Abruptly, Magister Threnody’s concern for her books and her people thrust every other fear aside. Her other Decimate-wielders could do nothing. They were too far from the enemy. But if Prince Jaspid could shoot the Great God? If his bullets could pierce the Shields that covered him?

If an ordinary man had so much daring?

The time had come for Magister Able and Apprentice Evensong. They were the librarian’s last, desperate gamble. They would suppress all theurgy in the Repository, and in the battle raging below the lower plateau. They would make every sorcerer powerless. But they might also clear the way for the Prince.

If the Great God was not too strong for them.

Beatrix Threnody had to try.

“Come!” she snapped at Able and Evensong as if she had become a different woman, a librarian driven by certainty. Dragging them with her, she forced her way through the crowd to the parapets.

There she waited until she saw the Great God struck by a power like Magister Avail’s. By Queen Estie’s voice.

At that moment, Magister Threnody became what she was meant to be, the steward of the Last Repository.

“Now!” she commanded. “The seventh Decimate! Make those priests impotent!”

Magister Able blinked at her, confused, paralyzed by alarm.

Apprentice Evensong did not hesitate. She was said to be as strong as Facile. As soon as she finished her training, she would be made a Magister. Bracing her hands on the parapet, she summoned her gift.

At first, she was not enough. Waves of weakness ran through the shimmer of Shielding. It flickered in places, faltered. The priests looked around in alarm, unsure of the threat. Quickly, they renewed their sorcery.

A moment later, Magister Able collected his wits and joined Evensong.

The haze vanished as if it had never existed. The priests wielding it staggered in confusion. They struggled to raise their power again. But they could not. It had been locked away within them.

Over the clamor of fighting, Magister Threnody heard the devotee, clarion and clear.

“Now, Prince! Now!”

Sure of himself, the rifleman took his time, steadied his aim.

Fired.

But not at the Great God.

Instead, one of the rubies in the god’s cross shattered.

Yes! thought the librarian. The gems! The instruments of his Decimate. Magister Rummage had described them for her. Until this moment, she had not understood that they were vulnerable.

The Great God did not react. He appeared rigid with shock.

Casual and confident, the rifleman recocked his gun, aimed again.

At his next shot, another ruby burst into splinters.

Abruptly, the Great God howled. Fury contorted his perfect visage. Snatching up his staff, he whirled it around his head. The golden hue of his power grew brighter, stronger, as he forced his coercion through the remaining gem.

“Look!” someone shouted. “The infantrymen! They have stopped fighting!”

Magister Threnody did not look away from her enemy.