“We are saving this country!” he shouted.
“From who?” Kemmer shouted. “You all were behind the Patriots. Behind Chief Toscan. Behind Tharek Pell.”
“And saints know what else,” Amaya said, grinding her heel onto Altarn while holding off Orren’s attacks. Altarn grabbed Amaya’s foot and twisted, forcing Amaya off her. Amaya stumbled back a few steps, losing any advantage she had pressed on Altarn and the Grandmaster.
But she had stepped next to her shield, lying facedown on the floor.
She stomped on the rim of it, sending it up in the air, and slammed it with the flat of her sword like it was tetchbat. The shield hurtled across the stage, knocking into Altarn just as she got to her feet.
Amaya had only seconds. She dashed to Kemmer, slicing the ropes that bound him.
“Run,” she said. “I’ll hold the line. Go tell the truth.”
He scrambled out of the ropes and ran off the stage. Amaya turned back to Altarn and Orren. What happened to her didn’t matter, if Kemmer got out the door.
She ran and dove at the both of them, arms wide. In the same moment, Altarn snapped her fingers, and bolts of red lightning flew across the opera hall. Amaya crashed into her, into Orren, and all three of them went tumbling off the stage into the orchestra pit. They landed with a resounding thud.
Amaya didn’t let herself wallow in the pain. She had to get up, get on her feet, put an end to this. She forced her way up, glancing around through dazed hazy vision. Her sword and shield were on the ground. She grabbed them quickly, ready for whatever happened next.
“Too late,” Altarn said from the floor.
Amaya glanced back. There in the aisle, the scorched body of Kemmer.
Grandmaster Orren moved in a flash, and Amaya didn’t react fast enough to stop him from slicing her side. She knocked his blade aside with her own, knocking him back with her shield. Altarn blasted more red lightning, which struck and danced on Amaya’s shield.
Kemmer was dead. She was bleeding. Altarn was getting her wind back.
There was no winning this fight. If she died here, Altarn’s lies would become the truth.
There was a trapdoor to her right, for the musicians to slip out below the stage unseen. Amaya dashed for it before either Orren or Altarn could take another shot at it. She slammed it shut and wedged her sword and shield into it to barricade it.
Then, hand to her bleeding side, she ran. On instinct, she pulled off her mail shirt and tunic, leaving them on the ground as she went. Around the corner, down another hallway, through a costume wardrobe. She grabbed a coat and threw it on as she stumbled her way around another corner. Out the door. Into the sunlight. Down an alley.
She couldn’t go to the chapterhouse. There was no chance it was safe. She was too hurt to get too far, and she had to believe that Altarn was right behind. She had to believe the woman had eyes everywhere.
She had to hide. Get help from someone she could trust.
Only one place to go.
Chapter 22
THE SPINNING RINGS WERE TOO much, too fast, making getting close to the controls of the machine impossible. Verci wished that was his only problem. The zealots were fiercely guarding the only path to the machine that didn’t involve being torn up by the rings, as that was the route they were using to bring the children they caught into the cages.
And they were.
Verci watched in horror as each child they threw into the cages became engulfed in the same energy as the rest of the machine, and rapidly aged to adolescence, to adulthood, to elderly senescence, and then to dust.
“I do admire a futile fight,” the mage said. “There’s something invigorating about watching doomed people try.” He hurled balls of flame at Verci, but Minox was there, using his odd black hand like a shield.
“Consider yourself bound by law,” Minox said to the mage. “I will enumerate your crimes fully.”
“That’ll really stop him,” Verci said.
“What’ve you got, deputy?” Satrine asked. She was doing a damned fine job holding off the zealots who were trying to grab her, using their position near the spinning rings to keep them from being swarmed.
Verci looked at the rest of the machine. What surprised him was, despite the fact that it was clearly more about magic than technology, the whole thing made a kind of twisted sense to him. “Well, those nine ugly statues are probably directing the magical energy somehow. Don’t know how that works, but I do know how to break things.”
He cocked the spring load on his gauntlet and dialed in one of the boom powder shots. Aiming at the base of the machine, he launched one, and then quickly repeated a second.
The explosion knocked him back, tumbling into Minox and Satrine. The zealots all fell over, as did the mage. Minox scrambled to his feet and pulled up Satrine, but their opponents were back up just as quickly. From the ground, Verci drew and threw darts at as many zealots as he could, giving Satrine an opportunity to reload.
The smoke cleared away from the machine.
Not even a scratch on the bronze.
All the while, the madman up on the platform cackled and howled.
“I wish to point out that he has been up there for some time,” Minox said, shielding them with magic on one side while defending with his sword on the other. “I can only presume the longer exposure to the magics of the platform will generate an abnormally large effect.”
“Great,” Verci said. “Well, I can’t get closer with the rings spinning, and the source of that energy is the magic. I don’t think we can do anything until we take that mage out of the equation.”
“Then I will gladly remove him,” Minox said. “Stay vigilant and take your moment.”
“My moment?” Verci asked.
Minox was already stalking toward the mage.
“More
