hat news, Sycophant Emid?” Confessor Scarpia rumbled as he strode slowly through the smoldering ruins of Andurtun village. He savored the low wailing and moans of the homeless fools. He had given them a week to get rid of their little temple to Lyssa and Dwayna yet here it was still standing, an affront to his eyes. There was no other choice but to make an example of them.

“The priestess has gathered a score of the villagers inside of the temple and sealed the gate. They will not come out, Confessor.”

“And you have failed to have the door broken down for what reason?”

“It is sealed by magic, Confessor. Only those anointed by the goddess may open it. Our attempts have proved futile.”

He sensed there was something else the mesmer was not telling him. The man was a conniving weasel if ever there was one. Possibly he was playing both sides, which was why he had selected him for this task. If the man still followed the whore goddess, it would become all too obvious after today. He glanced toward the brow of the hill above the village, reassuring himself that his detail of twenty elite warriors awaited his signal. Emid’s darting eyes followed his gaze and he blanched, knowing what this signified.

“Oh yes, the hounds scent their prey,” Scarpia thought darkly.

“Here is how you are to proceed,” he said aloud, folding his hands behind his back as they neared the humble building that housed the little temple. It was little more than a better constructed barn with a pair of simple shrines inside. Its walls were of timber and native stone. Its roof was swathed with a thick mat of tinder-dry thatch, “Gather up all the available scrap wood and combustibles and pile them against the eastern wall below the windows. Set it alight. I believe you will find that they will either leave of their own accord or die in the purifying flames.”

Emid’s sun-bronzed skin grew several shades lighter. His lips moved but no sound came out. Scarpia could imagine the dialogue going on inside the stupid man’s head. A true believer of the old gods would fear their wrath if their devoted followers were roasted alive on hallowed ground.

“I have destroyed three such temples,” Scarpia continued coldly, “I was told in every case that the demonic Tenebrae would materialize out of thin air and kill me in the night. Yet here I am alive and unharmed while their temples are ashes. Who would believe such foolish stories? They are too feeble even to frighten a child.

“Yes, I agree. How foolish,” Emid rasped, “I will do your bidding immediately, Your Grace.”

Emid wisely conscripted the help of the imprisoned villagers, shackling them in a line so that they could pass the materials more quickly to the required place. One of them protested, realizing they were being asked to help roast their kin alive, but Emid hexed the woman with a harsh word and left her to writhe in pain and horror while the rest labored around her in terror. Perhaps Emid was faithful after all.

While Emid was busy on the east side of the building, Scarpia had his warrior retinue draw up a cart against the temple doors and fill it with rubbish from the smoldering huts. He made sure there were no other exits by making a slow circuit around the little building, nodding his approval as he passed Emid. Then at last the pyre was lit and he watched the flames curl slow and menacing through the haphazard collection of junk. Then, as was the way of fire, the building erupted as the thatch took flame. A scorching wave of heat curled over him and he smiled faintly at barely perceptible cries of those trapped inside. The inferno consumed their voices and hopes and sweetened the air with the scent of roasting meat.

Emid quivered faintly beside him, his masked face unreadable but his body betraying his disgust and shame. Scarpia made note, deciding the man was loyal after all. A little disgust and loathing was merited, it meant he could still manipulate him at need.

“I am returning to the temple,” he said loudly for the fire had become violent as stone cracked and timbers collapsed, “Select those of the prisoners who are suitable for labor and bring them back with you. Kill the rest.”

“It shall be done, Your Grace.”