“And I yell at Veranix for doing stupid things.” She pointed to an opening. “Let’s try to stay out of sight.”
“I concur,” Minox said.
The inside was like a maze of brambles, walls formed of dead, entwined vines and branches, leading them to a large congregation surrounding a stone dais and altar. The residents—dozens upon dozens of them—were all in dark robes, but it was clear that some of them were not human. Like the creatures in Senek’s lab, these people had been twisted and disfigured into mockeries of humanity.
“The results of his experiments?” Miss Nell’s hot whisper burned in Minox’s ear. “Were they the children?”
“Possibly,” Minox said, making sure they were hidden behind one set of brambles.
Two robed figures came up to the dais, carrying a third person. No, a body . . . an unmistakably dead man with his head caved in. They placed him on the altar.
“Our brother is fallen,” one of them said. “He is fallen, and the Brotherhood is lessened of him.”
Moans of lamentation filled the congregation.
“We would wish him joyous rest, having sunk to the waiting love of the Nine. That unburdened of flesh, his soul could pass through the deep stone to them.”
“Blessed be the Nine!” someone from the crowd yelled.
“May the Stone be cracked, so they can rise to us!” another called.
“Yes, indeed,” the man on the dais said, gesturing for them to be quiet. “We would love to mourn our brother, that he might touch the divine before we all. But we cannot. We must call him back to us, so he can share with all of us his news.”
“Call him! Call him!” the crowd shouted.
“Call him back!”
“Only the High Dragon can perform this great and terrible duty,” the man on the dais said. “Please, High Dragon, Holder of the Fervent Fire, we beseech you, your people need your guidance!”
A man stepped out from behind one of the other bramble walls. A young man—no older than Minox, at least—with rich, dark hair and immaculately manicured beard. Racquin, like Minox, by the look of him. He was not wearing a robe, but rather a gentlemen’s shirtsleeves with red suspenders and cravat. He looked like he had just walked out of a north city theater, rather than being part of this dark, underground cult.
“The High Dragon is here,” he said, his voice easy and untroubled. “As I am always on hand to guide my shepherds, my faithful, my dear Brotherhood.” He walked over to the body on the altar. “Oh, my beloved friend, we will bring you home.”
“Blessed be the Nine!” the crowd called. “Blessed be their High Dragon, Crenaxin!”
It really was a giant. Dayne couldn’t believe his eyes. Nine feet tall at least, and skin like gray leather, and a monstrous face. It charged at the hooded archer, not slowing down in the slightest when it took an arrow in the chest. It smashed its giant fists onto the archer, who only got away with a series of rapid backflips.
Whoever that archer was, he certainly was nimble.
“You’re the one,” Dayne said. “The child thief.”
“Gurond is taking children, yes,” the giant—Gurond, clearly—turned his attention to Dayne. Was this the same Pendall Gurond that Vollingale spoke of? How was that possible? “You cannot stop Gurond!” He swung a punch at Dayne. Dayne dodged out of the way, despite still being entangled in this damnable rope. How did it feel like iron?
“Gurond needs to learn personal pronouns,” the archer said. He shot another arrow at the beast’s feet. This arrow didn’t penetrate the creature’s skin, but instead exploded with some form of paste. The archer waved his hand, and it and the paste both glowed crimson. A mage as well, it would seem. The beast tried to step forward, but his foot was stuck to the ground. He howled with rage.
“Tarian,” the archer called, jumping over to Dayne. He grabbed one end of the rope, and it uncoiled off of Dayne’s arms. “Sorry for thinking this guy was you.”
“Accepted,” Dayne said, moving away from another wide swing from Gurond’s massive fists. The giant kept pulling his trapped foot, and the paste was cracking. “I don’t think that will hold him.”
“I’m never that lucky,” the archer said. Who was he? What was he down here for? He was trying to protect the boy, so Dayne wanted to assume the best of him, that he had the same mission as Dayne.
Gurond pounded the floor.
“Where are the children?” Dayne asked him, moving around Gurond’s range to get to his shield. “Why did you take them?”
“Really, now?” the archer asked.
“I want to know why,” Dayne said. But the beast was about to be free. Dayne had to think of what to do. How did Amaya usually beat him, when he had size and strength over her? Used his strength against him. Pins and holds. “But get ready to bind him.”
“Fine,” the archer said, drawing another arrow.
Dayne had his shield, and Gurond wrenched his foot free. He looked at each of them, for a moment unable to decide who to attack. One punch would destroy the archer.
“Come on!” Dayne shouted. Gurond charged, and Dayne dropped down in a crouch as the beast punched, driving his shield up into his belly while also knocking him in the knee.
Saints, it was like hitting a tree.
Even still, the beast stumbled forward, and Dayne heaved up with all his strength, flipping the creature and slamming it back-first into the wall.
The archer fired, and with a wave of magic, Gurond’s whole back was stuck to the wall. Gurond, upside-down, flailed his enormous arms, and the archer flung out that rope, wrapping it around the beast’s wrists.
“None of that, big fella,” he said. “You’re going to answer his questions, now.”
“Gurond not answer!”
“Come on, old boy,” the archer said. “I, me, mine. It’s not that hard.”
“Where are the children?” Dayne asked.
Gurond’s attention was entirely on the archer. After a moment his inhumanly black eyes narrowed.
