“Water,” Larad said, hurrying forward and dipping his hands into the fountain. He looked up, surprise on his face. “It’s cool.”

“Be careful,” Vani said, circling around the fountain.

Grace opened her eyes. “No, this water is pure. It won’t harm us.”

Larad brought cupped hands to his mouth, drinking deeply, then splashed water on his face and neck. All of them followed suit. Travis had never tasted such sweet water before. It soothed his parched tongue and throat, and it seemed to cool the fire in his veins a few degrees. At last he lifted his head, pushed his dripping hair from his face.

“Where do we go now?” he said, looking at Vani.

She gazed at Farr. “If Nim truly is a nexus, they will be taking her to the throne room.”

Grace turned around. “But where is it? This city is huge. It would take us days to explore it. Weeks.”

Buildings rose in all directions around the square: low, rectangular dwellings, stair-stepped ziggurats, spires, and burnished domes that called to mind the sheltered sanctuary of temples. All were fashioned of the same glassy black stone as the outer walls of the city.

“There,” Farr said, pointing toward a dome that soared above all others. Unlike any other building, it was gilded with intersecting lines and circles of gold filigree, shining as if molten in the sunlight. “Gold was a sign of power and royalty in ancient Morindu.”

That was good enough for Travis. “Let’s go.”

They followed a wide avenue into the heart of the city, toward the dome traced with gold. The buildings to either side grew grander the farther they went, and each plaza they traversed contained ever more elaborate statuary: gigantic stone lions with the wings of eagles, or obelisks inscribed with angular symbols. Above them, tall spires reached toward the sky. Which of them was the one the Scirathi had entered? Had they already reached the throne room?

No, Travis. If the sorcerers had discovered the blood of Orú, you wouldn’t still be here, walking, breathing. There’s still time.

They reached a grand arch dripping with lindaravines. Beyond was a garden moister and more lush than anything they had passed so far. Water tumbled over stone, pooling in dim grottoes. Statues peered between green fronds with lapis eyes. The scent of flowers made the air thick and sweet.

“Beware,” Vani said as Larad bent his face toward a large, bloodred bloom. “There are flowers here that take their color from blood.”

The Runelord quickly backed away, giving any flower that was even the slightest bit red a wide berth.

“Vani,” Avhir said. “Look.”

The T’golknelt to one side of the lane, where a smaller side path intersected. Vani moved to him, and he brushed the plants growing in a stone urn.

“These stems are bent,” Avhir said. “All in the same direction. Several people came from this side path and turned onto the main way. They cut the corner tightly, which means they were moving quickly.”

Vani glanced at Travis.

“We’ve got to hurry,” he said.

They ran along the lane that led straight through the gardens, and each time the fronds parted overhead Travis saw that the black dome was closer. Although the T’golwere ready for an attack, they met no resistance as they went. There were no sounds save for the rasp of their breathing and the music of falling water. Not even the trilling of birds disturbed the silence of the gardens.

The path ended, and the garden gave way to a vast plaza. A row of thirteen obelisks dominated the center of the plaza, mirrored in a reflecting pool, while on the far side a massive bank of stairs swept up toward a rectangular structure that seemed proportioned for giants. Pyramids capped the wings to either side, while the center of the edifice was crowned by the great dome they had seen earlier, its black stone lined with gold.

Larad craned his neck. “Astonishing. Nothing created in the history of the north can compare to this.”

“You can study the architecture later, Runelord,” Farr said sharply. “Keep moving.”

They raced across the plaza, passed between the obelisks, and reached the base of the steps.

“They came this way,” Avhir said, kneeling and touching the lowest step. He rose and held out his hand; his fingers were stained red.

They started up the steps. Avhir went first, stretching his lean legs to take the steps three at a time. Vani swept her gaze from side to side as they ascended, hands raised before her.

However, no attack came. Breathing hard, they reached the top. A pair of columns framed doors five times as tall as Travis. The columns were decorated with bas-relief figures, their long, delicate limbs intertwined with the shapes of enormous spiders. One of the massive doors stood ajar, leaving a gap just wide enough for a person to squeeze through.

Together, Vani and Avhir pushed against the door. It opened another inch, then stopped.

“That’s enough,” Vani said. “We can slip through one by—”

Travis touched the door and it swung silently inward. He looked at his hand. His knuckles were bleeding again.

Keeping close to one another, they entered a hall lined with titanic statues hewn of ruddy stone. On the right were figures of men with the hooked beaks of falcons, while on the left were women who gazed with the multifaceted eyes of spiders—eyes that seemed to follow Travis as he moved deeper into the hall. White light shafted down from circular windows high above, the beams weaving a glowing web on the dim air.

Halfway across the hall they came upon the dead Scirathi. There were five of them. At least Travis thought so; it was hard to be sure. Their mutilated bodies littered the floor in many pieces. Black robes lay in shreds; gold masks were crumpled balls. There was no blood.

Larad studied the corpses, his expression at once repulsed and curious. “What could have done this?”

“Maybe it was gorleths,” Grace said, lifting a hand to her throat.

Vani squatted beside one of the mutilated bodies. “No. There are no claw or teeth marks. These sorcerers were torn apart. I do not know what manner of beast did this.”

“We may find out firsthand any moment,” Farr said, gazing around. “We should be—”

A scream echoed down the hall, floating through an arch at the far end. It was high-pitched, and forlorn—the scream of a child.

“Nim,” Travis said, looking at Vani.

She was already running.

Travis pounded after her, with Grace, Larad, and Farr just behind him. Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw a dark blur speed past: Avhir. Vani moved so swiftly she seemed not to run, but rather to blink out of existence one moment only to reappear the next, twenty paces ahead of where she had been.

As they ran, they passed the bodies of more sorcerers. Like the first group, all were mutilated, their bodies torn limb from limb, and there was no blood. What had done this? Whatever it was, the sorcerers had been unable to defend themselves; the power of magic had grown too weak.

“Keep your eyes open,” Farr called out from behind. “Whatever killed these sorcerers is probably still here.”

Travis agreed. However, at that moment another scream echoed through the high arch at the end of the hall. It was weaker than the last, quavering with terror. The sound tore at his heart. He saw Vani disappear through the archway, followed by Avhir. Travis raced after them through the arch—

—and tried to halt, skidding on the smooth floor. A strong arm struck his chest, halting him just in time to keep him from sliding over a sheer edge and falling into endless darkness.

Travis looked down. Past his toes he saw nothing except an emptiness so black it made him think of the Void between worlds. Vani gripped his serafi, pulling him back. He started to ask her what was happening, then he heard Grace gasp and looked up.