Severine cried out with a noise like steel on steel, not limp and numb this time but electrified with fear. Her eyes were wide, and pale as fresh-polished steel.

  “He’s here.” Her voice was like the crack of thunder on the horizon.

  Junilla dropped her mug. “What? Who’s here?”

  Runa didn’t wait for Severine to explain. “Where?”

  “Close—too close—”

  “The Cauldron?”

  Severine nodded. Runa swore. “How did he get here so quickly?”

  They were meant to have days left to plan. Time to take the fight to the Blood Lord—not for him to bring it to them.

  Runa’s chest clenched. She flung the back door open, and the low noise of snoring transformed into the grind of rock on rock.

  She swore again.

  She’d ridden the mountains into Pothollow.

  And now the Blood Lord was doing the same thing.

  “Will someone tell me what’s going on?” Junilla demanded.

  Severine groaned. The silver faded from her eyes, and she fell limp against the wall, then staggered towards her packroll.

  Runa moved so fast it was as though her body did the thinking, not her mind. What was left of her old Cauldron gear wasn’t worth the time it would take to put it on. Her new clothes wouldn’t do anything against a hit from a sword, or axe, or whatever else the Blood Lord had armed himself with.

  She’d just have to make sure the Blood Lord didn’t get any hits in.

  The hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

  Right. The best way to stop someone from getting a hit in on you, was to hit them first.

  In the corner, Bloodburster agreed.

  Severine tugged at the clasps of her packroll. “If we can get close enough to him, I can cut us away from here. No one here needs to get hurt.”

  Their eyes met. Runa read in Severine’s frightened gaze what she left unsaid: Except us.

  She nodded. “Good idea.”

  “Cut who away from where? Tell me what’s going on!” Junilla caught Runa’s elbow. “Explain.”

  “You need to get everyone awake and back down into the town proper. Whichever part of it is most defensible.”

  “Defensible against what?”

  Runa took a deep breath. No matter how she spun this, it wasn’t going to sound good.

  Worst case, Junilla didn’t believe her.

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  Best case, she realized she’d welcomed in a snake with open arms.

  “You know how last night’s festival has someone pretend to be one of the Seven Deathless?”

  Junilla’s eyes narrowed.

  “The Blood Lord’s after his sword. We thought that me taking charge of it would lay him back to rest. No such luck. So now Severine and I have to go deal with that.” Her jaw was tight. “I’m sorry to repay your hospitality like this.”

  “By bringing one of the Seven Deathless to our doorstep?”

  “Yeah. That.”

  Junilla stepped back. She nodded, once. “You’ll deal with him?”

  Severine finished tugging on her boots. “I’ll get him away from here.”

  Junilla’s eyes flicked from Severine back to Runa, a silent question in them.

  Of course, Runa thought. Junilla knew why Severine came here in the first place. She knows what sword set its sights on me.

  “And I’ll deal with him,” Runa reassured her.

  The only way she knew how.

  Her own boots were by the door. She knelt to pull them on and realized she was still holding a dragon moon roll. She shoved it into a pocket. No point wasting time putting it back on the bench. Faff around now and the food would be laid out nice and tidy, sure. And everyone would be dead.

  Bloodburster leered at her from the corner.

  She glared at it as she tied her boots.

  Severine had her sword pack on already, the portal knife in her hand. She leaned forward under the weight of it, small and pale-faced. “Are you ready? We need to go. Now.”

  No point wasting time, Runa told herself again.

  She marched over to the corner, and drew the Blood Lord’s blade.

  Fire spiked in her blood. Bloodburster fit perfectly in her hand. As though it was meant for her.

  Wielding it, she would have power. Respect.

  The world would bow before her, the way it did for the Blood Lord.

  “Save it,” she whispered.

  Until he’s properly dead? the sword suggested. And then, after…

  A vision of ashen earth and red skies appeared in Runa’s mind.

  She swallowed, and looked up at Severine. “Let’s go.”

  The sun was prodding the horizon with uncertain fingers as they hurried up the hill to the edge of the caldera. The Cauldron lay spread out before them. Runa’s stomach sank.

  Overnight, the Cauldron had moved. The Sweetmeadow was gone; an acrid, barren landscape took its place, and splitting the wasteland down the middle, a single jutting crag of snow-capped rock.

  “I thought the mountains tried to crush the Blood Lord down when he woke up last time,” she growled. “Now they’re giving him a ride?”

  “The Cauldron didn’t manage to crush him. Maybe it decided getting rid of him was the next best option.”

  Severine’s voice was as wan as her face. Runa took her hand and squeezed it.

  “He’s out there?”

  Severine nodded. Her eyes were fixed on the not-so-distant crag.

  Somewhere really not far enough away, an eldritch shriek cut through the air.

  “Let me deal with him,” Runa said. “I’ll take him down, then you come in and cut us deeper into the Cauldron so we can finish him off safely.”

  “But—”

  “Hey. Who’s the cursed sword wielder, here?” Runa slung Bloodburster over her shoulder, smiling down at Severine and hoping to all the stars that nothing the sword was saying was visible on her face. “There’s no point you going in first and getting hurt before you can open a portal. Let me do the fighting. Then you come in and unstitch the world.”

  She didn’t let her smile slip until Severine nodded. “Okay.”

  Up on the crag, another scream rang out.

  “Time to move,” Runa said, and led the way.

  Her boots crunched on the sand and broken glass of the Burnt Valley. Her lightstick banged against her leg. No need for it today. The sun was getting less tentative. Whatever was going to happen here, would happen in the light of day.

  Bloodburster thundered in her head with every step.

  Death! it screamed.

  Death to the Blood Lord, she reminded it, as blandly as she could manage.

  Death! To the Blood Lord, it amended. But it was only a sword. It couldn’t keep up the pretense long. Death! Death of thousands! Death of millions!

  Runa scowled and tried to drown it out.

  Death to the Blood Lord! Bloodburster howled. And then! Then!!! Death to all!!!

  The Cauldron squirmed beneath her feet. It wanted to peel away from where the Blood Lord stood. It wanted to surge in and bury it. This thing, this canker that had been buried beneath it all these years, had worked its way out, and the Cauldron wanted to scratch it away and sink it deep again at the same time. It felt sick.

  So did Runa.

  As they reached the foot of the icy crag, the Blood Lord appeared at its peak.