by Jasmine Walt
“Sedition?” The man’s eyes narrowed as he looked around, and his gaze landed on the piles of ash behind Alistair. “Who burned them to cinders like this?”
“I’m afraid one of their spells backfired,” Tariana said in an airy voice. “These priests let their power go too far to their heads.” She pinned the men with a stern look. “I suggest you let us finish cleaning up this mess, so we can get back to the capital and report on our mission. We wouldn’t want to keep the king waiting.”
The men exchanged nervous glances. “No, of course not,” the elder said. He inclined his head respectfully. “Thank you for taking care of these criminals. Let us know if you need any assistance.”
The men retreated, and Alistair let out a sigh of relief. He sent several of the remaining soldiers out to form a perimeter and keep the bystanders back while he and the remaining soldiers searched the temple. At first, it appeared to be an ordinary place of worship, but one of the soldiers found a hidden trapdoor beneath a rug that led to an underground warehouse.
“By the gods,” Tariana muttered as they descended, holding torches to illuminate the way. There were shelves and shelves full of weapons and armor, and as they inspected the various boxes, Alistair discovered several kegs of gunpowder. “There is enough here to blow this place to bits.”
“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.”
The two of them went down to the tavern together. A band of minstrels had set up in the center of the room, and the lively music combined with the food went a long way tow
ard easing Lucyan and Ryolas’s moods. They stayed downstairs for a little while before Lucyan retired, wanting to get to sleep early so he would be well rested for what was to come.
The next morning, Lucyan rose well before daybreak. The ring hidden beneath his skin chafed as he put on his pants, but less than it had the day before. Swinging his pack over his shoulder, he went downstairs to settle his account, then caught a cab straight to the castle.
When Lucyan approached the gate, he was pleased to see the guards remembered him. They gave him directions to the trainee barracks located on the castle’s extensive grounds. It took Lucyan a brisk twenty-minute walk to get there, and when he was shown to his bunk, he discovered Delara, one of the women who had tried out yesterday, sitting on the edge of the bottom bunk.
“No separate quarters for men and women, then?” he asked, setting his pack down. He eyed the sword warily as he stripped off his shirt—he’d been given a simple black tunic to wear as the trainee uniform.
“Apparently not.” The woman looked up at him, a gleam in her eye as she studied his bare torso. Lucyan swore she was counting his abs. “Lucky me, don’t you think?” She winked at him.
“Indeed,” Lucyan said dryly, turning away. It hadn’t escaped him that Delara was a beautiful woman. But while sharing a bunk with her did make him uncomfortable, he was oddly not tempted by the thought of her lying beneath him at night, that buxom chest of hers rising and falling. Yes, she was easy on the eyes, but as far as he was concerned, no other woman could hold a candle to his mate.
Gods, he couldn’t wait to get back to her so they could finally be married. He wasn’t entirely sure how the ceremony would work since she was taking all three of them as her husbands, but if his brothers hadn’t figured it out, Lucyan damn well would. He’d never looked forward to marriage before Dareena, but now, he couldn’t wait for them to be bonded, both in the eyes of the law and the dragon god.
Perhaps the dragon god would instruct them further when Drystan paid him a visit. Lucyan wondered what his brother would make of the giant golden dragon. Drystan would probably make a much better account of himself; he was far more reverent than Lucyan and had always believed in the gods.
While Lucyan finished dressing, he eyed his fellow bunkmates and chatted a bit with them, noting their names and faces. Most of them were among the new recruits, but a few he did not recognize, and he guessed that they’d been in training for some time. More than likely they were leftovers from the last batch of recruits who hadn’t quite finished their training yet but hadn’t been deemed worthless. He’d barely finished dressing when a loud, obnoxious horn sounded.
“That’ll be Sergeant Tarras,” one of the recruits said. “Come on, you don’t want to be late!”
The other recruits in the room dashed out the door, and Lucyan strapped on his daggers before hurrying after them. A single line was already half formed. Lucyan joined them and stood at attention. He estimated around thirty people total lived at the trainee barracks—the recruits who had finished training would have been moved to different quarters. He would have to sneak over to wherever they were being housed when he had a chance—he wanted to get a more accurate count of how many spies Shadowhaven really had at their disposal.
“Welcome, trainees!” the sergeant barked as he walked down the line, inspecting them with a fiercely critical eye. Lucyan could smell the magic on him even from several paces away, and there was something about the superior look on his face that all warlocks seemed to carry. “I hope you slugabeds got some sleep last night instead of drinking the night away, because I’m going to work you so hard you’ll wish you were dead!”
Lucyan locked his face down to keep from rolling his eyes. Now that he was standing here, he wondered what in Terragaard he’d been thinking, signing up for a mission like this. He’d never done well with authority, and had stayed far away from Dragonfell’s military, knowing he would never last. These idiotic intimidation rituals the soldiers were put through might be necessary, but Lucyan was a bloody dragon. He could reduce this shouty bastard to a pile of ash with a belch.
Alas, that wasn’t the game, so Lucyan played along, allowing the sergeant to shout in his face and demand that he straighten his collar. After Sergeant Tarras had finished thoroughly criticizing them all, he ordered them to drop to the ground and do one hundred push-ups. Lucyan paced himself so he wouldn’t stand out, but luckily, he was far from the only man here who could do these with ease.
Lord Byrule joined the sergeant to watch the recruits. Afterward, the sergeant put them through a series of grueling exercises so intense even Lucyan found himself sweaty and out of breath by the end of it all.
“It’s a good thing they give us two sets of clothes,” Delara panted as they lined up again. “I don’t think I could stand having to smell like a gutter rat all the time.”
“Shut your traps!” the sergeant barked. Lord Byrule stood next to him, wearing a long coat over his clothes, looking distinguished despite the heat. “When standing in this line, you are to speak only when spoken to. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir!” the recruits yelled.
“Good. Lord Byrule has come to brief you miserable wretches on what to expect as recruits.”
The sergeant stepped aside, and the warlock moved forward, taking over. “Good morning, recruits. Congratulations on making it into the training academy. Over the next twelve months, we expect both Dragonfell and Elvenhame to fall. If you get through your training, you will enjoy the privilege of helping us take control of these kingdoms and govern them on behalf of the warlock king. We need strong, bright men and women who are not afraid to take charge and do what needs to be done to bring these people to heel, and believe me, they will fight you tooth and nail in the beginning. But for those of you who excel, there is both power and riches to look forward to.” He spread his arms wide, a broad grin on his face. “What do you boys and girls think about that?”
The recruits cheered, their eyes shining with the thrill of rapid advancement. Lucyan whooped for joy even as anger burned in his chest. Did the warlocks really think his people to be so weak that they were on the verge of crumbling? Perhaps that had been the case when his father had sat on the throne, but Lucyan and his brothers were in charge, and they had Dareena to center them.
Go ahead, he sneered silently as he looked upon Lord Byrule. Underestimate us. It will be the last mistake you warlocks ever make.
“I can see some of you are a bit skeptical,” Lord Byrule went on. He briefly met Lucyan’s gaze, and Lucyan’s heart skipped a beat as he worried that the warlock had seen through him. But Lord Byrule merely walked on, looking the recruits in the eye as he spoke. “After all, Dragonfell and Elvenhame are powerful kingdoms. But Shadowhaven was here long before them, and we will continue to be here long after they’ve crumbled into dust. Our agents have done an excellent job sowing discord and chaos amongst both courts, and there are subtle spells at work that will ensure the enemy is paralyzed and helpless when they least expect it. Even better, we are able to spy on them from within the safety of these walls whenever they are visible from the outdoors. You would be amazed to know how many private conversations royals like to have when they’re standing right in front of a window,” he said with a scornful smirk.
The other recruits snickered, and Lucyan’s anger gave way to a surge of triumph. Finally! He had discovered something useful. His mind raced as he tried to figure out how to send a message to his brothers and warn them of the true nature of the warlocks’ spying spell. Luckily, it was easy enough to avoid windows or the outdoors when talking of sensitive subjects. Lucyan could hardly believe the solution to their unwanted surveillance problem was so simple.
“Next, we are going to test all of you for warlock potential,” Lord Byrule said. He signaled with his hand, and several other warlocks who had been standing out of view came forward. “I want you to make four lines. This will take just a minute. The test is painless, and perfectly safe,” he adde
d when some of the recruits began to look nervous.
Lucyan was one of those people, though not for the same reason. As he watched the warlocks lay their hand on the recruits’ heads and mutter some kind of incantation, he worried that the spell might reveal his dragon abilities. Did the test seek out all forms of magic? Or only warlock spells?
“All right, you’re next,” the warlock who had been working through Lucyan’s line said. Lucyan steeled himself as the man reached for his forehead. “Relax,” he said, pressing his palm against Lucyan’s skin. “This will only take a second.”
Lucyan forced himself to relax as the warlock did his work. He stood very still as the warlock muttered the incantation, and gritted his teeth as he felt tingles sweep all over his skin. The warlock opened his eyes a moment later, and Lucyan was relieved to see that he merely looked bored.
“Nothing special about you,” he said, and moved on.
Lucyan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He spent the next fifteen minutes watching as the warlocks tested the rest of the recruits. Halfway through, one of them lit up like a shooting star, and Lord Byrule’s face broke out into a delighted grin.
“Excellent,” he said, putting an arm around the recruit’s shoulder. It was the other woman who had tried out yesterday, Lucyan realized with some surprise. “You’ll be going off to a different training camp, my dear. Orlaf, show her to her new quarters.”
“Damn,” Delara muttered under her breath as she watched the other woman being taken away. “Now there are only three of us left in the entire bloody camp.”
Lucyan was surprised to feel a bit of sympathy. “I don’t see what you’re so upset about,” he said blithely, keeping his voice low as he nudged her in the ribs with his elbow. “This merely means fewer women for you to share with, no?”
