John Flanagan: The Icebound Land

"Looks to me," said Halt judiciously, "as if some careless person left a torch burning in a pile of oily rags in the basement storeroom."

Horace grinned at him. "You can tell all that just by looking, can you?"

Halt nodded, keeping a deadpan expression.

"We Rangers are gifted with uncanny powers of perception," he replied. "And I think Gallica will be better off without that particular castle, don't you?"

Only the warlord had actually lived in the keep. The soldiers and domestic staff lived in other parts of the building and they would have plenty of time to stop the fire from spreading that far. But the keep, the central tower that had been Deparnieux's headquarters, was doomed. And that was as it should be. Montsombre had been the site of too much cruelty and horror over the years, and Halt had no intention of leaving it unscathed, so that Philemon could continue the ways of his old master.

"Of course, the stone walls won't burn," said Horace, with a tinge of disappointment.

"No," Halt agreed. "But the timber floors and their support beams will. And all the ceilings and stairways will burn and collapse. And the heat will damage the walls as well. Shouldn't be surprised if some of them just collapse."

"Good," said Horace, and there was a world of satisfaction in the single word.

Together, they turned their backs on the memory of Deparnieux.

They urged their horses forward and the little cavalcade moved off, Tug following close behind the two riders.

"Let's go and find Will," said Halt.