“And you too.” Tarana tapped a fist to her chest in salute. Ran nodded at her, drawing a steadying breath before ascending the ladder once more. He inched the grate out of the way, handling it carefully to minimize the sound.

  After Ran had worked his way out of the tunnel – crawling like a spider to avoid being seen by Ma’isan soldiers – the others followed. The first two managed to make it nearly as quietly as he had, but the third ranger – a broad-shouldered man – bumped into the grate, producing a scraping sound that was followed by shouts.

  There was no moving carefully after that. The ranger launched himself through the exit, yanking his sword free as those remaining below stacked up behind. Tarana climbed immediately behind Zo, her blood pulsing with anticipation as she waited for what seemed like the better part of a minute for her chance to join the fray.

  The scene that met her at the top was a confused mess: rangers and Wolves and Ma’isans fought each other in small clusters around a square room, falling more frequently to attacks from the side than from those they faced. Tarana spotted the broad-shouldered ranger on the ground, his face drained of all color. Beside him lay two Ma’isans, their limbs tangling up Zo and the trio of Wolves facing her.

  Tarana growled as she closed with the nearest of the three wolves, catching him with a stab that entered beneath the ribs on one side and exited below an armpit. Her weapon snared for the time being, she swung the torch in her other hand, sending the flames snaking out to ensnare a man with strange tattoos covering his pate.

  “Blacksword!” Zo cried, stepping past Tarana to block a strike aimed at her head. Tarana stared at the great sword for a moment, dumbfounded to see how close she’d come to having her head split in two. Zo flowed past the large man’s guard, bringing up a dagger from out of view that she used to stab his neck.

  “Who are we?” Ran shouted.

  “Rangers!” Four voices answered, their weapons punctuating the response.

  “Where do we go?”

  “Where no one else will!”

  “And when is our service ended?”

  “When we’re two barrows under!” The group loosed a chorus of guttural cries, finishing off the last of the soldiers in the room. Those who’d stayed back in the tunnel – Cora, Ghita, and Masak – climbed out soon after, their eyes widening at the scene of death surrounding them.

  “No time to gawk, Princess,” Zo said. “We have to keep moving.”

  “Alright, who’s leading the way? Ran?” Tarana looked over at Ran; he was holding a hand to his side, where his coat was slowly turning crimson. He shook his head wordlessly. She sighed. “I’ll do it. Everyone, stay close. I have a feeling things are only going to get worse.”

  She exited the Tevulun estate, exhaling in relief when she found there were only a few Ma’isan soldiers in sight – and those seemed busy fighting city guardsmen. Tarana’s first instinct was to join in the fighting, but she made herself stop to consider. No, can’t go rushing in. There’s not a moment to waste.

  In the other direction, a staircase rose up to a second-story walkway. Tarana ran up the steps, putting some distance between herself and the rest of their party. She used the moments before they’d caught up to look out on the street below; the fighting was in sight, a sea of green flooding in from the remains of the gate in the distance. They were in the midst of enveloping the remaining Tevulun forces, who had been forced to cede a significant portion of the city to maintain thinning battle lines.

  “Skora,” Zo cursed, taking a spot beside her. “Will they even be able to hold the docks until we get there?”

  “They will. They have to.” Tarana’s brow narrowed. “Only problem is, it looks like we’re about to be on the wrong side of the lines.”

  Zo grunted her agreement. “We haven’t seen the last of today’s fighting. That’s for sure.”

  Cora and the other rangers finished climbing the walkway steps, Ghita and Ran bringing up the back. “Look!” Cora said, pointing at a street several blocks down. “Fire!”

  At first, Tarana thought nothing of it. Then she noticed what her sister had: in the midst of the fire, two priests of Calamity launched orbs with the device she’d seen them preparing earlier. Four squads of grime-stained soldiers surrounded them, dealing with any Ma’isans that managed to make it past the flames.

  Tarana’s breath caught. “Let’s meet up with them. With their help, we just might be able to make it to the docks in one piece.” She led the way forward, jogging down the steps of the walkway as Ran and Ghita finished their ascent. The slowness of their pace nagged at her, but she shoved it aside; no time for feelings, no time for fear at what hadn’t yet come to pass.

  A pair of Ma’isan soldiers appeared at an alleyway ahead and braced themselves as Tarana charged in their direction. She batted aside the closer man’s spear, grabbing him by the shoulders to toss him into his ally. Her shortsword disappeared beneath his visor as Zo caught up and dealt with the other.

  They continued through the alley, moving slowly in case they ran into a larger group of Ma’isans on the other side. A crunching of mail coats made Tarana slow down even further. She pulled up short of the alley’s exit, chancing a quick glance out in the direction where she’d heard the sounds.

  She pulled back, praying they hadn’t seen her. “Knights,” she hissed to those behind. “Seven of them.” The sound of shattering glass made her look back toward the street; it was followed by a whoosh of fire that threatened to singe her eyebrows.

  “Knights,” Zo repeated. “Sounds bad. You’ll never catch me in armor like that, though. Know why?”

  Tarana shook her head.

  “Too slow. All due respect, Blacksword, I think you’re forgetting one important thing: this is a race. All the armor in the world won’t do them any good if they can’t catch us.”

  “You’re right.” Tarana chewed on her bottom lip as she considered the other woman’s advice. “But they still might catch up with some of us. Like Ran and Ghita.”

  Zo swallowed hard, her brow furrowing at the thought. “Ran is like a brother to me. But I know he’d sacrifice himself in an instant if it meant keeping you safe. We all swore an oath ma’am, and –”

  “Oh, hang your damn oaths. If I wasn’t Calamity – if it was just you and the rangers and Blacksword – what advice would you give?”

  Zo stared at her in silence for a moment, her expression difficult to read. “Well, we could always try reversing the train. Slowest in front, fastest in back. They’ll take a little time to react when they see us, which will give the first ones out a head start. Those in back will be the ones most likely to be caught, but if they’re faster they’ll have a better chance of escaping.”

  “Okay, do it. We don’t have far to go until we reach the priests and those squads protecting them.”

  “Yeah, but then we still have to make it to the docks.”

  “Right.” Tarana worked her way back, reaching Ran and Ghita halfway across the street leading to the alley where the rangers had taken up residence. The pair didn’t get time for a breather; they pushed through to the front, where Zo shared instructions and urged them onward.

  “Hey!” a deep voice shouted from the street ahead. “Over there!” Ghita and Ran kept moving, followed by the rest of the group; nearly all of them had made it out by the time the first knight reached them, cleaving a ranger from collarbone to pelvis with a single stroke of his sword.

  Tarana dashed out of the alley, heading straight at the knight. She fell into a roll, pushing herself off of the ground to lead into a kick that connected with the man’s chest. On anyone not in armor, it would have been enough to knock them over; as it was, the move sent waves of pain shooting through Tarana’s legs and accomplished only a single staggering step from the knight.

  She rolled out of the path of his sword, knees scraping against the rough stone of the walkway as she regained her feet. Her left foot found solid purchase and she shot forward, chasing after her friends.

  Two dozen paces ahead, Ghita and Ran reached a wall of fire. Exhaustion assaulted Tarana as she reached out to the flames – with buildings on all sides blocking the wind, she was only able to open a small gap for them to go through. The drain hit her immediately, like a jagged knife opening her veins from palm to shoulder.

  No, she thought, fighting with all of her might against the darkness pressing in on her. Not yet. It’s too soon. I’m not finished yet. I can’t be. Her strength flagged just as the man ahead of her reached the flames; they closed in behind him, making him yelp.

  Tarana gritted her teeth as she ran through the flames. The heat banished all thoughts of surrender from her mind, granting her enough strength to keep them from touching her flesh. She passed through, coming out on the other side to the sight of any number of weapons pointed at her.

  On the other side of the flames, Tarana saw a group of regulars in uniforms stained by soot and blood. “What unit are you from?” Their leader – Prelate Gratianos – asked. Tarana sought him out, her vision taking a moment to adjust after passing through the flames. Judging by his bloodshot eyes, he’d had a rough go of it.

  “Rangers,” Zo answered. “Coming from the palace.”

  “I see,” Gratianos replied. “Capit, what are you doing here?”

  Tarana’s eyes narrowed. “The name’s Blacksword. Commander Fevre gave me command of this group of rangers to rescue my sister.”

  “And the king?”

  “Dead.”

  The prelate closed his eyes, a calm crossing his face as if he’d been expecting the news. “I’m sorry to hear that, Tarana. And to you as well, Princess.”

  “There’ll be time for sorries later, Prelate,” Tarana said. “Now, we all have to get to the docks. The ships there are our only hope of escape.”

  He looked at her, blinking once, twice. “I’m sorry. I thought it was obvious. This… this is a final holding action. We’ve been tasked with maintaining our position on the street for as long as we can. If the Ma’isans make it through here, we’ll lose the docks in less than a matter of minutes.”

  Tarana exhaled slowly. It was hard to suppress the wave of regret that flooded through her. The thought that every face looking at her – each of Gratianos’ men, as well as the two priests of Calamity who hadn’t stopped their endless barrage in defense of the two streets converging in front of them – was going to be dead soon was too much to bear.

  Her eyes fell to the ground, and she held them there for a three-count until she could summon the strength to look the prelate in the eye. For all of their history, he deserved that, at least. “Understood, Prelate. Send as many of them to the Everlands as you can.”

  “We will, ma’am. As many as we can.” He stepped forward, offering a hand to Tarana.

  Tarana clasped wrists with the prelate. She wasn’t able to find the words to express her gratitude for the sacrifice, so she settled for a simple nod instead.

  Behind her, groans of armor announced the arrival of the Ma’isan knights. The Tevulun soldiers’ attention shifted to the newcomers as they rushed forward to attack them. Tarana inhaled heavily, turning away from the fight.

  She passed through three lines of grim-faced men and women, a motley assortment of rangers and guardsmen and soldiers. Each of them stared at her with what seemed a different mix of emotions: some relieved, some sad, some angry. When Tarana passed the last of their ranks, she released a breath as if she’d been swimming underwater and had finally been allowed up for air.

  As they passed through other streets, an eerie silence replaced the sounds of fighting. It seemed like the inhabitants of every home held their breath, waiting for the chaos and violence to reach their threshold.

  The silence didn’t last long, though. As they got closer to the docks, Tarana heard shouting and the clash of weapons. Through an alley they passed, she caught a glimpse of a crowd milling near the dock warehouses; not only soldiers, but several civilians who had gotten word of the plan for their escape. Tarana spotted one man dressed in the tattered remains of a fur coat, and a woman bearing enough jewelry to make a queen blush.

  Those near the back of the crowd turned as Tarana and her group of followers approached. She paused to make sure Ran and Ghita had made it as well – they had fallen so far behind she had to wait for nearly a minute until they came into view. Once they’d caught up, she started forward. The crowd parted to let her and the rangers through, although those closest to the front resisted until she was right in front of them.

  A line of Fevre’s men bearing short spears stood between the front of the crowd and the docks. “Blacksword!” one of them exclaimed, raising his weapon to allow Tarana and the others through. “You made it!”

  “We did,” Tarana said, scanning the docks. Roughly a hundred rangers were standing in the no man’s land between the spear line and a pier where the only two ships in port were bobbing: a large galley that bore sails marking it as belonging to the Synod of Mirao, and a trader ship slightly more than half its size.

  A couple dozen paces ahead, a ranger with a half-shaved head waved Tarana over. He took two steps toward her as she approached, gesturing for her to keep walking toward the pier. “Sergeant Sora, ma’am. Commander Fevre ordered my men and I to hold the docks and keep everyone else away until you arrived. We’ve taken a look at both of these galleys. They’re not exactly in the best shape, but they’ll float well enough.”

  He pointed toward the galley crimson sails. “We estimate that one will hold as many as a thousand, less fifty for the extra space needed to keep our wounded. They’ve already been loaded up – including your Captain Bilal. The other one is a rougher task — the hold is only set up for a crew of a hundred, but we think we could get as many as four-and-a-half hundred on it if they’re willing to sleep shoulder-to-toe.” They came to a stop at the start of the pier, staring up at the hull of the galley.

  “How many do you think are waiting in that crowd behind us?” Tarana asked.

  Sergeant Sora shook his head. “Don’t know for sure. Enough to fill up the trader ship, at least. Only problem is, if we start loading them up, who’s to say more don’t come out of woodworks? Once they get wind of an escape plan, I mean.”

  “Let them on.”

  From behind Tarana’s right shoulder, Zo cleared her throat.

  “What?” Tarana asked. “You don’t think we should help them?”

  “That depends on where we’re going, Blacksword. If you have a safe port in mind, then by all means focus on saving the innocents. But if not, a ship full of soldiers will be more welcome in hostile territory than a ship full of mouths to feed.”

  Anger flared within Tarana. “And soldiers don’t have mouths? It seems to me we should save as many as we can. Soldiers or otherwise.” She turned back to the sergeant. “You have my orders. Let the civilians on.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” It was evident from the sergeant’s thin-lipped expression he felt the same as Zo, but he moved to do as Tarana had asked.

  Tarana turned to Cora and the rest of the group they’d been traveling with. “Get on the galley. If there are private quarters you can commandeer, do so. And Ran, see if you can find a priest to look at your wound. You look as if you’ve lost a lot of blood.”

  “Where are you headed?” Cora asked.

  “To the line. The longer it holds, the more people we’ll be able to get out of the city.”

  She expected Cora to argue, but her sister nodded grimly. She’s learned from Father, Tarana thought. Duty first.

  Tarana followed the din of battle, pointing herself in the direction of the Ma’isan drums. Her path took her down a street leading south from the docks that was wide enough to fit twelve men lying head-to-toe; she didn’t see anyone at first, but then she turned a right corner and saw a tide of yellow coats. Standing on her tiptoes, she could barely see the wave of green pushing them back.

  Their retreat was a slow one, occurring inch by bloody inch. Tarana pushed her way through the back of the deep column, keeping her sword behind her to avoid accidental nicks. Most of the soldiers around her looked like city guard, but as she got closer to the front she noticed a few rangers in the mix as well. Regardless of what unit they belonged to, all the soldiers were happy to let her push past them.

  Soon enough, Tarana was close enough to the front to witness the fighting. She grimaced at the sight of a mace flattening the visage of a young man; he fell at the feet of the Ma’isan who’d killed him, disappearing from view as the advancing line swallowed his body.

  Tarana shifted her sword-arm to the front. She tossed the torch in her other hand above the group of Ma’isans; she had planned to fan the flames among them, but at the barest touch of her power an overwhelming wave of nausea assailed her, forcing her to give it up.

  A shiver ran through her as another man fell, revealing her to the enemy line. She jumped forward, bringing her weapon down toward the mace-bearing Ma’isan. He raised his weapon to block; with his focus on the attack, Tarana stepped forward to strike with her free hand in a fist. It connected with the man’s throat, producing a dry, choking sound.

  She grabbed the mace from his weakening grip, bringing it around to strike at the soldier who’d been beside him. The weapon connected, but she wasn’t able to put her full weight behind it. The intended victim turned to her with a malicious gleam in his eyes, only to be caught by a spear thrust in the chest.

  Arrows darkened the sky above, landing amidst both groups – but they hit more Ma’isans than Tevuluns, which Tarana took as a good sign. The barrage left a temporary gap between the two forces that she charged into with a yell.

  A sword struck from her peripheral vision, a stab that landed half a pace high of her head; when Tarana glanced to the side where it had come from, she saw a city guardsman with his own sword raised to deflect the blow from its original target. He slumped, falling to a wound in his side Tarana guessed he’d sustained to protect her.