But he stood.
Jerinne’s heart hammered so hard, she heard only the thunder of her pulse in her ears.
Crenaxin got to his feet. “Ren Poller,” he said quietly. “We drag you from your rest. You have something to tell us.”
“The . . . statue . . .” Poller said, his voice sounding like it had been scraped against a stone.
“Where is it?” one of the robed figures asked. “Where can we find it?”
“Essin . . .” he said. “Essin . . . killed me.”
“The thief we hired, High Dragon,” the robed figure said.
Crenaxin nodded. “And where would Essin go? Where do we find him?”
“He . . .” Poller’s face twisted into a mockery of thought. “He would hide.”
“Where?”
“Nowhere for him,” Poller said. “Every safe hole . . . gone.”
“Ren, please,” Crenaxin said, touching the man’s face gently. Jerinne fought the urge to retch—the man’s head still oozed blood and pus. “If he had nowhere else to go, where would he hide? Who would he seek?”
Poller’s dead eyes looked at Crenaxin, and his face turned into a horrific sneer. “Rynax. Essin . . . always liked him too much.”
“And where is Rynax?”
“Gadgeterium,” Poller said. “Let me . . . let me . . .”
“You can rest now,” Crenaxin said.
“Let me go there,” Poller said. “Let me kill them.”
Crenaxin stepped away, a broad smile on his face. “Oh, dear brothers, hear that? Even from beyond death, he serves with faith and loyalty! Who else will serve? Who will go with him, and reclaim that which is ours? Nearly the last piece we need?”
Hands went high in the air.
“No, my troubled ones,” he said to some of the grotesques. “The world above is not ready for you, not yet. Very soon.” He pointed to a few of the humans. “Go with Poller. Get the statue. The time is ripe and we are nearly ready to crack—”
A loud boom echoing through the congregation chamber interrupted him, as one of the walls of twisted vines exploded in blue flame. As it burned away, it revealed two people not in robes, and for a moment Jerinne’s heart leaped, hoping it was Maresh and Lin. Or Dayne. Or anyone she could call a friend.
And it was, at least one of them. She didn’t know the dark-skinned girl with the sword, but the man—mad, impossible as it was—was Inspector Welling. His hand was engulfed in blue fire, and his face was filled with rage.
“I will not abide!” he shouted as he raised up his crossbow with his other hand. “Stand and be held in the name of the law!”
Crenaxin simply laughed. “He amuses me. Kill the girl, but take him alive.”
Immediately, the congregation swarmed at Minox Welling and the girl. With all these zealots and beasts between her and them, Jerinne was incapable of helping them before they were overrun.
Still, she drew out her sword. She would be damned if she didn’t try.
Minox had lost control.
His temper flared at seeing this unholy madness, and he lost control. His hand had surged with magic, destroying the wall they had been hiding behind. Exposed, and still full of anger, he did the only thing he knew to do.
“I will not abide!” he shouted as he raised up his crossbow. “Stand and be held in the name of the law!” He doubted these beasts and malefactors would respect the rule of law, but by Saint Veran, he would at least honor the words.
Crenaxin laughed, hollow and empty. “He amuses me. Kill the girl, but take him alive.”
The beasts and zealots charged at him.
His hand was still full of magic, pulsing and screaming to be set free, so let it. He slammed his fist onto the ground, quaking the floor in a wave of force that knocked them all down.
He was about to tell Miss Nell to run, but she had proved adept at determining that course of action on her own. He raced right behind her, his hand now eased down to just a throbbing blue glow. He was amazed that Olivant thought he could destroy the city, when that knock alone had been enough to leave him nearly spent.
“Get back to the tunnel!” she shouted. She ran with her sword in hand, which was probably not the wisest decision, but proved useful when one zealot leaped into her path. She hacked at him with more power than skill, but it was sufficient to discourage his further pursuit.
“My thought exactly,” he said. He pivoted in his sprint, firing his crossbow at the closest zealot. He shot true, taking that one down, but that left several dozen still. He spun back to resume his stride, hoping they could beat their pursuers, either with speed or endurance.
He feared he did not have enough of either.
“I can’t believe . . . you actually . . . told them to stand . . .”
Minox struggled to reload his crossbow as he ran. It would hardly make a difference, but he would at least make the attempt.
“They’re going for the Blue Tunnel!” someone shouted. “Get the gate!”
Minox saw two of them up ahead, running for a wheel. The wheel connected to a chain, the chain to an iron gate, the gate at the tunnel entrance.
Simple deduction. The gate would close before they made it. They would be trapped. They would capture him and kill Miss Nell.
Only one course of action available.
He filled the hand with magic, as much as he could gather.
They were turning the wheel. The gate was closing.
“My apologies, Miss Nell,” he said.
“What?” she asked, looking back at him.
He held up his hand and, with everything he had, pushed her across the hollow. Her sword skittered to the ground as she went flying into the tunnel as the gate slammed shut. Safe on the other side.
Minox nearly collapsed from the effort, but scrambled to pick up her sword. If he was going to be taken, he would at least make it hurt.
He only got a few good swipes in before hands were all over him, pressing him down to the ground.
On his knees, a dozen zealots and beasts holding him down, he said the only thing he could. “You
