“Are there still peacekeepers on the island?” Rylana asked.
“Yes,” Sylin said. “In particular, I heard the original pair that was left behind talking, blaming each other for not finding the magical devices in time. They’d been scared by the irate dragon flying around and also by the thought of accidentally setting the explosives off while they were searching, so they hadn’t been following their orders as assiduously as one might hope.”
“Since you say the explosion revealed a troll-god temple with an oven,” Rylana said, “maybe their negligence was a good thing.”
“I could have much more effectively baked the bread in a gnomish commercial oven.” Jildarin glanced at Sylin’s shovel. “It ismodern, magical, creates a steady temperature ideal for the task, and is situated in a controlled environment.”
“I’m sure it would make the process easier,” Rylana said, “but if the troll gods had an oven right there in their temple, they might be extra pleased—extraappeased—by having their offering baked on site.”
Jildarin let out an exhalation that was as much a growl as a sigh. They’d all been up the whole night, so Rylana couldn’t blame him for feeling grumpy.
Another earthquake swept through the city and rocked the street, making them pause. In the distance, one of the pillars gonged. It sounded like it came from the far side of Tranquility, so Rylana didn’t worry too much, but she caught Jildarin glancing pensively toward the southern sky again.
“Your mother isn’t returning, right?” The boardwalk leading out to Lucky Island had come into view, so Rylana quickened her pace.
Her comrades didn’t object.
“I sense neither my mother nor my aunt in the area,” he said.
“Do you senseanotherdragon?” Rylana asked, remembering his warning about the sisters.
“Two. Foxvonla and Loxvonla are loitering in the wetlands.”
Rylana groaned. “I was afraid of that. Don’t they have anything better to do? The city is cursed. This can’t be the right time for pursuing a mate.”
“When he said the gnomish oven was better because it was in a controlled environment,” Sylin said, “I imagined he was talking about a lack of wind and rain and a relatively steady temperature, not that the bakery was unplagued by dragons.”
“I assume thatdoesmake producing quality bread easier. But there’s still a pillar on Lucky Island. Dragons shouldn’t be able to come too close.” Rylana nodded to herself. Jildarin’s mother andaunt, despite flying all over the lake and glowering at them—at her—hadn’t ventured over the island itself.
Despite the heartening thought, Rylana glanced often at the sky as they jogged across the boardwalk. She went especially quickly past the spot Jildarin had once pointed out, a gap in Tranquility’s defenses between the last pillar on the shoreline and the one on the island. Jildarin didn’t hurry his pace, merely striding defiantly along carrying his box of dough, so Rylana and Sylin crossed the island and reached the temple site first.
Rylana gaped at the destruction that the two small explosives had caused. They’d obliterated the new-god temple, casting rubble deep into the woods and also as far as the beach. A chunk of the roof rested on the bench of the rowboat she’d noticed there earlier. There was even a piece of a column lying high atop the observatory. What had been the stone floor of the temple was entirely gone, and bare earth had been hurled in all directions too. What remained were previously buried pillars, arches, and the heads and torsos of two troll-god statues situated across from a chimney and the top half of the oven Sylin had described that was built into one of the walls. Though they would have to dig out the bottom half and probably unpack earth from the chimney, an impressive amount of dirt had already been cleared away by the explosion.
“Amazing how much,” Rylana said as Sylin hopped down with the shovel to start digging. “I wonder if… Do you think the troll godswantedtheir old temple revealed? Maybe they helped the explosions be more effective.”
Jildarin set the proofing box out of the way and also jumped down. “Gather wood. I will prepare the oven.”
Preparemeant finish unearthing. They wouldn’t be able to bake anything until the oven was unburied. At least the simple brick structure appeared fully intact.
Belatedly, Rylana realized that Vormalt probably hadn’tplanted the explosives because he’d wanted to do random wanton destruction. Through his archaeological research, he must have known the old temple lay beneath the new. But why had he wanted to reveal it? Had he assumed the mayor and high priest would go along with his blackmail and that this place would be paramount in lifting the curse?
A huge chunk of dirt flew past her head, then landed on the ground and split apart. Sylin was digging, but Jildarin appeared to be using his magic, as well as his hands, to excavate larger chunks of earth and rock.
Trusting it wouldn’t take them long, not with dragon power onboard, Rylana set her weapons aside, then jogged into the trees to gather branches.
“Should have brought an axe,” she muttered, certain bread needed consistent heat and a while to bake. “And a cadre of lumberjacks.”
There was a city ordinance against cutting wood in the parks, but the peacekeepers might have made an exception, given the circumstances here. Thus far, she hadn’t seen the two gnomes who’d been left behind.
“We have company,” Sylin called as Rylana returned with an armload of wood.
Rylana’s first thought—hope—was that she meant the gnomes, but Sylin was looking toward the lake.
Full daylight now brightened the sky, so they had no trouble seeing a black dragon flying over the lake between the island and the shoreline.
“One of the sisters?” Rylana had a hard time telling one dragon from another, especially from a distance, and the ones she’d seen lately had all been black. She deposited the wood next to the oven and looked at Jildarin.
“Yes.” Magic rippled in the air around him, and the chimney creaked before a huge chunk of packed earth flew out the top.Focused on getting the old oven in working order, he wasn’t paying attention to the dragon.
