Mal turned his dark eyes towards the building, and with a small jerk of his head the soldiers rushed forward, past him as if he were nothing but a tree. After the last of the mercenaries had sprinted past him, he turned to see the door had been forced open. There were hardly any yells inside, so he assumed his trusted advisor had done his job well. So this little check up had been slightly unnecessary. Then again, he would never pass up the opportunity to see mages bested. Magic wasn’t everything. He slowly walked forward, his boots crunching twigs and dried leaves. He leisurely made his way up to the splintered door, and gazed inside, a certain triumph in his eyes. Bodies lay about the floor. Not dead bodies, no, unconscious bodies. Dead would be later, after the torture.
His glinting eyes swiftly moved over to where he saw his trusted advisor, one of the conscious members in the temple. The mercenaries were tying mages together with ropes and pushing them onto their backs. Mal’s calloused hand went to rest along the pommel of his blade as he surveyed the damage. He wasn’t looking at the mages on the floor, no, he was looking for one very special mage. His brother.
“Icthus…” He whispered to the mages on the floor, almost taunting him to come out. Had his brother been among the mages that had fainted, or had he been one of the few still fighting for those last few breaths. After looking around and finding nothing, he once more turned his attention to the mercenaries and Val.
“Get the mages out. I want them all. Not a single body will be left here. If I find any of you have become soft of heart, you’ll be tied up like a hog and thrown into the dungeons.” His voice was friendly, but something beneath that friendly tone was dark.