Even still, the fact that Tarvis had said the Brotherhood couldn’t be ignored. That was what Liora had said. That was who she worked for. When she took over his head, she told him to “serve the Brotherhood.” Asti still had no idea what that was, but he was ready for answers.
Asti came back out of the room, ready to leave with the Thorn and his gawky friend, when a cloistress came out of Nange Lesk’s room. Nange was taking his time dying, and Asti felt more than a little guilty about that. He was the one who had stabbed Nange in the belly, after all. Nange had asked for someone from the church to come see him, give his last Absolution.
“How’s he doing, sister?” Asti asked.
“A troubled life,” she said. “A long Absolution. We will not get through it all.”
Saints, she was young. Somehow her face was both innocent and weary at the same time.
“He’s had his share of trouble,” Asti said, making for the stairs.
She put her hand on his shoulder. “He’s not alone.”
Asti stopped mid-step, her touch freezing him in place.
“Red-eyed and anointed in blood,” she said in a low voice. “And a gift from God.”
How did she know about that? How could she possibly? Asti wanted to turn to her, demand an answer. Instead, not even sure why he was saying it, Asti said. “I wish I could believe that’s true.”
“It is,” she said. Her hand went to the back of his head, and she whispered ever so quietly in his ear. “Sleep, for he has much work to do.”
Asti turned to her, but no one was there.
“Hey, Rynax?” the Thorn called from the bottom of the stairs. “You all right?”
Asti looked around, wondering what the blazes just happened. “I think so,” he lied. “Just—”
“You were standing there in a daze for about a minute,” Thorn said. “Ready?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, coming down. “Let’s get on with it.”
Asti led them down through the street and across the creek to the abandoned factory. From there, the signs of a scuffle, the tracks to the sewer pipe, they were all pretty obvious. While Asti checked that out, the Thorn rifled through his pack, getting on his gear, including the bow and arrows Verci had made for him.
“What about you, kid?” Asti asked the friend while the Thorn readied himself. “You gonna get suited up or anything?”
“I don’t really have anything special to wear,” the kid said. “I mean, I’m really not supposed to do this.”
Asti pulled out a small dagger and flipped it over to hand to the kid hilt first.
“I wouldn’t know what to do with it,” the kid said.
“Pointy end hurts people,” Asti said. “Just in case.”
The kid took it and shoved it into his belt.
“All right,” the Thorn said, his face covered in shadow. “Down and deep.”
“Is that really necessary?” Asti asked. “I mean—”
“There’s chances I shouldn’t take,” he said. “I’ve already extended a lot of trust to you and yours, Rynax.”
“All right,” Asti said. “Down and deep.”
He took them down into the sewer pipe, and took a piece of chalk out of his pack. Mark on the wall for Verci. Then he lit a lamp and went deeper in.
“All right, kid—”
“It’s Delmin, you know.” Asti found it amusing how guileless this kid was. A strange contrast to the Thorn. Saints, Asti still didn’t know the Thorn’s actual name. Probably best that way.
“What are you feeling down here?”
Delmin closed his eyes for a moment. “There’s definitely . . . something odd.”
“Odd how?” Thorn asked.
“I mean, it’s like . . . can you feel it?”
Thorn shook his head. “You know my senses aren’t like yours.”
“If I had to put it to words, it’s . . . like the numina equivalent to taking a sip of milk that’s about to go bad.”
“Soured?” Asti asked. “Can magic be soured?”
“I mean, that sounds right, but I’ve never read anything like that. I’ve never—but it’s definitely a thing that happened here.” He walked down a way, turning a corner into one of the red-bricked tunnels that were not part of the sewers. Many of Josie’s secret tunnels looked like this, and Asti had made an attempt to map them to little avail.
“Whatever it is, it’s stronger below us,” Delmin said. “Down and . . . north.”
“North it is,” Asti said. “Let’s keep moving.”
Dayne had known fear, he had been afraid many times. Each year he went to his Initiate trials. Facing Sholiar, both times. When he fought Tharek Pell on the Parliament floor.
But none of those moments of fear felt as raw or as visceral as standing outside the gate behind Saint Terrence Cathedral while Maresh jimmied the lock open.
“Is this really safe?” Dayne asked. “What if we get caught?”
“Saints, Dayne, you sound like a first-year heading to the girl’s dorms,” Maresh said. “Relax.” He clicked something and the gate opened. “Let’s move.”
Maresh went in, and Dayne followed his lead, with Hemmit, Lin, and Jerinne taking up the rear.
“Are we sure no one’s down here?” Dayne asked.
“No,” Maresh said. “There might be priests, or other art students, or you know, the giant we’re looking for.”
“I don’t like these jokes,” Dayne said.
“This is what I’ve got,” Maresh said. He took a lamp out of his bag and lit it. Jerinne did the same, while Lin held up her hand and gave off a glow.
“Cheater,” Hemmit said.
As they entered the Necropolis, Dayne’s fear changed to disappointment, and then annoyance.
The Necropolis was nothing close to what he had imagined.
In his head, it had been a pristine mausoleum, a sanctum of rest for the regal and sacred who had been laid there. Instead it was dank and dusty, with far more skulls lining the walls than he had been prepared for.
“So many skulls,” Jerinne said.
Among the skulls were marked coffins embedded in the walls, as well as niches where unadorned half-skeletons lay in twisted positions.
“I was expecting—”
“Tombs befitting a king?” Maresh asked. “Afraid this
