“Is that wise?” one of the soldiers asked. “Will the warlock god not seek retribution if we destroy the temple?”
Alistair paused. “I have a feeling that the warlock god did not intend to have his place of worship used as a storehouse for weapons,” he said. “And we cannot afford to leave this place standing.”
They finished inspecting the wares, and to Tariana’s delight, found a cache of amulets and magical artifacts. These were boxed up and carried out of the temple—they would bring them back for closer inspection. The weapons they left behind—they could not afford to carry them all—and Alistair had several cases of the gunpowder brought upstairs. He ordered the rest of the soldiers to clear the building and to get any loitering citizens far away.
As Alistair stood alone in the temple, he looked up at the statue of the warlock god again. Despite the fierce expression carved into the giant’s face, his eyes were empty, as if whatever spirit the sculptor had imbued within his creation had fled, leaving only an empty shell. Closing his own eyes, Alistair sent up a silent prayer to Rumas, apologizing for what he was about to do and asking for any sign that the temple was under the god’s protection. His skin prickled with nerves as he waited, but as the minutes passed, he neither saw nor heard anything to indicate the god was watching or listening.
Satisfied, Alistair dumped a large portion of powder into the center of the room, then took handfuls and made a trail out to the entrance. Once he was beyond the threshold, he knelt closer to the ground, careful to keep his face out of view, and blew a small flame onto the powder. He jumped back as it ignited, then raced away.
He managed to get clear just as the building exploded, sending debris flying everywhere. The blast threw Alistair forward, and he landed hard on the ground, clapping his hands over his ringing ears. Twisting around, he winced as he watched a large chunk of stone crash into a roof a few feet away. The soldiers had gotten the people well out of the way, but there was little that could be done about the damage to the surrounding property. The citizens here would suffer for what he’d done today, yet if he hadn’t carried out the strike, his own people would have suffered far more.
The cost of war, he thought as he got to his feet. Shaking off the grim cloud, he went to find his remaining men and congratulate them for successfully carrying out what would be the first of many more raids.
13
Lucyan quickly packed up his meager belongings, then went to Ryolas’s room to tell him the news. At first, he’d been worried that the elven prince was still scouting around town, but when he knocked on the door, he could smell the prince’s scent, fresh and mixed with the thick stench of coal and metal. A few minutes later, the door opened, and Lucyan was greeted by the sight of his future brother-in-law stripped naked to the waist, a wash cloth in his hand and a thunderous scowl on his face.
“I’m trying to wash this filth off me,” he said irritably as he stepped aside so Lucyan could enter. There was a bucket of steaming water on the floor beside the bed and a discarded shirt hanging on the back of a chair. “Advanced society or not, I don’t understand how these people can live this way.”
Lucyan snorted. “I bet that if they came to Elvenhame they would think the same thing.”
“Oh, how terrible all this fresh air and sunshine is!” Ryolas cried in a mocking voice, pitched high to sound like a female. “Woe am I to look upon these rolling hills and inhale the sweet scent of spring flowers!”
Lucyan shook his head as he sat down in the vacant chair. “If you’re going to whine about it, then maybe you ought to just go home.”
Ryolas scowled. “Don’t be daft. I’m not leaving without Basilla.” He sat on the edge of the bed and continued to clean himself. “Now, I assume you excelled at the tryouts and are about to enroll in warlock spy school?”
“You assume correctly,” Lucyan said. “They want me there bright and early tomorrow morning. Apparently the spies live very regimented lives, and our schedules do not allow for much free time, so I doubt I will be seeing much of you. I can’t be caught sneaking away during the day. Although I suppose if they follow me, I’ll just tell them you’re my lover and we meet here regularly for trysts.”
Ryolas’s eyebrows rose. “Best you keep your distance,” he said, and Lucyan laughed. “I suppose I’ll have to rendezvous with the reinforcements on my own then.”
“I’m afraid that would be best,” Lucyan said. “If I’m caught meeting with Dragonfell spies, that will be the end of me. I will try to come back here in a few days to give you an update—probably late in the evening.”
Ryolas nodded. He draped the used wash cloth over the edge of the bucket, then used his shirt to dry himself. “I wish my day had been as productive as yours,” he said ruefully. “All the metal around here interferes with my magic, which is making it very difficult to track Basilla. Every so often, I think I’ve caught a glimpse of the thread that would lead me to her, but then I walk around the bend and it disappears.”
“Have you and our spy friend dug up any leads?” Lucyan asked. “I assume you’ve been asking around.”
“We have a few, but it takes quite a while to check them out, and some of them do not have enough information for us to go off yet,” Ryolas said. “We did track down one girl that Mordan had stashed away, but it wasn’t Basilla. It turns out that Mordan likes to kidnap girls and make them his ‘mistresses,’” he said, his voice coloring with disgust. “He had this one holed up in a townhouse and guarded by several thugs. Had all the fripperies she could ask for, but she looked like she hadn’t seen daylight in months, and she had bruises and lacerations.” His hands clenched into fists. “If that bastard has touched so much as a hair on Basilla’s head…”
Lucyan’s gut twisted at the thought of the elven princess locked away in some tower, suffering at the hands of the depraved prince. “Basilla has her magic, at least,” he said, trying to soothe Ryolas. He could scent the prince’s fear, sharp and sour and mixed with a healthy dose of guilt. “She is no wilting flower.”
Ryolas nodded, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth ground. “I know we are not here on a revenge mission, but if Mordan walks into my line of sight, I will kill him.” His eyes went to the bow and quiver laid out on the desk. “An arrow through that sick bastard’s eye will do wonders for my conscience.”
“Agreed.” Lucyan rose, then clapped Ryolas on the shoulder. “Come, let’s fill our bellies with food and beer. There is no use dwelling on what we cannot change, especially on an empty stomach.”