Khairo was his.
The greatest city the Western Continent had ever known lay broken at his feet, its proud walls shattered, its citizens herded like cattle, soon to be dragged across the sea and sold to the highest bidder. The wealth of a dynasty that had ruled for centuries was already being carted off, divided among lords, captains, and even the lowest of common sailors.
By all rights, Blake who had orchestrated this triumph should have been exultant. But instead of savoring his conquest, he seethed with anger.
The god who had guided his hand, the patron of that decrepit witch, had intervened,shielding the crowned whore of Khairo , a strange choice considering he had killed her minutes later.
Still, that meant the deity had his own designs, ones Blake had not been told.
