“Putting a stop to them?” Dayne asked. “Meaning, what? Filling them with arrows, like you tried to do to me?”
“The thought occurred to me. And I rather liked it.”
“What are you?” Dayne asked, grabbing the Thorn’s shoulder before he walked away again. “Some common goon?”
“I think I’m rather uncommon, thank you,” he said, brushing Dayne’s hand away.
“Thus the whole costume.”
“Says the man wearing an outfit from two centuries ago.”
“This uniform has a history of honor and respect—”
“So much respect you can walk in and out of a drug lord’s house.”
“You mean Fenmere? He’s—”
“He’s a killer.”
“And you aren’t?” Dayne asked. “I saw you back there. Shooting to kill. At me and at Gurond.”
“Oh, I’m sorry I tried to kill the unstoppable giant who’s kidnapping children!” the Thorn shouted. “What was I thinking?”
“It really is that easy for you?” Dayne asked. Did he not understand? Was nothing serious to him? “Taking a life?”
“What do you have that sword on your belt for?”
“Defense. Disarming. And even then, only when it’s necessary. There are other ways—”
“Other ways,” the Thorn scoffed. He stalked down the passage.
“Do you ever think about the people you’ve killed? Or is that another joke to you?”
The Thorn turned back on Dayne. “Do you know what I think about? I think about how I go out there, every night, to stop someone from getting that dose of effitte that leaves them dead in the gutter, or burned out and left in Trenn Ward. And even then, even then, every day someone still ends up that way.” The shading over his face flickered and vanished, showing his hot tears. Saints, he was so raw, so angry. “That’s someone I didn’t save. That . . . that’s on me. I carry that every rutting day. So spare me your moralizing.”
Dayne was silent at first, feeling the Thorn’s burning gaze on him. “No, I get it,” he finally said quietly. His own guilt was a weight on his heart. “I . . . I’m haunted by the people I didn’t save. And for me that . . . that means trying to save every life. Even maybe the ones who don’t deserve it.”
“Hold on,” the Thorn said. “You’re the one who stopped the killer at the Parliament. Who captured him alive.”
“Guilty,” Dayne said.
“Madness,” he said. “You’ve got to—”
He turned his head sharply, looking down the hallway, his shading coming back over his face.
“What?” Dayne asked.
“Something big just burst down that way. I think—” He started to run.
Dayne chased after him, barely able to keep up. They rounded a few corners, the Thorn moving with absurd confidence, until they came to an opening, overlooking a wide chamber that was dominated by a monstrous machine. The thing made Sholiar’s creation in the Parliament look like a child’s toy. And like that atrocity, there were people trapped in it. Children in cages, and Lin and Maresh shackled to a platform on top. Several other people were on the ground—most of them the same misshapen horrors that had attacked them at the bridge. Two were men—one of them clearly in control of things, the other being held by the creatures. The man in control—a man who seemed to embody vileness—was lecturing to the other, though Dayne couldn’t make out the words.
“Where is he?” the Thorn asked.
“Who?”
“My friend, he . . . he shouldn’t have come down here. I felt him, but . . . he’s not there.”
“Maybe he escaped?” Dayne asked.
“I hope so,” the Thorn said. “Children. Not all of them.”
“I see them.”
“And that’s Rynax. He came down with me. If those beasts were able to capture him, they’re tough customers.”
“Like Gurond.”
“Hold on,” the Thorn said. He waved his fingers, and then Dayne could hear the man as if he were standing right next to him.
“—since you are so interested, I will show you. Time is short, of course, as the ripe moment is upon us. Right before the sunrise will be perfect. But I can’t resist another experiment.”
“Like these?” Rynax asked, nodding at the grotesques.
“These poor friends . . . they were part of the learning process. But none of them came out as well as my crowning achievement.”
“Gurond?”
The vile man’s eyes went wide with excitement. “Yes, indeed! You are familiar with my work. He is a marvel, you must admit.”
“I really mustn’t,” Rynax said.
“Well, he’s my masterpiece, which I’ve not yet figured out how to repeat. Some factor made him work so perfectly when no one else did. But we learn through failure! So now to these two.” He went over to the machine and raised his hands. It started moving: gears turning, rings spinning, steam belching.
“Those are my friends,” Dayne told the Thorn.
“And that guy is a mage,” the Thorn said. “A powerful one.”
“So is she,” Dayne said, pointing to Lin.
“I’ve got an idea,” the Thorn said. “One that suits your peculiar urge for other ways.”
“Which is?”
“You get his attention—talk to him or some such—and I’ll get those kids and your friends out.”
“How?”
The Thorn grinned, and then the whole color of his body shifted so he blended into the wall. “Magic.”
Nearly invisible, he leaped out of the tunnel into the open air. Dayne couldn’t see where he went at first. Then he saw just a shimmering outline on top of one of the cages. Amazingly, he had managed to slip through the spinning rings. Dayne needed to do something before the vile man took notice himself.
“Hold!” Dayne shouted, stepping into view from the high tunnel. He rested his hand on the pommel of his sword, trying his best to emulate the painting of Xandra Romaine that hung in the chapterhouse. “I demand you stop this wicked act, and release those people who are clearly being held against their will!”
Dayne had never felt more stupid.
“Why am I beset by interrupting fools today?” the vile man asked. “You, sir, are you here with an army or something?”
Dayne decided if he was going to have to play the fool for this, he’d do it to the hilt. And the Thorn was getting one of the cages open. Best keep attention away
