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Corayne went to the old witch and took her by the hand. Her flesh felt so light, her skin thin as paper. “Valtik, what do the bones tell?” she said, pushing all her worry into her eyes. Valtik stared back, her gaze that same vivid blue. “I know they tell you something. Anything.”
“Don’t bother,” Dom said. “The witch has a way of being useless precisely when we need her most.”
Sorasa shut the door tight, plunging them all into shadow. “Something you two have in common?”
To Corayne’s relief, Dom ignored the jab and Valtik quirked a grin. Her free hand strayed to her belt, loosing the pouch of bones with a single pull of a string. They spilled around her feet, yellow and white, scrubbed clean of blood and muscle.
“Let’s see, shall we?” Valtik said, watching as they fell into place, seemingly at random. The others looked on, hunting for a pattern only Valtik could see. She didn’t stare long. Whatever she saw in the bones was clear as day. “We’re in the right land.” She turned her cornflower eyes back on Corayne. They bored into her. “But we must find a mirror—mirrors on the sand.”
“Why do we tolerate this Jydi nonsense?” Sigil hissed. Her bronze face had gone red in the heat, but it was nothing compared to Charlie, who was already sunburned. “And how long are we going to cower here?” The bounty hunter also needed to crouch, lest she crack her head on the roof. “It’s only a matter of time before one of your own comes along and sells us out.”
“Take heart, Sigil. The Amhara would rather kill me themselves then let a northern queen do it,” she said lightly. “But yes, we should be moving. Almasad is not Ascal. Criminals are not so easily overlooked.” She bit her lip. “Mirrors on the sand, eh, Valtik? Any ideas on what that could mean?”
The witch had no more to give. She ran her fingers over the dirt floor, scooping the bones back into her purse.
Charlie watched, bright-eyed even in the dim light. He kissed both palms as he had in the crossroads tavern. “Strangeness follows Spindles. It clings to their locations, before they open and even after they close. Scripture calls it the shadow of the gods. It’s how the Spindletouched are born, brushed with magic,” he said, gesturing to the old woman scrabbling on the floor. She seemed anything but magical. “If there were a Spindle open in this land, there would be a sign.”
“But some of us can’t exactly walk all over Almasad eavesdropping and looking for such signs.” Corayne said.
“It’s not my face on those posters,” Sigil offered. “I can make the rounds, see what I hear. Hopefully bring back something the rest of you can piece together.”
Sorasa offered her a rare, true smile. “Thank you, Sigil.”
“I’m a simple woman, Sarn,” the bounty hunter said with a shrug. “I serve the highest bidder. That’s currently you.”
The assassin took it in stride. “The ruins of Haroun, on the outskirts. Dusk,” she declared. “Charlie, you can walk free too. Can you get us horses? Ready by the Moon Gate?”
Before the fallen priest could acquiesce, Dom shook his head, still braced against the wall. “And what if they abandon us?” he said, eyeing both Sigil and Charlie.
It isn’t a foolish thing to wonder.Corayne bit her lip, trying to fight down her own trepidation. Across the floor, Andry frowned.We’ve made enough mistakes so far. Will trusting two criminal strangers be another?
Sorasa’s eyes flashed, a warning. “Then they abandon the Ward to ruin, and themselves to doom.”
“Cheerful to the last, Sarn,” Charlie said, wrenching open the door. It spilled light so bright Corayne winced. Sigil’s silhouette flared across the floor, a giant behind her.
“Either way,” Corayne muttered, “we don’t have much choice in the matter.”
Sorasa slammed the door behind them, scowling. “That’s the spirit.”
They wouldn’t last much longer in the cellar. Sigil was right: it was only a matter of time before the Ibal patrols or some criminal element discovered their ragtag band. Even a common thief wouldn’t balk at turning them in, should he manage to escape Sorasa’s blade. So Sorasa led them east, through a damp, muddy passage that surfaced in an overlooked alleyway strewn with hung laundry. To Corayne’s dismay, Sorasa was jumpier than a rabbit, double-checking every corner, avoiding alcoves and sewers like they might snap shut on her body.
“Is it just me, or is Sorasa Sarn scared?” Andry murmured.
“Terrified,” she answered.
“There’s an entire sea between us and Taristan, his army, the other Spindle.” He adjusted his steps, matching her stride. “What could she fear?”
“Her own,” Corayne said, coming to realization even as she spoke.
A fallen Amhara, forsaken, broken.Osara.It must also meandoomed.
Corayne’s blood chilled, her skin prickling even in the dry, desert heat of Ibal. She licked her lips, tasting sweat and salt.Not long now.Dusk approached, the sky overhead going hazy pink.We’ll meet Charlie and Sigil. We’ll have horses. We can leave this place and those posters behind. There aren’t any patrols in the dunes. There isn’t anyone at all.
Sorasa’s caution got them through the alleys without trouble, her internal compass winding them away from the hustle and bustle. It took hours of careful navigation, avoiding patrols and crowded markets, but eventually the buildings grew sparse. The causeway overhead sloped downward, its arches lower and lower until it ran into an avenue of paved stone. Almasad bordered the Great Sands and had no use for walls beyond the port. No army could assault the city from the desert. The roads and streets simply disappeared, swallowed by ever-shifting dunes. Even the scent of flowers grew weak, replaced by the smell of hot, dusty sand and the underlying drift of some herb Corayne couldn’t name.
The ruins of Haroun were not a temple, as Corayne had suspected, but a massive tower at the edge of the city, fallen like a tree broken in half. All that was left was a hollow column, a single spiral stair reaching up the middle like a spine, leading to nothing. The crown of the fallen tower was missing, torn from the rough sandstone.
“Stolen,” Sorasa said, following Corayne’s gaze. Her fingers fumbled at her arm, loosing her sleeve. “Haroun’s Eye was taken before the tower fell, when the Cors defeated ancient Ibal. The rest, the bronze cap, was cut up piece by piece after the tower collapsed. Melted into weapons, coin, jewelry. Northerners do not honor the past as we do in the south.”
