“Or just make it the Four Ministries and be done with it,” Vallan adds.
I chuckle, elbowing him. “Maybe it’ll be the first area Master Skar ‘fixes’ once he lords over everyone in Olhav.” When I glance up at the massive vampire to gauge his reaction, I notice the corner of his lip curling in a smirk.
If there’s nothing else we can get along doing, it’s jabbing at Skartovius Ashfen. The arrogant lord deserves it, even if we both appreciate him in our own way.
And by all that’s unholy, it’s working. He’s now laughedandsmiled since joining forces with me to kill Cyprilis’ slavers. The bastard truly does heal from murder!
I vow then and there to study the revolutions of Vallan Stellos’ mind if he ever ends up dead, to see what crazy shit I might find.
After thirty minutes of beast-charmed scouting—plenty of fodder for me to use here—I learn there are no less than fifteen zealots walking among the five stories, mostly confined to the lower two levels. Only three vampires walk the stairs to the upper levels, a fact we can see through the busted-out windows and winding staircases evident through said windows.
“Those must be the petty lords.” I nudge my chin to the top level where one of the vampires sits in prayer.
“We don’t have time for this,” Vallan says. “I thought I recognized one of the faces on the page through that first-level window. Did you catch a glimpse, cub?”
I shake my head, hoping he’s right. “I take it your idea is to barge in and just start swinging?”
“Not quite.”
“Good. Because I don’t particularly want to start a war with Overlady Valenthia right now, when we’re focused on Overlady Alacine. What do you have in mind?”
“This,” Vallan grunts, hoisting out a large clay pot from inside his tunic. Where he had it hidden, I have no idea. “Should get the ball rolling adequately enough.”
I blink wide-eyed at him. He’s holding one of his homemade explosives. “I was jesting when I said we should burn the whole fucking place down!”
“I wasn’t.” Vallan trots three steps across the street, lifting his arms back—
“Wait, brother!”
—and he heaves the fucking pot into the sky.
I watch in horrified silence as is arcs and then sinks, cascading, drifting—
Crashingthrough the blown-out second story window.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
Pin-drop silence, and—
The explosion blasts a wall of wind toward us so powerful it sweeps me off my feet onto my back. Vallan stays standing by virtue of his size. He casually lifts an arm to block his face once the next maelstrom of dirt and debris rains on us.
My eyebrows jump to my forehead as the screams from the interior of the Tower of Blisters reach the night sky. I lower my arm and see the entire leaning tower has been obliterated, crushed into sheet rock and gravel.
Limbs are everywhere. Blood coats the streets. An armless vampire walks aimlessly down the road, lost and partly on fire.
Vallan comes to me, pulls me onto my feet by my collar, and grabs the list. He checks the pictures, frowns, and glances over at the wandering, dismembered vampire.
“There we are.” He casually jogs to the vampire, brings his axe out, and crunches into his heart from behind.
When the vampire topples, Vallan calls across the street: “You can strike Pine off the list! Or was it Boulder? Didn’t smell much like a pine forest to me. Just like shit, piss, and blood.” The wicked bastard smiles humorlessly as he meanders toward the destroyed tower.
From the corners of the bazaar, an army of zealots begins to wander cautiously toward the area, through the green light and fog. They’re far still, and they walk slowly, but they won’t be far for long.
Vallan has created the exact kind of spectacle we were trying to avoid.
Unsure what else to do, I draw my swords, say a prayer to the Damned, and rush after him.
We pick off vampires emerging from the cloud of dust, hacking into them, killing them, and storing their decapitated heads in a torn hood we’ve found and started using as a bag.
