The section of the city they passed through appeared completely undamaged. Whatever fighting had occurred was over long before it reached the gate. The Middangearders had played their bloody part well. Soon, the sickening victory procession came to where the river flowed through the city, a grand bridge of masterfully cut stone joining the city above the darkly flowing water. Torcan stopped before crossing the bridge, ordering his army to spread through the city. The Red Caps marched off in well-ordered bands of fifty, taking to the streets and avenues with polearms resting on their shoulders. A sizeable group stayed with the chariot and Torcan led them over the river.

Arnheir and several of the other reaver captains awaited them on the far side where they oversaw a bedraggled group of citizens, hard at work gathering bodies into a heap on the street. Many of the corpses were raiders and Padric noticed with curious revulsion that they trailed the tubes of their own guts as they were dragged to the charnel pile. The chariot pulled up near the grisly scene and the horses began to snort and stamp in distaste at being so near the dead. Torcan spoke with Arnheir in the raider’s tongue and their words grew heated, the Middangearder gesturing several times at the pile of eviscerated warriors. Svala kept her eyes away from the discussion, but Padric could tell she was listening, her face paling. Whatever killed these men had raised Torcan’s ire.

“My lord,” the goblin captain threw his voice over his shoulder at the chariot. “Perhaps you should see this.”

Padric stepped down without a word, catching Slouch Hat’s eye as he passed. As usual, the husk’s expression was a mystery. Arnheir stepped to the side as he drew close to the pile of bodies and Torcan gestured towards it with dismissive disgust.

“This,” he spat, “is the death you can expect from elf-friends.”

Padric did not relish conversing with Torcan, but his curiosity was peaked. “What happened to them?”

“A Jester,” Torcan said with a grimace. “It appears this city was home to at least one of the mad bastards.”

Padric looked puzzlingly at the corpses.

“This is old Magic,” Torcan continued. “Raw and untamed. Deadly to mortals. Aye, and weak-minded Fae as well. You would be wise to come into your power quick, my lord or you can be certain they’ll serve you a like fate.”

“They?”

“The Seelie Court,” Torcan sneered. “Whatever is left of it! They will have killers like these wherever they can be hid. You are marked.”

Padric laughed through his nose. “I thought I was just a figurehead.”

“For now,” Torcan replied. “But you could become more and they will not wait. Do as I say and I can save you from this…you and the wench.”