Emily nodded. General Pollack had planned a series of attacks, all designed to get in, land a punch and then get out again before the enemy had a chance to respond. He’d admitted, openly, that the best they could do was give the Fists a bloody nose, but it might buy time for Emily and Frieda to slip into Temple Row. If, of course, the watching guards were distracted. Emily bit her lip, concerned. The fanatics didn’t look as though they would be distracted easily.
But the slaves might try to escape, she thought, peering out of the alleyway. I would, if I’d been given the chance.
She shuddered. She’d been told that some slaves were merely working off debts – a concept she found sickening, even if people insisted such slaves were treated well – but these slaves were definitely working against their will. A number even wore the tattered remains of priestly garb, when they’d been allowed to wear anything at all. They were being forced to rip their own temples to shreds. She gritted her teeth as she pulled her head back, knowing there was nothing she could do to help them. She’d just have to hope they defeated the Fists of Justice as quickly as possible.
A brilliant flash of light came from Sorcerers Row. Emily braced herself as the guards looked around, apparently confused. Two more flashes of light followed, both marking attacks on enemy patrols. Sienna and her fellows spent power freely, making it clear that they were going on the offensive, while their mundane counterparts launched more subtle attacks. The Fists of Justice would have to react quickly, General Pollack insisted, if they wanted to retake control of the streets. And their nearest reinforcements were at Temple Row.
Unless they’re more intent on preserving the temple than retaking the streets, Emily thought, grimly. The plan had seemed workable, when they’d been going through the final aspects after a brief nap, but now it struck her as being more than a little chancy. They’d underestimated the sheer level of activity around the building. They may think they can retake control in the morning.
She tensed as she heard the sound of running footsteps. A trio of men in red robes, one carrying a staff that blazed with power, ran out of the Temple of Justice and straight towards the guards. There was a brief exchange of orders, then the guards followed the priests onto the streets, away from Temple Row. Emily inched forward, noting where the other guards were watching the slaves. The temple hadn’t been left completely unguarded. She could knock them down with magic, but that would reveal her presence…
We need a distraction, she thought, as she peered down the street. Something that will keep them busy…
She braced herself, then shaped an unlocking spell in her mind and cast it with all the power she could muster. The slaves jerked upright as their chains unlocked, coming free and falling to the ground with a mighty clatter. They broke free a moment later; some attacking their captors with tools or their bare hands, others running in all directions. Emily caught Frieda’s hand and pulled her onto the street, hurrying down Temple Row towards the Temple of Justice as the riot swelled out of control. The guards didn’t seem to notice them. They had too many other problems to worry about.
So do we, Emily thought, as they reached the temple. Another group of guards stood just inside the building, looking altogether more serious. Two were definitely magic-users, although she didn’t think they were full sorcerers. Their magic fields seemed a little unfocused. Those guards aren’t distracted…
Frieda tapped her arm, motioned for Emily to stay put, then ran forward, dispelling the glamour as she moved. The guards noticed her, an instant before she threw a string of fireballs, brilliant lights and blinding spells into the temple, then ran down the street. Emily watched, torn between horror and relief, as the guards either clutched their eyes or gave chase, hurling hexes and curses after Frieda. It was easy, terrifyingly easy, to slip past the guards and into the temple. They didn’t have a hope of noticing she was there.
She tensed as she felt magic pervading the temple, streams of power that led underground. It was very much like Mountaintop, although she didn’t think Mountaintop had harvested enough power to create a god. Maybe that was why Justice hadn’t made many appearances, before all hell broke loose. The Hands of Justice hadn’t had the power to manifest him on a regular basis.
And now they do, she thought, inching forward. But where are they getting the power?
The temple felt spooky. It was brightly lit, yet empty. Her footsteps echoed through cavernous chambers that should have been filled with worshippers. Statues of Justice were everywhere, all following the same theme of resolute certainty. Justice was an implacable judge, an entity who could not be questioned. She caught sight of a statue holding a set of scales and winced. The scales of justice, it seemed, always had to be balanced.
She allowed the magic to lead her to a set of stairs, disappearing down into the darkness; carefully, she walked down them, keeping her magic at the ready. The rune on her chest started to heat, warning her of subtle magic; her skin crawled as she felt it reaching out to touch her, plucking at her mind. Anyone who found the stairs without proper preparation, she realized as she reached the bottom, would not only find themselves walking out again, but also lose all memory of having discovered the stairs in the first place. They’d never know what they’d found once they left the temple. And yet, it was a strikingly passive defense for such a secret.
The lower levels appeared as deserted as the temple itself, but she kept the glamour around her as she made her way down the corridors. A handful of doors lay in front of her, all closed and locked, secured by powerful wards. She studied the closest door for a long moment, then inched forward to test the defenses. It didn’t look as though they were keyed to a particular mind, but a mistake in breaking them down would prove disastrous. And yet ... she didn’t think she had a choice. The Fists of Justice would eventually return for morning prayers…