“Look where that got you,” the Thorn said when he landed. “Turned into a freak!”
“I will tear you both apart!” Gurond shouted, turning to Dayne as he got up.
“And what about your friends?” Thorn called quickly. “Samael and Coleman? You know what happened to them?”
Gurond turned his attention to the Thorn again.
“You know what I did to them?” the Thorn taunted.
Gurond howled and charged at him. The Thorn dodged him again, jumping high, slamming a kick onto Gurond’s head before landing next to Dayne.
“We need to end this,” he said. “Beasts are breaching the church, the constables are losing at the machine. We can’t play with him forever.”
“We need to subdue him,” Dayne said. Even now, he loathed the idea of killing Gurond.
The Thorn looked up. “I got an idea for that. Keep him busy.” He drew out an arrow—the last one in his quiver—and aimed high before firing.
Gurond was turning back to them. “When I catch you—”
“You’ll fail,” Dayne said, holding himself as tall as he could, despite every part of his body hurting. “You’ll always fail.”
Gurond didn’t run this time, instead walking at a deliberate pace toward Dayne. The other fights in the square echoed and thundered around them, but Gurond’s rage had turned calm and cold. “When I catch you,” he continued, “I will tear the two of you limb from limb and wear your arms as a necklace.”
“You will fail,” Dayne said, tightening his grip on the staff. He glanced at the Thorn, whose focus was still up high, hands raised. “Because there will always be another Tarian, another constable, another friend, another neighbor. Another champion to fight you.”
“None of them can stop me,” Gurond said. “None of you can stop me.”
“Please,” the Thorn said through gritted teeth. “I’ve stopped you before.”
“I remember,” Gurond said. “I remember you most of all.”
“And yet, once again,” Thorn said, his voice rising with effort and strain. “You forgot I’m a goddamn mage!”
The Thorn pulled his hands down hard, and with a deafening clang, the grand church bell from the tower of Saint Bridget’s landed over Gurond.
The Thorn swooned, almost cracking his head on the cobblestone before Dayne caught him.
“That was a lot,” the Thorn said woozily. His facade over his face had faded, showing he had taken a few solid hits. Blood trickled from his nose, an ugly bruise on his cheek. Even still, he managed a weak smile on his very young face.
“Well done,” Dayne said. From under the bell, Gurond bellowed and pounded fruitlessly. “Took him alive.”
“I mean, fine,” Veranix said as Dayne helped him back on his feet. “Wasn’t fully the plan or anything, but if it makes you happy.”
“It should hold him while we take care of the rest,” Dayne said. “What do you have left in you?”
Veranix took a deep breath. “Just give me a moment.”
Dayne’s shield came flying toward them, which Dayne didn’t realize until it nearly hit them. He reached out and caught it, noting where it was coming from.
“What are you standing around for?” Asti Rynax yelled. “Get those bastards off of Verci and the constables.”
Dayne handed Veranix his staff. “Ready for the next?”
“Not even remotely,” Veranix said as he took it. “But bring it.”
Satrine was out of bolts, but there seemed to be no end to zealots and monsters. After cracking one of them over the head with the crossbow—saints, what a beauty that thing was—she kept at it with her handstick and the irons Asti Rynax had given her. She just hammered anyone in front of her with the chain of it.
Minox was on the ground. Two zealots were going for him.
“We’re losing this,” she told Verci. “Clear me a path to Minox, get over to your brother, regroup.”
“But the machine,” he said.
“Can’t do much if we die. Go!”
He shot from his gauntlet, laying down smoke. Satrine dashed to Minox, ready with her handstick. She couldn’t see through the smoke, but she had a good sense of where she was, where Minox was, and where those two zealots were going. She relied on her memory, on her ears, as she slammed her handstick into someone’s chest. She brought it down hard on them, knocking them to the ground, and then did the same to whoever was right next to them.
“Minox!” she called.
“Here, Inspector Rainey,” he said. She reached down and grabbed him, pulling him up and out of the cover of smoke.
“Are you all right?”
“I do not think I can defeat Senek,” he said. “He is too adept in his magic. I do not have enough control.”
“Then don’t have any,” she said. “You have the power. Remember what Olivant told you.”
“I never forget that,” he said. “I cannot risk . . .”
“You have to lose control, Minox. Let it all go, and we’ll be here to bring you back.” She grabbed him by the shoulders. It would make him uncomfortable, but she needed him uncomfortable right now. “Use your anger.”
“I don’t know if that’s enough.”
Satrine knew what to say to make it enough. “You’ve been plagued by one unresolved question for the past couple weeks. Senek knows the answer.”
His eyes flashed black, looking just like his hand for a moment. He turned and looked to Senek, who was again focused on the machine, and his voice dropped to a growl.
“I should go ask him.”
Black energy pulsed and seeped out of Minox as he stalked over toward the hairy, wiry man. Two more zealots jumped on him, but Minox brushed them off with a wave of his dark, magicked hand. They both went flying.
“Senek!” Minox shouted as he closed the distance. He wound back his left arm and delivered a punch that sent waves across the square, all while shouting his question.
“Where is my sister?”
He kept pummeling, punctuating each blow with a word. “Where! Is! My! Sister!”
Energy of every color, even impossible ones that Satrine could never describe, swirled around
