“Tell me it’s not there.”
“Don’t think so,” Veranix said. “That group of large huts, I think.”
“Good,” Asti said as they crossed over to it. “Because the broken part of my brain, it . . . it wants to go over there.”
“That’s not disturbing at all,” Veranix said. “Tell me you have a handle on that.”
“Chained up hard,” Asti said. “I can hear it, but it doesn’t get the reins at all.”
Veranix found that reassuring, oddly enough. He pointed out the hut he was feeling the rope in. “This one right here.”
Asti had his knife out, and Veranix held his own, mimicking Asti’s grip. If he had to learn how to knife fight, he might as well follow a master.
They opened the doors and went straight in, Asti taking the lead. He tore through three of them before Veranix was even through the doorway, but when he leaped at his next target, he was met with a heavy shield in his face.
Dayne stood there, armed with his sword and shield. Asti went red-faced, attempting several fatal blows on Dayne, but Dayne held him at bay with his shield. Asti couldn’t get around it. Dayne smashed Asti again with the shield, knocking him to the ground.
Veranix saw that all of his gear was on the other side of the room, with Dayne between him and it. He had to get through to it.
Dayne raised up his sword, bringing down a blow that would have cleaved Asti in two. Veranix threw his knife, which only clanged on the shield, but it proved distraction enough to slow Dayne’s attack, enough so Asti could scramble away.
“Traitors!” Dayne snarled. “The Brotherhood shall have blood and the glory will be yours.”
Veranix scanned the room for anything he could use. Supply storage, mostly crates. But there was a broomstick leaning against one wall.
“Glory?” Veranix asked. “Bet you can’t even touch me.”
Dayne charged at him as Veranix dove for the broomstick. He wasn’t sure what his full plan was here, beyond hopefully getting past Dayne and getting to his gear. He was already so spent, if he didn’t get a hold of the cloak or the rope, and their numina-drawing abilities, he’d pass out in a minute.
He grabbed the broomstick and leaped up on a crate, planning to jump and flip over the big guy, scoring a knock across the skull along the way. Maybe that would shake Dayne back to his senses. If that was at all possible.
Instead, Veranix found himself flipping right into the shield. Dayne held it up high, and slammed it into Veranix, knocking him to the ground.
Every saint and sinner, that hurt. When he had fought Dayne before, the Tarian had been holding back, fighting defensively. Now he was hitting full strength.
Now he was going for the kill.
“Dayne, come on,” Veranix said, scrambling out of the way of the sword. “What happened to not killing? What happened to finding another way?”
“The way is the Brotherhood,” Dayne said. He brought down his sword so hard it cut through the stone floor where Veranix had been standing.
Asti jumped on top of Dayne, screaming wildly, blood gushing from his nose. He was ready to drive his knife into Dayne’s chest, but Dayne dropped his sword and grabbed Asti’s arm. In a fluid motion, he pulled the small man off of him and slammed him into the ground.
Asti groaned and didn’t get up.
Dayne picked up his sword and prepared to run Asti through.
Veranix dove in, charging himself with as much numina as he could pull, pouring it into his arm and the stick. Swinging like he was going for a Triple Jack, he connected the broomstick with Dayne’s chin.
The blow echoed through the hut, and knocked Dayne away from Asti. But only a few steps. He shook it off and rubbed at his chin, looking to Veranix with pure murder in his eyes.
He whipped the shield at Veranix, knocking him off his feet. Dayne brought down the sword on him, and Veranix held up the broomstick, channeling the last bit of magic into it that he could muster, forming a weak shield of numina around himself. With heaving, desperate breaths, Veranix forced all the strength he had into holding that up. It was the only thing he had between him and death.
Dayne rained blow after blow onto the stick, until it snapped and the numina shattered.
Veranix could barely even breathe, uselessly holding up his hands as the killing blow came down.
It didn’t land.
Someone had jumped in, straddling over Veranix with a shield held high, placing herself between him and harm.
PENULTIMATE INTERLUDE
BROTHER MERGOLLIET HAD NO IDEA what was wrong with Reverend Halster, but his behavior had grown more and more erratic over the past few months. At first it was little matters, like the time Halster had insisted on bringing that violent man inside the church, giving him sanctuary and a place to sleep off his madness. Then it was insisting that the Brothers of Saint Bridget seal up sections of the old catacombs. Mergolliet had asked Reverend Halster why it was necessary, and the old man only said, “God commands it so.”
That was his answer for so many things.
Mergolliet would not have minded were it not for the fact that Halster had grown so negligent in his daily tasks. Mergolliet had found himself acting as the Reverend of Saint Bridget’s Church in all things but title. He had been respectful of the Reverend Halster and his place and position—Halster was a man of advanced years—but he felt he would need to write to the bishop soon.
Especially since Halster had brought in Sister Myriem to join them, which made no sense whatsoever. There were no cloistresses at Saint Bridget’s, no order of sisters for her to congregate with.
And in two days, she had been nothing
