A Sky Beyond the Storm (An Ember in the Ashes #4) - Sabaa Tahir Page 0,58

upon us either dead or fled.

“Septimus!” I call out, but there is no answer from the Mask’s perch, on the fourth story of a building across from the brothel.

“He’s dead, Shrike. A Karkaun arrow took him out.” Neera appears from the doorway of what must be her home, gesturing us in as the thud of boots echoes from close by. Once inside, she hands me a cloak.

“For the, ah—” She nods to Grímarr’s arm, dripping blood all over the floor.

“Sorry for the mess.” I tear a few strips off the cloak for Faris to bind his wounds, and wrap the arm quickly. “We need to get to Taius Square.”

I was supposed to hang Grímarr’s headless body in the square. His arm will have to do.

Neera nods to her back door. “It’s the rooftops or the houses.” She glances at Faris, who is ghastly pale, and then at the seeping bite wound on my neck. “Houses, I think.”

Two children peek out at me from behind her skirt. “You’ve done enough,” I say. “Get out of here. Take your children. If anyone tells the Karkauns you took us in—”

“No Martial would say a word.” Neera’s voice is hoarse with emotion. “Nor the Scholars. There are no traitors here, Shrike.” Her eyes are fierce. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Come morning,” I tell her, “there will be a message in Taius Square. Tell as many as you can.”

We hurry into her courtyard, where one of her neighbors waits and ushers us through a door. There, another woman, this one a wizened old Scholar, guides us to the next house. And so we make our way through the city. At each house, we whisper the message.

The Shrike has come. She’s struck at the heart of the Karkauns. When she comes again, it will be time to fight.

Seeing the fervor in the eyes of my people makes me wish I could lead the attack now. But we need time to shore up our supply of weapons and smuggle them into the city. We need time for the message to spread so that when we do attack, the women will be prepared to fight.

Fifth bell has long since tolled when Faris and I emerge from a shuttered clockmaker’s shop into Taius Square. The sight of it—of the pyres and what still smokes upon them—should make me angry. But mostly, I feel sick, numb and bleeding from a dozen wounds, and nauseous from the stink.

“Bleeding hells, girl.” Quin appears out of the shadows. “You’re late.” His armor is splashed with blood, but he doesn’t appear to have any wounds. Musa materializes behind him, limping.

“Good in a fight.” Quin nods to the Scholar approvingly. “Better luck than Ilean anyway. He’s dead.” The old man looks me over. “I don’t see a body, Shrike.”

“Grímarr got away.” Saying it makes me want to scream. “He knew we were coming—flooded the brothel with his fighters. We’ll have to make do. Is the square cleared out?”

“We got most of the guards,” Musa says. “But more are coming. You have a few minutes.”

“Good,” I say. “You two get the hells out of here in case I cannot.”

“Come with us, Shrike,” Musa urges. “The Karkauns got the message—”

“The message isn’t for them. Go.”

When Marcus was Emperor, he hung bodies on a whitewashed wall at the south end of the square. I make for that wall, Faris following. As we reach it, I hand Grímarr’s stinking arm to my friend. He grins and impales it high up with a spear from one of the fallen guards. I take the blood-sodden cloak and, beneath the arm, leave my message. LOYAL TO THE END. It is a call to arms and a reminder that I have not forgotten my people. That we will fight.

“Ikfan Dem!”

The shout comes from yards away. The Karkaun patrol.

Faris hauls me from the wall and I wince, putting a hand to my neck where the bite wound still bleeds. Arrows ping near my head.

“Come on,” he says. “There’s a grate on the other side of the square. Leads right to the tunnels. We can make it if we’re fast.”

We weave swiftly through the pyres. But there are too many barbarians, and there is too little cover.

“Shrike!” Faris calls a warning just as an arrow slices through the air. My back jerks as the shaft cuts through my soft clothing and into my shoulder. Within seconds, my shirt is soaked with blood. Another arrow lances me through the thigh.

“F-Faris.” I drop to my knees, and