“Couldbe?”
“There’sno guarantee.”
Hereyes moved to the patrols roaming through the dust and machinery.“Gotta beprudent, here.”
“Not ifI can help it.”
Shegave him a stern look.He shook his head.
With arestrained sigh, Zaria examined the room, checking angles and lines of sight.Isaac glanced behind them.The bronze doors had closed.On the other side, he could still hear a tide of scraping bone, like thehissing of innumerable beasts.The necromancer would be spying on theirconfrontation.Just like the parlay with Soren, she would be waiting for achance to strike.
Isaacwatched the puppeteer, considering his options.
“Right,”Zaria said.“Here’s the plan.I’ll scamper along the side, close to the pipes.On my signal, hit them glass coffins above their head.I want loudness.A sprayof glass.I’ll rush in towards the robed cunt there, and—”
The manturned, looking silently at a knot of thralls beside him.The sigils on theirheads burned a little brighter, and they marched to the edge of the stage,their brains so numbed with magic that most of them tripped stolidly over theedge, not even bothering to brace for the fall.Once recovered, they fanned outto opposite ends of the sorting area, a ball of flame held in each of theirpalms.
As thepuppeteer returned to his work, Isaac caught a glimpse of the man’s face.
Hisheart skipped in his chest.
Itcouldn’t be.It wasn’t possible.He didn’t have the specialty—how had hemanaged—where had he found—
No.
No.
Zariasqueezed his shoulder.“Hurry now, love, before they’re too entrenched.Yougotta—”
Isaacstood up, barely aware of his surroundings.He hardly felt able to breathe.
“Isaac!”Zaria hissed.“Get down!What’re you—”
“Uncle!”Isaac shouted.
Ahead,below the tattered stripes and stars, the puppeteer froze in place.The purpleclouds shimmered away, like a dying gasp.Beside him, the other thralls seemedto thaw back to life.
Isaacmarched forward.“Uncle!”
The manflinched, as if he’d been struck.
“Berith!”
Slowly,the puppeteer turned to face him.
Beriththe Bone Hunter was a tall, imposing man.Even in his stark black robes, hecast a long figure, like a stretching shadow.His shaved head reflected thegolden light, the bare skin still pink and peeling from sunburn.His complexionwas ruddy, his jaw square, his cheeks flecked with withered skin, places wheresplashes of necrotic magic had scarred the flesh.He had been handsome, once,before the years had taken a toll.
Rightnow, Berith’s eyes were open wide.They looked very blue, here in the light ofcartilage.Isaac’s eye was the same color.He had always felt, in a way, thatwhen he looked at his uncle, he was looking back at himself, because their blueeyes were something that no other member of their family had shared, includingIsaac’s father.When Isaac was a child, his uncle had told him it meant thatthey, alone, were the only family who saw eye to eye.
When hesaw his nephew now, emerging out into the grisly floor of the necromancerfactory, Berith’s jaw dropped in horror.
“Whatare you doing here?”Isaac yelled.
Berithpressed himself into the powered device.All at once, the hanging coffins onthe ceiling began to shake.Their glass lids shattered, and bones flew throughthe air in fits and swarms, wrapping around his sun-eating robes until theyformed an armor of limbs and ribs.His uncle adopted a low mnemonic stance, awreath of sickly green energy pouring from his palm.
Isaacstopped.He became aware of the thralls around his uncle.
Hisheart was quivering.
