

  The pressure in Tarana’s mind grew more intense, forcing her eyes down to the ground to avoid the suddenly blinding morning light. She breathed deeply, shoving back everything that threatened to overwhelm her: the news of what had happened to Bilal, the sinking pit of fear for her sister, the demanding tug of Calamity.

  “— Blacksword?” Fevre asked, setting a hand on her shoulder. “Do you want to see him?”

  “Bilal? Yes, absolutely.” Tarana forced herself to straighten. Fevre nodded to the two rangers she’d been speaking with and they turned to lead the way.

  Streaks of blood on the walls, Tarana thought. And on the floors. She breathed deeply, closing her eyes in a doomed attempt to banish the fearful thoughts creeping into her mind.

  The ranger Fevre had been speaking with turned down a hallway to the left, angling toward a room with doors propped open. Tarana recognized it as the room they’d been using as the mess hall until recently. Moans echoed out into the corridor, the pained sounds of a couple dozen fallen soldiers.

  Inside the room, tables had been set up with padding and white sheets – many of them now stained red and black. A trio of women in leather smocks tended to those on the tables; two of them moved about, but one sat at the foot of a single bed, her eyes trained on every rise and fall of the chest of the man lying atop it.

  Bilal! Tarana rushed forward, pushing past the woman who’d been guiding them in order to reach him. He smelled like death; an odor of curdled milk emanated from the blackened wound on his chest, the center of a cluster of angry yellow-and-green pustules.

  The priestess of Loss at the foot of the bed looked up, her concentration apparently broken. “I was told my sole purpose in being here was to keep this man alive, miss. Even with all of my attentions on him, it seems like a doomed proposition. He’s too far gone.”

  “No,” Tarana said, spitting the word like a curse. “If your powers aren’t enough, summon more of your priests. Summon the whole accursed abbey.”

  The priestess cleared her throat. “All respect, miss, but what’s killing him isn’t in the realm of Loss. The wound is one thing, but he belongs to Pestilence now. She’ll be the one to decide if he dies.”

  “We don’t have any priests of Pestilence, do we? All we have is you lot. And I’m telling you to do whatever it takes to save him.” Tarana felt the beginnings of tears gathering in her eyes, but she pushed them away.

  “My brothers and sisters tend to many,” the priestess said. “Including those wounded in the fighting outside of the gates. If we gather them here, it will cost more than one life.”

  “I don’t care. Call them all.”

  Fevre grabbed Tarana by the shoulders, forcing Tarana to look her in the eyes. “Don’t be foolish,” Fevre said. “I was friends with him too, but this is a rash decision. You don’t even know if they’ll be able to save him.”

  Tarana tossed the other woman’s hands off of her. “You’ve seen him fight. He’s worth ten of any other soldier. More than that, even.”

  “And you think he’ll be in fighting condition in time to make a difference? No, you’re only saying that because you feel guilty.” Fevre took a step back. “Look, he knew the risks of guarding you when he left his posting. And yet he chose to do it. If this is his time, let him pass. Don’t steal the lives of those who have a better chance at survival.”

  Tarana looked at Bilal’s ashen face; he wore a grim snarl, as if fighting his own personal battle against death. She sighed. “Pull as many as you need to save him,” she ordered the priestess. “By order of Calamity.”

  “Belay that,” Fevre said. Her brow furrowed in a pained expression. “I heard that you were stripped of your rank, Capit. I’m sorry, but I cannot allow you to do this.”

  Fire flashed in Tarana’s eyes. She felt the pressure along the threads of Calamity releasing like an explosion. The next thing she knew she had knocked Fevre over, straddling her as she struck the commander.

  Fevre made no move to defend herself; rather, two of the rangers who’d been flanking them grabbed Tarana by the arms, lifting her off their commander. She kicked at them, managing to knock one off balance, but the other held firm.

  “I understand your anger,” Fevre said as she climbed to her feet. “More than you could ever imagine. But you’re directing it at the wrong person.” She reached a hand up to touch her cheek where Tarana’s fist had connected. “We will stick to the plan we discussed before. You and I will travel to the plateau with three dozen of my men to find your sister and bring her back down. If Death sends anyone our way, I promise I’ll let you have first swing at them. Although I suggest using your sword rather than fists.”

  Tarana’s breathing slowed. She had a hard time looking at Fevre without succumbing to her anger again, but she couldn’t think of any way to make the others in the room acquiesce to her wishes. The offer to rescue her sister felt like an olive branch – she didn’t want to take it, but given the absence of alternatives it was better than nothing.

  “Alright,” she said. “Let’s go save my sister.”

  Fevre passed along orders to gather outside so she could assess their losses; as her rangers rushed to obey, she grabbed others one-by-one and sent them to the hallways outside of the mess hall. The whole time, Tarana stood by Bilal’s side, ruminating on her failure to help him.

  The sound of horns blowing outside shook her out of her own thoughts. She shared a look of surprise with Ran, the only ranger who’d stayed inside with her. Together with the rangers Fevre had sent – roughly half of the total number promised – they jogged out of the compound, arriving in time to hear a messenger in yellow address Fevre.

  “There’s been a breach,” the man said, loudly enough for Tarana and the arrayed rangers to hear. “The main gate. There was a huge explosion! Commander, they’re flooding in. All of them.”

  Tarana looked to Fevre. The other woman’s face was a mask of calm as she turned to address the rangers. “No time for flowery speeches, I suppose. Not that I was ever any good at them. You know the situation: we’re outnumbered and outmatched, with no hope of help arriving from the outside. Our goal is to meet up with Gratianos and Okal and their men and form a perimeter. We’ll make the Ma’isans pay in blood for every inch of this city they take. Well, what are you waiting for? To the gate!”

  As Fevre’s men filtered past her, she made her way over to Tarana. “And you. This is a bad time for us to be bickering.”

  “A man’s life hangs in the balance, Fevre. I’d hardly call it bickering.”

  “Damn it, I’m trying to say I’m willing to forget all of this if you are. We need you with the rangers. They know Calamity, but they trust Blacksword. Seeing you will be good for morale.”

  Tarana shook her head. “This is a losing battle. I may not be as experienced at war as you, but even I can see that.”

  Fevre’s eyes flared, but a moment later she deflated. “Yes, it’s the truth. It’s been the truth from the beginning of this siege, hasn’t it? We were only ever buying time – time for Gratianos to arrive and save us all, only it turned out he was the one who needed saving and he brought an army on his heels twice as large as what we were facing before.”

  “My goal remains the same. Find my sister and protect her.”

  “And how are you going to do that? We’re surrounded on all sides but one. And that’s only because we have the harbor.”

  Tarana snorted. “I don’t suppose there are ships in the harbor?”

  “There are,” Ran said from over her shoulder. “The galley Death arrived in. Plus a merchant ship that got stuck behind the blockade.”

  “I heard they unloaded all the food stores from that galley,” Fevre said. “Won’t do you much good to run the blockade if everyone starves.”

  “Maybe. But it’s our only chance.”

  Fevre’s tongue worked along her teeth. “Alright, I suppose we’re going to die either way. I’ll spread the word to hold the docks at all costs. Ran, go to the priestesses and tell them to start moving wounded onto the ships. Anyone who seems like they have a good shot at making it. In the meantime –”

  “Bilal as well,” Tarana interrupted.

  Fevre gave her a pained look. “Fine, Bilal as well.” She sighed heavily. “Blacksword, you should know – the perimeter we’ll form to protect the docks will put the plateau in danger of being one of the first sections seized. If you’re going to rescue your family, you’d best be quick about it.”

  “Understood.”

  “Good luck.” Fevre held out her arm; after a moment, Tarana clasped it. The commander released first, turning to follow her men.

  Ran returned moments later, breathing heavily. “I shared Commander Fevre’s instructions with the priestess. They’ll make sure our men are aboard the ships. All of our men.”

  “Good.” Tarana looked over the small group of rangers left behind her. They’ll have to do. With a shake of her head, she took off at a run for the plateau.

  The city buzzed with nervous energy. Bells had begun to toll, punctuated by shouts and clashing steel. They passed a row of shops where merchants had boarded-up windows and doors. We are no friends of the Tevuluns, a sign on one of the doors read. Please leave us be.

  On the next street, a squad of city guardsmen exited what appeared to be a brothel in various states of undress, chased by a sergeant who was cursing them even as he struggled to clasp his own belt buckle. One of the men wore nothing more than his underclothes, and yet he hefted a spear as he chased after the rest.

  A woman fleeing through an alleyway nearly ran into Tarana. “I saw them!” she said, eyes wide as saucers. “Thousands and thousands of them! Immortals have mercy on us all!”

  Shaking off the woman’s words, Tarana and her followers continued. She saw a flash of canary yellow robes that made her pause. A trio of priests – her priests, followers of Calamity – had spread out on the road a few dozen paces to their left. One of the priests was unloading glass orbs wrapped in linen from a wooden box, another soaked each one in oil as it was passed along, and the third was kneeling on the ground in front of a spear-thrower modified with a basket that allowed the orbs to be launched as far as a hundred paces.

  Tarana started to approach, but then she heard their conversation. “To the Everlands with her,” the man at the box said. “Using up all the lightning for herself. Tell you what, we could use some of that storm right now. Why does she get to waste it like that? I heard two of the strikes landed within the walls.”

  The kneeling priest grunted her assent. “’s tragic. Some well-placed lightning might have saved us.”

  “We still have fire,” the third priest said. “I have my whips, and you have your thrower. They come down this road, we’ll make them pay.”

  “Blacksword,” Ran whispered. “We can’t stop here. The plateau.”

  “I know, I know.” Tarana shook her head, refocusing on the task at hand. They had nearly reached the stairs; just a few more streets and they would arrive.

  “Rangers!” A voice cried out. Tarana turned, falling into a defensive stance as a boy in peasant clothes ran full-tilt toward them. He pulled up half a dozen paces short. “Oh, thank goodness. I’ve been searching for your company for hours. They have the rest of us pinned down in the sewers. We need your help.” He swallowed, then added, “It may already be too late.”

  The woman Fevre had called Zo stepped forward, twin daggers slipping out of their sheaths. “Who’s we?” she asked. “Who sent you?”

  The boy shifted uncomfortably. “The royal guard. The priests showed up in the throne room and then everyone was dying and a man told me to find the princess. So I did, and we ran and then we got trapped and they told me to come find you.” He paused, looking from face to face in the hopes of finding a welcoming expression. “The princess’ favorite – Yone – he said one of the rangers had sought him out and offered his protection. He said the man was named… skora, something that started with an M or an N. I can’t remember now. Skora!”