An explosion shook the ground. Horses yelped, horns blasted, and a horde screeched and cursed. The smell of boiled blood and tree oil made Awa gag. Mango and nut butter churned in her stomach, threatening to surge back up. She bent over and sucked deep breaths. The wild dog licked her face.

Bal crept into the bushes, fearless. Fannie trotted close behind vie, fearless also. “Who knocks at the gates today?” Bal hissed.

“Hezram.” Awa felt him. He probably felt her as well. “Witchdoctor of Illusions.”

“What does he want?” Bal halted at the burl-mottled trunk-tower of an elder tree.

“Djola’s conjure bag.” Awa crawled to it. The wild dog flanked her. “I carry it.”

“That’s a good story, I’m sure.” Bal took off the bow and sword. “Did the poison master really stuff a library from the floating cities in that?”

“Vandana did. He added song cloth from all the ancestors.” Awa heaved the bag across her shoulder. Yari’s songs to Kyrie would be in there, and Dream Gate conjure, maybe even a spell to find Meera and Rokiat if they were alive. Awa let Yari’s drum slide to the ground. She couldn’t manage both. Bal would carry the drum easily. “Yari said Hezram would hunt me and Djola, in the everyday, in dreams.”

“You talked with Yari?” Bal circled the tree. “Impossible. How? When?”

Another explosion knocked Bal over before Awa had to answer these questions. Axes rang against stone-hard trunks. Oily smoke seeped through the brambles. Bal scrambled up the trunk-tower. Vie leapt from lumpy burls onto flimsy branches and disappeared behind elephant leaves. Awa crept to Bal’s tree. The mist turned to a downpour that penetrated the canopy. In a breath she was drenched.

“I see warrior priests, drummers, cooks, and cages full of prisoners. Jod, from our enclave. Fatazz!” Bal screeched over the twang of bows. “Fire arrows! Take cover!”

Too many bolts whooshed through branches and vines. Fannie dragged Djola behind a boulder. Awa hugged the wild dog and flattened herself against the trunk-tower. Djola was right. Hezram would spread disaster across the Empire and beyond. Awa regretted not stabbing him with a viper’s fang in the temple when she had the chance. She’d been a coward, saving her own life and dooming others, dooming Yari … Wet soot smacked her cheeks and interrupted self-pity. Blobs of ash plopped on Djola’s bald head, knees, and everywhere.

“Kyrie’s Mountain Gate conjure turns fire arrows to sludge.” Bal cheered.

Shrieks and wails poured from the other side, but nothing more fell from the sky, except cold rain. Fannie whinnied relief. The dog wiggled free and shook off a cloud of gray. Awa patted his scruffy head. “Shall I call you Soot?” Soot wagged his bushy tail.