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She looked back over her shoulder to find Corayne and the others bearing down, almost on top of them as they galloped through the gateyard onto the wide streets of Gidastern. Fire crackled all around them, as more hounds leapt from roof to roof. They barked and snapped, stalking the heights of the buildings,a pack of hunters surrounding a bowl of prey. A few jumped to the street, barking out a call, the ridge of fire jumping up on their backs. Wood splintered and stone collapsed everywhere, booms resounding through the city as flame consumed it whole. The heat was nearly unbearable, and sweat poured down Sorasa’s face, filling her mouth with the taste of salt.

More of their patchwork army streamed past the gate, finding gaps in the packs of Infyrna hounds. The Elders cut through with stunning precision, so fluid and graceful Sorasa almost stopped to watch the display. Instead she pulled her focus forward, deeper into the burning city.

The hounds grew in number, collecting on the battlements and rooftops.

The others fell into line next to her, even Valtik. She held half the broken leg bone, as good as a knife in her hand. The sharp, splintered end dripped black blood. The old witch eyed the hounds above them, her teeth bared to match their fangs.

Corayne’s face seemed to glow, reflecting the flickering light of a thousand flames. Like the rest of them, her skin gleamed with sweat. Her black eyes ate up the red-and-orange light.

Sorasa gritted her teeth, snapping her reins. “Let’s hunt.”

The Companions were the first raindrops of a storm, with the hurricane rolling behind them through the Gidastern streets. They dodged a dozen Infyrna hounds, leaving the monsters to face the war band, the Jydi, and the Elder warriors. Timber-framed walls and thatched roofs collapsed at seemingly every turn, the city turning into a monster itself. Smoke stalkedthrough the streets, clinging in heavy dark clouds, making it difficult to breathe even as the horses galloped through.

Sorasa squinted through the spiraling black and gray, shielding her eyes from a hail of sparks. Gidastern was a trade port, built on the coast of the Watchful Sea, its walls and towers meant to defend against raider attack. There was a market close to the docks, and a church near the keep, but the rest tangled in her mind. She tried to remember the city as it was, reaching through the years since she last walked these streets. The inferno didn’t help, nor did the pursuing hounds. The map in her mind faded and she let instinct take over.

People lived in patterns, their lives repeating the same rhythm. It was the same with every village and town, every city. They grew along crossroads and natural harbors, like water filling a bowl. Sorasa kept her band on the widest street, knowing it would lead them to the center of the city. Her nostrils flared, and she gasped against the smoke, her eyes stinging even as she hunted for the spire of a church among the flames.

There.

Fire wreathed the tall steeple of the church, red flames creeping up the carved stone in a hellish sight. The golden image of Syrek stood at the highest point, the god’s sword raised against the smoke as if to ward it off. As Sorasa watched, the figure melted, the steeple crumbling in on itself.

She rounded the corner as the roof of the church collapsed, spitting out a cloud of dust and debris. It washed over the surrounding churchyard, painting the grounds and graveyard in flaking shades ofgray. The Companions hacked and coughed, even Sorasa, who spat on the ground with a wheeze. Gasping for air, they rode into the fenced churchyard, once an island of green within the city. Now it was as gray as anything else, washed of all color, the grass and tombstones blanketed in a fine layer of ash. Dozens of statues lined the church walls and stood guard among the graves, all covered in soot, but it was otherwise empty. Beyond the churchyard, the castle keep of Gidastern held watch, stones standing firm against the flames. Its ramparts and battlements were quiet too. There were no hounds here, even as their shrieks echoed from the gates.

Fighting for air, Sorasa slowed her horse and the others matched her, looking around the yard with trepidation. The sounds of fighting and flame echoed, but silence pressed down between the church and the keep. It felt like standing in the eye of a storm.

Sorasa shivered, remembering the three girls who’d escaped Gidastern. She put a hand into her leathers, closing her fingers around Lord Mercury’s jade snake. The stone was cool to the touch, grounding her against the unbearable heat.

“Where is everyone?” Corayne said in a low voice.

Next to her, Andry shuddered. “Taristan left none alive in Rouleine,” he breathed. “It seems Gidastern met the same fate.”

Corayne frowned and swiped at her face, brushing some of the debris away. Her cheeks flushed red beneath the dust. “But where are the bodies?”

Sorasa wondered the same. Her stomach twisted, every instinct shrieking. She met Dom’s eye over Corayne’s head, and saw the same alarm in him too.

“Something is wrong here,” he growled. His eyes hunted among the statues and gray tombs, searing through the drifting clouds of smoke.

“What gave you that idea?” Corayne muttered.

At her back, Sorasa felt Sigil shift, her body going rigid. The Temur bounty hunter adjusted her grip on her ax.

“Ride on, Sorasa,” she whispered, sounding afraid for the first time Sorasa could ever remember. “Ride on.”

The assassin knew better than to argue with Sigil’s intuition. She shifted in the saddle, but before she could direct the horse, Corayne thrust out a hand.

“Wait,” she gasped, eyes wide as she scanned the yard. “The Spindleishere. I can feel it.”

Dom whirled to her and took her shoulder. “Where?”

Before she could answer, the statues around the churchmoved.

As one, they lurched forward, ashes falling from their bodies, revealing flesh instead of stone. Snarls escaped their ruined throats.

Sorasa jumped in her skin and the horse jumped with her, braying in fear. The stallion toppled sideways and Sorasa leapt from its back just in time, narrowly avoiding being slammed against the ground. Sigil wasn’t so lucky. She landed hard, the horse pinning her down.

While the others shouted and yelled, Sorasa slid to the grass, bracing her shoulder against the wriggling horse. All thoughts of the Spindle disappeared. Sigil breathed hard beneath her, one leg trapped under the stallion’s heavy body. Her eyes shone as she fought against the pain, pushing against the horse on top of her.Then Dom was there, squatting low to get his hands under the horse’s shoulder. With a grunt, he lifted the entire horse back onto his feet.

“Go, go, go,” Sigil yelped, eyes wide as she stared between Sorasa and Dom at the steps of the church. “I’ll be right behind you.”