As he left the Palace, Kilian recovered a little of his strength.
The Black Cloak beside him extended a withered hand holding a handkerchief embroidered with flower petals.
"I have my own."
Kilian was less than courteous to the Epic Mage his uncle had sent. He took a handkerchief from his coat and wiped the dried blood from his temple.
Mr. Mora did not mind. He followed Kilian out of the Palace and toward his Territory.
The first thing Kilian saw was the devastation across his Territory.
The burning streets had gone out, leaving only blackened ruins. The slave traders on Commercial Street had fled, and the slaves had been freed. The once-beautiful Manor bore the marks of a Dragon's rampage everywhere.
Kilian's face darkened.
It was not just that the Tax Revenue stored at the Manor for the past few months was gone and its residents had fled. The prisoners in the Dungeon had escaped, too.
Some of them had taken him a great deal of effort to capture. Their escape would cause him no end of trouble, especially...
Pinching his nose, Kilian went to the deepest part of the Dungeon. Sure enough, the man he had tortured day after day was gone. Only the stench of rot remained.
"Where's Roland?"
He asked the Guards who had come running back when they saw him return.
No one knew. But once he was back aboveground, a Maid came up to him and said Alan had shown the intruders the way.
"Who's Alan?"
The Maid, jealousy glinting in her eyes, pointed to a pink-skinned Maid whose face had gone deathly pale.
Kilian gave her a glance, then looked away and waved a hand. "Make a Blanket from her skin and send it to Uncle."
The Guards dragged away the limp Maid.