The road changed the further Sonder followed it.
At first the grass grew thin and wiry, its blades turning from green to yellow. Patches of earth showed through, cracked and dull beneath the relentless sun.
Then even that gave way, first to wide stretches of rock and then to drifts of sand.
The ground crumbled under her boots with every step, brittle and dry. Heat shimmered in the air.
Once or twice she came upon shallow depressions in the land where rain must have gathered. There the earth was dark and damp and smelled faintly sour, pools of stagnant water clinging stubbornly to the low ground.
Still, she walked on.
The heat did not trouble her much, though at times she felt a thin pull of thirst. She drank sparingly, each day hotter and drier than the last, until the water was little more than warm mouthfuls that gave no comfort.
And then, after days of sun and dust, in the far distance, vast walls rose from the earth.
At first they seemed part of the land itself, cliffs at the side of a mountain, but as she drew nearer, their edges sharpened into stonework.
The walls were the color of sand, layered block on block until they loomed high above the road. At their base, colossal gates of black, their shadows falling like a wound across the sunlit ground.
The road leading to those gates was crawling with travelers.
There were many people Sonder recognized and many she did not.
Sonder, who had walked for days in silence, felt swallowed whole by the crowd. The press of bodies carried her forward until she was caught in the line that coiled toward the gates, a seemingly endless column.
At the end, there was a booth set into the wall itself, with a big window made from polished crystal, clear and seamless. Behind the pane sat a guard, engaged in constant talk as he questioned those who came before him.
Now and then, a traveler passed through after only a few words, a stamped paper, or a token pressed against the pane. But more often, Sonder saw, people were turned away, left to stand bewildered at the roadside, their request unheard or denied, while the line pressed forward without pause.
Her turn came after two hours.
The guard inside was tall even in his seat, his frame considerable and drawn out like the branches of a tree. His ears were sharp, elf-like but less graceful. His skin was a deep, harsh red, and from his head rose a rigid mohawk the same color, though at the roots, against the scalp, black hair showed through. The crest of it brushed faintly against the crystal pane as he leaned forward.
His face was a map of hard edges and shadows. A scar, thin as a knife cut, stretched down his cheek and disappeared into the corner of his jaw. His lips, cracked and pale, curled when he spoke, and the sound that rasped from his throat was gravel dragged through smoke.
"What do you want, outlander?"
The question was not asked with curiosity, nor even suspicion, but with the dull weariness of a man who already disliked the answer and the one who would give it before hearing it.
"I want to enter the city," Sonder replied.
His narrow eyes swept her from head to toe: the sword jutting from her chest and the one at her side, the dust-covered clothes, and the little bag hanging from her shoulder.
"You have a pass?"
Sonder shook her head.
"Any kin in Gloam? A guild? One of the houses, perhaps? Someone to vouch for you?"
"No."
The guard leaned forward until his breath fogged the crystal, the light catching the scar on his cheek.
"Then you don't enter."
The words came out flat, like a stone dropped into a pit.
Behind her, the line pressed closer, travelers shuffling and muttering, annoyed at the delay.