“Obviously, because it would help Yor.” That didn’t seem obvious at all, but Brother Qown had a good idea why Janel wanted to know. The weapons unleashed against Yor haunted its land still. Since the Yorans didn’t understand what had been done to them, an opportunity existed to gain the duke’s trust, gain greater privileges and great access to—well, whatever Janel had come to Yor to do. If someone like Janel—or Brother Qown—presented the duke with information on what had been done, and better yet, how to reverse it …

Thurvishar narrowed his eyes and leaned back. “You want to make friends with the Yorans.”

“My life depends on being perceived as useful,” Brother Qown reminded him. “You do know, don’t you? What was done?”

“Oh yes,” Thurvishar said. “We unleashed horrors upon these people.”

Brother Qown waited.

Thurvishar sighed. “It’s not reversible,” he said. “The things we did—” He stood up from his chair and walked over to a large book stack. “Here. Rituals of War by Ibatan D’Talus. Also … Siege Tactics of the Yoran Invasion by Sivat Wilavir. Those two will have the most information. But I wouldn’t read them just after you’ve eaten.” He set the books down.

Brother Qown blinked at the magician, but he seemed serious.

“Selanol preserve us. How bad was it?”

Thurvishar scowled and looked away. “We should be ashamed. But we aren’t. We never are. It is our duty, you see, our destiny. We’ll make any excuse that lets us believe we were righteous when we crushed our enemies underfoot.”

Brother Qown’s mouth felt dry. “Did they deserve it?”

“Define deserve.” Thurvishar’s mouth quirked. “The god-kings Cherthog and Suless were fiends. Cherthog was a power-hungry brute, and Suless—oh, Suless had so much blood on her hands, entire oceans wouldn’t wash them clean. Did you know Suless invented the god-king ritual?”

Brother Qown blinked. “What?”