Stran caught up to her. “What are you going to do?”
“Get the bones, obviously,” Kreya said. “Keep up, Stran.”
Eklor needed two things to complete the resurrection spell: bones and blood. Best case, they’d be able to use the bones from the plains to discredit him and stop him. Worse case, Eklor would have to find replacement bones, which would slow him down.
If they could at least make Eklor have to delay his miracle-for-every-bone-worker plan, then they’d buy time to prove the price for his “gift” was too high. And they’d buy themselves time to find that damned, thrice-rotted army, which would be the most compelling proof of all.
In the meantime, every delay helped. He’d be asked to continue his daily “miracles,” and the more people he had to kill to work those miracles—and the greater the risks he had to take to do so—the greater the odds he’d be caught. Kreya didn’t delude herself into thinking they could prevent more deaths. Even if they protected every single doctor and patient in the hospital, Eklor would find other victims. He could have his constructs prowl the streets to prey on the homeless, he could seek out victims in the prisons, or he could range wider and find his victims in remote farmhouses and sparse villages. But she’d save as many as she could until she could force the guild to see the threat for what it was—to see him for who he was.
She put together a plan as they moved up the tiers.
It was a sloppy plan, built on surprise and strength, but she had zero doubt that Eklor would move quickly to secure his bone supply. She had to get there first.
A crowd flocked behind them as they strode through the fourth tier to the fifth. She didn’t bother to hide their identities. There wasn’t time for any of that. They gave their real names to the guards at the gateway, and they rode the white stones directly to Lorn’s palace. She marched up the stairs.
Marso stopped her. “I can’t read in battle conditions. Not yet.”
“You don’t need to,” Kreya said.
“What do you need me to do?”
“Lie,” Kreya said. “On my cue and loudly.”
Stran was on her other side. “And me?”
“Get us in.”
He eyed the two armored guards who stood on either side of the brass door. “You want me to sweet-talk our way in?”
Kreya leveled a look at him. “I want you to knock down the damn door.”
He smiled. “Got it.” Charging up the steps, he roared as he activated a strength talisman.
Running behind him, Kreya shouted, “Out of our way! Emergency!” She hauled Marso with her. “He’s seen danger within!” Lower: “Now, Marso.”
With all the intensity of a consummate theater performer, Marso began to howl, “Danger! Doom! Horrors!”
Startled, the guards sprang back as Stran plowed through the brass doors. They popped off their hinges and crashed with an echoing clang. Kreya called to the guards, “Don’t let anyone in, even Grand Master Lorn—it’s too dangerous! Everyone must be kept outside, where they’ll be safe!”
“But what—” one began.
“We’ll take care of it!” Kreya shouted with authority. “You protect the innocents! Do your duty!”
He saluted. “We will! Good luck!”
Marso shuddered visibly. “We need it.” And then they barged inside, joining Stran.
Charging down the hall, Kreya led the way unerringly. Stran bellowed, “Emergency! Run for your lives!” Marso continued to rant loudly about danger, and the servants and other bone workers cleared out of the way.
“Follow me!” she called to Marso and Stran, and together they ran down the corridor.
She yanked on the door—locked. Pushing her aside, Stran punched through the door. It shattered. She stepped inside. “Shit.”
The shelves were empty.
Of course they are,she thought. Eklor must have moved them shortly after he showed her. He was a smart man, and he had to know showing her his stash was a risk. Kreya pivoted. “They have to be close. He wouldn’t have hidden them outside the palace where he couldn’t easily access them.”
“We’ll never be able to search it in time,” Stran said. “If we had Jentt to speed-search it...” As a former thief, he would have known exactly where to look for valuables.
