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“How do I look?"

Yasmin leaned back from the boiling soup of flesh. “Please don't talk. The bones will misalign."

Amira tried to blow a raspberry. There was a gargle and rattling teeth.

“Sit still!"

In a distant life, Yasmin's workshop had been the home of a master craftsmen. Everywhere Sadik looked, he saw the remnants of an earlier age—tongs and hammers, disassembled machinery, benches stained with fluid, metallic limbs hanging in rows from the ceiling like rusted fetishes of a dark ritual. Instead of clearing the space, Yasmin had haphazardly thrown them to the side and dragged her own equipment into the room wherever she thought it would fit. Gestation tanks, flesh reconstituters, long surgery beds wrapped with a dozen needle arms, like the bellies of overturned insects. It was difficult to see the walls.

As Amira's face split open at the jaw, Yasmin turned her attention to Sadik. “Choice of species?"

“A wolf," he said.

“Oh, a predator! Intimidating! Single species or hybrid?"

Sadik shrugged. “Just a wolf will suffice."

“Not even three eyes? A gland that spits acid?"

“Save the Glimmer."

Yasmin began tapping at her handheld device, the projections of light reflecting on her goggles.

As Amira grew into a leopard, Sadik glanced around the room. A pile of rusted chassis laid in a distant corner, which confirmed that automatons had been built in the shop. Full, walking machines had not been seen in Acheron for at least a millennia. The technology mines had been the source of the machine bodies, as well as the finer components necessary to manage their upkeep—once these veins were exhausted, production had ceased, and the automatons had quickly disappeared, their bodies broken down and reused for more basic metallurgy.

Sadik found the thought a little odd. Walking automatons. Thinking machines. In the distant past, his ancestors had known these wonders. They had been commonplace. Hardly worthy of a glance.

How quickly these things could vanish.

“How do I look now?"

Amira jumped off the surgery bed. Her eyes were slit, her tail was long, and her face had been elongated to accommodate the growth of a feline snout. The process was still incomplete—patchy fur, ears worming from her skull, and so on—but, in less than an hour, the human would become indistinguishable from a leopard.

“Get back on the bed!" Yasmin yelled, waving a seven-fingered hand. “You need coolant injectors! The flesh will boil!"

Amira rolled her eyes and returned to the bed. Needle arms stabbed into her torso, sowing the muscle and knitting the skin. Hair follicles grew like thousands of wounds.

The young rat continued to work on her handheld device. After a moment, she scratched the fur beneath her goggles. “Sadik, can I—um—ask you? Something?"

“Of course."

“Are you going to let him in? The Lord of Bones?"

Amira's flesh began to hiss and steam. A wall-mounted torch flickered above a sea of metal limbs.

“The final decision rests with the Neheamatt," Sadik replied. “But . . . yes. If that is what it takes to remove the Demokrats, it is what shall be done."

“Once the Glimmer is inside his blood, he'll never be able to leave. The structure always denatures whenever it grows distant from Aldunya. If the body has grown dependent—"

“I'm aware." He rubbed a thumb against the hull of an old Mezlat. “We need the men. We need food. There's no alternative."

“That's why I'm asking," Yasmin said. “Are you . . . going to tell him this? Suppose that he—um—hears the price and doesn't want to pay? What if he decides to plunder, instead?"

“Then we will defend our city, as always."

Her pink tail coiled around her robes.

“I can make no promises," Sadik said. “Once I've met with his emissaries, and heard his demands, I will make my decision. But not before."

“Just . . . be careful. He's from outside the walls."

“Yasmin, I am from outside the walls."

“Well," she said. “You're one of the good ones."

“Aw, yeah," Amira said, testing the limits of her snout. “We got you nice and house-trained, sir. Haven't you seen eat mud in a decade, at least."

Yasmin gave a nervous smile. “I can give you some shiny beads, if they'd make you feel more at home."

“Careful, Yas," Amira said. “That's almost marriage, right there. 'Fore you know it, you'll be eating berries and dancing 'round a fire."

“Oh, yes," Sadik said. “I am quite contagious. A single touch will have you in a loincloth."

Yasmin managed to laugh. Amira hopped off the bed, struggling to balance on her new digitigrade feet. She had been modified into different species before—fighting sandwyrms often required feline agility, in addition to her greatbow—but it had been some time since she'd undergone a major transition, and the differences in anatomy always required adjustment.

“Right," Yasmin said, tapping the projections of light on her device. “Your turn, Sadik. Let me tweak some of the parameters. . . ."

Someone knocked on the door.

All three of them paused. The only sound in the room was the gentle whine of the surgery beds, the steady churning of Amira's old flesh as it filled the storage tanks.

“Were you expecting a delivery?" Sadik asked.

Yasmin had gone stiff. She watched the old workshop door as if it might whip her at the slightest motion.

“Yas." He came over to her side. “We're safe."

The rat gave an involuntary squeak, startled herself with the noise, and dashed for the cover of an oil-stained bench.

She had been this way ever since the revolution. The slightest noise would make her jump, and anything unexpected would send her into fits of terror. She had always lived with the precision of machines, the certainty of chemical reactions performed in a laboratory. For most of her life, everything she had ever known and wanted had been provided by servants. Now, she was barely able to sleep, and, whenever she did, her nightmares were filled with flames.

“Come in!" Sadik called.

The door swung open. On the other side, Kavaia was on her hands and knees, peering into the shop like a jackal might peer into a rabbit's burrow.

“Aw, fuck," Amira whispered. “Here we go."

The goddess of death attempted to enter the room. It took some time. Her frame was much larger than the door's, and she was forced to twist her body to the side in order to shimmy through the opening. There were awkward lurches and sounds of straining. After several long moments, she managed to rise back to her impressive height . . . and immediately knocked her head against the metal limbs hanging from the ceiling. The clanging spread like a wind chime.

“Goddess," Sadik said, trying to keep the surprise from his voice. “Can I help you?"

Despite her size, she walked toward the three of them at a timid pace. “Your men. . . ." She ducked her head beneath a trio of hanging legs. “They said you were departing. On a mission."

Amira gave Sadik a pointed look. Her leopard ears flicked back and forth.

“Yes," he replied. “We're meeting with the emissaries of the Lord of Bones. Some modifications were needed for disguise."

Kavaia nodded a little too quickly. “Oh. Um. . . ."

A silence filled the room. The crocodile fidgeted in place, glancing between Sadik, the floor, all the discarded pieces of automatons, and anywhere else that might grant her shelter.

“Yasmin," Sadik said. “It's fine. You can come out."

The former Glimmer technician peered out from the cover of a workbench, her buckteeth slowly emerging in shock. Unlike many who had served inside Kohav Yaran, Yasmin had never met a god in person—she had only heard the rumors and gossip, only glimpsed their passing from the windows of her laboratory. Right now, her expression was a mixture of fear and awe.

“Greetings," Kavaia said, attempting a smile. “Yasmin, was it?"

Yasmin remained behind the bench. She mimed a prayer to Eion, god of sanctuary. Kavaia's smile began to retreat.

“Hoi," Amira said. “The fuck you doin' here?"

“Oh. Um. Well, after I caught wind of your mission, it . . . seemed prudent that I should. . . ."

“Should what?" Amira's leopard tail flicked along the floor. “Offer to come along?"

“Yes! Yes, that's—yes." Kavaia stepped forward, nearly struck her chin against a metal arm, and ended up stooping her posture. “I am deeply grateful for your hospitality. All of you. I understand my position, wh-who I am, what your charity is costing you, and I. . . ." Her throat began to bulge. “If there is anyway I can repay your kindness, I will leap at the chance. Consider me availed to your purpose. Name a task, and it will be performed."

She centered her gaze on Sadik. He felt his heart begin to race.

“I want to help," Kavaia said.

Amira came over to Sadik's side, planting herself shoulder to shoulder. “Right. Look. Do I gotta stand on ceremony around you?"

“Quite the opposite," Kavaia replied. “Speak freely."

“You ain't going with us."

The crocodile flinched. “But—but I am capable—"

“What're you good at?" Amira asked. “What's your training, exactly? You know the basics of stealth? Guerilla tactics? You got any weapons training other than them god-smashing fists?"

Kavaia opened and closed her maw.

“What's more, a giant fuckin' lizard is gonna blow our cover just by walking down the street." She slapped Sadik's chest. “Our glowin' leader may have his mug splattered all over the city, but you're the reaping wind of death, and every last civilian's gonna shit their britches at the sight of you. We could change your look, sure, but that's more Glimmer down the drain, and we don't got a lot to throw around."

“S-square cube law," Yasmin said, slowly emerging from cover. “Um—with your body volume, the amount of Glimmer required—"

“Right," Amira finished. “The point bein'—this ain't where you're gonna be most useful." She waved a hand toward the door. “You got your healing powers. We got thousands of wounded crowding the stadium. If you wanna help, that's the best spot for you."

“I disagree," Sadik said.

The leopard leaned back in surprise. “Oh, do ya, now?"

“Goddess," he said. “In the pantheon, you spoke in the language of the plain riders."

Kavaia lowered her gaze to the floor. “Khöörkhii khulchgar. Wretched coward." She gave a quick rumble. “Thimera deserves the epithet."

“Are you from outside the walls?"

“Yes," Kavaia said. “Before my apotheosis, centuries ago, I led a war party under the banner of Huleon, first chieftain of the Kesunae. I spent decades uniting the various tribes with sword and siege. Once he'd built a nation, Huleon brought several empires to kneel, grew wealthy with tribute, and set his sights on Acheron." She glanced between the three mortals. “I'm . . . surprised that none of you were aware."

“You're talkin' ancient history," Amira said. “Dozens of generations."

Kavaia blinked. “I suppose so. It. . . ." She grew lost in thought. “It is difficult to remember. I feel as if I only have memories of the memories. I know I invaded the city, defeated a divine champion in single combat, but . . . only the briefest wisps remain. Dust storms on the plains. The taste of mare's milk, the aches of a day's ride."

“Do you remember their language?" Sadik asked, stepping forward. “Can you speak Kesunae?"

“Khüleegdej bui khemjeegeer. Somewhat, yes."

“Then you may act as our translator."

Amira looked between the two of them, her expression growing pointed.

“In addition," Sadik said, “you have remained blessed by the Neheamatt. You have the authority to negotiate for the city, quite in excess of mine."

“You should lead the talks," Kavaia said, quickly. “I remember little of war and logistics."

“Regardless, you are still a god. The title has prestige. Your presence would serve us well."

Kavaia glanced between Sadik and Amira. Behind them, with trembling whiskers, Yasmin moved toward the conversation.

“Miri," Sadik said, “you saw her in combat. She can hold her own."

“I dunno, sir. Mostly saw her get stabbed a bunch."

“Her healing will be invaluable in the field."

“Might be so. Might be her blundering is the reason we take them wounds in the first place."

Sadik faced his second in command. He had known her long enough that all he had to do was raise a brow.

Amira held up her paws. “Just thinkin' of the mission. That's all."

“Yes, thank you." He turned back to Kavaia. “Very well, goddess. You may accompany us."

Though the crocodile tried to keep herself composed, there was an obvious wave of relief. “Thank you. You shall not regret—"

“Stop," Sadik said. “Listen to me. Once we're out in the field, once the mission has begun, you will follow my orders. You will follow them without complaint, and you will follow them without hesitation. Is that understood?"

Kavaia gave a stiff nod. “Of course. Yes."

“Goddess, I may ask you to take a life. I may ask you to sacrifice your own, if it should serve the people of Acheron. Is that something you are prepared to do?"

Her tail dragged across the floor, making a solid thunk as it slammed into a gestation tank. “Sadik, I have sacrificed more than you can fathom."

“I did not mean—"

“I have reigned as death for nearly a thousand years," Kavaia said. “If you truly wish to ask whether I will take a life, I will point to the mountains of bone beneath the earth."

Silence settled through the room. Limbs and machines glinted under torchlight.

After a moment, Kavaia looked down at the floor, beginning to fidget with her hands. “Suffice to say . . . yes. I accept your command. All I remember is duty."

Sadik opened his mouth to speak, decided against it, and turned to Yasmin. “Can you modify her?"

The rat flinched upon being called. “Oh! Yes, um, wait a moment." She scurried over to a pile of used glass vials. To the untrained eye, it seemed little more than rubbish. “Let me see, let me see. . . ." She dug through the pile. Glass flew and shattered. “Yes! Yes! RNA synthesizers, bone catalysts, um, the reagents, yes, if I can have the machine brew enough of the reagents from scrap organic tissue, it should be trivial. . . ."

“Hoi," Amira said. “Yes or no question."

“Yes!" The rat hurried over to the surgery beds, three vials of liquid held in each of her seven-fingered hands, and began to socket them into various places along the chassis. While she worked, she eyed the goddess of death with a critical eye, like a man examining a horse for purchase. “Iguana!"

Kavaia blinked. “Pardon?"

“An iguana! Yes, I can see the potential with your form." She gestured vaguely, already tapping through projections of light on her device. “Reduce the snout, lengthen the spinal chines, narrow the tail. . . ."

“I—I will not become some lowly lizard! There are grander reptiles to pick!"

“Chameleon?" Yasmin asked. “They have articulated eyes! Prehensile tails!"

Sadik could see an instinctual response brewing in Kavaia—outrage, condemnation, absolute bewilderment that something so offensive would be suggested in her presence. Even the humblest gods took some of their privileges for granted. Before she said a single word, she glanced down at Sadik, as if looking to him for support. He gave her a level stare. She stopped herself, closed her mouth, and managed to take a deep, calming breath.

“Chameleon?" Yasmin asked, hopefully. “No one ever chooses chameleon."

“Iguana will suffice." She flattened a few wrinkles on her dress. “If you could, please . . . preserve my figure. I'm quite proud of it."

“Aw, yeah," Amira said. “I've heard some of us like it, too."

Yasmin took a few scurrying steps toward the goddess. Despite the fact that her pink ears barely reached Kavaia's hips, she no longer seemed afraid. “Um, if you could. . . ." She waved a robed arm. “Kneel for me. Please. I need to input your dimensions."

Slowly, Kavaia lowered herself into position. Yasmin roamed around her like a tribal worshipping a totem, examining every limb and curve.

Sadik noticed that Amira was giving him a look. “What?"

“Oh," she said. “Nothing."

“Miri."

“Sir."

“What is it?"

“Nothing."

“I doubt that very much."

She smacked him across the chest, moving toward the back of the room to acclimate her joints. When Sadik returned his gaze, he saw Kavaia peering at him over the bob and weave of Yasmin's head. She blinked, looked away, took one more furtive glance, and, finally, focused her attention on the automaton limbs above her head.

Sadik stared for a moment, realized he was doing so, and made his way over to the surgery bed.

---

It was a trap, Sadik thought.

He was lying prone on the roof of an abandoned home. In front of him, a section of the city's aqueduct passed over the silty banks of the Syran river. The bridge was composed of a small, narrow tunnel supported by a series of curving arches, with each of the foundational piers carved into life-size replicas of the major pantheon gods, as if they were supporting the veins of the city upon their shoulders. Rushing water, engorged with weeks of raining blood, dripped and splashed across their faces.

On the other side of the aqueduct, the walls of Acheron rose imperiously into the sky, towering far above the mud-brick hovels below. They were semi-translucent, unnaturally straight, and glowing with a powerful, arcane energy. If the walls had been made of ice, as they appeared to be now, it would've taken weeks to carve a tunnel through their face, such was the immensity of their size. Sadik had been scouting the aqueduct for nearly an hour, and, in that time, lightning from the blood storm had struck the wall several times, sending great clouds of sparks arcing across the sky. He could still see the energy coursing through the walls. If he looked hard enough, he could also see the barbarian army waiting on the other side.

The Lord of Bones had sent emissaries to treat for him. Somehow, they had managed to pass through the hard light barriers. They had travelled through a city gripped with plague and martial law. And, now, they were waiting for Sadik inside the tunnel of an aqueduct.

He didn't like it. Not in the slightest.

“Well, I'm fucked," Amira said. “Tunnels are narrow. I could hardly scratch my cunt, let alone fire a bow."

Sadik shifted higher onto his elbows, feeling a pool of blood suck at the front of his armor. “Overwatch?"

“Limited." She gestured at the houses lining the river bank. “Barely any spots to anchor. Too exposed. I could launch a wyrmkiller through the walls, sure, but there's no way I'm pickin' targets."

“And we shouldn't destroy the city's aqueduct."

“That might be nice of you, sir."

Sadik scratched the fur on his chin. He was still finding it awkward to talk through a snout—with his lips gone, and his tongue lengthened, he felt as if he had to relearn the shape and feel of every letter. Modifying one's self into a different species always imposed an adjustment period, especially on the more exotic designs, but Sadik wasn't too bothered by this. He had changed species before. Everyone in Acheron had, at one point or another. For some, it was as easy as changing their clothes.

No. What Sadik didn't like was the cowardice of it all. Changing species was an admission of weakness. It would tell the emissaries that he could no longer walk the streets without fear of reprisal. It would tell the citizens of Acheron that he must resort to stealth and shadow in order to protect their lives. Perhaps most importantly, it would've told the members of the Luminous Path, if any still lived, that he had forsaken the way of brightness.

He must always be a beacon. Always visible, always a shining star in the night. Like moths to a flame, the people would flock to him, and he must never allow himself to be eclipsed by his enemies, lest the entire city be lost in darkness.

He had resisted for weeks. Numerous missions had been conducted without a single adjustment of his flesh. Nothing but the truth of his face, the sharp edge of his sword, and the coursing light of his soul. For a time, it had been enough.

He didn't like being a wolf. He didn't like anything about this.

“Escape routes?" Sadik asked.

“That's the thing," Amira replied. “The aqueduct narrows down on either side of the bridge—we're talkin' inches of space. They chose one of the few maintenance corridors it has, and they chose one above a raging fucking river." She wiped blood off the handle of her greatbow. “If they're really in there, they're gonna have their backs to the wall, same as us."

“Of course," Kavaia said. “Inside the city, they are without a mount."

Sadik glanced at her. The crocodile, now molded in the shape of an iguana, was also lying prone on the rooftop. Unlike them, she had focused her attention on the high cerulean walls. Through the shimmer of energy, it was possible to discern the soldiers of the Lord of Bones waiting on the other side, like specks of sand inside a thick pane of glass. She had watched the legions of men with a slow sweep of her tail.

“For Kesunae, all diplomacy is conducted astride their destriers," she continued. “Even a warlord who conquers a city will not enter the streets himself—he will demand tribute be brought outside the walls. They are bogino khöltei without a mount. Short-legged. Like a child."

“I'm sure these lot can manage without their cocks inside a mare," Amira said. “Just take some Glimmer and turn the Lord of Bones into a fucking horse, if that's where true love is lyin'."

Kavaia was unamused. “Could you not disparage a noble culture?"

“Probably, yeah."

A sleet of blood passed over the trio. Sadik was beginning to hate the feeling of wet fur.

“Well," Kavaia said, “regardless, they are not attempting duplicity. The choice is quite the opposite. They wish to discourage violence. Meetings between rival tribes will often be conducted in foothills or mountain passes, in order to prevent large cavalry formations. This is a similar tactic."

“If they were attempting betrayal," Sadik said, “a dark, narrow tunnel would be optimal."

“If they wished to kill you," Kavaia replied, “their vanguard would already be ravaging the streets. They have breached the wall, but only sent emissaries. Their desire for diplomacy is earnest." The frills on her throat began to straighten. “Perhaps a little too earnest."

“I don't like it," Amira said. “Something stinks."

“Agreed," Sadik said. “Unfortunately, I have been tasked with groveling, and so groveling I must go."

“Inspiring, sir. Warms the heart."

Sadik turned to Kavaia. “Goddess, are you prepared to translate?"

She took a moment to nod—slowly at first, then with more conviction. “Yes. My grasp of the language has not atrophied as much as I expected."

“Goddess," Sadik said, swiping blood from his snout. “May I trust you to relay my words accurately?"

“What are you implying?"

“I am not implying anything."

“Oh, truly?" Kavaia said, iguana tail whipping against a brick. “So you are not accusing me of incompetence?"

“I am reminding you that the fate of the city rests on our efforts."

“I did not need the reminder, nor do I care to hear it."

“You seem . . . rather defensive."

“I am not—"

She paused, taking a deep breath. Sadik noticed that her hands were gripping the lip of the rooftop, and the mud-brick structure was cracking beneath her strength.

“No," Kavaia said, as if forcing herself to speak. “You're right. I am. When you expect malice from every soul, you will find it behind every word. That is . . . not the case anymore. Is it?"

“No," Sadik said. “It is not."

She glanced at him, saffron eyes reflecting the light of the walls. “I can do this."

“Okay. That is all I needed to hear."

“Of course. I should've realized. . . ."

“It's fine, goddess."

“My apologies."

“Think nothing of it."

They stared at each other. Below, the Syran river continued to churn and gurgle. Thunder rippled across the blood-red clouds.

“Stars above," Amira said. “You two need to fuck already."

Sadik and Kavaia looked at the leopard, back at each other, and lowered their gazes.

Amira rose to her feet, slinging her greatbow across her shoulder. “Let's go. I'm sick of waiting."

The three of them descended from the rooftop and made their way toward the aqueduct, taking a sheltered path between the hovels that lined the Syran river banks. When the swollen river had overtaken much of the area, several buildings had been swallowed by a mire of mud and silt, with more than a few breaking into chunks as they were pulled across the water. All the homes that had survived the river had been abandoned in response, and whatever remained had clearly been picked over by scavengers. Blood soaked the streets, seeping between the flagstones, filling the gutters with a churning, frothy red.

A long stairway connected the river bank to a maintenance door in the aqueduct. It would take them dozens of cubits into the air. As they left solid ground, Sadik and Amira were forced to leap across several crumbled sections of the stairway, places in the brick that had been scored by stray sunspear fire. Every brick was coated in a grisly layer of coagulated blood, and every footstep was inevitably sticky as a result, threatening a loss of balance and a tumble down into the river. The gushing water continued to roar, battering the faces of gods.

They ascended the stairs. Slowly, they walked across a flat section of the bridge, careful to avoid the slickened edge. Finally, through a small passageway, they entered the aqueduct.

It was just as tight as they expected. A damp, dark tunnel that was scarcely wider than a span of the shoulders, stretching more than a mile in either direction. When Sadik placed his foot in the ankle-high water, the splash echoed loudly across the walls, ringing and dancing through the darkness. His sandal sunk into something slippery—when he unsheathed Dusksong, burning the runes that lined the flat of her blade, he saw that he was standing in a bed of algae, spotted with accretions of mineral deposits.

This aqueduct had not been cleaned in ages. Far before the revolution. It was a miracle that it still flowed at all.

He took a left into the tunnel, towards the point that would bring them further across the Syran river. His sandals sloshed through pebbles and sickly green water. Amira fell into place at his back, her footsteps eliciting only a few trickles of noise, while Kavaia barely managed to squeeze herself into place at the rear, splashing a considerable amount of water as she tried to shuffle forward.

Ahead, a pair of torches flickered through the darkness. Something metallic glinted in reply. It could've been a set of plate armor, or the wide face of a shield—from this distance, it was impossible to tell. Either way, that was his target. The two emissaries for the Lord of Bones.

Foreign barbarians. Infiltrators. The men Sadik would have to beg for assistance.

He clutched Dusksong a little tighter. If he must bury his tattoos beneath a matting of wolfish fur, he would scatter the shadows with his sword, instead.

They continued forward. The roar of the river was dulled beneath the bricks, but everything was still slippery and damp, and every sound was amplified by the tightened walls. Breaths echoed in the dark. Armor joints scraped across stone.

“Goddess," Sadik said. “Watch your tail."

Kavaia grunted. She had been forced into a half-crawling position, hugging the wall like a lizard bathing for warmth. Her tail, in particular, was loudly sloshing through the water.

“You are causing a ruckus," Sadik continued. “Have some dignity."

“I am going to assume that was a jest."

“I could tie your tail to your back, if that would be of service."

“Why don't you come back and hoist it on your shoulder, if it's bothering you so greatly?"

“Well, goddess, it's not me, but our guests. You understand. They will assume our gods have a more . . . regal bearing."

“How do you expect me to crawl through this disgusting crevice in the first place, you bleating little—" She gave a deep rumble from her chest. It shook the stone. “Gods, you are jesting with me, aren't you?"

“He does that sometimes," Amira said. “Likes to think he's funny."

“I am funny," Sadik replied. “Aren't I?"

“I'll tell you when I see it, sir."

The torches of the emissaries drew near—soon, orange light began to dance along the dampened walls, and Sadik was able to make out the subtle shape of their forms. The two were standing shoulder to shoulder, watching calmly. Neither of them were visibly armed. There was no sign of any soldiers lying in wait. Even still, there was a certain foreboding to the air.

Sadik steeled himself. These were men, just like him. Despite their differences in culture, despite the fact that they came from outside the walls, Sadik would be a fool to think them incapable of cunning. They would have the same ambitions, the same will to survive. He would have to be ready for anything.

He entered a small cistern. The room was barely wider than a storage shed, just as encrusted with algae and mineral deposits as the rest of the aqueduct. At the same time, there were torch sconces on the walls, and just enough room for others to stand abreast. Amira took her place by Sadik's side, one hand resting on her greatbow. Kavaia crawled out into the cistern, discovered that the ceiling was no taller here than it was in the tunnel, and ended up squatting down on her haunches, trying to stretch what muscles she could.

The two emissaries were wearing loose, brown robes. Their faces were hidden beneath hoods, and both of them had visibly tensed at Kavaia's presence. One of the emissaries, who was nearly a head taller than their compatriot, stared at the former goddess. The shorter emissary took some furtive glances, but mostly kept their attention focused on Sadik.

There was a moment of silence. Outside, the river churned and roared.

“Greetings," Sadik said. He placed a fist over his heart, performing a bow. “My name is Sadik Umayyad Zareb. I am a member of the Luminous Path, former bodyguard to the Vizier of Acheron, and acting leader of the Sons of Sorrow. I have been blessed by the Neheamatt to oversee these negotiations." He gestured to the two woman on either side of him. “This is Amira, my second in command, and this is Kavaia, the. . . ." He paused. “The former goddess of death, though she is still blessed with divinity. She will act as my translator."

The two hooded emissaries glanced at each other, then back at Sadik. Neither responded.

Sadik looked to Kavaia.

“Mendchilgee," Kavaia said, sounding confident in her pronunciation. “Minii ner Sadik Umayyad Zareb, bi gishüün—"

“We speak your language," the shorter emissary said. He was slightly taller than Sadik, putting his compatriot at nearly three cubits in height. “I had the chance to study it several years prior, from an exile near the Shattered Plains."

Sadik blinked. “Few of this city can survive as exiles."

“He dictated his journal to me as his body failed," the emissary said. “There was much he wished to say. Your culture. History."

“The gaps in your glowin' fort," the taller emissary said, her voice deep and rough.

“He told me much," the male emissary said, cutting her off. “Your language is remarkably similar to the dialect used by an old necromancer empire, so it was fairly trivial for me to learn. That is . . . one of the reasons I was chosen by the Lord of Bones."

Sadik checked the torches on the cistern wall, decided things were bright enough, and sheathed Dusksong across his back. “What were the other reasons?"

The two emissaries glanced at each other. Once more, the taller emissary focused on Kavaia, while the shorter centered his gaze on Sadik.

“You carry yourself like a soldier, Sadik," said the man. “Am I correct?"

Sadik cocked a brow. “I have defended Acheron for nearly a century. I have led men through countless battles, fought alongside gods and regents, and served the true heirs of the ancestors with faith and honor."

“A simple 'yes' would have sufficed."

“If I am just a soldier, then you are just a salesman."

The woman snorted. Now that his eyes were adjusting to the gloom, Sadik could see that she was not just taller than the man—she was sturdier, more heavily muscled. She was not a woman he would want to anger inside a confined space. “He's gettin' prickly. Imagine that."

“What I meant," the man said, holding up his robed arms, “is that you seem like a man who appreciates bluntness more than courtesy. Correct?"

“Yes," Sadik said. “Considerably."

“Great." The man opened his palms. “Then let me be the first to inform you that the Lord of Bones desperately requests asylum within your city."

Torches crackled. Water condensed along the walls, forming into droplets and streams. The aqueduct floor rumbled with the force of the Syran river.

“Come again?" Amira asked. “Am I going daft? Did you just say asylum?"

“Shelter. Refuge. Sanctuary." The man shrugged. “Safety, to be sure. I hope I'm not butchering the English."

“Your language is clear," Kavaia said, tail sloshing through the water. “Your motivations, perhaps, are less so."

“Oi," said the hooded woman. “You one of them titan gods, then?"

Kavaia raised her chin. “I am his translator. You may consider me his bodyguard, as well."

“I'm considerin' you the biggest cunt in the room," said the woman. “How's it work that we got some god crawlin' through the sewers?"

“I enjoy the air," Kavaia said, wiping a film of algae from her hand. “Freshens the palate."

The woman gestured at Sadik. “You're taking his order?"

“Correct."

“He's not feedin' you grapes and such?"

“If he wants to, I won't refuse."

“Oh, well, not about to throw a sunbeam from your arse, are we? Not gonna melt us to slag with a point of your finger?"

Kavaia tightened her pupils. “I'll try to restrain myself."

“Z," said the man.

The hooded woman looked down at him, grunted, and folded her arms. She continued to stare at Kavaia.

“Perhaps we should explain," the man continued.

He threw off his hood.

The male emissary was a human of approximately middle-age. Sadik had to remind himself that, to outsiders, this was around the fortieth decade. His skin was tanned and slightly wrinkled, like he had spent long years beneath an open sky, and he had a shock of messy blond hair that slowly transitioned into a well-trimmed beard. His blue eyes were nearly the color of steel.

“My name is Isaac," he said. “You might've heard of me."

Amira blew out a sharp breath. “The Flaming Scholar."

Isaac opened his palms, as if he didn't wish to put on airs.

Sadik had heard of him, as well. During his time upon the walls, he had interviewed countless people for citizenship. The process was rigorous, involving tests of both body and mind—out of thousands of applicants, less than fifty would pass each year, and these souls were often handpicked by the Neheamatt in order to ensure the health of future generations. It was one of the few areas where the great tree took a personal interest.

Sadik had spoken with many souls. He had pressed them for news of the outside world. And nearly all had spoken of the Flaming Scholar, in one form or another.

From what he had gathered, Isaac was a powerful mage exiled from his homeland, journeying across sea and desert to the furthest corners of the world. He wielded spells in the lands where few had ever heard of magic and even fewer possessed the ability. It was said that he could draw upon any natural element with a flick of his wrist—great suns of fire, hurricanes of wind, shattering crashes of thunder. Many were dazzled by his gifts. The legends spread far and wide.

By necessity, he had taken up the life of a mercenary. Unlike other mercenaries, Isaac had been very discriminating in his choice of conflict—he only participated in slave rebellions, wars of liberation. It was said that he had halted the expansion of entire empires, freed several nations from the yolks of oppression. He had not always been successful, and the times he had were likely exaggerated, but, even still, Sadik had little reason to doubt his abilities. He had seen the gods perform similar miracles.

Perhaps mostly importantly, Isaac was known as a fastidious scholar. The lands he travelled always possessed a similar characteristic—the ruins of ancient empires. He had participated in several conflicts just so he might gain access to burial sites. He had collected artifacts from regions too embroiled in strife for many to travel. Several books had been penned by his hand. Countless museums had been filled with his efforts.

And, now, here he was. The Flaming Scholar, standing in the city of Acheron. The most ancient culture in the world. It had only been a matter of time, Sadik supposed.

“Squire," said the woman. “You don't just go showin' your face to people."

Isaac shrugged. “What's the harm?"

“My foot up your arse, for a start."

“Some of us have nice faces to show, Z. Kind, friendly, handsome. . . ."

The taller woman struck Isaac with her hip. He pretended to beg for mercy. After a satisfied grunt, she threw off her hood.

Zaria.

Sadik had heard tales of her, as well. Despite her lack of magic, the hyena was considered just as dangerous as her human companion. Legends had told of regiments carving a path through the battlefield, hoping to strike down the mage laying waste to their men, only to come face to face with a ferocious warrior defending him with axe and claw. The two adventurers were inseparable, so it was told, and they were considered all the more deadly for it. If you harmed one, the other would strike you down with fury.

She was a burly woman. Tall and weathered. Her left eye was a dull, milky white, and the rest of her face was crossed with several large scars—a gash beside an eye, a jagged bolt across her snout. She had a sharp gaze, an easy posture, and a bit of mirth breaking through the suspicion.

“Well," Zaria said, “that's us, then. Pleasure all around."

“Likewise," Amira said, getting a hold of her surprise. “I've heard tales. Is it true you gored a sandwyrm with your bare hands?"

“Which one? Cralas?"

“The Soundless Wastes. Mountain-sized fucker at the spawning grounds."

“Oh, nah, 'course not. Had a couple mates shootin' ballistas."

“And me," Isaac said. “Mostly me."

“And my squire, as well." Zaria shrugged. “First one ate me alive, to be fair."

Sadik cleared his throat. “I think we're losing track of our purpose. Isaac, you said the Lord of Bones is requesting asylum?"

“Begging would be a better word," Isaac said.

“To be clear, he is petitioning us for aid?"

“Were you expecting the opposite?"

“Very much so, yes."

“Well," Isaac said, grinning beneath the torchlight. “Glad to disappoint you, then. I'm sure we'll find a way to ruin your expectations further."

Sadik glanced at Amira. She was examining Zaria, taking note of her scars and stature, while the hyena was appraising the former field scout in kind, eyeing the trophies on her greatbow with something between caution and interest. Sadik glanced at Kavaia, who had clearly not heard the same tales of the Flaming Scholar, but was still appropriately surprised. She met his gaze, unsure of how to proceed.

He couldn't blame her. Out of all the ways he had expected this meeting to go, this was not one of them.

“What are his demands?" Sadik asked.

Isaac snorted. “He has no right to make demands. He sent mercenaries instead of his own advisors. What does that tell you about his position?"

“Paranoid. Insecure. Losing men to disease and desertion."

“Exactly. He told me I had to secure an alliance with you at all cost. Whatever you demand, he will give."

“If that is true," Kavaia said, “then you are severely weakening his position by being so forthright. What is causing this honesty?"

“Fuck him," Zaria said. “That's why."

Isaac hooked a thumb at Zaria, nodding his head.

“I don't understand," Sadik said. “What is he requesting asylum from?"

The human glanced off into the aqueduct tunnel. A strand of blond hair fell across his eyes.

“In short," Isaac said, “the Diet of Nine has invaded the Kesunae homeland. They are using magically trained soldiers with equally magical weapons, and they are rapidly conquering any who stand before them. I am partially responsible for them having such advanced technology. Consequently, I feel the need to help these people."

Outside, thunder rippled across the blood storm. The Syran river continued to roar.

“You are not being besieged by an army," Isaac said. “You are being besieged by refugees. Anyone who was able to flee from the armies of my homeland. The Lord of Bones has been bombarding your walls in the hope that you will think he is mighty." He glanced between Sadik and Amira. “Clearly, it worked, to some degree."

“We're settin' that straight," Zaria said. “The Lord o' Bones is a charlatan who found some ancient bauble in a crypt, discovered it gave him a bit of necromancy, and has been using parlor tricks to make the commoners think he's some soul-eating monster from the depths of hell. Really, he's a bilge rat who couldn't fuck a bone thrall with his cock in their eye socket."

“We want to help the refugees," Isaac continued. “We don't, however, want to continue the reign of a warlord. So we're being honest with you, in the hope that you will squeeze the Lord of Bones for all he's worth. Does that make sense?"

“. . . somewhat, yes." Sadik shifted on his feet, feeling his sandals slide through the algae below. “What are you hoping to gain from this?"

“Knowledge," Isaac said. “Acheron is the oldest city in the world. The home of gods and Glimmer. I have dedicated my life to studying the history of our planet, and, so, now, I have come to study your culture, in turn. It may be the key I am missing."

“We also like helping the common folk," Zaria said. “Bit of a hobby, you could say. So, if you're fighting for justice, we're on board." She winked her good eye. “For a fee, I mean."

Sadik stared into the shallow water at his feet, watching the torchlight reflect off the ripples and waves. “I hope you'll forgive me if I find this all . . . rather sudden."

“Hard to believe?" Isaac asked.

“You could say that."

“Allow me to demonstrate. Z?"

Zaria looked at Amira and motioned toward a pocket on her robe, as if asking for permission. The leopard nodded. Zaria reached into her pocket, winced, and began to pull.

She revealed the severed tail of a destrier. The appendage was long and spindly, black as charcoal, with a few scraggly quills still clinging to the flesh. In the dim torchlight, it looked as if Zaria was offering them a grisly rose.

This must've been the glint of metal he had seen on approach.

“By Nema," Kavaia said, eyes widening. “Is that his mount?"

“Sure is," Zaria replied, lightly tossing the appendage. Based on the limpness of the muscle, Sadik guessed that it had been cut mere hours ago. “She was a sweet thing. Didn't flinch a bit."

“That is. . . ." Kavaia breathed out. “That is the ultimate prostration. Pure groveling. A true Kesunae would sooner castrate himself than allow his mount to become a trophy." She scoffed at the tail, as if she couldn't believe her eyes. “Khöörkhii khulchgar."

“It's not a trophy," Isaac said. “It's proof of his intent. He will give you anything in exchange for asylum."

Zaria tossed the tail to Kavaia. “Take a gander."

Kavaia caught the appendage clumsily, letting several quills embed themselves across her arm. She idly removed the black needles while examining the tail from every angle. Special gems were woven across the quill-less skin, each of the stones carved with letters that Sadik could not read. From a guess, they seemed to denote a bloodline. Histories and triumph. The Kesunae wrote their life story on the very mounts they rode.

Sadik saw something crawl across Kavaia's face. Fragments of memory, echoes of feeling. As she read the words of the Lord of Bones, a shiver passed through her body, like she had discovered some relic of her childhood, some special object that spoke of happier days and people long departed, and now corners of her mind, lying dormant for centuries, were flooding back to life.

Kavaia traced the words and gems with a soft finger.

“Goddess," Sadik said.

Kavaia flinched, her eyes darting around the small aqueduct cistern. She cleared her throat, tossed the tail back to Zaria, and nodded her head. “Yes. It is genuine. That tail belonged to the mare of the Lord of Bones, son of Darkbane the Unyielding."

“Are you sure?"

“Beyond a doubt."

Amira snorted. “Can none of these cunts just have a name? Why's every leader gotta be 'BloodBear the Baby Basher'? I mean, honestly."

Isaac opened his palms. “Is there anything else I can do to ease your doubt?"

“Well," Sadik said, scratching the fur on his neck. “If we're trading body parts, you could bring me the severed head of your leader. Save us all the trouble."

“Alas, I forgot it in my other pants."

Sadik shrugged, as if it was worth an attempt. “In any case, I came here to beg, so I am not in any position to deny your aid, outlandish though it seems."

He looked at the two foreigners. They had breached the walls of Acheron. They had shown him every intent to stay. And, now, he would have to allow them to remain inside the city, free to witness the wonders of the ancestors. Everything he had spent his life protecting.

Gamó.

“Very well," Sadik said, more to himself than anything. “Why don't we continue this conversation somewhere more comfortable?"

“I thought you'd never ask," Isaac replied. “Somewhere without blood, I hope?"

“The few we have." He gestured back down the tunnel. “Follow me. I will escort you to our headquarters."

“Sadik."

Isaac stuck out his hand. It was callused, smeared with blood, and more than capable of launching a fireball in his direction. At the moment, it seemed to be offered in good faith.

“Pleasure to meet you," Isaac said.

After a moment, Sadik returned the handshake with a firm grip.

“Likewise, Isaac."