Marie unslung her twist gun. Jean-Claude peered through the draperies. The warm, golden light of ten thousand candles filled the temple instruction hall. On the dais, in elaborate golden vestments, the orator lifted the reliquary of Saint Cynessus from the altar and raised it over his head. The reliquary’s box, made of the finest burlwood, was engraved with the icon of a winged key with a blind eye for a head.

Up behind the clerestory windows, men with profane symbols tattooed on their faces took aim and cocked their weapons.

Jean-Claude rushed through the curtain, vaulted the guardrail, and plowed into the orator from behind. “Down!”

The orator collapsed in tangle of heavy limbs just as gunshots split the air. The reliquary flew from the orator’s hands, bounced off the altar, and arced toward the Enlightened worshippers, who shrieked in fear and confusion. A bullet spanged off the altar. The two temple knights who had been flanking the dais jerked and fell. Gouts of blood spurted from grotesque wounds.

Marie braced against the vestry doorframe and squeezed the trigger on her twist gun. Fire and smoke belched from the barrel. One of the assassins fell away. She ducked to reload.

Jean-Claude grabbed the orator and pulled him into better cover. “Why in Torment are the Last Men trying to kill you?” Killing an orator and terrorizing a temple service were the sort of thing a mad cult might do, but it was far too senseless for Hasdrubal.

“I have no idea!” the orator squealed, and covered his head.

Two dozen men burst from the crowd, howling like fiends slipped from the halls of Torment. They threw back their hoods to reveal their tattooed heads and produced a variety of weapons from under their robes. The frighted worshippers broke and stampeded, crashing through the main doors and into the street, trampling anyone who fell.

A half squad of temple knights raced from the side hall and charged the cultists. Gunshots from above sent one sprawling and screaming. A temple page sprinted for the reliquary. A mob of Last Men hurled themselves at the knights and drove them back. The chief cultist split the page’s head with a meat cleaver.

Marie leaned out of the vestry and pulled her trigger. Another sharpshooter fell. Marie had always been fierce in her quiet way, but her progress since she started combat training was nothing short of terrifying.

Jean-Claude pointed the orator at the vestry. “Go. That way! Rebecca, get him out of here!” That would get her out as well.

A cultist pounced on the reliquary, held it up, and screamed at the fleeing crowd. “Heretics! The Savior is dead. He rose from the Vault of Ages and the Temple murdered him because they could not bear to be exposed as the charlatans they are! Today, see the first of the saints fall!”

Bafflement stumbled through Jean-Claude’s mind. They had come for the reliquary?