If he survived.
Dmitri pulled his horse alongside Martin’s. “The first groups have left the lower city, each headed by a mage. Even now, the second wave should be entering the caverns.”
“What of the dem—” Martin must learn not to refer to allies as demons but as Dreckons.
“They creep in the shadows, undetected. Thomoth underestimated all the individual realms it plundered. While each failed on their own, we might stand a chance with our combined forces.”
Where was Peter? Was he safe? Martin couldn’t sense him but somehow knew he wasn’t dead or in mortal danger.
How could there be two from his world if Peter wasn’t here?
“Go. Confer with the city guards. We shall meet you after.” Dmitri dropped back, letting Martin ride on alone. The soldiers knew him. Many had served under him. Hopefully, they would again.
Martin left his horse at the garrison, pausing to slip a priest’s hassock over his leathers. He met Dmitri, Xariel, and several other brown-clad guardians at the edge of the upper city.
Thomoth would be watching and on guard. Had it fully awakened yet? Would the runes hold, entrapping their enemy?
They entered the Father’s temple, moving down and down to the caverns.
Dmitri took the lead. “I had Gaveth ensure the passage remained open. I’m counting on Thomoth’s magical barrier’s inability to seep underground. If not, we proceed directly to phase two.”
Though the guardians’ eyes let them see in darkness, they conjured multicolored mage lights for the nonmagicals in the ranks.
Xariel strode behind. The significance wasn’t lost on Martin. One grandfather to the front, the other to the rear. Xariel had only just met him recently, so of course, he’d treat Martin like a toddler. Then again, given the guardians’ long lives, that was probably what he appeared.
How long would magery extend Martin’s own seasons, providing he didn’t die today?
Screams came from behind them.
Martin whirled. “What’s happening?”
A bloodied young mage broke through, running for Dmitri. “It’s a slaughter!”
They turned and ran back the way they’d come, through the caverns and temple. The dazzling sunlight nearly blinded Martin as they emerged from the darkness.
Still dressed in finery and temple clothing, men and women hacked at any perceived enemy within range with knives, swords, and even broken bottles. They stared with blank, unseeing eyes.
“What the fates is wrong with them?” Martin shouted, sword drawn and dagger in hand.
Xariel sucked in a breath. “They’re possessed. Thomoth is sacrificing its own followers.”
A woman in gossamer fell into a fountain. Her red blood spread out through the water.
The guards approached, led by the commander. Still, the novices fought. None wore armor. Many traipsed across the bloody ground on bare feet.
The guards looked to the commander for guidance. The first novice to reach the line didn’t hesitate, taking full advantage of the guard’s indecision. A golden candlestick struck the guard’s temple, delivering a death blow.
The next guard struck the boy down—a boy who couldn’t have seen sixteen summers.
The guards stormed the grounds, the magical barrier keeping them in the gardens but letting the novices out of the temple.
Was Cere among them? Martin searched faces. In the melee, who could tell?
More and more novices poured forth. Two grabbed Martin, tugging him toward the misty veil. He struck. Both fell. Without pausing to check for injuries, he surged forward, mages at his side.
“It’s animating too many bodies to sustain for long,” Dmitri shouted, back against the garden wall, Xariel a dark shadow beside him. All the guardians wore their robes, with weightier matters to use their magic on to maintain a proper glamour.
“Watch for me.” Martin separated his mind from his body. The barrier didn’t stop him. Up stairs, down corridors, he searched. Where was Cere?
