the best prepared of any in town. A few curt orders were all that would be
necessary to begin relocating her “staff to the tunnels beneath the city. Though
worried about the chronic shortage of supplies in the chambers below, she was
more worried about Lythande. The mage had been absent from town for some time
now-and the oncoming fleet boded ill for any traveller’s return.
* * *
The magical community of Sanctuary viewed the fleet with a mixture of
anticipation and dread. There was magic in those ships, strong magic of a type
they had never encountered before. Some, like Enas Yorl and Ischade, with
nothing to lose, waited with curiosity, eager to add to their already great
wealth of knowledge. The rest wove hurried spells of defense around themselves
and prayed secretly to varied gods that strength alone would suffice.
* * *
Molin Torchholder, head priest of the Temple of Vashanka, had his hands full
reassuring his cadre so that they might, in turn, calm the crowds of believers
who pressed through the temple doors. Amidst his attempts to organize things, he
was haunted by his own fears. He had worked to ground the Storm God’s power,
leaving the priesthood free to explain and interpret as was their god-given
right and duty. He had thought himself successful, for lately Vashan-ka’s
presence was noticeably lacking in town.
Now this.
Perhaps his schemings had backfired. Where was the Storm God’s protection now
that a force threatened them? Just one good windstorm. . .
With a sigh Molin reminded himself that the trouble with the gods was that they