The eastern Chaotic Territory, at the former site of the Seat of Shadow.
The church had been demolished and the statues smashed, leaving only rubble. Broken walls and shattered pillars stood in the wind like a row of mouths with missing teeth. The paving stones had been pried up and piled to one side, exposing dark, churned earth mixed with gravel and dust.
Loa had not left. He was waiting.
The Dark Church would not let this go. Seventeen strongholds had been uprooted, cutting off forty percent of their source of faith. They could not possibly swallow that humiliation. They would either negotiate or fight. Loa was prepared for both.
It was still cold in late March. Wind swept down from the north, blowing through the ruins, stirring dust and gravel that rattled against the broken walls. Wangcai lay on a half-collapsed stone wall, ears pricked. Wuzhui stood behind Loa, dark-gold eyes half closed, tail swishing gently.
"They're here," Loa said.
Wangcai and Wuzhui immediately raised their heads and stared at the distant sky.
Dozens of black dots appeared on the southern horizon, growing larger and drawing closer. Three figures led the way, followed by a dozen or so Two-Winged Fallen Angels, a dark mass pressing in from the south like a bank of storm clouds. The muffled beat of wings carried from afar like the pounding of drums.
Loa did not move.
The dozens of figures stopped a thousand feet away from him. The three leaders hovered at the front-a woman, a scrawny old man, and a man with sharply angular features.
The woman wore black robes. Her skin was white as snow, her features gentle and delicate, her thin lips bearing a faint smile. She looked less like a pope than a young married woman from some noble