Crenaxin spread his wings and leaped off the platform, landing on the cobblestone with a resounding crash. Then he stalked toward the church.
“Keep them out of the machines,” Dayne told Satrine and the Rynaxes. “Thorn—”
“I know, I know,” he said. “I just need—there.” He dashed off to one of the shop stands that had been knocked over in the carnage.
Dayne didn’t have time to wait, running over to the church steps. Crenaxin was almost on top of the girl, who, to her credit, didn’t budge from her position. Dayne closed the distance as fast as his legs would take him.
“I abjure you!” she shouted. “I abjure you and your unholy doctrine! By Saint Alexis, I abjure you! By Saint Justin! By Saint Benton! By Saint Jesslyn! By Saint Deshar! By Saint Jontlen! By Saint Terrence! You shall be abjured!”
Crenaxin roared and reared back, as if her words caused him pain. Maybe they did. Then Crenaxin swiped at her with his great clawed hand, in as much as it was still a hand. It scraped across the shield, tearing gashes in the metal. Jerinne’s shield. Where was she? Had she been killed? Did this girl pick up her shield when she fell?
Myriem stood her ground.
Then Crenaxin opened his mouth, and a blast of fire poured out of that giant maw.
Dayne could abide no more. He drew his sword and drove it into Crenaxin’s side.
It just scraped against his scaled body, but it got his attention. He turned his colossal head toward Dayne.
“Ever the protector,” Crenaxin said, his voice now a deep rumble. “You could have been such a worthy vessel.”
“Never,” Dayne swore. “I will stand to my last breath against you.”
“Of course you will.”
Dayne risked a glance to the church steps. Sister Myriem, despite the scorch marks on the shield, was unharmed. Good.
But now Dayne needed to fight. For Jerinne. For Maresh. For the children lost to this lunatic. For the Tarian Order.
For Maradaine.
With shield on arm, with sword in hand. He would defeat this Dragon or die in the effort.
A handful of goxies from the knocked-over stand had been enough to keep Veranix from passing out, but he had no idea how he was going to stop this thing. And yet, he knew—deep in his soul—he knew, somehow, it was on him. With three words in Sechiall, Minox had reminded him.
Aladha va calix. The cursed beast from the old Kellirac story Veranix’s mother would tell him so many nights. Dark as the night, with an impenetrable hide, sharpest claws and wings of leather. The Dragon of Moshkar.
Aladha va calix terrorized village after village. The warriors of Moshkar fell one after another to his might, until he was stopped by the mythical figure of Kellirac legend. The Kellirac demigod, the trickster who bound Aladha va calix. Pulled him to his cave and trapped him there.
Veranix.
This was the real story, Mother had said. The Druth church had corrupted the stories, changed them around to the Testament of Saint Veran, which bore little resemblance to the trickster of legend.
In the story, the warriors had fallen, one after another. Dayne was fighting the thing, but he couldn’t last long against it. And if the other eight beasts finished their transformation, there would be nine of them. Worthy vessels of the Nine. An ascension. The constables and the Rynaxes were doing everything they could to stop that, or at least stop the other people from throwing themselves in the machine. They couldn’t do that forever.
All of this was above his head. He wasn’t going to solve this with arrows and banter. He needed a clear head. He needed Delmin.
Delmin was in the church.
Veranix ran over to the steps. The cloistress was still there, screaming a prayer with her mace held aloft.
“Miss,” he said as he approached. “You’ve got to get out of here, I—”
She stopped and looked at him, her harsh features suddenly breaking into a wide smile, tears in her eyes. She let the mace fall to the ground.
“Veranix!” she said with warmth and joy. “I—I’ve missed you so much.”
“You’ve what? How—”
She touched his face gently. “I know you’re scared. I know you think you don’t have the answers. But you do. You know exactly what you need to do. Your mother told you the story.”
All the fear and doubt in his heart melted away.
She stumbled and stepped away, picking up the mace, but looking confused as she did. “I—I don’t know why I said . . . I don’t—”
“It’s all right, Sister,” he said. “I think I understand.”
She looked at him again, the kindness all gone from her face. Instead it was righteous fury. “It must be abjured. They cannot ascend.”
“They won’t,” Veranix said. She was right, he knew. It was all clear now.
Dayne was suddenly knocked through the air at them. Veranix whipped out his rope and caught him before he crashed into the side of the church, putting him down on the ground.
“Thorn,” Dayne said, panting. “We need . . . we need . . .”
“Easy, big guy,” Veranix said. Crenaxin was turning his massive dragon body toward them. “Get over to the machine. Help get Minox and Verci in there. Verci will have to shut it down, but before he does, Minox will have to connect himself to it again.”
The sister stepped forward as Crenaxin charged at them, raising the shield and mace high as she shouted scripture.
The Testament of Saint Veran.
Dayne struggled to get on his feet. “But what are you—”
“Just tell Minox to remember what we did with Enzin Hence,” Veranix said. “He’s going to do that again.”
“And you?” Dayne asked.
Crenaxin the Dragon opened his horrible mouth and released a plume of flame. Veranix raised his hand and let the numina pour out of him, shaping it into ice and snow. It met the dragon’s flame over the sister’s head, canceling it in the air.
“I’m going to live up to my name,” Veranix said. “Go.” Dayne ran to the machine.
Sister Myriem shouted, “And so, vile
