The majority of the building was dedicated to the enormous worship room, full of rows upon rows of pews, stages for choirs, a raised pulpit for priests, and a pipe organ older than Cyrus’s grandparents. Hidden to the side were doors leading farther in, some to storage closets, others to bedrooms and changing rooms. Alone, and normally locked for the night, was the ornate door decorated with gold, hopelessly scratched and mutilated to remove Lycaena’s symbol across its front.

Arn led the way. Having already broken the lock during their initial attack, he needed only to brush it aside to enter the hallway beyond. The magistrate’s private chambers were at the far end, and he crossed the crimson carpet with a maddening lack of urgency. They passed several closed doors, and after the third, Arn paused and tilted his head to one side.

“I hear your breathing,” he said, the sentence spurring the hiding attacker into action. An acolyte armed with a club burst from the door, howling something about Lucavi and his soul. Before Cyrus could even turn, Arn caught him by the throat, flung him to the ground, and kicked his head. The young man’s neck twisted with an audible pop, and it bulged unnaturally on one side. Cyrus winced at the sight. He still had acne on his cheeks, for Lycaena’s sake.

“Just a kid,” he said softly.

“A kid trying to murder us,” Arn said. “No pity for those who worship and serve the oppressor, Vagrant. That’ll make you soft.”

Cyrus tried, and failed, not to take offense as he knelt down and cut a line across the acolyte’s forehead. The stories of a double attack on the newly renamed God-Incarnate’s Haven would certainly get around. The rumored explanations would probably be worth a few laughs, for who would properly guess the reason for their return? He didn’t even know why, either, and wouldn’t until Arn stopped being stubborn and explained himself.

A deep brass ringing of a bell pulled him from his thoughts.

“That’s the alarm for the nearby watch tower,” Cyrus said. “Which means we’re out of time.”

Arn kicked the door to the dead magistrate’s room open and strode inside.

“Let reinforcements come. It’ll give us some entertainment when we make our way home.”

Cyrus had thought Arn joined Thorda’s resistance out of a sense of morality, or disgust at the crimes of the Everlorn Empire. Now he was beginning to think the former paragon merely had a death wish.