part of the morning to make their way through the bands of Fenling hunters and warriors who searched for them.
On their way to where he thought they would be safe, Indris had taken the time to scout Fiandahariat as best he could. He had led his friends through a narrow canyon of weathered black towers, their once-glassy surfaces cracked like windows struck by stones. Gardens had long gone to seed. The fountains were silent. Bridges had collapsed, along with stairs, lofty walls, and forbidding spires. Canals had overflowed to turn streets paved with polished white-and-gray stones into bleached streams of brackish water.
They had been forced to avoid some parts of the ruins simply because there were too many people. Mercenary swashbucklers and freebooters, stripped to vests or bare chested in the heat, stood guard. Fenlings labored under the watchful eye of overseers. Yet it was a different type of soldier who guarded the entrances to a plaza deep in the city that held the Star Clock. These guardians had the appearance of hard-eyed veterans. Though they wore no livery, Indris had no doubt they served the Erebus.
They had left the ruins with a better idea of where Ariskander was held. It was only then Indris had led them to the one place he hoped his use of the ahmsah would not be noticed. A refuge held together because of it.
Indris and Shar had used this place when they were in the Rōmarq, gathering intelligence for Far-ad-din. Given the horrific surges of disentropy in and around Fiandahariat, Indris had felt comfortable in setting up a Discretion Charm to further hide the old building from notice. Whoever looked at the sprawling house simply paid it no more notice than they would the trees that surrounded it. He had tapped the charm into a vein of disentropy, and it would last for centuries.
Inside the scholar’s villa, Indris and the others rested for a while. They silently shared food, sipped from their water bottles, sat hunched in their own thoughts while they shot sidelong glances at Indris.
“This silence is awkward, so one of you may as well say it.” Indris stood by a vine-wreathed window, his eyes narrowed against the brightness outside.
“Amonindris, what do you expect us to say?” Ekko asked guiltily. Hayden sat alone in the corner, head against the wall, eyes closed. “That we are sorry for going after the casque? That we wonder whether we can accomplish what we came for? Let us face the fact we are here to rescue Rahn-Ariskander, with too few—”
“And why do you think we’re fewer in numbers?” Shar’s fine features were made sharper by the quality of the light, all flat planes and acute angles. She rubbed at the end of one elongated ear, scratched and bloody. “Because you two faruqen uryati wouldn’t leave well enough alone—”
“Beggin’ your pardon there, but—”
“But nothing, Hayden!” Shar’s skin and eyes were luminescent with anger. “You were told not to go after Thufan and you did. You and Ekko brought this down on us when you brought the Spirit Casque back! Omen would be with us now if it wasn’t for you.”
“For the love of the Ancestors, peace!” Indris turned from the window in frustration. “No, we’re not many, but we never were. Yes, we’ll miss Omen’s sword when it comes time to get our hands bloody. I did what needed to be done. We’re all of us together in this moment, so there’s no point in wondering what if. Let’s focus on what we do now.”
“There’re surely a lot of them out there, Indris,” Hayden said quietly.
“It’s not the many we fight,” Shar pointed out. “Rather the few we can’t avoid.”
“She’s right.” Indris nodded. “I didn’t come here to go on a killing spree. Rest up while you can. We leave before dawn tomorrow. Shar?” He gestured for his friend to follow him as he left the sitting room. She fell into step as they crossed the leaf-and-weed-strewn courtyard. Green-and-black lotus flowers grew tall from the mud, surrounded by bees droning in the thick, lazy summer air. Shar plucked a green lotus blossom, then popped a petal into her mouth.
The doors to the laboratory were closed but gave to some insistent shoving. Residual charms inside the room recognized the presence of an ahmsah adept. Small ilhen lamps, like formations of candle flames in bronze urns, glowed a clean yellow-white. The interior walls reminded Indris of a beehive: hundreds of hexagonal cells, all covered with dust, most of which