Dmitri whispered, “The war has definitely begun.”
Without pausing long enough to clean his blades, Martin darted out of the alley and onto the main street. Too many people for this hour, when the area should be nigh deserted. A woman sprinted toward him, stopped with wide eyes, running her gaze up his body. She screamed louder and darted past.
He glanced down. Green blood dripped from his gloves, blade hilts, and clothes. Likely his face too. Nonmages might not be able to see the demons, but apparently, they saw the gore.
Dmitri caught up. “Come. We are needed.”
Screams and whistle blasts split the night. Hundreds of people stampeded past, many carrying crying children. Likely headed for the high city for refuge in the temples. When others ran away from danger, Martin vowed the opposite.
Especially when the Stone’s Throw lay in this direction.
Dmitri by his side, Martin pounded over dirty streets. Blood and fear assailed his nostrils, cloying his senses, leaving him unable to sniff out demons. At last, he found himself in front of the Stone’s Throw.
Flames licked through broken windows.
No! “Peter!” Nothing else mattered. Martin charged the door.
Strong arms kept him back. “No,” Dmitri hissed into his ear. “I’ll go.”
Without allowing Martin a moment to react, Dmitri shrugged off his robes, dropping his clothing as he darted toward the door. The straps on his boots burst into flames. Dmitri ignored any discomfort, plunging into the inferno.
Breath caught between his throat and chest, Martin froze, fighting the instinct to dart into the flames. Peter was in there. Martin’s mind said no one could be there and still alive. His heart told his rational mind to shut up.
There he stood, fire heating his face, the smoke searing his nostrils. He raised his hands to the heavens. Rain! Snow! Ice! Anything!Any deities listening, please help!
Maybe Peter wasn’t there. Maybe he’d left with Addie or had been taking one of his walks on the docks…
Which would’ve put him in the path of demons. Martin reached out with his senses, trying to feel life within the flames. Why couldn’t he sense Peter?
Martin’s heart began an icy slide into the pit of his stomach. What if Peter died? Was already gone? Crying out his last alone. Had he thought of Martin? Martin had promised to keep him safe.
He’d failed. Hot tears tracked down Martin’s cheeks. Had he sent Dmitri to his death in a futile attempt to save a dead man?
All around, people screamed; fire crackled. Flames shot into the sky from the docks, ships blazing. Turning, he witnessed a nightmare world of fallen bodies, burning buildings, screams, and demons running loose in the land.
Tonight, it appeared the demons didn’t hide their presence.
Martin cut his eyes back toward the remains of the tavern. Please, let Dmitri find Peter and bring him back alive.
Movement caught Martin’s eye. A man, all in black, strode down the street, oblivious to the chaos around him. His long cape swept out behind him, borne by hidden winds. Only his face showed, obscured mostly in the shadow of his hood.
Fear sent chills up Martin’s spine. This was no man. His mind couldn’t identify what he saw, but the deepest parts of him urged him to run.
Fully a head taller than even Dmitri, this being crossed the street with measured strides. Confident, unconcerned.
The figure lifted one gloved hand, drawing circles with his palm in the air. Sigils ignited, a brief spark before dying. Invisible bands lashed Martin’s arms to his sides.
What? No! Martin’s heart pounded in his chest, every ounce of rational thought screaming at him to flee.
The man…thing… approached with all the grace of a cat, bootheels making no noise. Though the firelight fell over him, he cast no shadow.
Hewasshadow, stalking forward and placing a cold, gloved hand against Martin’s heated cheek. “We meet at last, little hunter. Tell me, did you enjoy putting my friends to the sword?” His words held no malice, just a hint of a growl.
“They murder innocents,” Martin snarled.
The man smiled, showing even, white teeth. “What power decides who is innocent and who is not? I once knew of a child, who was, what? Seven summers, maybe? He murdered his entire family in their sleep, painting the walls with their blood. He was most definitely a child. Was he innocent because he lacked age? My friends rid this world of the most heinous among you for all you know.”
“They call you master! They kill at your bidding!” Martin tried to flinch away from the man’s hand to no avail. Except for the ability to speak, he found himself unable to move.
