Patzau Yanata Ashill marched into madness. The northern Casoyan barracks teemed with bodies. Soldiers. Prisoners. The dead. It was ghastly. Elvi, her Aginjigaade, followed closely at her side. This was once her place. Long before taking the mantle as Guild leader and Patzau all those years ago, Yanata Ashill was once served as the warden of this very fortress. She hardly recognized it in its current state.

In the wake of the Mudtown raid, the air was thick with the smell of far too many people packed in far too densely for far too long. Instead of the wide-open training yard, the stone fortifications penned in prisoners by the scores. They sat chained together in dense circles, still stained with the mud, ash, and blood of days prior. Some sat upright, defiant and proud. Others lay so still they might already be dead. Soldiers loomed over the prisoners, weapons in hand, ready to deter violence and ensure obedience at a moment’s notice. A low undercurrent of fear and tension kept all on edge, prisoners and soldiers alike. The prisoners feared what they knew awaited them. The soldiers, now fueled by the rumours shared, feared not having an opportunity to enact justice themselves. This day had already seen blood. It would see far more.

Yanata’s entourage passed through a group of protesting citizens outside the barrack’s gates. Mothers with babes in their arms and fathers wearing their work uniforms screamed their protests at guards maintaining stoic silence. These were just the ones inside the city. Yanata knew that even now, hundreds more protested and rioted outside the city gates, which remained closed and fortified. Most would be Casoyans from the mountain tribes, but there would be locals among them. Those sort who had been pushed outside the city’s walls as the city grew and fortunes changed.

In the last few days, that divergence had solidified. Those people living outside the walls in the shacks and hovels would be forever different, separate to those within. Yanata tried not to think of it that way, but it growing difficult not to. It was her duty to protect all, after all. But who do you choose to protect when one part of the whole turns on another?

The soldiers at the main gates facing the largest mobs would be most on edge, fearing that spark of violence. Tight knuckled grips on their shields and spears would be their only solace if things turned ugly—or uglier than things already were. She prayed that better heads would prevail, but the cynic in her knew they rarely did. After all, that was the reason they were in this mess in the first place.

Passing through the courtyard, all heads turned to watch. Elvi stepped a little closer and quickened her step. Yanata thought the action odd considering the power her friend could summon with just a whisper to the wind. Yanata knew there was no real danger. Not here. She was Patzau. These were her soldiers. Men and women of the guild. Regardless of what Yohati had done. Him, I’ll deal with later, she venged.

The soldiers parted as Yanata approached the main door to the central keep. It had been converted from its intended use as a prison into the de-facto courthouse. And if the rumours are true, the gallows too. She ascended the flight of steps and the doors groaned open, their heavy bronze hinges singing into the open hall beyond.

Light flooded into the dim room. No illum stones here. The softer glow of candle flame fled as sunlight poured into the hall, revealing the executioner where he stood poised. His sword came down in a graceful arc, taking the head of the prisoner kneeling before the judge. The prisoner collapsed and a muffled shudder rippled through the three remaining men yet to see judgement. Their chains rattled noisily but they didn’t cry out. Yanata watched, unflinching. She had seen it before. She’d swung the sword. But Elvi let loose a muffled gasp that turned all heads in the room.

Atop the dais in the centre of the room sat High Judge Madaral. He wore the clean cream-coloured robes and the prominent bowl-shaped hat that marked him as High Judge. Yanata recognized him immediately. One of Yohati’s men. He was the kind of man that made even a smile feel like a scowl.

To her surprise, on Madaral’s left sat Janos Tydana, Patzau Yohati’s primary Aginjigaade. Tydana, a middle-aged man with a well-manicured beard and moustache appeared rather aloof. He wore civilian clothes, a loose-fitting tunic and set of trousers rather than the robes of his fellow guildmembers. He didn’t even look up as she entered, instead focused on his hands or fingernails.

On the High Judge’s right sat the current warden, Mahmud Riil. One of hers. Riil was a mousy-looking man and looked a bit nauseated. Whether it was from the gruesome executions or the disguised discomfort with being made a servant in his own fortress, Yanata couldn’t guess. It might have been his default look.

Before the three men, a vast amount of blood pooled atop the stones. It stained the floors and the columns. Blood seemed to stain everything in the room save for the three men perched above it. Patzau Ashill approached the dais as a pair of soldiers removed the executed prisoner. Her armour clicked softly with each step and Mahmud had the good graces to rise and salute from his place atop the dais as she approached. Madaral and Janos, however, remained seated.

“Welcome, Patzau Ashill” Madaral said, his voice shrill. “How can I help you?”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Yanata growled.

“Enacting judgement. Prosecuting those who attacked our great city” Madaral said, his voice heavy with righteousness.

“I meant executing criminals here in my hallway?” she asked, annoyed.

“If we executed them outside, there would be chaos. Others waiting their turn would resist more ardently.” Madaral said plainly. As if the answer were obvious.

Yanata tilted her head slightly. Something in his words or tone didn’t sit right. “What do you mean, others waiting their turn?”

“The others waiting their turn to be judged” he answered nonchalantly.

“Just how many people have you judged here in my hall?” she asked, eyeing the pool of blood.

“Many” Madaral answered. “Why does that matter?”

“Answer the question” Patzau Ashill said, looking around to the other soldiers and attendants present in the room. She locked eyes with Mahmud who cowered under her gaze. None of the three men up on the dais made any sign of responding. None of the attendants or soldiers moved either. Everyone in the room sat tensely transfixed. All except Janos Tydana, who remained rather disinterested in the whole ordeal. “Mahmud” she said, forcing his attention. “How many people have you tried today?”

“I don’t know the exact number” Mahmud said, withdrawing into his chair.

“Give me an estimate,” Patzau Ashill said.

“I really can’t say with any certainty” Mahmud stammered.

Disgraceful little weasel, Patzau Ashill cursed. “Its still early in the morning. Are you telling me you’ve already lost count? I’m not asking for their damned names. Give me your best estimate or I’ll replace you with somebody who will.”

“Perhaps, forty or fifty so far” Mahmud said meekly, eliciting a glare from Madaral.

“And how many yesterday?” she pushed.

“I… well, you see—”

“I swear, if the next words out of your mouth are ‘I don’t know’, I’ll have you transferred to the mines in the mountains as a damned packman!”

“My best guess is between one-hundred-fifty and two-hundred yesterday. Maybe more” Mahmud croaked. High Judge Madaral seemed annoyed by the lack of beheading this conversation was producing.

“And how many have been executed for their crimes?” she asked, turning to glare at Madaral.

“Well–” Mahmud stammered.

“Not you” Patzau Ashill snapped, interrupting the spineless warden. “High Judge Madaral, how many of the two-hundred to two-hundred-fifty souls have you condemned to die over the past two days?”

“All of them” Madaral announced, proud.

“All of them?” Yanata repeated, shocked. “You’ve executed every single person who came before you to be judged? Not a single one left this room alive?”

“Every single criminal who entered this hall met justice” Madaral stated.

This must be some kind of sick joke, Yanata frowned. This isn’t is a tribunal. It’s a craven spectacle. This is madness! “You there” Patzau Ashill barked, turning to face one of the soldiers behind her. He was an older man with a wiry gray moustache and broad shoulders. “Bring the next criminal to the front” she ordered. She looked back at the next criminal. He was a young man with fear in his eyes. He, like the others, had the obvious features of those born in the mountains; lean and wiry with rounder cheeks and eyes than those born down by the sea; darker skin and darker hair; a patchy beard that revealed just how young he still was. He sat kneeling on his hands and knees with his hands and feet bound together. He looked back at her, scared to death. Scared of death. Spirits, he’s just a boy. Only a bit younger than my girls.

“Move” Yanata ordered, climbing the dais to where Madaral sat.

“I am High Justice!” Madaral protested.

“I am not here to do you job” Yanata said dismissively. “Sit in Mahmud’s seat while I ask this boy some questions.”

“I am here under direct orders from Patzau Yohati!” Madaral continued. The look she gave him was far more threatening than any words might have been. He rose, awkwardly as she approached and offered her the chair.

“You sit in my barracks, surrounded by my soldiers, by my grace” Patzau Ashill said balefully. “Do not forget yourself, Madaral… or that I am Patzau Yohati’s equal.”

Madaral scowled as he ushered warden Mahmud from his seat. The scared prisoner boy was brought before them. He knelt just steps from where the last one had died. Blood stained his hands and knees. It pooled at his feet.

“Tell me your name” Patzau Ashill said.

“I am called Nol” the boy said. He had a thick accent. It was a mix of the mountain tribes and the slang commonly heard in Mudtown and down in the lowlands.

“How many people were ahead of you in line to meet with the High Judge?” she asked.

“Six” Nol said, matching the number to outstretched fingers.

“Interesting how the boy knows how to count and yet wardens and judges seem to forget. Tell me, Nol, what questions did the High Judge ask the other prisoners before passing judgement upon them?” Nol stood silent below them, unsure what to answer. A fearful glance to Madaral on her right told her all she needed. “Go ahead,” Yanata urged, “You may speak the truth here before me.”

“He ask only two questions. He ask ‘what is your name?’ and he ask which criminal gang we are a part of” Nol answered. His voice was quiet and broken. Spoken through stuttered sobs.

“And the soldier who arrested you, are they present in this room?”

“No” Nol answered.

“And an account of the crime you are on trial for, are you told?” Yanata asked.

“Yes” Nol said. “All us are on trial for the same crime. He says ‘You are accused of murder and theft and are sentenced to die.’ We don’t even get to say nothing in defense.”

Patzau Ashill turned to look at High Judge Madaral on her right. He sat unabashed in his seat in his ceremonial robes. Behind him, Mahmud at least had the good sense to look nervous. She turned to Janos on her left who sat with his feet outstretched with a disinterested gaze.

“And what do you have to say about all this, Janos” Patzau Ashill asked the Aginjigaade.

“About what?” Janos responded, finally looking up from his manicured hands.  

“You are Patzau Yohati’s right-hand man. His Aginjigaade” Patzau Ashill said. “Is this what your guild calls a trial in this day and age? You condone this?”

“I was there” Janos said, “the day Patzau Yohati was attacked. I recognise each and every one who has come into this hall to face justice.”

It was a lie, of course. Yatana wasn’t stupid enough to notice Janos hadn’t looked up once. All it demonstrated was that Janos was Yohati’s man, through and through. Unfortunately, the boy also knew it was a lie and it broke him.

“This is a lie!” Nol shouted through tears. “I have never seen this man. I am no killer. No criminal. I am a guildsman. An apprentice in the workers guild. My father is a builder too. I have never hurt anyone. I–”

Nol froze in place for a moment, and then he began to scream. Yanata watched in astonishment as the boy continued to scream bloody murder. Then the sharp herbaceous medicinal smell of Aginjigaade sorcery hit her nostrils. As a soldier, Yanata recognized the difference. All Aginjigaade sorcery produced a uniquely unnatural aroma. It oozed from the Aginjigaade on her left with incredible power. Yet Janos sat in his chair as if nothing at all was happening.

The screaming ceased and the boy collapsed face down into the pool of blood. Soldiers rushed forward, lifting him up and blood stained his face and body. Yanata wasn’t sure if any of it was his or not. Either way, it was gruesome.

“What did you do!?” she demanded.

“I stopped him from spreading his baseless lies” Janos said, defiantly. “This man was caught with five silver coins in his pocket. The only way he could have that much silver was if he stole it or if he were paid for assisting in the plot against Patzau Yohati.”

“I asked, what did you do to him?” she repeated.

“Nothing permanent. I took away his sight” Janos said, “that’s all. Blinded him with a veil of darkness. The absence of light can be a scary thing for those unaccustomed to it.”

Spirits, one thing at a time, Yanata, she told herself. “Don’t do that again” she ordered. Turning to Madaral, she added, “From here on out. You will follow the full outlined trial procedures. Every single person who stands before you from this second forward gets an actual trial and the opportunity to speak against your accusations. Each one is identified and logged. Name, age, occupation, neighbourhood, crime committed, and sentence enacted. Am I understood?”

“There are far too many criminals to process” Madaral protested. “It would take far too long. Months even!”

“Your job is to enact justice, not retribution… or to sentence indiscriminately” Yanata countered angrily.

“We ratify justice for those innocents killed at the hands of these lowlife scum” Janos said, not so much a counter argument but more as a separate statement.

“I’ll be heading down into the dungeons” Patzau Ashill said, ignoring Janos’ comment. Let us hope the people imprisoned down there have enough wits left to help shed some light on what the fuck happened in Mudtown, Patzau Ashill thought. Yohati has more claws in my senior officers than I knew. “You best hope that someone down there still lives… despite your vindictiveness. I’ll be back shortly to check on your progress” she said, rising from her chair. “Oh, and if I find out you’ve been taking shortcuts, Madaral, I’ll gather all the damned blood you’ve spilled today and fill your garden pools with it. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Patzau” Madaral said through clenched teeth.

“And Mahmud” she said, looking at barracks warden, “You best find a logbook and get to writing. If by the end of the day I find your log wanting for detail, I’ll make you rue the day you enabled this circus you three had the balls to call a tribunal.”

“Yes, Patzau” Mahmud replied.

“Janos, I’d like you to accompany us down into the dungeons. If you would come with me, please.” The Aginjigaade grumbled, but stood to follow.   

Patzau Ashill rose and descended the dais with Janos following loosely her heels, collecting Elvi as she left the hallway. High Judge Madaral sneered at her as he retook his central seat atop the dais. Elvi looked back over her shoulder and caught the unbridled look. With a soft push of her agindan into one of the countless air spirits in the room, she channeled her power to shoot a precise gust sending the high judge’s hat flying off his head. It landed in in the pool of blood.

As they descended the dimly lit corridor leading to the holding cells, the smell of sorcery bit Yanata’s nose again. It wasn’t the pungent ozone smell of Elvi’s sorcery, but the medicinal scent of Janos’s abilities. The shadows that crept down the halls seemed to melt away, as if pulling back a curtain. The candle lights that marked the passage suddenly felt as bright as daylight. It looked unnatural, yet felt comfortable. Patzau Ashill turned to face the man and his eyes met hers. They were sharp and calculating, yet focused elsewhere.

“Apologies, Patzau” he said flatly, meeting her gaze. “Force of habit.”

“You don’t care much for the darkness?” she asked.

“Something like that” he answered. “What exactly are you hoping to gain from coming down here?”

“Answers” Patzau Ashill said, stepping into the cold hall. “Perhaps a different perspective or two.” She didn’t bother answering his implicit question. Why am I here?

The dungeons were alarmingly lively. Each cell was full. Some beyond that point. The regular chatter of voices was quieted as Janos’s sorcery pushed the shadows into withdrawal. Fear rippled through the cells as prisoners stood witness to the unnatural phenomenon. Talk dissipated, replaced by hushed murmurs. Eyes followed expectantly. The hollow taps of heels on stone echoed uninhibited. The smell of Janos’ sorcery and the unnatural brightness was enough to silence even the most daring. Only whispers and the odd cough cut through the tense silence. Yanata stopped, turning to face a random cell. Each man returned her gaze, fear plain across their eyes. They smelled the sorcery; its unnatural taste on their tongues and its spice in their noses. They feared it. That was the point.

Yanata signaled. Elvi spoke, “You five, stand and present yourselves.” In the quiet room, the soft commands felt bellowed. The five prisoners stood and approached the cell bars. Patzau Ashill eyed them one by one. Each one had the same round cheeks and thick black hair as the boy upstairs. They were all men from the mountains. Tribesmen. Up close, two of them had face tattoos. Gang affiliated.

Yanata stepped forward and addressed a man with a thick well-kept beard and long hair, ignoring the men with tattoos. He was covered in purple bruises and had a black eye. “You, what is your name?”

“Hal” the man answered, his accent thick.

“Tell me what you remember from the night you were arrested” she said.

He looked at her, puzzled by the question. “I was walking back home from work and stopped by the market to buy food.”

“Where do you work?” she asked, interrupting.

“I work the fields” he answered. His voice was unexpectedly calm. Steady. “We was up at an orchard picking bluefruit” he began.

“You don’t have to say nothin’ to this bitch” one of the tattooed men jeered. Yanata reached out to stay Elvi’s hand. Violence never begets answers. She ignored the insult, and waited patiently for the bearded man to continue.

He resumed, more nervous than before, “Suddenly people were yellin’ and screaming. And I didn’t know what was happening. I only just come back from workin’ up in Hilltown. Then, there was a fire and I ran against the crowd. I wanted to help. It was getting dark.”

“Go on” Yanata said. “Then what happened?”

“There were soldiers. But, they… they were attacking people. Hittin’ em with ghata and then people were throwing stones and bricks back. Then I got hit with something and got knocked down. People were steppin’ over me and then the soldiers advanced. I thought they might help me. But then they surrounded me and someone started beating me… kicking and punching. A bunch of ‘em joined in. All while people were shoutin’ and the fires continued burnin’. They only stopped after I stopped moving. They left me in the street. Next morning I woke up and somebody dragged me here.”

“You didn’t say nothin’ about how them soldiers was killing people in the streets and lighting those fires to get innocent folks to flee their homes. How they butchered innocent people in the streets like animals” the tattooed man argued. “How your guild soldiers are corrupt and greedy bastard dogs!”

“Your tattoos” Patzau Ashill said, turning to the other prisoner. “What gang are you affiliated with?”

“Fuck you” the tattooed man said.

“Perhaps I should expedite your trial” she threatened. “The judge upstairs is quite bloodthirsty.”

“You fucking dogs are all bloodthirsty” he yelled. “You steal our lands and put us to work and then punish us for trying to survive. May the spirits of this island curse you and your family” the tattooed man repeated. He spat in her direction.

Patzau Ashill exhaled in frustration. I am trying to make sure this shit doesn’t happen again and you’re not making it any easier. She turned to leave and the man raised his voice again. With a quick nod to Elvi, the man when silent. The space filled with the pungent scent of Elvi’s sorcery as she poured her consciousness into the nearby air spirits. The tattooed man grasped for breaths stolen from him.

Panic flooded his eyes but Yanata had already turned away, looking for somebody else to speak with. Somebody who might reveal enough to tell me what Yohati is truly after. That old man is far too crafty to be this emotional. The tattooed man collapsed in the cell behind her and the scent of Elvi’s sorcery dissipated as air flowed back into his lungs.

She thought about releasing the man named Hal. He was innocent, that was plain enough. But in the end she decided against interfering. It was too soon to deal with the chaos that would follow Yohati’s executions. Letting Hal go would expedite that chaos and add fire to the protests. Her soldiers were already spread thin.

Yanata stopped at another cell further down the hallway and locked eyes with another woman with antagonistic sneer. Not her either. She strolled further down the hallway with Janos and Elvi at her heels. Looking right, she stopped abruptly. Staring back at her was a face neither from the city nor from the mountain villages. He stared back at her, but not with contempt but with curiosity. Behind the man were more foreigners like him. They had a mix of foreign features from different places to the west. Dark black hair, strong square jawlines and high cheekbones, small inset eyes and large noses. Despite their differences, each one had a thick manicured beard and finer clothes than the peasants that littered her other cells. Mercenaries?

Walking up to the bars, she realized they were shorter and stockier than the average Casoyan. Turning to Janos, Patzau Ashill asked in Casoyan, “Who are these men?”

Janos leered at the foreigners, sparing them a simple glance before answering, “Foreigners… They were arrested for murdering another foreigner near the southern docks about the same time as Yohati was attacked.”

“Is that so?” she asked. “Who did they kill?”

“I don’t know” Janos answered, “Nobody important.”

Turning back to the foreign men, Patzau Ashill switched to Tralang and addressed the group. “Which one of you is the leader?” she asked. The five men looked around awkwardly. That was when she realized that one of them wasn’t in fact a foreigner but a haggard looking Casoyan.

“I am” the man who had been staring at her said quietly.

“And what is you name?” she asked.

“Kellan” the man said, “and who are you?”

Patzau Ashill eyed Kellan, taking in his stiff posture and the tightness around his eyes. He was trying to project confidence, but the fear in his voice betrayed him. She let the silence stretch out a moment longer before answering. “I am Patzau Ashill, Guildmaster of the Soldiers’ Guild and one of eight rulers of Caso,” she said, her voice calm but carrying the weight of authority. “Why are you locked up in my cells?” she asked.

“Murder” the Casoyan man answered. The other four stared daggers at him. The strange foreigner looked unabashed in his honestly. Patzau Ashill gave Kellan a curious look.

“We we’re attacked” Kellan said defiantly. “We were here on business on behalf of his lordship Belvaas Krimas, lord regent of Gaag, when we were attacked by an assassin in the street sent to kill us.”

“An assassin?” Elvi repeated.

More Gaagians? Patzau Ashill pondered, now that’s an interesting coincidence. “How do you know your attacker was an assassin and not some common thief?” Patzau Ashill asked, now on the hunt for answers.

“We–” Kellan stuttered, recognising his need to answer carefully. “The man who attacked us was known to us. He was a traitor. He betrayed our people.”

“If I recall correctly,” Patzau Ashill said, “Gaag is part of the Careyago Empire now. Are you a man in support of the Careyago or a man pitted against the empire?”

“For the Careyago” Kellan said. “For a prosperous Gaag.”

“Meaning, the traitor you speak of must be a loyalist? A supporter of the old monarchy, to the princes staying in the city. Am I correct?” She knew the answer even before he confirmed it.

“Yes!” Kellan said, “The assassin was a man in the princes’ employ.”

Janos interrupted, surprising everyone. “You have the gall to label a seventy-year-old man an assassin? What pitiful sort of man are you.” Patzau Ashill looked back at the Aginjigaade, surprised with his familiarity. Now why would he know that detail?

“One does not age out of treachery” Kellen snapped back. Yanata had to agree. “Even a child can take a life when given the correct tools.” Kellan snapped back. “That old man killed one my brothers.”

“And then the five of you butchered him in the street for it.”

“What would you have us do?” Kellan sneered, “Nothing? And let the sick old man kill us all? We protected ourselves and enacted justice.”

“Justice…” Patzau Ashill repeated, a dry edge to her voice. “It seems a lot of acts are wearing that mask lately. Perhaps I should drag that young princeling down here for a trial of my own. What better way to hear all the horrors you’ve enacted upon each other.”

The color drained from Kellan’s face. Yanata leaned in, trying to read the quick mix of surprise and guilt that masked something deeper—a weariness mixed with anger. She noticed the tension and fear in their eyes. Fear and tension radiated from all of them—all except the Casoyan man. He was an oddity. An exception from the rule. She honed in on that. “What’s your name?” Yanata asked, looking past Kellan at the disheveled local. “And how are you a part of this?”

“Five men arrested for murder” Janos said, thinking aloud. “And yet from your looks. Not one of you know this man” Janos realized. “Who is he to you?”

The looks they gave were a mix of bitterness and guilt. The guilt must have been what set him off. Janos’s calm demeanor vanished as quickly as a candleflame in a gust of wind. Power within him burst forth in a terrifying torrent; shadows clawed out like demons, reaching toward the men in the cell. The light around Janos seemed to disappear, as if he stood in absolute darkness. His eyes glowed from within with an unnatural intensity that brought forth the terror of a childhood nightmare.

“This one is an imposter!” Janos shouted at the Casoyan man. Elvi retreated, closing her eyes and focusing only on protecting her consciousness from Janos’s unbridled power. “Where is the last man? Where is your leader?”

Kellan and the others screamed as if attacked by a vengeful spirit, scrambling to the back of the cell as if distance could spare them. Patzau Ashill watched in horror. Never had she been so close to an Aginjigaade so recklessly unconstrained in their use of power. The scent of it flooded her senses. It burned at the back of her throat. She thanked the spirits a man with his explosive temperament was gifted a less destructive affinity.

“He’s gone” Kellan shouted over the screams.

“Gone where?” Janos demanded. He appeared to walk forwards, drawing a blade Patzau Ashill hadn’t noticed was on his hip.

“I don’t know” Kellan cried. Janos seemed to melt through the very bars of the cage as if made of water. He walked forward, uncontested and raised his weapon as if to smite each man in a single swinging arc. Spirits have mercy, Patzau Ashill thought, frozen in shock at what she was witnessing.

“Wait!” Kellan screamed. “I’ll tell you everything!”

And then it ended. The lights, the shadows, the sword in hand. All of it disappeared and Janos reappeared next to her. He remained exactly where he had originally been standing. Patzau Ashill looked over at the man, too stunned to speak. The entire cell block had gone silent. Perhaps the whole world had.

She looked him over and the sword he had drawn was gone, as if had never existed. And it hadn’t. Yanata realized the whole thing had been an illusion. A powerful one. He hadn’t moved at all and yet she could still picture him walking through the bars of the cell like a demon of darkness. She would have sworn that he was ready to kill each and every prisoner inside. She had seen Elvi produce simple sorceries from time to time, but this was different. Impactful and direct in a way she hadn’t before witnessed. It both awed her and terrified her.

Janos walked over to the cell and squatted low, staring at the five men cowering within the dark cell. His eyes still glowed from the small amounts of sorcery he still released. “You had better start talking then.”

Bartiin awoke to the hard pounding of fist against door. The sound jolted him upright. He looked around the small room. Light filtered in through the window past the hanging curtains to illuminate the shimmering dust lit under the sun’s gaze. The room was unfamiliar. It took Bartiin a moment to remember where he was. The room was full of boxes and furniture to the point of constriction. The ceiling tapered aggressively on one side where the steep roof slanted down. It was all very… foreign. The knock sounded again, louder this time, and a hand rattled at the knob on the door.

“Bartiin” the muffled voice said, “Time to go!”

Bartiin rose, familiarity returning to him like a memory once forgotten and then anxiously returned. He was in the Careyago Embassy. He had been rescued from imprisonment. He had almost died to a quarrel shot by the old bastard Yoliim Kulimas. He had finally succeeded in his mission. He had killed Prince Aramuk Krimas of Gaag. He crossed the room and opened the door just as the butler pounded again on the door. “What?” Bartiin said, unamused.

“We have received a tip” Hina said, standing behind the tall man. She glanced down at Bartiin’s nakedness, before ignoring it further and continuing. “The embassy is going to be raided.”

“Somebody must have figured out you escaped” the butler said. “they’re coming here to look for you.”

“Who is?” Bartiin asked. He was struggling to keep up with their hurried words. He was a newer speaker to the Careyago tongue. He was trying his best to translate as more words came.

“Soldiers from the city” Hina answered.

“What do we do?” Bartiin asked.

“Put on some fucking clothes…” she said in Tralang, “and then we’ll smuggle you out of the city until the raid is over.” Bartiin opened one of the drawers and pulled out a pair of trousers and a shirt. Hina continued as he dressed, “We can smuggle you onto a ship home once this has passed.”

“No!” Bartiin argued, “Why can’t we put me on a ship now?”

“You’ll never make it out of the city” the butler said. “The ports are still locked down because of your… incident. All of my shipments back to Cayanoshi are being delayed” she added with a sour look.

“What am I supposed to do about that now?” he asked.

She scowled at him. “Here” she said, passing him a handful of bronze and silver coins. “This should last you a couple of months if needed. Bradel will take you to a village outside the city where we have a safehouse.”

“Who’s Bradel?” Bartiin asked.

“I am” the butler said.

“I thought you were the butler?” Bartiin asked.

“Oh, spirits give me strength” the man remarked in Casoyan. There were other curses in there too but Bartiin didn’t bother listening after the first dozen.

Hina looked equally annoyed and grumbled, “Bradel is my husband, you shit-eating pig. Now, get out of our house. We’ll come find you. Don’t leave. For some reason, you’re still valuable to somebody out there.”

The three of them descended the flights of stairs and veered towards the back of the house where a rear exit opened noisily into a shadowy back alley. She handed him a thick green cloak. Bartiin barely refrained from commenting on its hideousness. A look from the ambassador’s face suggested she would leave him for dead if he dared. And so, he remained silent as the backdoor shut behind them with a loud groan. Bradel, the husband, began walking without checking to see if Bartiin would follow. And follow Bartiin did.