It had been thirty days since the mansion had exploded. She assumed that the fool of a Mayor had finally gotten himself killed, but that couldn’t be right, his body had been found swinging from the arches over the river.
Sabotage? Politics? All Janiven knew for sure is that it didn’t matter any more. Her allies had gone in there to deal with the column of fire erupting from the wreckage. Hadn’t seen or heard from them in four weeks, almost as long. And while they had defied the odds before, the reports of a giant devil were too numerous to discount entirely. One refugee might lie, but too many of the northbound hoard told a similar story. The blade at her hip kept the rabble at bay for a while, but she knew that would only last until the refugees grew hungry.
Devil fighting was easier with a priest, but with Arael gone, who? Fiosa wasn’t built for combat. Sclavo’s had some divine abilities, but Janiven knew the two of them would not get far by themselves. As the wagon headed south toward Westcrown, she thought…
After some time, she remembered Amaya had mentioned a mad priest helping her village once. Goblin attack, if memory served. Varisia was far, but if Janiven could find the foreign Osirioni wizard, she could be there with a single word. Not a cheap way to travel, but he was talented enough.