Coil And Strike (the Jinni And The Isekai, #3) 1b3i1f

THE JINNI AND THE ISEKAI COIL AND STRIKE

By

Lawrence Caldwell

Book Three in the Jinni and the Isekai Series

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © Lawrence Caldwell, 2021

Look for These Other Titles by Lawrence Caldwell

AEVALIN AND THE AGE OF READVENTURE Aevalin: Klause Schuar, the Grand Bastard Aevalin: Trials on the Isle of Morr Aevalin: Knight of Aevalin Aevalin: Errant Adventurer Aevalin: Kingdom of the Blue Dragon

THE JINNI AND THE ISEKAI The Jinni and the Isekai The Black Cobra of Mar’a Thul Coil and Strike The Sultan of Darshuun Sultan’s Legacy

ANARCHO Fracture Rating Hussy Landfill Lich

May Day Rescue Dreams of Forever

THE PRINCESS AND THE MAGICIAN The Wind Steppe Princess and the Amalfi Magician

OTHER TITLES Wakiagau Haven Teisatsusha Blackwood Company Littlehand Hakuria Attack on the Spire Keep The Reconnoiters Skydrift Acheron

"Defying me 'til the very end, huh? But I'll forgive you. Some things are beautiful exactly because they are unobtainable."—Archer

Chapter One—Attack at Nightfall “This sun is baking my skin,” Shiro complained.

Debaku said nothing. The two adventurers were lying down atop a rocky dune overlooking the river and Ghogha Prison. There wasn’t a lot of movement, but what movement Shiro could see, he knew were patrols. There were walls, a large gate and sandstone structures that looked to be a thousand years old, built into the face of the mountain . The road ran directly against the prison wall. To keep climbers out, the wall was lined with razor sharp metal spikes, and the patrolling guards patrolled atop them regularly. “This will be difficult,” Shiro said. Then after a moment he added, “Why could you not have known Jessamine was a jinni before all this?” Again, Debaku said nothing. Shiro sighed in impatience. I do not like that he doesn’t answer me, he thought. But after a time the Black Cobra finally spoke. “It is likely that your sword skills are better than they ever were, Shiro.” Shiro glanced at him. “What do you mean?” “I believe Jessamine is lost,” he said. “She cannot find her way back to her place in the other world. She lost way when she saved your life—when she sent you her magicks. Now you have more of her power than you ever did.” “I do not feel like it.”

That part about being lost frightened Shiro. It was one thing to be dead, but to be lost in a void, never to return was the epitome of the hells. “When we go in,” Debaku said, “we will not hold back. We will rescue your friend and then we will return to Darshuun.” “You will come to Darshuun with me?” Debaku nodded. It had only been a few days prior when he had dueled Shiro in the wet alley during the storm, took the lamp—though he had not known what it was at the time. After finding out, he had a change of heart. At least, that was what Shiro understood. And he had only done it because of his own relationship to a jinni in the past named Archaemenes, of which he was lost to Debaku. With this man on his side, Shiro’s confidence rose. He was a top-tier adventurer, famed with the moniker of the Black Cobra of Mar’a Thul. His blood began to boil as an inner rage took him. He felt… excited, ready to cut down a dozen men if need be to get Ali back. The Abassir had shown himself to be a true friend, and so Shiro would also be a true friend to the man in return. I just hope they haven’t started torturing him. “What are you thinking, Shiro?” Glancing into those blue-grey snake eyes unnerved Shiro. But he was beginning to get used to it. The change had been in part due to his jinni’s special powers. “I am worried for my friend.” Debaku nodded. “We will attack the prison at nightfall.” “Do we have a plan?”

There was a pause between them. “Attack the prison at nightfall.” Shiro almost started laughing. That was no plan. Debaku was much the same as he was. The simpler, the better. Shiro was no strategist—he was a samurai, an isekai brought into these lands for some strange reason by an unknown individual. He needed to find out why, find out if he could get back home. But so far, troubles kept getting in his way. Ali would be furious about their “plan.” “What are you talking about?” he would say with an impatient gesture. “That is no plan! This is my life we’re talking about, man!” “This sun is killing me.” “You should wear your turban.” “It makes me hot.” “Better to be hot, Shiro, than to be thirsty and sun cooked.” He nodded, grabbing his turban out of his pack. He had actually taken it from one of the dead men on the road when Debaku had rescued him. After a time of silence, and a particularly annoying fly that would not go away, Shiro said, “We attack at nightfall?” “Mmmhmm.”

Chapter Two—From the Hills

He had lost is katana. Still regretting it, even now, Shiro followed Debaku thought the dark night out of the sandy hills and into the grassy turfs under the trees. Still in the foothills, Ghogha Prison lay just beyond. Within the walls, Shiro could see the guards in their black pantaloons and red sashes. They patrolled with lamps, and in the yard they were roasting a goat on a spit over a crackling fire, laughing, dueling for fun, and going about their other routines. Debaku trudged forward down the hills in plain sight. The guards on the walls hadn’t spotted him yet. “Debaku!” Shiro hissed. “What are you doing?” Turning, he glanced at Shiro with a perplexed look. “It is nightfall. We attack.” “But… like this?” He nodded firmly, raised his face covering and ran to a palm tree on the edge of the cliff side. Where the prison structures met the mountains, there were new walls. But a large portion did not form into the mountain, and there was a narrow gap between the grassy hill and the prison wall. Debaku unsheathed his scimitar and slashed the base of the palm tree. Shiro cocked his head, realizing that his slash had almost severed the tree completely, but fell short somewhat. Shiro quickly saw that this was to Dabaku’s advantage, as the fibers would keep the tree intact but not so much so as to make it hard to manipulate to his own ends. Debaku pushed on the tree and it cracked and groaned. When it fell over the green leafy fronts crashed into the path atop the wall. This is why he is famous, Shiro thought. I could not have—

Shiro was distracted when the guard closest to Debaku turned and started screaming. “Take up your swords! Attackers! Attackers!” He raised his bow and loosed an arrow at the Black Cobra of Mar’a Thul. The top-tier adventurer raised his scimitar and deflected the projectile easily, then he cut open the guard from shoulder to hip in one solid slash. The man screamed and fell off the wall. Shiro lunged forward across the palm tree, almost losing his balance as he followed Debaku. Once he was atop the wall, he ran toward the tower near the gate. An arrow came at him, but he turned his shoulders and the shaft missed. As the men in the yard yelled, their weapons in their hands, the warning bells started tolling. Shiro climbed the ladder up the tower—it was a short climb—and when he got to the top, the guard tried to split his skull with his scimitar, but the samurai blocked the blow with his own blade. Then Shiro dropped his sword and grabbed the guard by the front of his tunic and pulled him over the side. He screamed, falling past Shiro and landing heavily on the wall. Shiro climbed into the tower and picked up the bow that was left behind. He knocked an arrow and shot it at the men in the courtyard, but he missed. As he distracted them, the Black Cobra jumped off the wall onto a veranda, then from there onto the ground. The men barked out orders for him to surrender, and even one man laughed as he twirled his blade from side to side. They went in for the kill, but Debaku parried, slashed, dodged and slashed again, taking out two of the guards. There were four more, two of them with pikes. After seeing their allies die, they fought feverishly to keep their attacker at bay. Shiro took up his own scimitar and slid down the ladder to the courtyard. Coming up behind the two guards with pikes, he slashed one across the back. He

screamed and as the other turned to face Shiro, he cut the man down with a slash across the face, his blood spraying onto the dry ground. The last two men screamed and ran. Shiro and Debaku cornered them and they dropped their weapons. “Wait!” one pleaded Then the other put his hands together in supplication. “We surrender.” “Do not kill us! We can assist you.” “How?” Debaku asked. “The keys,” Shiro added. “Can you give us the keys? We are looking for a prisoner.” “We can do better,” the guard with the well-trimmed beard said. “There are only a few men left in the cell blocks. We can take you to whomever you want. Just tell us who he is!” Shiro glanced toward Debaku who had who looked his way. This was easier than I thought it would be. “The man we want is a well-dressed goat lover with a hooked nose and a beard like yours,” Shiro began to explain. “He would have been brought the prison last night, or just before that,” Debaku said. “Mm,” Shiro noised with a nod. “Is he here?”

Chapter Three—Ride Fast “What do you mean he’s not here?!” Shiro yelled. He slammed his scimitar across the top of a wooden table, the heavy—and sharp—blade cutting completely through.

The guard yelped. “I am sorry!” He sunk to his knees. “Please don’t kill me.” “Tell us where you have taken Ali al Bashur,” Debaku said calmly. “If you do so, we will let you live.” The other guard nodded vigorously. “They have taken him from here. In a wagon!” “Where?” Shiro demanded. The other guards that had been in the cell blocks during the attach had surrendered quickly. To keep them out of the way, Shiro and Debaku had locked them in the cells. “Your friend Ali is being transported to Kosskal,” the man said. He scratched his face. He knew they would let them live if they assisted them, and so his fear seemed to have gone out of him. “But you must know, this prison… this is not a true prison. They will—“ “Torture him there,” Debaku finished for him. The guard nodded. “Yes. Gohgha prison is a temporary prison used to house criminals from Darshuun for a short time before they are moved.” “Can we catch them?” Shiro asked. “Yes,” the guard said, nodding. “Come.” He took them into the istrative building. Within the drawers he riffled for something. After moment he took out a map and laid it over the table. “It hasn’t been long since he was moved. Maybe… two hours ago?”

“Two hours?” Shiro repeated in surprised. We have only just missed him. “Yes. They went along this route around the mountains.” He pointed at the map. “Do you see?” “Yes.” “If you take these paths over the mountains, you can lead them off before they make it to Kosskal in the mountains above Darshuun.” “It’s not that far from the city,” Shiro said. “Why did you not take him there in the first place?” The guard shrugged. “I am just a guard here at this prison. I do not make the orders.” “Fine,” Shiro said. “Do you have camels?” “We have better,” the guard said. “We have horses. They will take you over the mountain trails much faster. They’re not rough trails.” Shiro nodded. “Then it is time for us to go.” “Then, my good masters, let me take you to the horses.” They saddled the animals quickly. Before leaving however, Shiro moved the two guards into the cells and locked the doors behind them. He then left the keys in the corridor. Once someone came along, and that would happen before long, then he could let the guards out of their cells. Shiro had no want to kill them. He did not kill wantonly. But when he had to kill, he had little remorse afterward. Before taking his horse—a dark brown animal with a white spot on its head—he went back into the istrative building and took the map. Just in case, he thought.

But before mounting, he went to the gate and opened it. As he approached Debaku on his horse, he stopped and sliced a thick piece of well-cooked meat off of the roasting goat, then ripped the meat in half, giving one half to Debaku. The Black Cobra nodded. “My thanks, Shiro.” He took a bite, the oils from the meat covering his fingers and lips. “It is good.” Shiro bit down on his hunk of meat and then mounted his horse. Chewing, he nodded, then kicked his horse and galloped out through the prison gates with the Black Cobra of Mar’a Thul at his side.

Chapter Four—Caravan

They had lost the trial for a time. “We should have brought that guard with us,” Shiro said. “There was another horse in the stable. We could have led him.” “Perhaps,” Debaku added in agreement. “Wait,” Shiro said, and pointed. “There it is!” The trail was unmistakable. Once they had found it again, Shiro thought that losing it a second time would be all but impossible through the fields of green grass and the palm trees. They came to the top of a rise and found the road. Looking down upon it, Shiro said. “We do not know if they ed by this way already. Do we wait?” “I do not believe they have come this far, Shiro.” He nodded, glancing out at the dark horizon. It was the middle of the night. All was quiet except for the breeze and the crickets. “We will spot them easily with their torches.” “Yes.” “Let’s get lower.” Shiro lead the way down a series of switchbacks onto a small ridge above the road. He dismounted his horse and tethered the animal to a rock so it wouldn’t walk away. Then he sat in the grass, the road up ahead easily visible from where he sat. “How did you get so powerful?” Shiro asked. Debaku looked at him. In this darkness, Shiro couldn’t make out his eerie snake eyes. That was a good thing. “Many things,” Debaku said. “I was not very powerful before I found

Archaemenes. Once I did, and I had learned to use his gifts, I was able to learn and train further than I ever could before.” Shiro nodded. “If Jessamine should find her way back,” he said, “then I have no doubt that you will find a similar path, Shiro.” Then he grinned. “You get in enough trouble to need it, I think.” “I do not look for it,” Shiro said. “It finds me.” “Do you know why?” “I am not of these lands.” “Yes, I know.” “I am an isekai.” “An… isekai?” he asked, not knowing the meaning of the word. “I visitor from another world.” Debaku looked up into the sky at the bright stars. “No,” he said. “This is not possible, is it?” Shiro looked up. “Not from there, I think.” “Then where?” “I come from a place called Mikuma,” he said. “I believe it is on this world, because we have similar races that I have seen here.” “Abassir?” “No,” Shiro said. “Cat eye. Fushi, and others.” “Ah,” Debaku said. “I see. Do you also—“ He sat up straighter, his eyes going from Shiro in the dark to the road behind him.

Shiro turned, saw the lights from the torchers. It was the prisoner caravan. It was here, coming this way. But it was still too far to hear the clopping of the horse’s hooves or the rattling of the wagon. They waited. “What is the plan?” Shiro asked. Debaku turned his head slowly. “We attack the prison caravan when they least expect it.” Nodding, he smiled to himself. They had made an excellent team back at Ghogha Prison. And the way he had attacked the first caravan that Shiro had been a part of, they should have no trouble with his one. Leaning low against the grass, the sounds of the wagon neared. It rattled and the horses moved slowly as the guards—kami-sama, there are a lot of them— patrolled ahead of the wagon and behind. There were at least twenty men. “They must have caught on to the fact that we killed everyone in the other caravan,” Debaku whispered. Shiro glanced from Debaku back toward the approaching group of prison guards, soldiers and of course, the wagon. There were two of them. “Good,” Shiro said. “I want to kill more.” “Why?” He growled quietly. “I want Darius to know I am coming.” “I see,” Debaku said. “We have a saying in my lands.” “Tell me later,” Shiro said. “We have a man to free.” “Right.”

Debhaku got up, and keeping low, he scampered off higher up the road. To Shiro it was clear that the Black Cobra would attack the front of the group. And if he attacked them there, then Shiro would attack from the flank.

Chapter Five—Crossed Scimitars

There was a commotion up ahead, but Shiro couldn’t make out what was happing because of the outcropping of mountain rocks and the bend up ahead, but he knew Debaku had revealed himself. Suddenly a battle horn was blown three times in quick succession. From where he was standing, Shiro could see every man in the group tense up and as they readied their weapons, glancing about for signs of attackers. But none came, because Shiro didn’t move. The men around the wagons held their positions. And then the horn blew three more times. The man on the horse in the back uttered some orders and six men trailed him to the front of the caravan. That’s when Shiro revealed himself from his hiding place in the rocks. “There’s one!” a guard said, pointing, and four men rushed forward to meet him. Shiro lunged forward and at the last second he changed trajectory and killed the man on the right, weaved between the group and then slashed another from behind on shoulder. Best to separate them and attack one at a time! He ran up the road, taking one man at a time as he was pursued. “Shiro?” a man called. “SHIRO!” He cut another man down, glanced at Ali in the caged wagon and then ducked behind the first wagon as a guard shot an arrow his way. It missed and went into the cage, the prisoners there squawking like hens trying to get away from a fox that had entered the coup. Shiro reached down and grabbed a rock. When he came back up, a guard lunged

at him with his pike, but back-stepped and threw the rock in his face. It hit the pikeman in the eye and he dropped his pole arm and smothered himself in his own hands. Shiro then cut him down, crouching low and narrowly missing another arrow shaft. He needed to take that man down. “STOP HIM!” a guard shouted. “KILL HIM NOW!” Running in a circle around the two men, he charged the man with the bow. His eyes widened and he dropped the weapon, but before he could bring up his scimitar to defend himself, Shiro had already cut him down in a spray of blood. Their numbers were visibly thinning now. Shiro whirled around to take care of the two men he had circumnavigated and cut each one down in turn. As he glanced ahead, half a dozen of the guards and soldiers were running from the front of the caravan where Debaku’s blade flashed and into the lower hills. Another guard came forward--a huge man with a massive sword came at him, screamed as he sliced through the air with his scimitar. Shiro dodged the attack. He returned the favor and was surprised when the big man parried his attack. Shiro had to break off when another guard came running in, slashing at him with his sword, screaming with each swing. Shiro jumped back, their swords flashing in the night amidst the firelight from the torches ensconced in the wagons. Another guard came up behind Shiro. He was getting overwhelmed as all three of them closed in, swords flashing with deadly blows. He dodged them, parried and jumped to the side. They closed in and Shiro ran ten paces, whirled and met the blade of the large guard, his turban askew on his head. Shiro wasn’t accustomed to fighting with a scimitar. They were larger blades that were used in chopping strikes rather than quick slashes. Knowing he should have devoted more time to these swords, he continually tried to get in close to his enemy’s for a quick deadly slash, but his sword, heavy as it

was, slowed him down. When he came in close to the big guard his slash against the man’s chest didn’t penetrate his rough leather vest. Blinking, Shiro stumbled back as pain from the man’s head bash enveloped the front of his skull. Shiro was faster now. These guards should have been a simple thing, but the combination of fighting with a scimitar and the elite aspect of these soldiers negated those effects. At least, that was what he thought. Changing his approach, Shiro stopped attempting to get in close. He backstepped several times, all three men closing. Glancing behind, more were coming to assist them. Shiro would be surrounded in moments. Needing to take the fight to the guards, he rushed forward suddenly, surprising the man on his right. Coming in with arcing slices, he parried the man’s blade and then cut his hand off. He cried out and clutched at his spurting stump. Shiro didn’t even blink as the other two guards, distracted by their falling comrade stopped pursuing him. As the big guard glanced up at him, Shiro kicked the dirt, putting rocks and grit into his opponent’s face. He growled, stepped back as Shiro exchanged sword flashes with the third guard. Coming in close, as was his style, he eschewed using his scimitar and elbowed the guard in the face. As he stumbled back from the blow, Shiro finished him with a powerful sword strike across the shoulder. The big one bellowed as he swung his scimitar at Shiro. He stepped to the side, turned and slashed the big guard in the back. He cried out, reaching for the wound and ran forward to his other two comrades. They all looked on at Shiro, holding his scimitar forward with the hilt held low in his hands, the blade dripping with viscous blood. Shiro did not advance. Instead he looked on with solid intent to kill these three men. They backed away and ran, leaving the road altogether.

Glancing about, and finding now one else to fight, he lowered his guard. “Shiro!” Shiro glanced over at his friend in the wagon. “Ali,” he said. “Are you all right?” When he went to the door, he tried to open it, but of course there was a heavy lock. Ali laughed. “I’m going to Kosskal to be tortured and probably executed by the sultan’s men. But other than that, I am wonderful.” He glanced down and pointed at a dead guard with an emphatic finger. “Get the keys, quick!” Shiro unlocked the cage. Ali climbed out, jumped into the road and immediately bent down to pick up a sword. “Now I feel much better with cold steel in my hands. Shiro, it is good to see you.” He came close and embraced Shiro with one arm. “Hey!” one the prisoners from the other wagon called. “Hey! Get us out of here!” “Yes! We can help you!” Shiro and Ali both went to the other wagon. “What are your crimes?” Shiro asked. “Well, I am a thief, and Yon here is said to be a spy. They’re going to torture us. Let us out!” Shiro nodded and unlocked the cage. The two men quickly picked up weapons. “Thank you, stranger. We are going now.” “Then go!” Ali said. “Don’t wait around to be captured again, you fools.” One of the men laughed and they set out as a pair. Ali then glanced to the side, his eyes widening and his mouth hung open. “Is that…?” “Yes. The Black Cobra of Mar’a Thul,” Shiro said.

“And he’s…? He’s…?” “I am with Shiro,” he said clearly. “We have come to rescue you.” Ali looked at Shiro, shock on his face. “It is a long story,” Shiro said. “You must tell it,” Ali demanded. “Actually,” Shiro said, “It is not long, but I will tell you later. For now, we must get to safety.” Ali nodded vigorously as he glanced between Shiro and Debaku. “I wholeheartedly agree, my friend.” They left the road, heading for the hills in the quiet night.

Chapter Six—Campfire Plans

They had travelled for a time—several hours at least, before deciding to make camp next to a small stream. The area was particularly hilly with green grass and small farms. Though they were far enough from any houses not to be seen where they were, nestled in a hollow of hills within a cops of palm trees. “Where did your new friend go?” Ali asked. Shiro glanced about, realizing Debaku was no longer with them. He shrugged, knowing the man would return soon. “I am starving,” Ali said. “I’m hungry too.” Shiro went to the pile of sticks they had gathered and began to cut the bark off of one. “Gods,” Ali said. “What am I going to do now?” Shiro looked at him. “My house,” he said. “It’s probably already been confiscated. I’ve been put in the record as an enemy of the empire!” Shiro looked at him doubtfully. “How do you know? Did you give them your name?” “Well no, but… they’ve seen my face.” Shiro shrugged. “You are one face among many.” Ali made a noise of disagreement, but he said no more. Shiro finished peeling the bark off the stick, then he used the tip of his scimitar to dig a small hole into the end. Taking another stick that he had cut the bark off of, he put it into the hole and began to turn the stick quickly.

The palm fibers nestled around the friction soon began to smoke and then caught sparks. Shiro blew on them and a flame appeared. He then nestled it under the small moundof sticks they had set up. “Oh, good!” Ali said, rubbing his hands together. The fire crackled and the flames provided warmth. They had plenty of wood lying about to keep it burning all night. “Now we just need something to cook.” Shiro thought he was fast enough right now to catch fish with his bare hands, but in this darkness he would never see them. He nodded. “Things may not be as bad for you as you think,” Shiro said. “But if they are… Thank you.” Ali looked at him oddly. “For going to Faridoon’s manor with me,” he said in way of explanation. “You tried to help me.” “A lot of good it did. What happened there anyway? How did the sultan’s men arrive? How did they know?” Shiro shook his head. “He has a link with Jessamine. I don’t know how, but he found out where the lamp was. And he came to get it.” “And… did he?” Shiro nodded. Ali shrugged. “At least we know where the lamp is.” “I am going to kill him.” “Ah,” Ali said, nodding. “But one step at a time, Shiro.” He laughed nervously.

“We have only just escaped.” “What about you?” Shiro asked. “If the sultan’s men know who you are, will you lose everything?” Ali smirked. “Of course not! What, do you think I am stupid?” “No.” Ali laughed. “My manor might be in Darshuun, but I have most of my wealth scattered, hidden. The manor isn’t even in my name. It’s in Hafza’s, but…” “But what?” He shrugged. “I just hope she isn’t implicated somehow. Perhaps she can act innocent and heartbroken at my ‘betrayal.’” He laughed again. “At least she can keep the manor. We can sell it. We’ll be fine.” “You may have to leave Darshuun.” “Ah,” he said, raising an enthusiastic finger. “But only if you don’t kill the sultan.” Shiro nodded. “Say, Shiro. How do you plan to do that anyway?” “I do not know.” “Hmm,” he noised thoughtfully. Then, distracting himself, Ali asked, “Where is that Black Cobra?” “My name,” he said, stepping out of the darkness, “is Debaku.” He was holding two pheasants. “You may call me as such, Ali al Bashur.” Ali’s eyes brightened as they landed on the birds. “My lord Debaku,” he said. “I’ll call you anything you wish if I get to fill my stomach tonight.” Debaku said nothing as he lay the birds down. Shiro didn’t wait. He took one and began to pluck the feathers out. Ali was no

stranger to doing his own work and chores. He took the other bird and did the same. Soon both birds were plucked and slaughtered. They washed the meat of the excess blood in the river and then spitted them over the fire by way of the sharp sticks Debaku had carved. “It needs salt,” Ali said as he devoured half of one of the birds. “But even so, I have never had such tasty meat.” Shiro nodded, the oils from the meat covering his hands. He didn’t care. The river was there and they could wash easily afterward. “Now, Master Debaku,” Ali continued. “You must tell me how you and Shiro have gone from enemies to allies in such a short about of time, eh?” Debaku glanced at Ali. Then his eyes came back to Shiro. “Your friend talks a lot.” Shiro couldn’t help but smile. “We all have our strengths. And our weakness.” “Ha!” Ali scoffed. “Talking is not a weakness. I can talk my way into anything.” He laughed. “I can probably talk my way into the Sultan’s Palace!” Shiro looked at him then. That’s not a bad idea, he thought. Ali seemed to catch on. “Nononono!” he said emphatically, shaking his head. “I am not doing that.” “But you said you could,” Shiro said. “They do not know your face. You could be anyone.” “Hmm,” Ali noised skeptically. “Anyway,” Shiro said. “We must go back to the city.” “The sultan’s men are not after me,” Debaku said. “I can do any tasks that need done where either of you should not go.”

Shiro nodded. “We can get our bearings and then decide what to do.” “All right, all right,” Ali said. “This is a good plan, Shiro. You are learning, eh?” “We will see,” he said.

Chapter Seven—Silence and Thrills

Darius al Hassarani stared at the lamp in his lap. The metal was cold. There were no stirrings that he could detect. I do not understand this, he thought. I felt your presence just days ago. And now… Now there was nothing. “Speak to me!” he hissed. “I command you!” Nothing. With a heavy sigh, he got up from the cushioned bench. He was within one of his many vaults. This one was smaller than most, designed to hold very few items. He put the lamp back on the pedestal and opened the door into the drawing room. The furnishings and wall designs were sumptuous, with intricately carved arches, bevels and points. The paintings on the walls were not only floral, but embossed into the stones. Heavy curtains lined the openings. Even in a heavy rain, they kept out any water. On either side of his vault were two of his Scorpion Guards. Darius had no fears that anyone—even that Shiro character and his Abassir ally —could climb up here. First they would have had to break the vault door, but not before defeating at least ten of his Scorpion Guards. Men stood at station in each of the three entries and another five patrolled the corridors and terraces outside. And why would they even want to take the lamp back? Jessamine was not responding. She was useless. Or dead.

No, he thought. No, this is not what I suspect, surely. BuEven without responding, he knew that she was there. And yet there was nothing now. He left the vault and went to his personal dining room. The breakfast meal had been set out for him and light from a mirrored tunnel above put a bright spot on the middle of the table. Today he had fresh milk, sweet pastries from the ovens, and fruit. He ate ravenously. Even somewhat distraught—privately distraught—at Jessamine’s lack of… presence, he still had the lamp in his possession. She was there. Somewhere. He would continue to search for her. Knowing something was wrong, he suspected she was far too deep within its recesses to allow him to sense her aura. Either that, he thought, or she truly is dead… But how could that be? He had sensed her presence, overwhelmingly so, not days before. What could have happened? Without answers, he felt impatient and twitchy. But Shiro Takeda was his prisoner now. He was on his was to Kosskal where all of his secrets would be cut from him, piece by piece. And the secrets of his friend as well. For the most part, his fortunes had turned out well. But Darius should never have put Jessamine away in that dungeon. It was to punish her then, but now I see my mistake. The sultan was not the only man in the world in possession of a jinni. He would put out a quest for anyone containing knowledge on such matters and have them consult with him. Now that he had finished his meal, it was time to check the daily war reports.

His generals and advisors would be waiting for him. It was a new day. An exciting day. Darius was looking forward to the progress he had been making in his war efforts. War itself was not amusing. But the consequences that would rain down upon himself and his empire should he fail… Each day began with new thrills—something an adventurer’s life could never contend with in the slightest.

Chapter Eight—Little Quests

Ali sighed. “This inn is not fit for dogs. Why could we not have gone to the Gakorifa?” “We are trying to lay low,” Shiro said, though he didn’t much care for this establishment either. The beds were dirty and there was dirt in the corners of the room. The servants had dark circles under their eyes and they looked hungry. Shiro signed. “We need to scout and find our bearings and decide what it is we will do next,” Debaku said. Ali looked at him. “I haven’t heard you say so much in a single breath since I laid eyes on you, Mar’a Thulian.” Debaku said nothing. Ali motioned jerkily with his hand. “What? Now you are silent?” “Enough,” Shiro said as he walked between Ali and Debaku. “Let’s not start an argument. Debaku is right.” “Fine.” Getting back into Darshuun had been relatively easy. With their newly acquired horses, divested of the colors of the guard, they were good animals that carried them back to the city where the main roads were being watched by the sultan’s army. Now their faces were covered whenever they were out where they could be seen. Though now, in this establishment, they had no need to conceal themselves unless the servants knocked on the doors. “We should see if my manor has had any visitors,” Ali said. “I would much prefer to be there while we scheme and plot.”

“Should we not wait for a time?” Shiro asked. “Well, yes, but…” “You want to see your wife?” “No,” Ali said. “I sent her away. And besides”—he laughed—“I don’t want to hear her nagging about how she was right.” Shiro almost chuckled, but held himself back. “Do you have any money we can use?” “Of course,” Ali said. “I have coin hidden away all over the place.” “I have coin as well,” Debaku said. “Except I can still withdraw mine from the banks.” “Shiro nodded.” “So what is our plan of action?” Debaku was silent. “The lamp,” Shiro said. “So, you want to break into the royal palace—just the three of us and steal back the lamp? How do we even know it’s in the palace?” Shiro shrugged. “How can we find out?” Feeling an overwhelming sense of the missing member, Shiro wanted more than anything to find the lamp and discover what was wrong with Jessamine, but he had no idea about how to go about that. He was a samurai, not a spy or a statesman or a general. “Maybe we can bribe some of the servants,” he suggested. “A good way to be discovered,” Bebaku said. “Abassir are known for killing disloyal servants.” Shiro nodded. “Let us keep it as an option,” he said. “Ali and I are pretty good at

climbing and sneaking around. We could enter the palace?” Ali gave him a look and let out a lot of air. “Sneaking into a disgraced vizier’s manor on the edge of the river is one thing, Shiro, eh? But the palace—that is a whole other matter.” “Are you saying that you won’t do it?” “Well, no, but—“ “It’s another option,” Debaku said. “I am also very skilled in these matters.” “First,” Ali said, raising a finger, “we should discover whether or not I remain a fugitive. We can use help. I don’t know about my slaves. They may have all been killed.” “Is that something we should hope for?” Debaku asked. Knowing the Black Cobra of Mar’a Thul was once a slave, Shiro moved in to defuse the situation before it started. “Of course not,” he said. “But we should still discover these things. Perhaps you can go to a vizier and find out?” “Yes!” Ali said. “Shai’na can help us.” “Are you sure?” “She did before, no?” Shiro nodded. “She may not want to assist us any more if she finds out the sultan wants your head.” Ali shrugged. “You are right about that. So, I can visit her, see how she reacts. I’ve never considered her to be a particularly good actress. I will know. And besides. I’ve heard some things about her which might put her in a position to want to help us.” “Really?” Shiro asked. “Indeed,” Ali said with a nod. “I think one of her family was killed by the sultan when he took power. I don’t know. It is a rumor at least. Now I am

going to go.” “All right,” Shiro said. “But make sure you are not seen without your face covering.” “And what will you do while I am gone?” “I am too easily recognized,” he said. “I should not leave this room unless it is night.” “All right.” “And you, Debaku?” “You want the lamp back, do you not?” Shiro nodded stoically. “I will scout the palace.” “Wait! Wait!” Ali said. “Are you sure you want to be doing that? What if you are caught?” “I am the Black Cobra. I do not—“ “Ah, yes, yes! All right, all right. Say no more, my friend.” “Are we friends, Abassir?” Debaku stared at Ali, and Ali froze like an animal caught in a hunter’s sights. “Ah,” he said with a nervous laugh. “If you are Shiro’s friend, then you are my friend as well, Black Cobra.” “Very well. Then you must call me by my name. It is Debaku.” Ali nodded and put out his hand. The two men shook. Shiro was surprised that Debaku was as friendly as he was. But then he didn’t know the man well. “All right,” Ali said. “We all have our little quests. You, Debaku, scout the palace. I will visit Shai’na, and you Shiro, you will brood in silence while you wait for us.”

Shiro narrowed his eyes at the Abassir. “Haha! No, no. I am only joking, my friend. Come on!” He waved his hands about. “Lighten the mood, yes? You two are killing me with your dour expressions!”

Chapter Nine—Anxiously Awaiting

Shiro paced back and forth. It had been hours. The sun was already down, though it wasn’t quite dark yet. And they still aren’t back… They were fine, surely? But staying here, in this inn—in this room, he was going stir crazy. Shiro needed to get out or he was going to lose his mind. What made it all worse was that he didn’t have the lamp, didn’t have Jessamine with him. Had she been here now, she would be doing her best to annoy him, either through her flirtations or by some way of harmless deceit. Gods that jinni could be annoying. And yet… He gritted his teeth, stalked across the room to the table where his sword belt was. He strapped it on. Then he got his turban cloth and wrapped it around his head, making certain to cover his face. Leaving the room, he walked down the unadorned sandstone stairs stained by heavy use. The men in the inn drawing room were particularly raucous. Some of them had equally raucous women. They were cheap whores from some establishment, surely. One man had a woman on his lap as he leaned back in his chair. Shiro was surprised it didn’t collapse, but the man certainly spilled a lot of his drink. It reminded him of their time at the Gokorifa. He and Jessamine had been with Ali and his wife Hafza. It had been a good time, but Shiro had drank far too much, even ing out. Never again, he thought.

And if he could trade that for this, he would do it a thousand times over. Stalking quickly though the drawing room, he left the inn and stepped out into the street. It hadn’t rained in some days, and the roads were very dry, the air warm, but the breeze cool. Pedestrians were everywhere, and so were shop sellers under verandas and food vendors with sizzling kebabs and wraps of thin bread and spicy sauces along with all other manner of night foods and drink. Glancing about, he did not know where to go. Perhaps he simply needed to get out. What had happened to vizier Faridoon? Shiro wondered as he walked down the street and made his way toward the river. If the sultan’s men had found the lamp in Faridoon’s house, surely they would have imprisoned him along with Shiro and Ali, and yet Faridoon was nowhere to be seen with either of them. Had they taken him to some other place? It didn’t matter. Not now. Darius had the lamp—had Jessamine while Shiro and Ali were free. For now… All thanks to the Black Cobra of Mar’a Thul. Shiro was still dumbfounded that the man, after taking the lamp, was now helping him to get it back. He was a powerful adventurer. Crossing the street, Shiro glanced about for camels or carriages and crossed. He made his way to a bridge that went over the river. Darshuun had lamps in the streets and so did the bridge, providing light to see by in the more populous city centers. There were people about all over, families, couples, single men, even women alone. The capital truly was the shining jewel of the Abassir Empire.

The waters in the river were a deep blue that hazed into a greenish color near the shallow areas. There were fish and turtles, and Shiro even thought something floating about might have been a crocodile. Leaning over the rail on his forearms, his mind came back to the matter at hand. He wondered how far they would get if he, Ali and Debaku snuck into the palace and stormed the place. Debaku was twice the swordsman he was, and Ali was pretty good with a blade, too. Surely they would be a small force to be reckoned with. Shiro was eager to hear Debaku’s findings after returning. After some amount of time wandering about, thinking and iring the city, Shiro glanced up into the sky and realized the colors had gone from reds and purples to a dark blue, the stars now twinkling. It was late. He needed to go back. The others would return soon, if they were not already waiting for him.

Chapter Ten—An Abassir in the Clear

Shiro stepped through the door back in the room Ali had secured for them in this out of the way inn on the outskirts of Darshuun. Ali was at the table and looked up sharply, his hand going to the hilt of his scimitar. “Oh,” he said. “It’s you.” Shiro nodded. “It’s you!” “Yes?” “Where have you been?” He said, his hands gesturing impatiently. “I have been waiting for over an hour, only to come back here to find you gone. I was worried the guards had come and taken you!” “I am sorry, but I—” “You should be sorry!” he exclaimed, slamming his closed palm onto the table. “I almost went back out to look for you.” “I was losing my mind in here,” Shiro said. “I needed to get some fresh air.” Ali signed heavily and rubbed his face. “Fine.” Unbuckling his sword belt, Shiro sat it on the table. “Did vizier Shai’na help you?” Ali nodded. “Not good news?” “No, no,” he said. “I am just tired, Shiro. So do you vizier Faridoon?” “Of course.”

“He’s dead.” Shiro almost gasped. “I know,” Ali said. “I was surprised to hear it as well. “Apparently when the sultan’s men went into the manor, they didn’t play nicely. That we were spared and thrown into the backs of those wagons was a miracle of the gods, I think.” “And your slaves?” Shiro was glad Debaku was not in the room. He hand sensed a certain tension between him and Ali, more leaning on the side of Ali. Being a slave owner himself, he could be quite harsh in his words concerning such. “No word of a dead cat eye,” he said. “I think Naro survived. But Shurk and Malu are almost certainly dead.” “I am sorry.” Ali made a dismissive sound and waved it off. “I can buy more slaves, Shiro.” It was a cold thing to say, but Shiro didn’t think it his place to say anything about that. He was a foreigner in these lands, an isekai. It was no place of his to medal and attempt to change things. Certainly not when Shiro’s country had its own share of problems—different problems, but just as troublesome in their own ways, and so he only nodded in acknowledgement. Then he said, “Good thing you did not bring Nusah along.” Ali nodded. “So, I think it will be okay to return to the manor,” he said excitedly. “Gods, I can do with a hot meal and a bath, Shiro!”

A sentō would be perfect. But until he had Jessamine back, he wouldn’t indulge in those luxuries. “Listen,” Ali said as if he had heard Shiro’s thoughts, “if we are going to get Jessamine back, we have to go into the palace. There is no way around this. Darius has her—probably locked away and guarded. He is not going to walk out onto the street waving the lamp around, yes?”

Shiro nodded. “I think you are right.” “Well of course I am, my friend.” He touched his temple with his finger. “I am the strategist among us, eh?” Shiro shrugged. “Ha!” They both looked up when someone’s hands grabbed the lintel of the open window. Both men grabbed for their swords as Debaku hauled himself up into a squatting position in the window. “What?!” Ali barked. “Why are you climbing through windows when we have a door?” Debaku let himself down and stood stoically in the room with them. “I have just come from the palace.” “Yes?” Ali asked in annoyance. “That is good!” Shiro moved the topic along, away from Ali’s frustration and into more important matters. “What did you find out?” “Much, Shiro.” “No, no, no!” Ali said. “I refuse to spend another moment in this godsforsaken rat hole of an inn. We are leaving!” Debaku regarded the frustrated Abassir, then his eyes went to Shiro for explanation. “Ali called on Shai’na,” he said. “It seems that he is clear as far as the sultan’s men are aware.” “Yes,” Ali said as he went for the door. “And now it is time to leave.” “We are going to his manor nearer the center of town.” “Is that wise?” Debaku asked. “Well of course it is!” Ali said. “Have you not been listening, man?”

Shiro nodded. It will be fine. “Very well,” Debaku said. “Let us go.” As Ali stepped out of the room he called back, “And we shall, my Mar’a Thulian friend! Now come, my infidel companions!” Debaku and Shiro looked at each other. Debaku said, “Your friend… he has a mouth on him.” Shiro shrugged apologetically. “Along with his wealth, his mouth has gotten bigger.” Debaku shook with half a convulsion of mirth, but the sound of his chuckle didn’t leave his mouth.

Chapter Eleven—Sultan’s Recourse “My sultan,” Kalina said, “please do not throw your things.”

He screamed as he tossed a vase across the chamber. It shattered into a thousand pieces against the wall. “WHY CAN’T I FIND HER!” The head servant, Kalina was in tears. “My lord, if you would just tell me what you mean, I would do all that I could to assist you in this matter.” “I keep searching over and over and the void reveals nothing to me. Is she lost forever?” He didn’t even look at her. In fact, Darius hardly realized she was in the room as he tore things about, screaming and asking rhetorical questions. Rushing up to his guard—who almost flinched but kept his composure—Darius said, “How do you find something that is lost in the void, you fool?!” The guard’s eyes bulged. Darius slammed his palm against the wall, the tiles there cracking. This time the guard did flinch, his arms held up between Darius and his face. “Fool!” he spat and saliva came out of his mouth. He stalked, barefoot to the center of the room and put out his thick arms and screamed. “I need… I need someone to strangle.” No one said anything. “Kalina… KALINA!” “Ye—yes, my sultan?” “Come here!”

It took the pathetic woman ages to cross the chamber and come to him. He almost grabbed her then and there so he could kill her. “I’m thirsty.” She said nothing, only nodded and scampered out to fetch him some wine. Glancing about and breathing heavily, Darius realized the mess he had created for the first time. He had toppled furniture, ripped down curtains and shattered half of the pottery in the room. Most of it was fine pieces, painted and lacquered to perfection. The Handra vase was a gift from the king of Kehlindra. To the hells with all of this. None of it matters. Jessamine, you whore! “WHERE ARE YOU!” Kalina came running back into the room, clearly fearing he had called for her— the little fool. And then like the fool she was, she tripped over a fallen chair and the wine carafe in her hands shattered across the tiled floors. She got up, utterly stunned, her stupid mouth hanging open, her doe eyes wide as saucers. Her chin began to quiver and she started babbling some apology or other. Darius open his mouth in a half snarl and the fool of a girl almost disintegrated into ash right there to be swept away from the breeze coming through the pillars. Mushkah, flanked by Hahkari entered the chamber. He was wearing the robes of his station—that of the highest ranking general of the land. Also on his thighs were high calf sandals. “My lord sultan,” he said, glancing about at the wrecked chamber. Kalina quickly got up and scurried out. Had it not been for Mushkah’s arrival, he’d have grabbed her by the back of the neck.

“What is it!?” The general breathed in deeply. “You have been shut up in these chambers for days. The war effort calls.” “I said what is it, Mushkah!” He straightened. “King Szehsu has been brought to the palace.” Darius glanced about, an idea coming to him. “Here in the palace,” he muttered quietly as he brought a hand to his face. He stroked his chin. “Yes. Here. In the palace.” “My lord?” “Yes, yes!” Darius said. “I will receive the fool on the morning.” The general nodded. “Very good.” He bowed and stepped out of the room. “Hahkari!” The high vizier froze, turned and glanced at the sultan. He was a coward. Darius would have had him sacked ages ago, but he often worked closely with Mushkah. And he is a good , Darius thought. But his cowering made Darius angry. “Come here!” The high vizier stepped forward, his hands clasped together obsequiously. “Yes, my sultan?” “Bring those Hajja sorcerers here.” “To the palace?” He swallowed. “But my lord, they may choose not to—“ “Then have them executed, you fool! I want my Hajja sorcerers here! NOW!” “Yes,” he said, nodding. “Yes, yes of course. I will move immediately and have them brought.”

“Then stop talking and get out!” As he watched the man leave, he sighed heavily. Tomorrow he would deal with King Szehsu. A formality. Even so… Perhaps if he bedded one of his women in the harem—Hells, I’ll bed a dozen! That would calm his anger.

Chapter Twelve—At the al Bashur Manor

Juri was still at work in the manor during the time they had been away. She was the head servant of Ali’s hired staff. Shiro sat in the drawing room as Ali walked in, wearing robes and sandals, his hair still wet from his bathing. “That hot bath,” he said. “I’ve missed that. You should go take one.” “It is late,” Shiro said, feeling tired, and yet he didn’t want to sleep. “Perhaps tomorrow.” Debaku was in the other room, glancing about the house, though Shiro was certain he was listening to every word they spoke. “Juri,” Ali called. She arrived in a moment. “Yes, Master Ali?” “Rouse the cooks and have a meal made. I want a feast worthy of a returning prince laid out for us.” “Of course,” she said, leaving the room. She called the names of several other servants and clapped her hands. “I am as hungry as a roadside beggar!” Shiro nodded. “Hai.” Debaku came into the drawing room. “The palace is well guarded.” “Its fine,” Ali said offhandedly. “We go in, we sneak about until we find the lamp, and then we steal it. Simple.” “Less so than you make it seem.”

Ali shrugged. “Sit down, Debaku,” Shiro said. He gestured to the sofa. “Tell us what you know.” He did as Shiro requested. “The Scorpion Guard is strong. Their numbers are many.” “How many?” Ali asked. “I do not know the exact number. Many.” Ali rolled his eyes. “How dangerous are they?” Debaku seemed to think on that for a moment. “Very,” he said. “I would say a Scorpion Guard member carries a similar level of skill as you, Ali al Bashur.” “Me?” he asked, pointing to his own chest. Debaku nodded. “And uh… how do you know what my level is?” Debaku, the Black Cobra of Mar’a Thul was a top-tier adventurer. If he did not have the ability to gauge the strength of another, he wouldn’t be where he was at today. “I know,” he said simply. “Okay,” Ali said in challenge. “Who is stronger, me, or Shiro.” “Shiro,” he said immediately. “By how much?” “Considerably.” “What?” he said, indignant. “That is not true!” “Do you possess magic, Abassir?”

Ali thought for a moment. “Well no, but—“ “Shiro has a tenuous connection to a very powerful magical source.” “The lamp, you mean?” Shiro asked. Debaku nodded, his bald head glinting in the overhead light cast by the glow stones. “But Jessamine is gone,” Ali said. “How does he still have that connection?” “It is there,” Debaku said. “And I will tell you, Shiro, that you should be searching for Jessamine.” “Searching?” he said, straightening. What did he mean by that? “Magical attenuation,” Debaku said. “Do you think…?” Ali said. “Do you think the sultan did this—to find where the lamp was?” Shiro’s eyes widened. “That’s how he knew to come to vizier Faridoon’s residence!” Debaku nodded. “I don’t know how to do this magical attenuation,” Shiro said. “Can you teach me?” Debaku paused. But then he finally nodded. “I will show you, Shiro.” “What, now?” Ali asked, glancing between them. “Perhaps tomorrow,” Debaku said. “I am tired. And I am hungry. Do your servants make good food?” “Of course!” Ali proclaimed. “I hire very competent cooks! The food in my house is exquisite.”

Having had the food, Shiro could attest to this, but the only meal he had had here was during one evening when they were trying to find Jessamine’s location, before finding out that she had been delivered to vizier Faridoon’s house on the edge of the river. “Let’s eat dinner,” Ali said. “While we eat, we can discuss what to do about Jessamine. You didn’t find out where the lamp was, eh?” Debaku shook his head. Shiro regarded Ali. “What about your wife, Hafza?” “Eh?” “Will you send her word that you are back?” “Oh,” he said as if he had forgotten some bread in the oven. “Yes, yes of course. I should write a letter. Nusah!” The boy came into the room. “Master?” “Pen and paper, boy. Quick. I have a letter to send to Hafza.” Nusah nodded and left the room. “Godsdammit!” “What is wrong?” Debaku asked. “Naro,” he said. “My slave—I mean, my servant hasn’t returned.” “He probably went his own way,” Shiro said. Ali nodded. “Perhaps.” “Call him what he is,” Debaku said, glancing at Ali. “What?” “He is a slave, is he not?”

“Ah, well,” Ali said, “yes he is.” “I do not begrudge you your ownership of another,” Debaku said. “Stop treating me like a child that must be shielded from the world.” Ali nodded. “My apologies.” “I am in your house,” Debaku said. “Do not apologize.” Ali glanced away from Debaku. Shiro chuckled. “What are you laughing at?” Ali asked indignantly. Shiro shrugged.

“Mm!” Ali hummed as he ate. “Juri,” he said. “Tell the servants that this is wonderful.” She smiled. “Of course, Master Ali.” He grabbed the wine and poured himself a glass. Swirling it first, he gulped half of it down. “Shiro, try the wine.” “Oh,” he said. “Fine. But only a sip.” Ali poured him half a glass. He drank, nodded at the sweet fruity flavor of the alcohol. “It is good.” “And you!” Ali said, offering the bottle to Debaku. He poured the Black Cobra a tall glass, almost overflowing. “You can tell I am a man of taste, I see.” “Haha! Like me! Drink, drink!” Debaku tried it. “Very good, he said. And the food. I thank you for your hospitality… my friend.”

Ali’s smile was huge. “Oh, it’s nothing. Enjoy yourself. We should all eat and drink. Then we can talk about the palace defenses—decide what we must do, yes?” Debaku nodded. “Can we do it with just the three of us?” Shiro asked. “I think it would be difficult,” Dabaku said, glancing toward him. “Even with your strength?” He nodded. “Even so, Shiro. There are many Scorpion Guard , and some mages.” “Perhaps we can buy some slaves.” Debaku looked at him. “Expensive,” he said. “You would need good fighters and possibly magickers as well.” Ali looked at his food. “I am rich, but I am not that rich.” Then he brightened. “But!” “What is it?” Shiro asked. “I have friends.” Shiro looked at him. He had never heard talk of “friends” before. “What?” Ali asked with a shrug. “Do not give me that look, Shiro. Do you think you are my only friend? I am an adventurer!” “Sometimes I cannot tell if you are an adventurer or an ex adventurer,” Shiro said. “Your wealth has changed you.” “For the better, I’m sure.” Shiro moved his shoulders in a “more of less” fashion. “Anyway!” Ali said excitedly. “We can call on him for help. He leads a small

group of adventurers. Although… I would say his men are more like ers.” “Can you trust him?” Ali gave him a look. “You know the answer to that question,” he said with a grin. Shiro did know that answer, but if they were willing to help, then they could still be useful. “Tell us more about this… friend of yours,” Debaku said. Clearing his throat, Ali told them.

Chapter Twelve—A Formal ing With narrowed eyes and a feeling of great superiority, Darius al Hassarani sat on his throne, awaiting the entry of king Szehsu.

He was already here in the palace, of course. But much of this stood on ceremony. The nobles had been summoned, the viziers of Darshuun in attendance. Even king Szehsu’s noble court had come. Now they stood, whispering like so many frightened sky sheep in the audience chamber. The room was full, the cool air of the evening streaming in through the diaphanous curtains. Heads glanced about as the gold-embossed doors opened. “King Szehsu of Darfuria!” the herald called and a gong was sounded. Dressed sumptuously in silk robes, hanging gold chains and manicured to perfection with oiled hair, he strode into the chamber. The walk was long at about ten paces between each set of pillars in the outer edges of the room, there being eight sets in all. Darius watched him approach, flanked by his queen Sadika and his entourage. Of course, the king was not dressed finer than Darius himself. In his black silks and a tunic with a low neckline, Darius wore thread of gold interwoven throughout, his leather sandals pressed with gold dust, the toggles on his shirt plated in gold with silver filigree. For the ceremony, he even wore a circlet of gold incrusted with sapphires. A ring adorned each of his fingers, most of them holding heavy gems indicating various offices. After approaching the throne, king Szehsu glanced to his wife, then back to Darius. “Sultan Darius,” he said, lifting his hands. “I proffer you this gift.” It was a small vase of little metal or mineral worth. “It is a priceless heirloom of Darfuria.

Darius put out his hands without getting up from the throne as Szehsu handed him the object. “I hope that this gift may signify the goodwill between Darfuria and the Abassir Empire and our continued harmony and friendship through the years to come.” Darius nodded and set the item aside. These functions are so tiresome, he thought, and yet he enjoyed the superiority of stature that came with them. “I accept your gift,” he said. “And I proclaim to all in my court, that you Szehsu Dasharu, that you will be my satrap within Darfuria. You may rule however you wish, so long as you pay your due tribute and to defend the Abassir Empire whenever I should call.” Szehsu smiled with a nod. It all looked vary mutual. In truth, Szehsu was a bitter enemy, holding out against Hassarani’s forces, making his armies fight for every step of land until they had achieved their goal of holding the mountain es. A part of Hassarani wanted to make an example of Szehsu, but fear had to be mingled with grace and comion—at least within the eyes of the common chaff. “I thank you, my sultan,” Szehsu said, and then got down onto his knees and kissed Darius’ feet. Darius got up from his throne, glancing about his subjects within the chamber. The Darfurians were now, officially and formally his subjects—and the Abassir Empire expanded. Now we will have more warriors to send to the south. “Let the feast begin!” he called, and a gong sounded, followed by hidden trumpets. Suddenly the throne chamber was invaded by a band of harpists, drummers and tambourine players. Everyone glanced about in shock and surprise.

Except for the usual palace goers, who had seen this with each capitulation. Massive trestle tables were hauled in, chairs, settees, sofas and a second host of servants carrying hot dishes cooked to perfection and placed upon silver and gold platters. Within moments the tables were brimming with succulent meats, sweet deserts, fruits and every wine known to the land. Darius almost leaned his head to rest it upon his knuckles, but stopped himself. Where are those Hajja sorcerers? The Abassir Empire must be strong, and for that, it had to annex any territories that could be a threat, and any territories that could benefit the empire in the war. For the empire to be strong, he thought. I—it’s ruler—must be strong. I need Jessamine. The thought rankled. I must be strong… for when our true enemy sures the defenses of the southern empire they must be met with such renewed vigor that they have no choice to be turn tail and sail their ships back across the sea from whence they come.

Chapter Thirteen—Adventurers on the River

Shiro growled, his stomach starting to heave. He hated this rocking. “What is this grumbling, man?” Ali asked. He was lying down, his ankle sitting atop his knee while his head was propped up atop a sack of rice. “Why did you have to choose a boat?” The awning kept most of the sun off of them and the coolness of the river did make travelling this way more bearable as far as the heat was concerning, but damned if Shiro wasn’t going to lose his breakfast. “It is faster,” he said, not opening his eyes. He had a wheat strand hanging out of his mouth. Had it not been for his expensive silks, he’d have looked like a lazy farmer. And Shiro had seen lazy farmers when he had first arrived in these lands, isekaied by some unseen force with no apparent motives whatsoever. It all irked him. He was not rich. He managed the wondrous good luck of finding Jessamine, and surviving the dungeon guardian Akarilion. But she had been taken away from him. Part of him still blamed Debaku, but when Shiro gave it more thought, to the top-tier adventurer, taking the bag away had just been a job. He hadn’t even tried to kill Shiro until he attacked the Black Cobra that final time. What was more, Shiro still didn’t know who brought him here, or why. Nothing had really gone his way in the long run. He took pause for a moment. That is not true, he thought.

I have friends. Nodding to himself, he suddenly needed to bend over the side of the boat and retch his breakfast into the river. Ali chuckled. “Be careful,” he said. “There are crocodiles in these waters. I hear some of them grow to monstrous proportions as well—especially in the south of Kulush.” Shiro wiped his mouth, then unstopped his water skin. Putting some water in his hands, he rinsed his face and mouth. “Then I will kill it and sell its hide,” Shiro said, his throat burning and his voice raspy. Glancing up, these waters did have a greenish cast to them near the banks where the reeds and the lilies were. On the shore, there was white sand and palm trees —a very rich environment for farming. This close to Darshuun, there were mountains and grassy steppes as far as the eye could see. To the south were the jungles where monsters not seen in hundreds of years existed. Far too dangerous for most to traverse. A part of Shiro wanted to see those lands, to explore the lost kingdoms. But not now. Perhaps not ever, he thought. But If I don’t, I may never get the chance again if I leave these lands. Nothing in his life seemed to go the way he planned. But he would continue striving. He sat down next to Ali and glanced about. The boat had a sail. But also six pole bearers that pushed the ship along and kept it away from shallow areas. “I suppose this is not a bad way to travel,” Shiro said. “What?” Ali asked. “That is one of the reasons why I chose this method, Shiro. I do not much like the sores from constant riding.” He chuckled.

“Your friend, Razul,” Shiro said. “How do you know he will be in this place?” Ali turned his head and looked at Shiro. “You and I,” he said, “never bothered. But there is a way to keep your locations known. You send letters, either by courier or by bird to the nearest adventurer’s guild. That guild then publishes an almanac of adventurer locations. It is updated every month.” Shiro looked at him, surprised. “Shiro, do you really not know this?” “I have never heard it before.” “Gods, man, you really are an infidel.” Shiro chuckled. “What does being an infidel to your gods have to do with this?” “Not that kind of infidel, my friend. You are an infidel to the ways of the adventurer.” “I think ignorant is a better word.” “Ha!” Ali scoffed. “I like my word better, eh?” “Did you know that I was not an adventurer in my own lands?” “No?” “No.” “Were you a carpenter?” “Nani?” “Hahaha!” “I was—I am a samurai.” “What is this samurai business?” Shiro glanced off at the waters as he thought about how to explain it for a time.

“Hmm. I would say a samurai is like a soldier.” “A soldier?” Ali asked. “How common, my friend.” “Samurai are soldiers bound to honor, to serve the daimyo of the land.” “What is a die-me-oh?” “Dai-m-yo,” Shiro corrected. “They are like the viziers,” he said, “but more formal. It is a position of the nobility in my lands.” “Ah,” Ali said. “And is there anything special about being a samurai?” “We are not just soldiers,” he said. “It is our life’s calling. It is our noble position.” “Wait!” Ali exclaimed. “You are a noble?” “Hai.” “Gods, man,” Ali said. “I always thought that I was above you in social stature.” Shiro chuckled. Don’t you wish, my friend… “Well,” Ali said in correction, “I am rich!” “Mmm.” “Hahaha!” “So,” Shiro added. “How long will our boat ride be?” “Well, maybe four or five days,” he said, closing his eyes again as he leaned his head over his weaved fingers atop the rice sack. “And then when we reach Darbusa, we saddle up our camels and cross the flatlands. But we must be careful. There are Urutai raiders in these parts.”

“Raiders?” “Oh yes,” he said. “They hate Abassir Imperials. Still bitter about being conquered by Darius.” “Then I will tell them I am paying you to take me through,” Shiro said. “Then they can let me go and kill only you.” Ali looked at him. “You are lightening up, my friend.” He smiled. “I like to see this.” “I am still very troubled, Ali.” “I know. That is why I am here—to help you. Do not worry. We will get Jessamine back.” “And speaking of this,” Shiro said. “I need to do something with Debaku.” “With Debaku?” Ali asked. “Do what? His eyes give me the slithers.” “I think you mean ‘shivers’. Don’t let him hear you say that,” Shiro said. “He may gut you.” “What?” Ali leaned up. “Are you serious, Shiro?” He nodded, completely composed and serious, except for the smile underneath. “Gods,” he said. “I better be careful. Shiro, you know I talk a lot, right?” He nodded. “Mm.” “So… if I start to say something… you know—“ “Stupid?” “Ah, yes. Just stop me, okay?” Shiro nodded. “All right.” With a sigh of relief, Ali went back to sleep and Shiro regarded Debaku on the prow of the ship as he sharpened his scimitar. It looked to be a high quality

weapon, perhaps something he had raided in one of his dungeon crawls. The Mar’a Thulian had said he would help him attenuate. Shiro understood it to be some kind of magical ritual. He would ask Debaku to help him soon. But now did not seem a good time. Debaku was quiet, deep in his own thoughts, it seemed. I do not want to bother him.

Chapter Fourteen—The Hajja Sorcerers

The Scorpion Guard was not actually Darius’ devoted body guard. Only the elite of that elite unit served as his personal protectors. In truth, the Scorpion Guard comprised the most elite portion of his armies. They were highly trained warriors, assassins, tacticians and even mages—some of which fell into the more occult and mysterious sorcerer class. If such a thing could truly even be classified. The palace, an open and breezy structure of domes and turrets, was, in normal circumstances, an easily breathable series of structures with open colonnades and terraces, but with the so many of the Scorpion Guard about, it was a veritable fortress. These Scorpion Guard inside the palace were not the elite warriors of Darius’ army, but rather in inner sanctum of their most skilled warriors—the Scorpion Blades. As Darius personally escorted the six Hajja sorcerers from the Mount Hajjaru temple, he made certain that they would see the veritable army of black guards with him. Wearing their black pantaloons, upturned shoes and tight jackets revealing the bare skin of their shaved chests, the Scorpion Guard and the Scoprion Guard Blades were easily recognizable forces, as Darius had intended them to be. They struck fear into the hearts of the sultan’s enemies. Even the Hajja sorcerers. As he walked ahead of the old lizard men, he thought, Surely they could kill a great deal of my guard, but not all of them. They would eventually fall.

Sorcerers wee typically advanced conjurers of the more arcane arts of divinization, poisons and trickery. Even though they often possessed knowledge of highly destructive magicks. they were not warriors. They came to the upper citadel, often called the Sultan’s Citadel or the Domed Citadel—the personal space of Darius. It was completely open, save for the pillars ing the highest dome of the palace. A settee had been prepared and a brazier of fire and coals. The wind up here was a welcome relief from the summer heat as the sheer blue silk curtains fluttered in the breeze. Scorpion Guard stood at attention, their scimitars, spears and other weapons at the ready. They could be easily seen interspersed between the pillars on the outer edges of the citadel. Darius wanted to make a show of force to these arrogant sorcerers. If they thought he had entered into their domain when he had ed them atop their mountain before—it was clear now that they were within his domain. Walking to the brazier in the center of the space, Darius removed his coat, revealing his bare back and chest. His purple silk pantaloons shimmered in the light of the fires as he took of his gold-pressed sandals. “You have no doubts as to why I have summoned you here,” he said. “I am in need of your assistance. My jinni has been lost to me.” He lifted the cloth covering the lamp. “There is no stirring of her spirit within.” The lead sorcerer from before—the one that had bitten into his neck—hissed, “Haasssss sheeeee beeeen losssst to the voiiid?” He nodded. “Yes.” Darius knew their visages—that of old men with skin so thin they looked like they might crack and leak their blood until death—was nothing more than a sorcerer’s illusion.

These “men’s” true appearances were that of white lizards with red eyes and tongues. Devil’s spawns if ever Darius saw one. Looking at all of them in turn, he then said, “You will assist me in guiding her back to her domain.” For a long time, none of them said anything. Darius flicked his eyes to his mage in the distance. Kahnassi was a powerful battle mage. If these snake fiends decided not to obey him—or to cause him harm—he would have them destroyed. Finally, the lead sorcerer nodded, saying nothing at all. “Very well,” Darius said. Then feeling somewhat inadequate, and damn the gods for this, he added, “I do not know of the necessary ingredients you require for this ritual. Tell me and I will have them brought forth at once.”

Chapter Fifteen—Jihogakha

Shiro searched about for the proper algae required of him by Debaku, but for the life of the gods, he couldn’t find anything even remotely close to what he had been told to find. Ali regarded him from the docks, waving, but not coming to him as he returned from the inner port. Shiro waved him off, feeling somewhat frustrated. They didn’t have much time to find the plants. The boat had simply stopped to pick up goods and continue on, and now he was running out of time. I must find these plants, he thought. Debaku had promised to assist him in his attempt to find Jessamine. Shiro had no idea how to reach the place inside her lamp. Apparently she had been lost? The thought horrified Shiro. How could this be? Jessamine was suffering in some dark place, lonely and afraid? He had to do something. I have to help her! “Shiro!” Debaku called. He whirled. The Black Cobra of Mar’a Thul stood before him in his white pantaloons and sandals. His jacket revealed most of this smooth chest due to his extremely low neckline. Shiro was dressed much the same, but his jacket was thicker, the material longer, and he wasn’t wearing it now, only a thin tunic, though his neckline wasn’t so low as Debaku’s.

There was something about Debaku—the way he dressed. It was in the Abassir Imperial fashion, and yet there was something altogether different about it. “I have the plants,” he said, raising his hands and revealing the long undulating red leaves with spidery green veins. “Oh,” Shiro said, surprised and relieved both at one. Debaku nodded. “Let us return to the ship. I do not think we have time to do this here.” Shiro nodded and together they strode along the bank of the river under the palm trees as Ali called them back.

Back underway in no time at all, Debaku set to work with the leaves he had gathered. Shiro didn’t even what they were called. Debaku smashed them with a pestle in a mortar bowl. “It looks disgusting,” Ali said, bending over and watching. “It is not meant to be aesthetic to the eye,” Debaku said. “The magic required to attenuate can only break past the mental barrier of the magicker if certain… plains are crossed.” Ali nodded lightly. “And ah… are these leaves ever used for recreational purposes, my friend?” Debaku looked at him. Ali put both hands up into the air. “I only wish to know purely out of an adventurer’s curiosity.” Shiro rolled his eyes. “The Jihogakha leaves can be dangerous,” Debaku said in way of explanation. “I would not suggest you use them. Ever. Unless completely necessary. Shiro’s need is great.”

“So there is a risk?” Debaku said nothing. “I wish to aide you, Shiro,” Debaku said, “and so I will take this risk with you.” He didn’t like that. Shiro did not want put Debaku in a life threatening situation. It felt… Wrong. “Are you certain there is no other way?” he asked. “I would just as well do it alone. Can you tell—“ “I cannot,” Debaku said. “I must assist you. And I am willing to do this thing. As a partial recompense for putting you in this situation in the first place.” Ali shrugged as if to say, “Well, he is correct.” “Very well,” Shiro said. Debaku poured water and alcohol into the mixture. It wasn’t wine, but the distilled alcohol from the north which he found very distasteful. “Drugs and alcohol,” Ali muttered, walking off. “And I thought this trip would be boring.” “We are almost ready,” Debaku said. Then he smelled the concoction, but instead of using his nose, he seemed to suck in hair through his mouth. It was very much like a snake. Eerie. “What if this leaf should affect me badly?” “The leaves will induce a state within you, Shiro,” he said. “To lift you from this, I will use a magical spell that will increase your heart rate. It is necessary. If I find that you need assistance.” “But…” Shiro said. “I thought you would be ing me.” “I will,” Debaku said, glancing at him. “But first you must enter the trance. Then I will follow.” He lifted a small parcel of cloth and revealed some flat river stones containing some runic inscriptions. “The magic I speak of is within these

stones. Once I you, your friend Ali must preside over us, and to use the stones when he feels it necessary.” “What?!” he asked from behind. “You are needed, my Abassir friend.” “I see,” he said, coming back to them. “What should I look for?” “You must lay your hands across our chests and count the beat of our hearts,” he said. “If the beat becomes too fast for an extended time, you must use the stones.” “And how will I know?” “You will watch me first, and I will instruct you.” Ali nodded. Then he pulled up his pantaloons in a gesture of concentration and rubbed his palms together. “Then I am ready as soon as you are,” he said. “Let us begin.” “No,” Debaku said, glancing at the setting sun. “We will begin once the skies have reached the deepest blue. The color of red is not good for attenuation.” Ali looked at him with confusion. Shiro shrugged. They did not know anything of this magical process. My heart is already beating fast, he thought. There was fear there, but there was also anticipation. Jessamine… I am coming for you.

Chapter Sixteen—The Last Piece

With all of the necessary concoctions made, Darius said, “Let’s not waste any time. Let us begin the ritual.” “No!” the lead sorcerer hissed. He still had the visage of an old man, but Darius thought he saw a red glint in his eyes. “Theeerrre issss one piecccee more.” Darius looked at him, feeling impatient, but what was he to do? “Then tell me what it is so I can provide it.” “Ahhh saaacrifiiiice.” “An animal?” “Nooo.” “A human?” Nodding, his eyes definitely had a reddish glint in them. Darius was no stranger to killing. At times, he had killed his own servants and slaves in fits of rage. “Very well,” he said. “Hahkari.” “My sultan?” He didn’t turn to look his high vizier in the eyes. “Bring me one of the slaves.” “No!” the sorcerer hissed. “Nooo slaves.” “Why will a slave not do?” he asked, feeling annoyed. He was starting to wonder if they wanted to make this difficult as part of their design to subtly enact a revenge against him. “The blooood,” he hissed. “Muuust be freee!” Growling, Darius said, “Very well.” He thought for a moment on who he might

have executed. No one came to mind. He did not have time for this indecision. But then one person did come to him. She had been a particular disappointment to him—not doing as he commanded. Not because she was rebellious, but because she was far too weak. Perhaps he should not have had her taken from her home. She was unprepared to be one of his concubines and to live within the harem. His other women did nothing to make the situation better. Darius was also disappointed with them. Perhaps he should punish them all, he thought. But there would be time for that later. For now, she would do—for this ritual. “Bring me Arisa.” There was a moment before his high vizier replied. “My lord,” he said, a note of confusion in his tone. “Do you mean Arisa from your harem?” “Yes!” he snapped. “Do you lack the ability to hear me clearly? I said bring her here, you fool.” Hahkari bowed. “As you wish.”

The harem, if not a harem, would have been a beautiful place. It was situated in a deep courtyard. In the grounds there were fountains and green grasses. Trees provided shade on hot days, and the clean water could be used to splash oneself. But now, in the evening, the courtyards and the apartment windows were adorned with bright lamps and torches, though most of them were doused at this time of early sunset. Also in the courtyard were porticos housing luxurious tents furnished with the most exquisite carpets, cushions and beds.

The concubines didn’t live here, but they could if they wanted, and often they did sleep out in the tents. But their rooms were officially within the apartments overlooking the courtyard. They could go anywhere they wished within the courtyard or the apartments, but they did not have permission by the sultan to leave the secluded harem quarters. Altogether, there were sixty-seven concubines, each one more beautiful than the next. Some of the girls were taken away from the palace after they began to age. If they had pleased the sultan, he furnished them with places to live, as well as giving them their freedom to go about their lives however they wished, but only after he had taken all the pleasure he wanted from them. Some of the girls had not pleased in in the past. Those women still lived here in the apartments. They were informally referred to as the Ones of Displeasure. They often became the servants of the younger women. Kalina, the head servant, was with the women now. She often spent time with them when she was free. Perhaps it was out of a sense of guilt, or was it that she was simply hiding from the sultan’s awareness after his tantrums? Had he killed her, it would not have been the first time he did such a thing. How did I trip like that with the wine? So stupid. She was still shaking from the incident whenever she thought about it. It wasn’t every day Darius al Hassarani became furious, though his ire was easily conjured. Gods, she thought. She needed to get away from the palace. But how does one ask to leave? She did not belong here. She was not a slave. In fact, she was paid quite well. The girls were sleeping now, so Kalina had time to herself. They always slept during the early evening hours so, if called upon by the sultan, they had their strength to give him in the later hours of the night. Kalina had some errands to do, so she should leave, exit the palace and—

“Kalina.” She turned and met the stare of Hahkari, the sultan’s sycophant. “Yes?” she asked. “What is it, lord Hahkari?” He had a long nose and deep-set eyes. His look was one of mischief and lust. Kalina did not like him. The low light right now in the gardens made his eyes look darker—demonic, even. “The sultan wishes to be met with one of his concubines. He specifically asked for Arisa.” “Arisa?” Was that true? He had seemed so dissatisfied with her of late. In fact, so dissatisfied that he had been drawn into one of his angry fits. The poor girl had tried so hard her eyes were swollen for days afterward by the tears she had shed. Kalina swallowed. “At this hour?” she asked. “The sultan never requests his concubines at this time of evening. And I thought he had guests? Those”—she wanted to say something distasteful about them, but quelled that urge with a shiver —“those Hajja sorcerers?” “Yes, well,” Hahkari said in way of an obvious excuse, “we do not question the sultan’s wants and needs, now do we, Kalina? Fetch the girl.” She nodded and trailed off toward the tent where the girl was sleeping. The inner courtyard was a place the sultan never visited. Even though he rarely came to the apartments, this place was the inner sanctum, safe from him. Often times, he would forget which girl he wanted. If they stayed out of his sight, they could hide, sometimes not being called on for weeks or even months. That was an advantage for the girls inside the sultan’s large harem. Approaching Arisa’s tent, Kalina felt a deep guilt. There were other girls inside, sleeping soundly for their late afternoon nap during the part of the day that began to cool off.

Kalina stepped between the girls, and taking Arisa’s arms, she lightly shook the girl. “Arisa? Arisa, it is time to wake.” The girl opened her eyes drowsily. This would not do, she thought. She needed to be awake. She needed to be beautiful. “The sultan requests you.” A look of horror ed through the girl’s eyes—that stare filling Kalina with sorrow. She wanted to let tears run freely down her face, but for Arisa, she had to be strong, had to give her encouragement. The sultan would soon tire of her, she had told the girl. But so far, he had not. “Come, come,” she beckoned the girl as they walked through the gardens. “We must take you to Larrisi so she can make you beautiful.” “That…” Hahkari said, “will not be necessary today, Kalina. Thank you for bringing me the girl. I will take her to the sultan myself.” Kalina took pause. It was very unusual, this behavior. She felt…. What did she feel? Suspicious. With a nod, she said, “Then we better not keep the sultan waiting.” Arisa said nothing. Resigned to her fate of the night, she gave Kalina a quick glance and trailed off with Hahkari with his hand around her upper arm. Kalina watched them go and swallowed, knowing something was amiss. She did not want to get in trouble, but she couldn’t stop herself from quietly following from a distance. As the head servant, she had almost free reign of the palace. From the sultan’s room to the chamber where he kept the lamp—but not inside the vault—she had free access. Kalina would find out what was going on. If only for Arisa’s sake—the poor girl.

Chapter Seventeen—Attenuations

Ali’s eyes were wide. He swallowed visibly and seeing this, it made Shiro’s heart beat even faster with apprehension. “If I don’t survive,” Shiro said, “Thank you for everything.” “What? Stop that,” Ali rebuked. “You talk like you are already dead!” Then with a smile Shiro could see through, he said, “Have fun in your drug-induced alcohol haze, my friend.” Shiro laughed. Debaku was surveying the night horizon. It was blue, just as he said they were waiting for. “It is time,” he said. Then he turned around. He picked up the mortar of smashed Jihogakha, water and alcohol. Bringing it to Shiro’s lips, he tilted it up. The liquid, hot in his throat, was hard for Shiro to swallow. Debaku seemed careful in giving him the correct amount. “Now remove your tunic and lie on your back,” he said. Shiro did as he was instructed, using a rice sac as a cushion for his head. Debaku laid a large hand over his heart and listened. Shiro’s vision was swaying. Or was that the rocking of the boat? No, the stars were turning in circles. He was certainly dizzy, and he felt sick, the concoction spreading warmth in his stomach that radiated outward. He could feel that warmth—and a tingling sensation in his toes and finger tips. Debaku counted Shiro’s heartbeat aloud for several seconds. “If this pace triples,” he said to Ali, then place this stone atop his chest. Do you understand?” “Yes,” Ali said. For once he gave a simple one word answer that was clear and

precise. Shiro appreciated that. “And you must do the same for me,” he added. Shiro wasn’t watching, but he heard Debaku slurp up the rest of the concoction, which was far more than he had given to him. Lying down next to him, Debaku said, “Listen to the sound of my voice, Shiro Takeda.” “Hai,” he said, his voice breathy and heavy. “Tell me what it is you wish to do now.” “I want… I want to find Jessamine.” “And where must you go?” “To the void.” The stars were blurring, circling even faster now. “And what must you do once you are there?” “I must search for Jessamine’s aural tether.” “Will you find it?” “I…” Shiro wasn’t certain that he would, but he knew what he had to say. “Yes… I will find it.” “And so you shall,” Debaku said, then he started muttering something in a strange language Shiro wasn’t familiar with. It sounded like a chant to the gods —probably in Mar’a Thulian. As Debaku uttered the words, the skies whirled about and Shiro found himself in a haze of blackness. All was empty, dark and desolate. Cold even.

Had he been able to see anything, he knew he would be dizzy, but there was nothing to reference other than his disoriented feeling—like a dream.

Darius’ vision swayed back and forth, the visages of the snake men and their red eyes with slits coming into their own. He knew what was to come next. Wincing at the taste of blood in his mouth, he braced himself for— Then the white snake bit him and all went to black. Opening his eyes, he found himself in the void once again. He glanced about, knowing the familiarity of this place. “Whaaaaat dooo you ssssseeeek?” a voice hissed all around him. “I seek…”

Kalina couldn’t control her bodily shaking. Even her chin shook, so hard in fact her teeth started clattering. To keep Hahkari and Darius from hearing her, she clasped her hands over her mouth as she crouched behind a curtain separating the inner sanctum and the outer sanctum. Arisa… She was… They had… Killed her! Slit her throat, drained her blood for some vile concoction of dark sorcery that those monsters had Darius drink. She stood, then fell back down to her knees, her hands slapping against the dark stones under her. Flexing the muscles of her body, even the ones in her mouth,

she stilled, fearful that she would be heard as sandaled footsteps approached. It was Hahkari. If he discovered her… She didn’t move, her palms still shaking wildly against the floor as she lowered herself to the tiles, tears dripping down against the cold tiles as the breeze blew in. It was dark, save for the soft glow of several well-placed glow lamps. Slowly, she crawled to one of the corridors, a corridor only for the fact that there were curtain hung like walls. But those walls were often destroyed by the breeze that blew the diaphanous fabric about. Managing to escape the sultans’ inner sanctum of the upper citadel, she ran, ran to a corridor far from there and slammed her back against the wall and cried silently with her hands over her mouth. She had to leave. She had to leave the palace. Now! Right now! But before she could go, she collapsed over the floor, her body shaking in convulsions as she sobbed uncontrollably. She couldn’t leave.

Chapter Eighteen—In the Dark

It was so dark. So cold. Jessamine had no influence over these territories of the void. Did another? She didn’t know. The void was a magical plain so vast, so endless it couldn’t be comprehended— even by her. As a jinni, she was well aware of her predicament. One of little hope. She knew what she had been doing when she left her territory to search for Shiro’s aural tether. As an isekai, Shiro’s tether was unique. His aura was powerful. Sensing it—ever so slightly, she had followed, thinking she would be able to return to her own territory where her door in and out existed through her lamp. But she had lost her way. In a panic, she had searched for it, before realizing that she had probably ventured further into the void away from where she needed to be. At least she was able to send her magic to the tether she believed was Shiro. But had it been enough? Enough to save his life from that poison? She didn’t know. In the dark she wept. For Shiro. But also for herself.

There were some jinni who had gone mad, lost to the void for ages, only to return as mad spirits—monsters with terrible magic. Would that happen to her? Wandering about the void was too dangerous. There were other spirits here, and her own portion was lost to her. She waited. Waited in the dark. For Shiro to come and find her. She wept. How long had it been? It was impossible to tell here. There was no night and no day. Jessamine could not conjure such a magical reality outside of the root of her lamp. Even if she was to be lost forever, if her only success was that she had saved Shiro’s life, then… Then that will have been enough… She wept. Even here, in this vast darkness, there was light, and yet no source from which the light came. That was the reality of her void. She could not curl in on herself and sleep—remain dormant until someone found her. She was awake, and though she could sleep, her reality was one of a human’s existence—even in the void. A jinni, often referred to as a spirit, had aspects of the spirits, but were not spirits. Even here, Jessamine had a physical form. But in her inability to conjure any sort of magical reality, she could not change her dress. She wore the green dress Shiro had bought her. It did nothing against the coldness of the void as she curled in on herself, like an

infant. She wept.

Shiro panicked for a time as he had no connection to Debaku. But he thought he heard Ali, speaking. It was as if his voice were all around him. “Shiro?” he said, the sound of his tone undulating and muffled—like he was underwater. Calming himself, Shiro glanced about. There was nothing. It was a dark void, though there was some light, it came from nowhere in particular. Shiro did not know how that was possible. “Shiro!” He whirled and found Debaku, his grey-blue snake eyes staring through him. Here, in this dark place, that glance actually comforted him. “Debaku!” he called. Then he paused. “This place is…” “It is the void,” he said. “Many spirits live here, and it is where the jinni reside within their lamps.” Shiro glanced about. Debaku appeared as his normal self, in his black pantaloons, jacket and turban. But there was a bright light in his inner core with short… strings? “This is my aural tether,” Debaku said, gesturing to himself. Then he looked up along the tether that stretched as far as Shiro’s eye could see. “This tether,” he said. “This one is my path back—back to the physical realm of our existence.” Shiro looked up at his tether, finding that it was not a pale whiteness, but rather gold. “Why is… why is mine different?” Debaku studied him.

“There are many mysteries to the void, Shiro, and many mysteries to the beings who occupy it.” He didn’t know what to make of that. “Why are you here, Shiro?” Looking up at Debaku, who was floating, suspended in the nothingness as if he were swimming under water, he said, “I am searching for Jessamine.” The Black Cobra of Mar’a Thul nodded. “And so you must quest out in search of her aural tether, Shiro. Your eyes can be of use, but only if you find her. You must quest outward with your magic—with your mind and your soul.” “I… I can try,” he said, feeling confused. Thinking to himself, he realized that Debaku must have done this dozens of times at least, if not hundreds, in search of the jinni Archaemenes. “Do not distract yourself, Shiro. Search. Search for the one you care about. Find Jessamine.” His voice echoed all around Shiro. “I cannot help you,” he said. “I am here to guide you only.” “Why can you not help me?” “I have no connection to Jessamine,” he said. “Finding her would be like finding a single grain of sand within the sea. “You have a connection to her. You are aurally drawn to her—as she is with you.” Shiro nodded. Closing his eyes, he… quested out, searching for her, trying to… feel for her? “Yes,” Debaku said. “That is the way! Continue! Quest for your connection to Jessamine.” And so the isekai quested.

Chapter Nineteen—Guardian on the River

All was quiet, except for the crickets and the gentle splashing of water as the boat cut through the river. Ali’s knees were beginning to ache, so he repositioned himself so that he sat normally with his legs crossed. Within easy reach were the rune stones Debaku had told him to use when he decided it was time to pull them out of their dream state. Drugs and alcohol, he thought. Is this really magic? Their breathing wasn’t particularly fast now, so he had no need to count their heart beats. But if that changed, he would definitely begin the counting. He swallowed against the lump of apprehension in his throat. Shiro might never return from this. Debaku, however—it was obvious to Ali, that he was much more practiced in these matters. He seemed to be a plant expert, possibly with poisons as well. All this danger, and they hadn’t even tried to get into the Royal Palace yet. Doing that would be far more dangerous than what was happening on the boat. Surely. But Ali could be mistaken. The dangers Shiro faced now were an altogether different sort, nothing like having enemies shoot arrows and swing blades. It was a danger that Shiro couldn’t control. But the Black Cobra was there to guide him. And Ali. I’m here. Here to see him through this, and if things became too clouded, if the hot sands

would burn him up, Ali would bring him out. But that would mean failure for Shiro. The Abassir did not want to make a mistake, and out of thoroughness, pull Shiro out too soon—or too late, resulting in either failure or death. If Shiro was to find Jessamine, there was a fine line in the sand which would lead to success. Swallowing again, his eyes wide, he regarded the two shirtless men, then glanced about the calm river. The moon cast a shimmer of pale light over the waters and the fronds of the palm trees swayed ever so slightly. He wiped his brow. It wasn’t so hot, but Ali felt nervous. And why shouldn’t he? He couldn’t wait until this was over with, until he could ask Shiro what had happened, and whether or not he had accomplished his goal. Ali wanted Shiro to succeed—that’s what all this was for. In a way, he had felt bad for Shiro,, sorry for him. He wondered what he would do should Hafza be lost to him. Surely he would risk his life to get her back. Was Shiro’s relationship with Jessamine even like that? The Abassir thought that it was, despite Shiro never having displayed very many outward signs. And neither had Jessamine. Not really. But perhaps they were in another place. Ali and Hafza, after a secret whirlwind romance, had married. And secret it surely was, or her father would have had his balls cut off and dried out in the sun. Chuckling, he looked down at the two men, realizing that both of them were now breathing faster, Shiro particularly. He got off of his crossed legs and put his palm over Shiro’s heart and began to count the beats. He had no way to compare a normal heartbeat to the speed now, so he had to do his best to count simultaneously on one hand and in his head.

It was difficult and he failed several times. Finally he got it right. I think I have… Shiro’s heart was beating fast, and it was cause for concern, but not yet for alarm. He would withhold placing the rune and wait, wait and watch over them.

Chapter Twenty—Questing in the Dark

Darius moved through the expanse of the void, his aural tether anchored by that of his sorcerers. He couldn’t be lost here. Not unless his tether was cut and he couldn’t find the place from which he entered. But there was little chance of that, especially after the sacrifice they had made. It was all done to strengthen his ability to return. As he moved across the empty expanse, searching for Jessmine, he pushed forth with his magical aura—like a beacon. All was still and quiet and cold. How long had she been lost here? Darius didn’t know. It could not have been before that strange foreigner had taken her from the ancient temple of Mebkubazir. So, after that. The reason doesn’t matter, he thought, only that I find her. It hadn’t been long. Her mind would not be broken—as he had heard of happening before with those trapped within the void. Closing his eyes, he summoned his magicks, magicks imparted to him, not wholly by Jessamine, but surely bolstered by her. With those magicks, he quested out, looking for her, looking for any sign. His entry point had been close to Jessamine’s territory, as the lamp was a portal to the void, even now in his unconscious state in the world of his physical existence.

Shiro was beginning to feel that this was useless. How could he find Jessamine in this darkness, this vast unending void? “Do not lose hope, Shiro. Even now, I hope that one day I may fine

Archaemenes.” “You still haven’t found your friend.” “No,” Debaku said. “And I never will if I stop looking.” “Hmmm.” “Quest, Shiro! Quest outward with your magic!” He did has he was told and closed his eyes, feeling his way about. It was like being under water, searching for a golden trinket in the murk of the night. It was frustrating. Gritting his teeth, he lashed out at the darkness. “Yes!” Debaku said. “Do that. Anything to get her attention. If she senses you— it will be like a beacon in the night, Shiro. Continue!”

There was something in the darkness. Such a faint nothingness, that Darius wasn’t even certain he had sensed anything. But it was there. He had felt it. Spirits rising and his heart beating faster in anticipation, he moved through the void with great speed, moving toward that flicker. He felt it again. Yes, that is something.

“Shiro!” Debaku hissed. Shiro stopped lashing out, glanced behind himself at his tethers. One connected

to Debaku, the other lead up and apparently was his way back to the physical world. “What is it?” “Wait.” Shiro said nothing, but he did glance about the void, looking for whatever had Debaku spooked. And then, as Shiro felt it, Debaku glanced at him with those pale blue snake eyes. “I…” “Yes, Shiro. You felt something.” “Jessamine!” he called. “Jessamine!” “If it is her, she cannot hear you, Shiro.” “Why not?” “The void is vast,” he said. “What you perceive to be sound here is not what you think, and it does not work the way it would in our world. You must quest with your mind—with your heart, and your soul.” “But…” he began, sensing that disturbance. “I can feel it getting closer.” “I can feel this presence,” Debaku said. “If it is Jessamine, she is coming.” “If it is Jessamine?” “The void is vast, but there are other spirits and visitors, though encountering any of the like is extremely unlikely. It must be Jessamine. Your connection to her was our entry into the void. You are special Shiro.” Heart hammering inside his chest, Shiro glanced about wildly as if he expected her to come forth from the darkness. Then he turned to Debaku. “I am sepcial?” “Yes,” Debaku said. “The void encomes all that exists within the other realm. You are not naturally of Abassir. You were brought by magic, and the void senses this. That is why your aura is different than mine.”

That disturbance had an urgency to it, and it was moving toward them fast. This much, Shiro could tell, even though he knew nothing of magic and the void. “She’s almost here!” “Yes.” Debkau smiled, but Shiro thought he saw a flicker of sadness there. Clearly because of his own loss in the past. He said nothing concerning that. “The aura is coming close, Shiro. Tell me, what does it feel like? Does it feel like Jessamine?” “I…” he tried to feel what Debaku was speaking off. Jessamine is… he thought, trying to think of what she “felt” like to him. “She is a curious observer,” he said. “Playful. Jesting and impetuous.” “Hmm,” Debaku noised. “The approaching aura is upon us Shiro,” he said. “But I must warn you, that what you describe is not what I sense from this individual.” And then Shiro realized that this aura coming near at great speed was nothing like what he had just described. This aura was one of malice, of ambition and greed. He had mistaken its haste for Jessamine. Shiro’s eye’s widened. “Ready yourself, Shiro!”

Leaning over the two men, Ali felt their heartbeats—counted them. He was immediately alarmed, as their chests began heaving as their breathing quickened considerably. Are they—?

Do they need me to pull them out?!

Chapter Twenty-One—Magic in the Void

Realizing as he neared the disturbance, Darius found that the two spirits here in the void were not of the jinni, which meant that he had not found Jessamine. And then he came upon them. Darius al Hassarani’s eyes widened. “Who are you?” the black-skinned man asked. The other, the strange foreigner—Shiro!—narrowed his eyes. Without bothering to communicate with them, Darius drew massively on his magical reserves and hurled a pulsing ball of purple magic directly at Shiro that would wipe him from the void and leave his body a mindless husk wherever it lay.

With widening eyes, Shiro flinched. “Shiro! Look out!” Debaku moved in front of him and countered the magical attack with another similar conjuring of magic, though there was a distinct difference to the way they felt. Shiro could tell they were of an even match. Here in the void, he could feel things differently. He didn’t need to see the magic —he felt it, in his mind. The energies collided and burst, a massive shockwave of bright pale light pushing him away. Flipping end over end, he willed himself to stop, and finally he did, his eyes

unable to meet the stranger who had just arrived, since he was barely visible. The shockwave had pushed them apart.

Enraged that his attack had been thwarted by the black, Darius snarled. Who was that Mar’a Thulian to stop him, the sultan of the Abassir Empire! Moving forward at great speed, he summoned more of his magic and hurled it forth in beams of light. Surely Shiro’s ally would not be able to withstand him. And yet, he summoned a shield of energy, protecting himself and Shiro, his beams deflecting off into the void. Darius screamed in frustration. They’re here… looking for her! He would break that barrier and obliterate them! Summoning more magic, the Mar’a Thulian broke off with his defense and came at Darius. He was surprised when the man lunged at him fist-to-fist, his knuckles carrying magical force, giving him the look of a fighter with glowing hands that streaked in the night. Darius could fight in the same manner. As he dodged his attacker’s assaults, his own hands and feet lit up and he lashed out, their fists and feet flashing, coming into with one another. At first Darius had retreated, then he had pushed forward, his knkuckles flying back and forth as he attempted to punch this insolent warrior out of existence.

Shiro watched, eyes wide, unable to assist Debaku or even do something similar. Here in the void, a place utterly unfamiliar to him, he was like a babe placed in an environment he wasn’t used to.

Swallowing hard, all he could do was watch as Debaku, first attacking, was now on the defensive. The speed at which they moved and the streaking magic made them look like angry spirits in a brawling match. Except neither of them was getting hit. Each man, Debaku and the stranger, were evidentially equally matched! Shiro flinched as the two fighters broke apart and then—with a bright flash of surging magic—flung themselves forward. When they collided, it was as if a mountain had burst, the rocks and debris bright flaming fireballs, the center of the explosion so hot, Shiro had to cover his eyes. When he came to, he found that he was far away. As the fight between them raged on, bright flashes and undulating lines of magic cut the sky. “Kuso!” he screamed, cursing his inability to do anything while here in the void. I am out of my depth!

Chapter Twenty-Two—A Distant Echo

Nothing. Silence. That was the void. A complete unending nothingness. Until something sounded, an echo reverberating in the far distance, so faint that it was hardly perceivable—even to a jinni. Jessamine’s eyes snapped open. She uncurled from her fetal-like position and glanced about. Even though the void was technically her home, at least where her own territory was concerned, her reaction was very much a physical one, due to her nature as a jinni—having a physical form unlike a spirit. “What…?” She was aware of the general direction that echo had come from, but having not listened for it in her infinite solitude, she hadn’t been ready to fully take it in. If she chased it down, she could miss its mark, never to find whatever, or whoever, that had been. Please let it be Shiro, she thought, in silent prayer to the unseen gods. But even if it wasn’t Shiro, it could be another—and right now that would be enough. And then another echo reverberated through the nothingness. She was ready for this one. It was clear.

A shockwave of some kind, probably due to a magical battle. “I’m coming!” she exclaimed, and flew through the void at incredible speeds. She was still tired from her expenditure of magical energy. Hopefully that energy had found Shiro, and hopefully it had saved him. More echoes came as she crossed the void, her heart pounding in anticipation. Should she find nothing where these faint disturbances came from, she might be even further lost than she was now. Once discovering that her tether had been broken, evaporated from her place of anchor—from the lamp—she had wandered about in search, panicking. When Jessamine had realized she wouldn’t find her way back, she had stopped, remained still and didn’t move. To prevent herself from wandering too far. The chances that Shiro had found the lamp, and had found a way to enter the void, using the lamp as an anchor point, were not high, but they were higher than some random beings or spirits being here, battling over some unknown reason to her. Shiro! I’m coming! Wait for me!

Chapter Twenty-Two—Runic Stones

Watching Debaku and this stranger do battle in the void… It was like nothing Shiro had ever seen. Was it because they were in the void that they had such power, or was Shiro truly so weak and inconsequential? Staying far enough away that their magic attacks didn’t affect him, but still close enough that he could see their tiny figures dancing in the darkness with tails of flame, Shiro waited. If Debaku was killed, Shiro would be next, surely.

With his hands on their chests, Ali studied the rhythm of their heart beats. His alarm was such that his own heart was beating quickly, his brow dripping with sweat. “Come on, Shiro.” “Hey,” one of the crew said from behind. “Is everything all right—“ “Get away!” Ali snapped. “We told you not to interfere with this.” “All right,” the sailor said then stamped about the deck annoyingly as he picked up some items and went away. Turning back to the unconscious Shiro and Debaku, their chests heaving and their bodies sweating almost as much as his was, Ali wondered if something terrible was happening to them. His eyes flicked to the rune stones atop the mat.

Shiro growled with frustration. There was nothing he could do to help Debaku,

and knowing how alarmed he was, his heart rate must have been pounding right now in the physical world. “Don’t do it, Ali.”

He couldn’t wait any longer. Debaku said if they were lost to the void, their bodies would be nothing more than mindless husks! Ali picked up the rune stones and hefted them in his hands. The sound they made was one of gemstones knocking about one another. He glanced from the rune stones to Debaku and Shiro, then back to the rune stones.

“How much longer can this persist?” Shiro asked to the open void as he watched Debaku and their assailant. Are they slowing? he wondered, thinking that the pauses between the two figures was becoming longer in between bouts of deadly magic wielding. If they were beginning to slow out of a lack of endurance, one of them would tire first, or one of them would make a mistake. A fatal mistake. And then—

Shiro jumped, a single convulsion of surprise, as a new disturbance revealed itself behind him. Turning, he glanced about, seeing nothing. Oh no, he thought. Is this some ally of the man who had attacked them? Shiro would not be able to hold the attacker off, and Debaku was fully occupied

with the first man. How could he— In his sudden distraction and fear, and unfamiliarity with the void, he hadn’t quested out to sense the intensions or nature of the approaching presence. Who or what is this new presence? Shiro’s heart was pounding so hard it hurt his chest. Was that his chest here in the void, or his chest in the physical world? The person became visible as he approached. No. It was a woman. It was Jessamine! He went to her and they both came up short. “Shiro!” “Jessamine!” “You’re alive,” she gasped and went to him. She embraced him then, holding him firmly. Then her eyes went to the battle. “What is happening?” “Debaku is fighting some stranger—I don’t know who he is!” “Debaku?” Then he looked at her, realizing she had no idea what he was talking about. Kami-sama! “I can explain later. But now we must escape!” “You have my lamp?” He stopped. “No.”

“What? Shiro, who has my lamp? Shiro, tell me—who?” “It’s… it’s the sultan.” A look of fear and horror crossed her face, then her glance went from Shiro to the battle. “Then… then that’s him. Yes, I can sense his nature.” “Are you certain?” She closed her green eyes for a moment, then snapped them back open. “Yes, I am certain. Shiro—you can’t let him take me back!” “I won’t! I will rescue you. Even now, we are on a boat to gather more strength so we can sneak into the palace and take the lamp back, either by treachery or by force.” “Shiro—Shiro, you… you must!” “Jessamine!” he said, taking her by the shoulders. “I will get you back. I swear it.” She looked at him, her eyes misting, but also a strong determination in her countenance. “Shiro?” she asked, as a thunderclap of magic echoed toward them. Both of them ignored it. She put her hands on his shoulders and Shiro reached up and embraced hers as well. He smiled with a nod. “I will come for you.” Jessamine smiled. “I know. Shiro, I—“ Suddenly Shiro’s world moved.

He snapped his eyes opened and shouted, his breathing coming fast and ragged and his heart thundering. “Shiro!” Ali exclaimed, “Are you all right?” With wide eyes, Shiro looked around, then he turned his head to Debaku. He too

was breathing heavily, his brow slick with sweat, but he did not seem to be in as ragged a state as Shiro felt. “I’m—I’m all right! Ali!” “What?” “Jessamine! She was there! And so was Darius!” Ali’s eyes widened as his mouth hung open. “What are you waiting for, tell me everything!”

Chapter Twenty-Three—Root of the Lamp

Shiro disappeared from the void—taken from her, back to the physical realm. Jessamine didn’t know how he had done it, or why it had happened at that point, but she smiled, knowing he was safe from Darius. She regarded the empty void with her eyes, waiting for Darius to approach her. The other man with Shiro—she didn’t know who he was, only that he had a familiar presence she couldn’t quite pin from her memory. “Ah, Jessamine,” Darius said, revealing himself as he came to her, his arms and legs outstretched as if he were floating in water. Swallowing, she regarded her bonded one. “Darius.” “It has been some time, has it not?” She said nothing. “What—are you not pleased to see me?” “After you exiled me to Mebkubazir for half a century would you expect me to be pleased?” Darius laughed as if he had only played a small joke on her at her own expense. “You look good, Jessamine. It is wonderful to see you.” “You haven’t aged a day.” “Are you surprised? I am immortal after all.” She signed, sorry she had ever bonded him, giving him such gifts to abuse the world by. “Come. Embrace me.” She didn’t move, so he went to her. Then without warning, he backhanded her.

The hot sting blossomed through her cheek. She touched the affected area. Still, she said nothing. “You whore.” He turned and began to move through the void. “Come,” he said, “or be left here forever to go mad.” “Perhaps that would be best,” she said. “I do not wish you to gain any more of my powers, even if it does mean bringing me back to my territory.” Turning, he laughed. “Vindictive. Jessamine, your precious Shiro will not be able to rescue you if you do not come with me. Do you not want him to kill me so he can take my place?” That was exactly what she wanted. I do want you dead, she thought. But not only for myself, but for Shiro’s protection, and for all those who have suffered and continue to suffer under your evil reign. Come, he conveyed, the word not a request. She went, following Darius as he led her back to her territory, to the root of her lamp, her entrance and exit to and from the void.

“Darius was there?!” Ali asked, his mouth hanging open. “How is this possible?” Shiro shook his head and wiped his brow. He had no idea. “He was looking for her,” Debaku said “I believe that we—you and I, Shiro— attracted Darius to our presence. My battle with him, was like a beacon in the night for your jinni.” Shiro’s eyes widened. “I am glad you are all right, my friend,” Ali said. “Can you stand?” Glancing about, Shiro nodded and took Ali’s hand. Afterward, Shiro helped

Debaku to his feet. “We have to go to the palace,” he said. “We have to rescue Jessamine.” “That is what we are doing,” Ali said. “He knows we’re coming.” Kami-sama! How will we accomplish this task? “We must be well prepared,” Debaku said. “I am strong, and both of you are capable fighters, but what of your friend, Ali?” “Razul?” He made a disgusted sound. “I hate to it it, but he is quite the fighter, and good with magic too. He could take Shiro and I put together. Maybe he can even beat you, my Black Cobra friend.” “Is this one of your boasts?” Shiro asked. “You have a habit of showing off.” “What?” Ali asked, indignant that Shiro would even suggest such a thing. “Of course not! Listen, Razul—I hate the bastard!” “Why?” “Because!” Ali practically screamed. “He’s stronger then I am. He’s better looking. Always gets all the women. Everyone loves him. Gods, I hate him.” “You are married,” Shiro said. “Why do you care who he beds?” “Well,” Ali said, “that was a long time ago. But he’s still loved by everyone, I have no doubts in my mind.” “You’re not bad yourself,” Shiro said. “You are rich and I like you.” Ali shrugged appreciatively. “Thank you.” “If we are done stroking the wounded Abassir’s ego,” Debaku said, “perhaps we can decide what to do next?’

“WHAT?!”

“I am glad you are back,” Darius said, as he guided Jessamine back to her territory. Her aural tether was relinked.

She can now leave the lamp or return as she wishes, Darius thought. The whore—after he had saved her—actually had the gall to look away from him. “Hate me if you must,” he said. “But when Shiro comes to claim you—to take you from me—I will kill him.” “How do you know? Perhaps he will be the one to kill you.” Darius laughed. The very idea was absurd. Though his friend was strong, Shiro himself was pathetic. “If you swear to obey me, I am certain that I can be persuaded to let him live. Think about it.” Then he jumped, like he was pushing himself off a cliff. With his arms spread and his body falling away, he left the void.

Eyes snapping open, Darius breathed heavily. He had been in extreme danger while in the void. That black that Shiro had with him—the man with the snake eyes—was powerful. Will he be equally as powerful outside of the void? Darius did not know, but he needed to find out who that man was. He smiled and sat up, surrounded by robed lizards with heavy hoods and red eyes. Even with the Mar’a Thulian, Shiro could not defeat him. Not now that Jessamine was returned to him.

Chapter Twenty-Four—The Last and the First “You said it would be four or five days! It’s been nine days, Ali!” Shiro said through gritted teeth.

“Hahaha!” Ali whirled as he laughed. “But now we are here! Look, the wonderful port city of Darbusa! We are now on our last leg of this journey, Shiro! Jessamine has been rescued from—what was it, the void? Be happy, my friend!” Growling in his throat, Shiro regarded Darbusa from the dock they were standing on, Debaku at his side. The city was impressive with its tall flat-faced structures, flags of gold and blue and green and tiled roofs of gray tile. Up in the mountains thousands of homes hung like bird nests—those colorful flags fluttering in the wind as they guided people up the stone steps that switch backed through the city. The flags were attached by long cords. Even from here, the road leading to the governor’s palace was wide, and the palace itself large. It was a rich city. Kami-sama. “Yes!” Ali said, taking his forefinger from his temple and stabbing out at Shiro. “I can see it on your face. Even you are impressed, no?” Ali turned and led the way. “I said nothing, because I wanted to surprise you myself!” Shiro glanced toward Debaku, who didn’t seem impressed. He suspected the famed adventurer had been to this city before. Stepping faster to keep pace with Ali, Shiro heaved his bags and followed the over exuberant Abassir off of the docks, whereupon they were stopped by an official wearing a strange hat with hanging bells. He squinted at Shiro with narrow eyes. With him was a small team of attendants.

“Welcome to Darbusa,” he said, his accent, though of the Abassir Empire, was different than that of the lands surrounding Darshuun and the other central territories. “You must pay a toll tax to land at these docks.” “Uh—“ Ali muttered. “What is the tax?” “One Imperial Silver per head.” “What?” Ali barked. “One silver? That’s outrageous!” “And two coppers as well, my Darshuuni visitor.” Ali huffed. “That is far too much. Make it half.” “The tax is non-negotiable.” “Just pay the man, Ali,” Shiro said as he flipped his own silver and coppers out of his money pouch. He didn’t have a lot of money, but he could spare this. “Ah,” the dock man said. “And your name. You must inscribe your name in the books before you pay. Come, come!” They followed the man into an imperial office with hanging flags marking it so. “Now, go to the counter there, sign and pay.” “Bah!” Ali said, waving a hand. “This is thievery. I pay my taxes. Why do I have to pay more to come to another place in the same empire, eh?” Shiro stepped up and he was given a ledger to sign. He wrote another name and paid his head tax. After Ali finished, he went to Shiro. He was waiting near the windows, anticipation filling his stomach. He did not want to say he was enjoying himself, but a part of him was. I am an adventurer. It is what I do. “How did you sign your name? I did not see a Shiro Takeda on that list.”

“Of course not,” he said. “Do I want to make it known that I have been here? Darius knows who I am.” “How is that possible?” Debaku ed them. “There are ways,” he said. “How?” Ali asked, surprised. “It is possible to attenuate the past. Did you not go into his dungeon where you found Jessamine?” Shiro nodded. Ali’s eyes got big and his mouth hung open. “Do you think he knows about me?” “Hmm,” Shiro noised, thinking. “If he knows who I am, he probably knows you as well, Ali.” “But… Then why didn’t he confiscate my property in Darshuun?” “A trap?” Shiro suggested. Ali made a fist. “We need to kill him, Shiro.” With a wry smile, he glanced into the Abassir’s eyes. “No—to save Jessamine, of course,” he said. Then through gritted teeth he added. “And I want my life back.” Shiro put a hand on his shoulder as they walked out. “You will get it, my friend. I promise you. We will save Jessamine and we will all be free men.” “What are you talking about? Debaku here can do whatever he wishes.” “Mm.” “No,” he said. “I have promised Shiro that I would help him, and so I shall.” “My apologies.”

“There is none needed.” “Well then,” Ali said as they made it to the main road. “I suppose we need to gear up and purchase some camels so we can head across the Uratai Steppe. But I warn you, there are all manner of monsters and roaming bands of tribals who would cut us to pieces as soon as lay eyes on us.” “Sounds fun,” Shiro said. “But nothing is going to stop me from reaching your friend.” “Where is he?” Debaku asked. “Ah, somewhere in the Issyka mountains,” Ali said. “There are many dungeons in these places and the khans of these lands wish the monsters to be killed, so some agreements with Darius have been made recently.” “Oh?” Shiro asked. “Ha! He’s probably using this as an excuse to send his spies into those lands so he can conquer them later.” “Like he did Mar’a Thul,” Debaku said. Ali glanced over toward Debaku and nodded. “The empire has been gobbling up countries and empires ever since Darius came to power. He’s old, but when I saw him, he didn’t look aged.” “Mmm,” Debaku noised. “Jinni magic.” “Ah,” Ali said, nodding vigorously. “I am sure you are right, my friend. Now let us find an adventurer’s guild so that we might prepare ourselves—but first, a bathhouse and an inn! I am starving and I reek of sweat!” “Me too,” Shiro said with a nod. They were here, in Darbusa, about to leave the Abassir Empire. On to another adventure.

Chapter Twenty-Five—Frustrations

He would come. Shiro… He would come for the lamp. Darius knew it. He didn’t know when, so he wondered if he should make special preparations for when that time came. The palace, with the Scorpion Guard garrison as well as mages from his army—and now even the Hajja sorcerers—could Shiro find a way to defeat Darius and take the lamp by force? The vault was impossible to penetrate with that many guards. It was guarded day and night, he had made certain of that. And that was when he didn’t have the lamp on his physical person. He sat in the very room in question, on a cushioned bench across from the vault where he kept the lamp. Except the lamp was not there now. No, it was in his hands. The sultan wanted his jinni—wanted Jessamine to make an appearance—to come and speak with him. And so far she hasn’t answered my summons, he thought. It rankles. But perhaps… Yes, that was an excellent idea. Jessamine was selfish, at times, even cruel. But she was no despot—no murderer. Fortunately she couldn’t read his thoughts. He had found ways to shield his mind from her, and even should she try, she could not do that while she was in the void, or as the ignorant would say, “within her lamp.” The lamp was not a world of its own. It was a doorway, into and out of the void, that door belonging to Jessamine specifically. In that area of the void, she had

ultimate power. She would be strong enough there to even defeat Darius should she wished to. That was why a jinni didn’t fear the void when in their own territories. “Hahkari!” he called. His high vizier was not far away. “Yes, my sultan?” he asked as he dry washed his hands and bowed. “Bring me a slave to kill.” Hahkari gave pause for just a moment. He was no stranger to Darius’ moods, but he had never killed a slaved for no reason other than simply wanting to. “Yes, of course. Right away.” Scurrying away, he would return soon with what Darius wanted. He would not kill the slave if he did not have to. Darius would use the slave to threaten Jessamine. Of course, she was a stubborn jinni. She had limits. If he pushed her too far, she would tell him to kill the slave—that the slave’s death was on his hands, not on hers for not complying. He knew her well enough to know this. She was intelligent. And she will not morn the slave or feel a dirtying of her conscience. Darius would push her lightly, just far enough to get her to come out of the lamp and speak with her.

Chapter Twenty-Six—Preparations for the Uratai Steppe

After bathing and eating, Shiro, Ali and Debaku went to the local adventurer’s guild shops to see what they could buy. Now they were all outfitted with cold weather cloaks rimmed with fur on their cuffs and hoods, good leather boots and gloves, cooking pots, dried meats and other foods that could be hydrated with water and easily cooked over camp fires. They had also bought a stout tent that could be erected by three men, and of course, extra provisions in case of emergencies. “Where is Ali?” Shiro asked. “He is out in the yard looking at the camels.” “Oh,” Shiro said, then stepped out to find Ali, of course yelling at the seller and haggling like his life depended on it. “Fine, fine!” he finally said, and dropped the coins into the seller’s hands. He turned and glanced at Shiro. “Ten silvers apiece! Can you believe it?” Shiro nodded. “For a rich man, you haggle hard, Ali.” “Ha!” he scoffed. “The rich don’t stay rich by throwing money around. “When we reach your friend in the mountains, do you think he will ask for help before he will assist us?” “Oh, I am sure,” Ali said. “Why would he not? He’s not going to just drop everything.” Then he shrugged. “But he is crazy, so he might.” “If we help him, we can recoup our losses on this trip.” “Oh,” Ali said, waving a hand. “Almost any loss would be acceptable, Shiro. I’m

sure you agree, yes? You want Jessamine back, I want to help you, and in so doing, get my own life back.” Shiro nodded. “Mm.” He was glad that Ali saw things the same way. “Are we prepared?” Debaku asked, coming up behind them. They both turned. “We have the camels,” Ali said. “Now we need a guide” “A guide?” Shiro asked. “Are you certain?” “Yes, of course,” Ali said. “If we do not have a guide, we could be lost, or go into a hostile tribe’s territory and never be seen again.” “Not likely,” Debaku said. “Should we not be careful?” Shiro shrugged. “We are very capable, Ali.” “Ha!” “Will a guide be expensive?” Shiro asked. Ali shrugged. “Probably not. We will find some local adventurer willing to work for a pittance. Or we could follow a trade caravan, but hells, those are slow.” “Hmm,” Shiro noised. “We do not want to waste time.” “Why not? Jessamine isn’t going anywhere, right?” I hope not. “I do not know. But Darius did put her in a dungeon for half a century, ?” “Oh, right. Hmm. Perhaps we do want to move with haste. No caravan then.”

“Should we not bring extra camels laden with supplies?” “Of course!” Ali said. “That is why I bought five camels. One for each of us, and then two more for our supplies.” Shiro nodded. Then he unsheathed his scimitar. It was dull, and a little bit rusted. “Perhaps some more weapons as well,” Debaku said. “Is that not the same scimitar you picked up off a dead man when I rescued you on the road, Shiro?” He nodded. “It is.” “That is not acceptable,” Ali said. “Here,” he said, taking out his. “Take mine.” “Ali,” Shiro said with a frown. “I cannot take your sword.” “I have another in my pack,” he said with a smile. “I come prepared, my friend.” “Oh,” Shiro said. “All right.” He took the sword offered by Ali with a nod. Then feeling curious, he said, “Ali?” “Yes, what is?” “Your other sword.” He paused dramatically. “Is it that one given to you by Darius himself?” He laughed. “Of course not. I will use that sword when we attack the palace.” He then gave Shiro a wink. “Ah, the irony will be epic.” Unable to help himself, Shiro laughed.

Chapter Twenty-Seven—Journey

The mountains flattened into foothills which eventually tuned into an ambling steppe. The winds were that much colder now that none of them were stopped by the terrain. Shiro and the others had to remove their fur-lined cloaks from their saddle packs and put them on. So far, Shiro had no need for his gloves, but he suspected that would change soon. Glancing off into the distance, he saw cattle herders. Most had sheep, but there were goats as well. Typical animals bred for meat, fur and milk. In the distance, sky sheep flew about as their shepherds corralled them with their red beak birds. So far, there were no monsters, but talk of monsters in the night was not an uncommon thing coming from their guide Subulau, his look of which seemed almost Abassir, but his eyes were more akin to Shiro’s, which surprised him. But upon asking him what lands lie beyond the Uratai Steppe, Shiro got an answer that he had not been expecting. More deserts. Of course. He sighed, thinking of that. His own lands were of a mountainous region near the sea, but not of deserts. That wasn’t to say there were not deserts on the continent from which he came, but the description given to him did not match what he had wanted to hear. Still—perhaps he was getting closer to understanding the geographies of the world. Much of the maps were inaccurate when compared one to another, and most maps didn’t even bother revealing portions of the world. He slowed, glanced about and realized his legs were tired. Shiro thought he had walked a lot in the past, but this was different. Their travel was almost nothing but walking. And more walking. And more walking. The road was hardly visible between the hills of grasses and rocky outcroppings.

It’s little more than a trail, actually. After a time they mounted their camels again. It was best to give the animals a break from carrying riders, and so they spent time walking and time mounted. Though the sheer distance of this journey made the walking seem like an interminable time on one’s feet. Far in the distance where the mountains were shadowed against the lack of visibility, Shiro though he could see snow. “Subulau?” he said. “Yes, what is it? What do you want?” He was a cranky man, frowned a lot and when he spoke, was often short, especially with Shiro. “The mountains,” he said, gesturing forward. “Do they have snow?” “Mmhm,” he noised and said no more. It doesn’t matter, he thought. I have my answer. Shiro hated the cold. His own country had cold winters but they were not particularly harsh. What made them seem harsh was the terrible insulation of Mikuma architecture. The summers were hot and cloying, but with the winds and the storms, the nights were often cool enough to warrant a small fire. Glancing back at Ali who was behind him in their caravan, Shiro called, “How far is this journey?” Ali smiled. “Why do you ask me, my friend? Our guide is there.” “He doesn’t like to talk.” Ali chuckled. “And you do?” Shiro made a dubious noise in his throat. “I don’t not like to talk!” “No, you don’t not like to talk, I suppose. Taciturn is not what I would call you. You are definitely one to use fewer words, though.”

“And you too many,” Debaku called from behind him. Ali made a noise of mild frustration and waved a dismissive hand. “Did you say these lands belong to the Abassir Empire?” Shiro asked. “More or less,” Ali said, pulling his camel forward so that he was side by side with Shiro. “Darius conquered these lands about ten years ago. But I use that word, ‘conquered’ lightly.” “Why?” Ali laughed. “Because there’s a new rebellion in these parts every summer it seems.” “Really? Why is that?” “The Urutai Steppe is vast and hard to control,” Ali said as he motioned with his hand. “Most of the khans are tribal leaders. They are not rich and they hate their livelihoods getting taxed by Darshuun.” Shiro nodded. Who would want some far off central power to demand moneys that probably didn’t even care what happened to you? “That makes sense.” “What?” Ali asked indignantly. “Are you are their side, Shiro?” Shiro glanced at Ali with incredulity. “Aren’t you going to kill the sultan?” Ali shrugged. “Well, yes. But…” “Does Darshuun send soldiers here to protect these peoples?” “Hells, no.” “So I see no reason why these people should pay homage to that distant power, do you? So, the khans, what are they? I have never heard this word used for a leader before.” “They’re like the governors of the tribes and cities in these parts,” Ali said, not bothering to debate with Shiro on the other topic. “They used to be the rulers in these parts, always bickering and squabbling. They still do that, actually, but

under the reign of Darshuun, they are somewhat more united.” Their guide stopped and turned. “We should rest for the midday meal.” Shiro raised an eyebrow. “Should we not eat on the trail?” “It is ten days to the Issyka Mountains,” he growled. “We must rest!” And so they did.

Chapter Twenty-Eight—“Only a matter of time…” “No! NO PLEASE!”

The slave whaled like a sheep, and this annoyed Darius. He wanted to cut her throat as he held the dagger to her neck but of course, he would not. He needed the slave alive if Jessamine was to come out of the lamp so that her pathetic life might be spared. Blue smoke wisped out of the lamp’s spout and Jessamine, dressed in a tiny green dress that matched her eyes, appeared before him, a huff on her breath and her hand on her hip. “You win, Darius.” He smiled, then shoved the slave to the floor. She barely moved, lest he grab her by the hair and finish the deed he had been threatening. “I knew that you would.” “What do you want?” He looked at her. “What do I want?” “Yes.” “Is that any way to speak to the sultan of the Abassir Empire?” “We both know my position warrants me to speak any way that I wish.” “Even at the cost of this slave’s life?” “Go ahead and kill her,” Jessamine said. “She means nothing to me. Her death’s on your hands, not mine.” Smiling, he said. “I knew you would say that. I know you well.”

She said nothing. “Perhaps I was wrong to banish you to the temple of Akarilion.” “Mebkubazir,” Jessamine said, thinking she was correcting him. “It is called Mebkubazir. It is an ancient temple of a lost culture that you defiled when you turned it into my prison.” “But,” he said, getting up and spreading his hands as he walked toward her. “You’re immortal. Half a century is akin to telling a child he can no longer swim in the river because of how bruised his fingers are. In no time at all, the sun will have dried his skin so that he can go back to his delight.” Behind Jessamine were two Scorpion Guards standing next to the open vault where he kept her lamp. “Then we can banish you for fifty years and see how you enjoy that.” “Do not pretend that being in solitude for centuries before I found your lamp was not far worse.” She glanced away. “You do that whenever I best you in our little arguments, don’t you?” “Do what?” “Look away from me,” he said, answering her as he walked into her line of sight again. The afternoon sun was shining through the curtains and casting blocks of bright hot light on the tiles. “I have nothing else to say to a belligerent ruler who believes himself a god.” Feeling a strong tinge of annoyance, he laughed. “You whore, Jessamine.” She looked at him then, her eyes narrowing. “Be careful, Darius.” “Or what? You will kill me? You know what would happen if you should do such a thing.” “Becoming a mortal isn’t so bad,” she said. “It would give life a sweater taste,

knowing my time was limited.” “And then when you grow old and die?” “Then I go to the gods.” “Surely not, you accursed being.” “How dare you!” she said. “We jinni are noble ones of the gods.” “Wouldn’t you like to believe,” he said, “but not even you know that for a certainty. It is what you believe. And you could be wrong. There are some that have another story about the birthing of the jinni race.” “What?” she said, her face twisting to disgust. “Stories from your foul Hajja sorcerers, no doubt.” “You may find them distasteful—as do I—but that does not mean they don’t have wisdom and knowledge of the ages.” “Enough of this banter,” Jessamine said. “What do you want, Darius?” “You know what I wish for.” “You will get nothing from me.” Darius sighed. “Why could you have not been another jinni—one of the more cold minded ones more aligned with my goals?” “Why could you not have remained a good man, like you had been before your lust for power, Darius?” She turned to him then. “You were noble adventurer once.” “Those days are long gone,” Darius said. “And besides, the man I am now had always been there. I just let him out.” “Let him out—like a demon of the hells.” He almost snarled. It had been decades since he had been spoken to so harshly. But Darius held his temper. “Impart to me more of your magicks,” he said plainly.

Her eyes went to the slave. “She’s as good as dead.” The girl turned. “No, please.” “Silence!” Darius snarled, then he kicked the girl. She grunted thickly as his shin connected with her belly, that grunt turning into a muffled moan as she held her face in her hands. Jessamine turned and strode toward the windows, seemingly without care. “Don’t pretend,” Darius demanded, a note of anger in his voice. “You came out of the lamp to keep me from spilling her blood over these floors.” Glancing back at him, she smirked. That angered Darius and it was all he could do not to rush up and hit Jessamine. But that he could strike her, also bespoke her ability to strike him. Perhaps that was not the best course of action to take. He could strike the slave girl, though. Rounding, he slammed his heel on the girl’s outstretched hand and she howled. Before her pathetic whaling even stopped, he turned and glanced toward his whore of a jinni to watch for her reaction. There was very little, other than her deep inhalation. Yes, he thought. It is disturbing her. As it should. “You are a beast, Darius.” Those words made his smile drop. Even though Jessamine did little to react, her eyes, flicking from the slave and up to him, bespoke of her contempt and scorn for him, of her belief that he was a lower creature from her exulted position. But how could she believe such a lie? He was the most powerful man in the lands, his word was absolute. He was more powerful than the gods, who never showed their faces, never intervened in any of the affairs of the beings in this world.

“Don’t look at me that way,” he hissed. She turned and strode to the windows. Darius bared his teeth. And so you show your back to me? To me?! He unsheathed his dagger, grabbed the slave by the hair. Through her sobs and tears, she wasn’t even aware he had the blade in his hand, the stupid sheep. And then he dragged the naked blade across her throat. The slave girl’s sudden choking and splashing of blood made Jessamine’s entire body tense as she thrashed in her own blood. Good. “And I will kill another every hour, morning, noon and night, until you do as I command, jinni.” She whirled. “Then you are a fool, Darius! Go ahead and kill your slaves—kill your subjects! Your actions now show to me the kind of ruler you have been in my absence— the kind of ruler you are. One day, you will fall, your empire impoverished and your peoples gnashing their teeth to get their hands around your throat.” She sliced a finger at him. “One day you will fall. I just hope I’m here to see it.” Her outrage made him laugh, because he knew he would win. “It is only a matter of time,” he said. “A matter of lives. The question is, how many will you waste before you give in?” “Shiro is ten times the man you will ever be.” Stepping forward, he backhanded Jessamine in the face. When she turned, she backhanded him in turn. He touched his cheek and smiled.

Licking his lips, he said, “I’ve missed these days.” And then he watched as Jessamine’s physical form vanished as she evaporated into a plume of blue spoke and twirled back into her lamp.

Chapter Twenty-Nine—Watchers in the Hills

It was early morning and the chill weather—getting colder now as they headed north—was beginning to nip when the sun wasn’t about. Shiro crouched beside the stream as he went to get some water. The pool before him was disturbed very little by the current. He used it as a looking glass and saw that he was beginning to grow a beard. It didn’t look bad, especially considering those he travelled with and despite Debaku managing to keep a smooth face. He filled his jug and came back to the fire where the others were sitting and preparing the morning meal. Dried meat and rolled oats. It wasn’t very tasty, but it would keep them healthy. Along with those, they had also brought hard bread, beans and rice—things that were easy to preserve and carry, and of course, to cook. Shiro filled the small cauldron hanging over the fire. The metal hissed and the water crackled before stilling. Once the pot was full, they dumped a small sack of the rolled oats inside with a few seasonings. Sugar and cinnamon was easy to keep and their guide Subulau brought fresh milk. “Where did you get that?” Shiro asked. Gesturing with his hand behind his shoulder, he seemed to think that was explanation enough, and said no more. Shiro shrugged with a shake of his head. Clearly he had milked someone’s sheep. A milk poacher. “The goat herders,” Ali said. “They have milk and they’re usually willing to sell to travellers.” “Ah,” Shiro said as Subulau poured the milk into the boiling oats. “I wonder what sky sheep milk tastes like.”

“It’s very expensive,” Ali said. “But it is good. Naturally sweet and very creamy.” “Mmm, much better,” Subulau said as he stirred the milk into the pot. “Not bad,” Ali added. Noticing that Debaku was glancing about surreptitiously, Shiro sat down on the rock next time him. “What is wrong?” “What makes you think anything is wrong?” “You seem… nervous?” Debaku smiled. “I would not use that word. But it seems we are being followed by at least three men.” “Really?” Shiro glanced about as if he were simply taking in the view. “Are you certain of this?” “They are hiding in the rocks in the hills to the west.” “What is this?” Ali said, glancing up as a look of indignation crossed his face. His hand went to his scimitar hilt. “Then we should rush out and confront the bastards, yes?” “Do as you wish,” Debaku said. “It may be that they lie in wait, Ali,” Shiro said. “They may want to ambush us.” “Come on!” he called with an aggressive beckon of his hand. “Come—and we will see who dies! Or will you hide with your mothers?” Debaku raised a skeptical eyebrow and Shiro got the sense that Ali’s brashness mildly annoyed him. Fortunately, the Black Cobra of Mar’a Thul was a patient man. “Have you ever been to this part of the empire?” Shiro asked him. He shook his head. “I have been to many lands, but never in this direction.”

Shiro nodded. “So,” Ali said, seemingly forgetting about the men he was just yelling at, of which who were nowhere in sight. “Our guide says about six more days until we reach the Issyka Mountains. Let’s just hope Razul is still there, yes?” “Indeed,” Debaku said. “Do you really think he will help us?” Shiro asked. “It is done!” Subulau said, and grabbed his wooden bowl. He slopped two big ladles of the rolled oats sweetened with cane sugar and spiced with cinnamon from the south. Taking turns, each of the men filled their own bowls and began to eat their morning breakfasts. “Ali,” Shiro persisted. “Your friend, Razul.” “Oh,” he said. “Right,” He nodded. “He will help us.” “How do you know?” “I just do,” he said. “When was the last time you saw this ‘friend’ of yours, Abassir?” Debaku asked. Ali spooned another portion of the porridge into his mouth and shrugged. “Maybe five years?” “Kami-sama,” Shiro breathed. “That long?” “Now, don’t start with that,” Ali said. “For one, I know him well. He is an adventurer, but not just that, he is a true risk taker. And he craves excitement. He is crazy, so… yes, he will us, I am certain.” A sudden doubtful looked crossed Debaku’s face. “Well,” Shiro said, “I suppose if he does not us, we will simply have wasted our time.”

“He will us,” Ali said. “Trust me.” “Hmmm.” “Have I ever let you down, Shiro?” Shaking his head, he swallowed another mouthful of the soft, sweat porridge. It reminded him somewhat of the okayu dish made of rice in his homeland. “So,” Ali said, gesturing with his spoon and bowl. “Trust me, my friends.” Shiro nodded. He had no reasons to doubt Ali. He had been right about Faridoon before they had snuck into his manor to get Jessamine. His guards had been few, just like Ali had suggested, due to Faridoon being low on household funds. Especially after having paid Debaku most of his remaining fortune to return the lamp—of which he eventually did. As a chill breeze swept across them, Shiro stepped closer to the fire. “What are you thinking about, Shiro?” Ali asked. “Nothing,” he said. “Are you certain? Are you worried about something?” “Of course he is worried,” Debaku said. Ali rolled his eyes. “I meant something else.” “I was just wondering,” he said. “What will I do if we cannot rescue Jessamine from the sultan?” Ali’s eyes widened, the look on his face one of rebuke. He used his wooden spoon, pointing it at Shiro like a weapon. “We are rescuing Jessamine, and we are killing the sultan.” “Yes, yes,” Shiro sighed. “I know, Ali. You want your life back as much as I want Jessamine.” “Man, no!” Ali said. “It is more than just that.” He tapped his temple. “It is about

not giving up, Shiro. We are doing this. If we fail, then we will try again.” “So,” Debaku said, interrupting. “Your friend is an idealist, Shiro, and you are a pessimist.” “I am not a pessimist.” “Ha!” Ali said, a look of excitement coming over him. “I think Debaku is right, my friend. You are always sighing and thinking on the worst, instead of just, reaching out, taking what you want. You worry too much. I think it is putting grey in your beard, yeah?” Shiro shook his head and touched his face. He had just seen himself in the river’s reflection moments ago. “I am not going grey.” “Oh, just give it another few years—you will be completely grey, I am sure.” Shiro rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help by crack a wry smile at Ali’s buffoonish behavior. The Abassir was arrogant, and at times, a fool. Shiro wasn’t certain he was aware of it. It was just the way he was, but also imparted somewhat by his own culture. Without my friends, I would be lost.

Chapter Thirty—Rebellion on the Wind

Five days later the group of adventurers and their guide had climbed the ever heightening mountains until they came to a series of rocky es. For the last two days, Shiro could see the mist from his breathing and the cold weather nipped at all hours of the day. But the tent at night kept them from freezing. Now, Subulau was speaking with a local of the hills as Ali glanced about. Debaku waited with his arms crossed, and Shiro wondered what their guide was saying. Their tones and mannerisms did not bode well. “I don’t like this,” Ali said. “Do you see all these hills and rocks?” Shrio glanced about. The mountain tops were all peaked with snow, and when he glanced north, the snows became far more prevalent—that much was clear. “Why not?” Shiro asked. Ali looked at him incredulously and gestured with his hand as he spoke. “Do you not see? These damned hills are the perfect place for an ambush, Shiro.” Glancing toward Debaku, he said, “Debaku’s been scouting ahead, though. He has seen nothing.” “Ha!” Ali scoffed. “You underestimate bandits and rebels when in their own territory.” “Mm,” Shiro noised with a nod. “Perhaps I do. I am a samurai. I am no strategist. But I do the Three Battles Crisis in my capital city of Yukai —and how a foreign lord and mercenary saved the princess heir during a simultaneous coup and attack by a foreign power. I am not wholly ignorant.” “Really?” Ali asked. “Were you there—in the city, I mean?” “No,” Shiro said. “I was in the third army far from the capital and the fighting.

By the time we reached the city, we had a new emperor.” “What happened next? Did your lord accept the new ruler?” “No,” Shiro said. “There was rebellion in the hills for three months. “Did you see fighting?” Shiro nodded. “I am a veteran of that rebellion.” Debaku was clearly listening in as his regard for their guide lessened and he stepped over to be with Ali and Shiro. Shiro did not know for certain, but he was relatively sure Debaku could not understand anything their guide was saying anyway. He was a stranger to these parts, just as they were. “How did the conflict resolve itself?” Debaku asked. “It was very… messy,” Shiro said. “Our princess heir, now empress, returned with an army. There was much fighting.” “And then?” Ali asked. “Come on, man, tell us what happened.” “Well,” Shiro said, thinking back to that resistance. “After many battles, the shogun who had usurped the throne agreed to give the reign of the empire back to its rightful ruler.” Ali shrugged, seeming to Shiro like he was disappointed. “Just like that?” “No,” Shiro said. “He saw that the princess was for the old ways, the traditional values of our imperial culture. It was why he took over in the first place. Our emperor before that was… weak.” “Ah,” Ali said with a nod. “I see. Well, don’t expect Darius to roll over like that.” He laughed. “No, I suppose not.” “It is no matter,” Ali said with a wave of the hand. “We will kill him anyway.” And then something seemed to come to him and his eyes got big. “If we do this,

who will be the new sultan?” Debaku lifted a skeptical eyebrow and Shiro shrugged. “Okay,” Subulau said as he came back to them. “This is not good.” The other men he had been speaking with pulled on their animal’s reigns as they continued on with their own journey. “What is wrong, man?” Ali asked. “There are many rebels hiding in the hills as we go north. It is not safe, so I can take you no further.” “What?” Ali exclaimed. “I knew I should not have hired you.” Shiro stepped forward. “But you were right, Ali.” To their guide he asked, “Why are they doing this?” “Mmmm,” Subulau noised thoughtfully as he stroked his long mustache that hung down below his chin. “The word is that the Ushkai and the Almatar khanates have banded together in rebellion again your sultan.” “My sultan?” Ali asked as he gestured to himself. “He is your sultan as well.” Shiro rolled his eyes. They were planning to attack the palace and quite possibly kill Darius and Ali was bickering about whose ruler was whose. “Let him go. We will press on without him.” “It is only a few days more,” Debaku said. “And this sultan you speak of, Ali, may be no one’s sultan soon.” Ali shrugged. “Fine, fine.” He dug out the payment and gave it to Subulau. “Now go.” “Yes,” Subulau said with a salute, the coin glinting between his fingers. “Thank you very much.” Then he left them, taking his pack animals with him. There was quiet in the mountain , save for the winds crossing above. They each look at one another. “Well,” Ali finally said. “Now what? We do battle with rebels?”

Debaku said nothing. “If we must,” Shiro said. “Can we not travel around them?” “What?” Ali asked, “Through this?” He gestured to the steep hills and the rocky clefts. “We have to go through the es. We are not mountain climbers, Shiro. Besides, we would freeze up there.” “Then we have no choice.” “Yes,” Debaku said. “They may let us ,” Shiro added. “Ha! And why would they do that, hm?” “I am foreigner and Debaku is Mar’a Thulian. He hates Darius.” “And what about me? They will probably think I am your slave master or something like that, eh?” “A risk we must take,” Debaku said. He turned and grabbed his camel’s reigns. “Now come.” They followed the Black Cobra up the mountain . Ali glanced about indignantly, as if the mountains might hurl a stone at his head to insult him. “I hate this.” “We will be fine,” Shiro said.

Chapter Thirty-One—Grumblers and Jesters

Ali’s complaining was incessant, but Shiro said nothing, as he harbored many of the same annoyances as his Abassir companion. Though he did not know how Debaku—who kept completely silent—felt on the matter. “I mean, come on, man,” Ali went on. “I cannot believe this! How do these fools expect to keep the es guarded when there are Darshuuni governors in all of their cities, as well as Abassir soldiers stationed in barracks in every stronghold? Hmm—tell me!” Debaku made a noise of frustration. “Enough,” he said. “You whine like a sow giving birth, Ali.” “What?” he croaked. “Agh!” “Be quiet,” Shiro said. “We might alarm them to our presence.” “Oh, trust me, Shiro, if they are here—which we know they are—then they are very well aware of our presence. AREN’T YOU?!” Shiro sighed inwardly. He is such a loud mouth… literally. “If they block our path”—Shiro said, panting—“we should negotiate with them as best… as best as we can.” “And when they attack us?” “You say that as if they will attack us,” Debaku said. “How do you know this?” “Come on.” “If they attack,” Shiro said, “then we try not to kill them. Possibly we can resume negotiations.”

Whipping his head back, Ali laughed so hard, in both amusement, but also some manner of derision. “I do not know how samurai fight their battles, Shiro, but here in these lands, we kill each other.” “Ali,” Shiro said, feeling offended. “Do not start that.” “Start what? Come on. If we don’t kill them when they attack us, they will feel insulted. It will just make them want to kill us even more.” “How do you know?” “I am an Abassir,” he said. “I know these things.” “Fine,” Shiro said. “But do not laugh at the samurai again.” “Why not?” Ali asked. “Are you going to hit me with the flat of your sword, Shiro?” Shiro narrowed his eyes, his face heating. “Ali!” Whipping his head back, he laughed again. “Maybe I can whip you into a killing frenzy before they come down to butcher us, Shiro! Eh?” As Ali burst out laughing again, Shiro stepped forward quickly and kicked the crook of his leg. Ali lost balance and his arms flailed as he screamed and fell on his back. Ali shook his head. “Shiro! You goat lover!” But Shiro didn’t care about the insult, because he started laughing, and even Debaku laughed at his stupid-looking fall. “I cannot believe this!” he exclaimed, hitting the ground with his forearms in frustration. Ali got real quiet, then as the pain obviously coursing through his arms from hitting the rock-hard ground, was obvious. “Do not be too frustrated, my friend,” Debaku said. Chuckling, Shiro went to Ali and offered him his hand. The Abassir took it and he helped the man up.

“Ak!” he noised as he rubbed his arms through his cloak. “That was a pretty stupid, no?” Shiro shrugged. “I am sorry,” Ali said. “It is fine.” “I agree with Ali,” Debaku said, turning to glance at them. “If these men try to kill us, we must defend ourselves properly.” Shiro nodded. “It was only a suggestion.” Rocks and scree suddenly came tumbling down the mountain path. All three men glanced up. “Quiet!” Debaku hissed. “Someone is up ahead.” Shiro narrowed his eyes, trying to see if he could spot any movement. There were rocky outcroppings and the mist didn’t do anything to help. Heart beating faster, he swallowed as his hand instinctually travelled over the sword hilt jutting out from his side. Nothing will stop me from getting through these es.

Chapter Thirty-Two—Mountain “It’s them!” Ali hissed as he revealed the first few inches of his blade.

“Wait,” Shiro said. “You don’t know that.” Debaku hadn’t even bothered to touch his sword hilt like Ali and Shiro had. Was that due to his own confidence or was he doubtful of an attack? “Debaku?” Shiro whispered. The Black Cobra glanced back toward him. “What is it?” “Can you see them?” Without turning to look at Shiro again, he shook his head. “No, but I know there is a man not far.” “How?” Ali asked. “Does it matter?” Shiro said. His camel moaned and he let go of the rein, stepping up the path next to Ali. Shiro was ready to fight—to kill these men if he had to. “We can’t just stand here,” Ali whispered. “Fine,” Shiro said. He stepped up the path, past even Debaku and made his way through the mist, his feet sliding and he lost some of his footing. As he moved further up, one hand over his scabbard, he used his other for balance. There was something in the mist ahead. Rocks? But then they moved and the man there appeared before him, wearing animal furs, a conical silver helmet with fur-trim and a long mustache. Like Shiro, his eyes were of a similar canted cast, but different in their own way —more slender. In the man’s hand was a sword, naked and ready to be used at a

moment’s notice. “Oh no,” he said, not realizing he had said the words aloud. “What is it?” Ali asked from behind. Shiro put up his palm. We don’t speak his language, he thought. So instead of speaking the language of the Abassir Empire, Shiro spoke his own language. “Konichi wa. Genki desuka?” He spoke like this for a time, trying to mime his intent to through the mountains and into the elevated flatlands beyond, but the man only looked at him strangely. Shiro wanted to grit his teeth and roll his eyes, but knew that would not help. He avoided speaking his one other language at all cost, sensing that this man would attack them should he do so. “Shiro!” Ali hissed from behind. The isekai couldn’t very well call back to Ali in the imperial tongue, so he motioned for Ali to step back, but the goat lover must have not realized it, because he ed Shiro. Together they regarded the man, and then he started speaking, his tone light, but somewhat raspy. He seemed to gesture to Ali as he said some words. “Do not speak—“ Shiro began to whisper out of the side of his mouth, but Ali cut him off. “Hey you!” he called. “Let us , man.” “Ali, be silent!” The man’s eyes widened, then narrowed to slits. He then scrunched up his face and snarled, calling out something in his local dialect of the Urutai Steppe. Men from the hills started yelling. “Not good,” Shiro said.

“Oh great,” Ali moaned. “Definitely not good!” Ali cried and pulled out his sword. Shiro did the same as the man before them rushed forward, raising his blade for an overhand strike. Shiro rushed up, grabbed his wrist and flipped the man over his shoulder. He fell on his back on the decline and squirmed, screaming and snarling as Ali brought his scimitar down atop his chest “That is the right way!” Debaku said, and unsheathed his own scimitar. “Now we fight!” Heart hammering in his chest, Shiro signed inwardly. He had hoped this wouldn’t be necessary. He screamed as he charged up the path.

Chapter Thirty-Three—Falling Swords

Growling, Ali yelled, “Why did I suggest coming here?” “Stop whining!” Shiro hissed. “They are coming!” The shouting battle cries from within the rocky clefts came from a few dozen men at least. Shiro stepped up the path. “Come on, Ali!” The clefts here were particularly arduous, making the es narrow. An excellent place for an ambush—even Shiro knew that much. “Whoa!” Ali cried from behind him. “They’re throwing rocks from above!” Shiro glanced up the rocky sides of the , but saw nothing, his attention suddenly distracted as two men came down from a path breaking off toward their left. He stepped forward and met their blades, knocking their swords aside and slashing them across the chests. They cried out and died on the cold ground. “Watch out!” Ali called again. “Rocks. From above!” Shiro turned around. “Where is Debaku?” “I don’t know!” The path was still tricky here with the incline. Shiro went forward, questing for men to kill just as more appeared. The Urutai warrior at the front lifted a short bow and loosed an arrow at him. Shiro moved, the shaft missing him by inches as another swordsman came at him. He parried the strike, the force of his opponent’s blow causing him to lose balance. He fell down against the incline. As the warrior lifted his blade, screaming with the intent to kill Shiro, his arm was suddenly taken off, a burst of blood gushing forth after Ali struck him. Then he saw the bowman behind Ali. “Look out! Archer!”

“Oh shit!” Ali hissed and jumped onto the ground, the shaft head scraping into the rocks next to them. Suddenly Debaku jumped into the path from above and cut the archer down. Turning, he gestured to them. “Come!” Then the Black Cobra disappeared in the mist. “I’m glad he is on our side, Shiro.” Shiro grunted as he got back up and pursued Debaku—wherever he went. The paths up here broke apart in several directions. “Which way?” Ali asked. “Does it matter?” “I don’t know,” he said, “but we should stick together—it sounds like they are behind us now.” “The camels,” Shiro said. “They are stealing our things.” “Oh, wonderful,” Ali spat. “So we have to kill them all now.” “No,” Shiro said, grunting as they pressed on up the path. There was a steep incline—steeper than the path as a whole. He had to use the craggy outcroppings of rock to haul himself up. “I think it’s leveling off up here!” There were men in the distance, their forms hard to make out through the mist, but Shiro was able to make out five men. “Come on!” He called, and turned to assist Ali up the incline. Ali grabbed Shiro’s hand and almost pulled Shiro down when he yanked on his arm in an attempt to haul himself up, but Shiro shook him off as an attacker came in with his sword. Shiro barely had time to angle his scimitar down toward the ground to block the blow. Without any other recourse, he slammed the top of his head into the man’s nose. Many of them wore conical helmets of polished steal, but without nose guards, Shiro could still get a good bash in if he had too.

The warrior’s head whipped back and Shiro lashed out with his foot, kicking him in the waste. The Urutai warrior stumbled back into his fellows, but one still managed to press forward. He shouted as he swung his curved sword at Shiro. He jumped, landed on the hard ground and rolled, then rolled some more to get away from the charging warirror’s attack. Using his momentum, Shiro came back to his feet, his sword raised high in an offensive stance that might give these rushing fighters a moment of pause. One came in on his right and Shiro arched his blade down and met that sword in a block, just in time to not get his head cut off. Ducking, he narrowing missed the attack and jumped forward, his shoulder taking the fighter in the chest. They both went down, grunting and screaming. “What are you doing?!” Ali snarled in evident disbelief. Shiro heard a man behind him die. Ali grunted, swinging his blade, no doubt expertly at the four other men as Shiro wrestled with this one. Pushing up from the cold ground, he pinned the warrior’s wrist to the rocks, his sword clattering loudly as Shiro punched him in the face. Pulling his fist back, Shiro came in for another punch, but was blocked when his opponent raised his arm. With his hand loosely grasping his curved sword, Shiro lifted the warrior’s hand and pinned his wrist down, then slammed his palm down over his enclosed fingers. The attack must have pained him greatly, because he snarled, letting go of his blade. Shiro grabbed it with his left hand and rolled away, coming back to his feet just in time to raise the slender blade in defense of himself against his next attacker. \ Metal bit and scrapped as they got locked into a cross. The man tried to butt him in the head with his helmet, but Shiro whipped his own head back to keep from taking the hit, then let go of his sword so he could bring his hand around to the backside of the attacker’s head. With his momentum in trying to bash Shiro in the face, he lost his balance and fell to the ground. Shiro quickly bent and picked up his sword.

By the time the Urutai warrior recovered, Shiro brought his blade down, but the warrior was quick, raising his own blade at the last instant to block against Shiro’s heavy blow. He proved to be a good fighter by agilely placing his left boot against the backside of the sword to give it . But he wasn’t fast enough. Shiro arched his blade back up, taking the man in the elbow. He cried out, dropping his steel. Without finishing him off, Shiro turned to find Ali fleeing with two enemies behind him. “Shiro!” Rushing forward, he parried one blade that came down, then side-stepped taking the second lunging attacker in the back. As the man fell, the first whirled to confront Shiro, only to have Ali take him in the back with his scimitar. But the Abassir, enraged that he had been chased, turned and killed the man Shiro had wounded in the elbow. Surrounded by dead men, both of them breathed heavily. Ali glanced in Shiro’s direction. “So that’s four dead. Only forty to go!” And then a death cry above them sounded and a body fell heavily to the hard ground. Ali shrugged. “Or maybe not.” “Come on!” Shiro called, running further north. “Where are we going?” “They—don’t have that many men,” Shiro bellowed between breaths. “I think forty men is more than enough, Shiro!” “No,” he said, rushing through the fog. “We can steal their animals.” “What makes you think they have animals, Shiro?” Stopping to catch his breath for a moment, Shiro leaned down for a rest as his throat burned from the cold air. Ali did similarly.

“I… do you… see a settlement around here?” “Aghh!” Ali cried and sucked in more air. “Too… much fog, my infidel…” He breathed heavily and didn’t bother saying the rest. Shiro was sweating heavily under his heavy cloak, but he dared not take it off. If he couldn’t get back to it and they were left out overnight in the cold, he would surely die. “Then we will find out,” he said, having gotten most of his breath back. “Come on.” And then something colorful appeared in the mist ahead, the color of clear water on a hot tropical beach. Sizzling and cracking accompanied whatever it was. “Oh no,” Ali said, his tone half way between whining and snarling. “They have a mage!” “Look out!” Shiro called, running to his left as that crackling expanded, then suddenly moved through the air with great speed. He jumped, landing behind a big white rock as something behind him tore through the air and then exploded behind him. With his hands over his head, his ears throbbed with a sharp pain. Small rocks and debris fell to the ground all around him. Not knowing for certain, Shiro suspected he had missed that magical attack by a mere pace or two. “Shiro!” Ali called. “Are you all right?” “Uh… Hai! Daijobu desu!” Ali snarled something back that Shiro didn’t quite catch, but he suspected it was a reprimand about speaking the Mikuman language. “…especially in a fight!” Shiro shrugged as he got up.

Chapter Thirty-Four—Swords Against Urutai Sorcery “Encircle him!” Shiro called and ran to his west.

He thought he was far enough into the fog that the mage couldn’t see him. Even so, a smattering of Urutai dialect got spat about by several men, their boots stamping across the hard ground in his direction. Shiro whirled and raised his sword to block the attack that would have taken him in the back. He then stepped forward and exchanged several sword strikes with his opponent before the Urutai’s allies arrived. Back stepping, Shiro parried their sword strikes with speed and efficiency, realizing how much he liked these Urutai blades much more than the Abassir scimitars. They were longer, the curve was more even and the blade weight was far less. Hefting the weapon was more akin to the swords of his native lands. Instead of heavier chopping motions, these curved blades were excellent slashing weapons. With a feint toward his opponent on the left, Shiro side stepped to his right and slashed the second man in the back with an upward strike. The other man turned and parried his second attack, which would have taken him with a downward slash. Shiro jumped back and then hunched his shoulders as another explosion rocked the craggy landscape with a sizzling crack of magical energy. Whoever the mage had just tried to kill, it hadn’t been Shiro, otherwise he’d be dead now. Even his opponent before him cringed slightly as the magic exploded. Shiro used this moment to jump toward his opponent and roll past him. With a quick whirl he slashed the man on the back of the neck. With a sharp cry, his body turned and fell limp to the ground.

A hot sizzle of energy ed through the air. Shiro turned to face the mage— saw the glow of his magic as it shot forward. Shiro’s eyes widened. He could jump, but if it landed right next to him, what would be the point? His heart jumped as the magic came at him. Suddenly a body lunged into the path between him and the mage and the magical discharge changed direction and exploded into the sky. Debaku had just deflected the attack with his sword. Shiro turned his own blade in his hand, the metal glinting in the grey light of the overcast sky. My sword could not do this.. Without allowing time for the mage to hurl another attack, Shiro lunged forward with his sword high above his head. A quick slash across the mage’s front would take him down easily, but there was no need, as the man cried out and died when Ali sliced him from behind with an upward angular slash. Shiro stopped short, looked down at the dead Urutai mage. Ali nodded. “Thanks,” Shiro said. He turned. “Debaku, I thought I was dead.” “But you are not.” “Arigatou,” Shiro said with nod. “There is no need to thank me,” Debaku said. They all glanced behind as another wave of Urutai warriors surged forward, but this time they came from the where they had pushed through, not from further up ahead. Debaku said, “Go, find their animals and secure them. I will hold them off.” “All of them?!” Ali asked with wide eyes, his head cocked back in disbelief.

“Yes,” Debaku said, “Now go.”

Chapter Thirty-Five—Final Hindrance

As they pressed forward, Shiro and Ali were met by very little resistance— which surprised Shiro. “Maybe most of their men were out in the vanguard attacking us,” Ali said. Shiro nodded. “I am just surprised it was so few.” The Uratai warriors’ animals were tied up on some spindly trees without leaves. That they grew in these rocky areas was another surprise. “What about Debaku?” Ali asked. Shiro glanced back. The sounds of battle cries and swords had died and was completely still, or possibly it was that Ali and Shiro were too far to hear them. “He is a top-tier adventurer,” Shiro said. “He will be fine.” A snarling of Urutai dialect came from the direction of the animals. “Shiro,” Ali said. “It looks like we have one more corpse.” Shiro stepped forward. This man was a little different, that much he could see immediately. This lone warrior was tall, his sword a good half a pace longer than any of the other Urutai warrior’s weapons and the look on his face was one of sharp acuity. “Be careful with this one,” Shiro said. “What?” Ali asked. He gestured toward he warrior who stalked forward to meet them. “He is just the same as all the others.” “No.” Shiro skirted toward the right side while Ali, looking over-confident, stood his ground. He beckoned the warrior forward. “Come at me,” he said, nodding emphatically. “Come on!”

Shiro sighed inwardly. Suddenly the big warrior lunged forward, his sword lashing out at Ali. Shiro’s gut wrenched as he moved forward to help his friend. The Abassir raised his sword to defend, and the Urutai warrior‘s blade hit hard, glanced off, but the force of the blow sent Ali to the ground. Shiro screamed to get his attention and brought his sword down in an overhead strike that would end him if it landed. But the warrior side stepped Shiro and slashed at the back of his neck. Shiro dove for the ground, rolling across the hard surface and bumped his back on a rock. Wincing, the pain was excruciating. Then the warrior struck with a series of blows that would have ended him. Shiro met him blow for blow, parrying, blocking, side stepping. “You son of a whore!” Ali called out, and struck from the side. The warrior met his blade, parried and kicked him in the belt. Ali nearly fell on his rump. Shiro skirted around to the right. “I said be careful!” “All right!” Together they moved in, attacking almost simultaneously, but the warrior was too wise to their strategy. He backed away from Shiro and concentrated his efforts on Ali. The Abassir was a good swordsman, but it was obvious to Shiro that he was outmatched. Even Shiro might have been somewhat outmatched despite his quick sword skills assisted by Jessamine’s magic. Ali backed away, his eyes wide and his sword moving furiously as he defended himself from a deathly blade strike with ever parry. Shiro lunged forward. He had to take this man down quick, or Ali was going to get killed. He was the weaker of the two, and this Urutai swordsman knew that.

Lunging in close like he was fighting with a katana, Shiro made to slash the warrior in the back, but he turned and blocked Shiro’s blade. That didn’t stopped the samurai as he attacked with two more successive blade strikes too fast for normal eyes and ran ed his enemy, his Urutai sword held out. He turned and looked the warrior in the eyes. That long blade… He can’t defend as well when I get close. With a nod to himself, Shiro decided that this was how he would defeat this blade master. In an honorable duel of blades. “Ali,” he said. “Yes?” he asked, breathing heavily. “Step away.” “What?” “This warrior is mine.” “But… but he’ll cut you down, Shiro!” Shiro shook his head and grinned like a swashbuckling adventurer. “No he won’t.” Just like his duel with Waraba Hito before he had been isekaied into these lands —either he would fall, or this warrior would. And it would not be Shiro. “Agh!” Ali noised. “Fine!” He backed away several paces. “But if it looks like he’s going to cut you in half, Shiro—I’m going to intervene.” Raising the hilt of his sword above his eye-line, his blade tilted back, he stepped forward slowly, as did the warrior—the look on his face one of utter calm and

concentration. He wanted this duel as much as Shiro. Strafing slowly with excellent footwork, the two men moved about one another, getting a feel for each other’s steps and blade stance. The warrior before him kept a low guard, his hilt level with his waist, the tip angled forward toward Shiro. In a duel, Shiro was an aggressive fighter, and so he would attack first. He screamed, his eyes and mouth open in a battle cry. The Urutai warrior did the same and both men lunged forward.

Chapter Thirty-Five—Duel In the Urutai Steppe

Shiro arched his blade around for an upward slash while his opponent came in at an angle. Shiro was forced to change his trajectory. Their blades flashed. Sharp metal scraped and the two ed one another, quickly turning in case the other decided for a reder from their first engagement. But neither man attacked again. Ali breathed out so heavily, Shiro could hear him from five paces away. “Shiro!” he said, stressing his name. “I don’t like this.” Shiro said nothing as he skirted to the side slowly, their movements in a circular fashion as they both continued to study one another. This Urutai warrior would try to keep Shiro from moving in close. It was more difficult for him to defend with his long blade. What he gave up in defense, he had the advantage in attack with his long reach. Shiro narrowed his eyes. This time he would change his strategy. He cried, and rushed forward, but not close enough to strike the Urutai as the ends of their swords met in a flurry of slashes. Shiro side-stepped to the right with an arching horizontal slash and then angled his body weight to the left and lunged forward, his right leg outstretched, his left leg bent at the knee in the direction he had moved. Swinging his blade toward his opponent’s arms, the Urutai warrior reacted by jumping. Shiro’s blade missed its mark. It was greedy, but he tried to come back toward the Urutai’s front with another horizontal slash.

But as his opponent’s feet touched back down, he landed in a crouch, lowering his hilt far enough that Shiro’s blade connected with the lower portion of Urutai’s sword. Shiro’s head whipped back and he blinked against the white flash in his vision. Finding himself on his backside, he rolled out of the way of Urutai’s successive strike to end him and whirled to his feet. Forehead throbbing, Shiro made no move or facial expression indicating his pain. Nevertheless, his cheeks heated furiously with rage. He screamed and ran forward again, holding his hilt to the right side of his chest with his blade sticking straight up into the air. With the intent to lunge in close, the Urutai warrior must have realized this and struck out at Shiro before he could, but Shiro bent low to avoid his horizontal blade strike that would have severed his arm near his shoulder and turned, lashing out with his sword before he even saw what he would hit. His blade ed through the Urutai’s forearm, dismembering him and his blade fell to the ground, clattering metallically with the hand still attached. The Urutai cried out, lunged backward and held the gushing wound. Shiro stood still, his sword dripping with his enemy’s blood. The Urutai warrior was on his knees, his face red and the purple veins in his forehead writhing. His lips pulled back in a rictus of grinding teeth and sheer pain. “Yes!” Ali called. “Shiro, you beat him!” “Hai.” “What are you waiting for? Finish him!” Shiro looked down at the warrior. I have no ill will towards this man… “No,” he said.

“What? Why not?” “An honorable death it might be,” he said, “I still have no wish to end this man’s life. Let us go to their mounts and escape.” Ali looked disappointed, but Shiro didn’t care. “All right,” Ali finally said with a nod.

Chapter Thirty-Six—On to the Issyka Mountains

The mists cleared by midday and Debaku ed them on a dry grassy hill. The skies were clear with a possible storm looming on the horizon. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled from the black clouds. Shiro pointed at the mountains ahead. They were short, jagged things with deep es. He suspected navigating that area would be confusing. “Those are the Issyka Mountains, yes?” Ali nodded. “I believe so.” “They do not seem very inviting,” Debaku said. Ali glanced at the Mar’a Thulian. “Since when does something like that bother you? Are you not a famous adventurer?” Debaku chuckled. “I do not pretend to know about my fame. If I am well known —“ But he was interrupted by the sound of a distant horn. They all glanced toward the direction of that sound, and on the grassy steppe, saw what appeared to be an army arrayed in neat lines and marching in lockstep with vast hosts of men on horseback in the flanks. Ali made a sound of astonishment. “Look!” he said, pointing. “Is that a city?” Ali nodded. “I believe that is Kandichar.” How do you know this city?” Debaku asked. “It’s on the map,” Ali said. “And besides, it’s the most northern satrap in the empire.”

“I see why they wanted the es to be guarded,” Shiro said. “They do not wish to have their army flanked while they siege that city.” “And we cut our way through their men,” Ali said. “They will be very angry with is.” “Indeed,” Debaku said. “I suggest we make for the mountains where your friend is at.” “Agreed,” Ali said with a nod. “What if we don’t find him there?” Shiro asked. “Well…” Ali said, obviously thinking for a moment. “We can find the nearest adventurer’s guild and see if Razul has updated his status locations.” “And if he has not?” “Then we can wait until he does, or we can turn back—go it alone against Darius.” “Mmm.” He didn’t like that. They had wasted enough time already just coming up here. And they still ran the risk of Razul not deciding to go back with them. Attacking the emperor’s palace and failing surely meant death. Jessamine, he thought. What are you doing right now?

Jessamine turned her head and averted her gaze as the slave’s neck gushed blood over the tiles. The body fell wetly to the floor. “Do you see?” Darius said. “This is your doing, Jessamine.” She wanted to bare her teeth and snarl. It took every bit of her resolve to ignore Darius’ monstrous action and to pretend she cared not a whit for the slave’s life.

Hurry, Shiro.

“Come,” Ali said, and pulled on his mount’s reigns to force the animal to turn around. “Let’s not waste time here. I would prefer not to be discovered and attacked again.” “Hai.” “We better find Razul,” he added. “I do not think it is very far. The gods know we will need him for your quest, Shirl” “But we do not know where he is even at, Ali.” “So,” he said with a shrug. “Then we ask around. You know there are towns and cities in that mess of jagged peaks, yes? Besides, I told you what we will do.” Shiro shook his head. “I did not know there are towns.” “It will be easy. Trust me, my infidel friends.” Debaku lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “I do not know if I can trust you, Ali al Bashur.” “And why is that?” “I do not know you well, but something tells me that you would rather pretend to be right when you are wrong.” Ali laughed. “I am arrogant, man, but I am not that arrogant.” “Hmm. We will see.” Together the group set out for the Issyka Mountains, those black storm clouds looming on their horizon. “Gods,” Ali said. “I do hope there will not be a blizzard. I am freezing as it is.” “Then we can kill some more men and warm ourselves.”

“Ha!”

Chapter Thirty-Seven—Azu Adventurer’s Guild

They had come to Azu, a dreary little city with green tiled roofs so worn they looked black. The city was in a state of long decline. Shiro was surprised there was even an adventurer’s guild. Just as they entered, ing the Azushan bird statues that looked as weather worn as the age-old men with canted eyes smoking pipes at the city gate, a heavy snowfall began to come down. “Oh great,” Ali said as he put out a gloved hand to watch the snow fall there. He looked up. “It’s going to be a blizzard.” Shiro looked up into the sky. He saw nothing but thick fluffy snowflakes that seemed to appear out of a sheet of murky grey. A chill ran down his spine. Not one of apprehension, but of actual cold. “Let’s go in,” he said, and led the way. He was in a hurry to find this friend of Ali’s, but he also wanted a respite from the nipping cold that bit at his fingers and neck. Ali ed him up, going straight to the desk. The place was empty, and some few men lingered about, looking at their group skeptically. Fortunately the guild house was warm. The smells wafting off of the spit pig roasting in the center of the main chamber made Shiro’s stomach growl and his mouth water. He went to the man cooking it. “Is this for sale?” He nodded. “A large portion for each of us.” Shiro gestured to the group. The Urutai glanced down at him skeptically, and Shiro thought he saw a note of scorn cross the man’s face, that scorn deepening when he laid eyes on Debaku and Ali. If Shiro was strange by this man’s standards, he certainly didn’t much like that Shiro was with an Abassir and a Mar’a Thulian.

But coin was coin, and he took what Shiro handed him. But this was no Darshuun, where demi-humans were seen, if not uncommon, though still a small minority. Here… Shiro had not seen a single person who wasn’t native to the steppe—at least that he could identify. “I need some help,” Ali said to the man at the desk. “Do you speak the imperial tongue? Ah, yes of course you do. We are looking for an adventurer by the name of Razul.” The Urutai man cooking the pig cut three large portions off of the whole and dished it out in ceramic plates before unstopping a bottle of alcohol and pouring that in little deep-set bowls. Shiro glanced toward Ali to see if he was getting any information. The man behind the desk, bored as ever, pointed toward the board. Ali nodded and went over. “Ali,” Shiro called. “Good!” Ali was looking at the board. He snatched something off of it and came to the table. “I found it. An update.” “Where is he?” Debaku asked. He looked down at his food skeptically. “He’s—according to his last known whereabouts—in the dungeon of Azurbadan.” “Is it far?” Ali asked and took a hefty bite of his roasted pork. It was greasy and salty and fresh. “About four hours from here on horseback—or camelback—whichever you prefer.” “We do not have camels anymore, Ali.” Debaku said. He picked up his meat and gave it a sniff. “Let’s eat, then we can go,” Shiro said.

“What? In this blizzard?” “Do we have time to wait?” Shiro said. “This could get worse and worse. It could be a week before we can head to the dungeon if we get blocked by the snow.” “Or a weak trapped in the dungeon,” Ali said. “Your friend will have set up camp,” Debaku added. “Oh,” Ali said with a nod, “so you are on Shiro’s side, eh?” “We are both on Shiro’s side, Abassir.” Shiro looked at the ticket Ali had taken from the board. It had been delivered four days ago. That was a long time to be in a dungeon. “Four days,” he said. “Four days since Razul left for that place. Do you think he is all right?” “Some dungeons just take more time,” Ali said. “It is fine. Look, we go to the dungeon, help him kill a few monsters and then we come back here. He will us. You will see. Trust me.” “Trust…” Debaku said. “You use this word a lot.” “Then trust me so I don’t have to ask you to, eh?” Ali grinned. “I am starving. What is this?” “Suckling pig,” Shiro said. “Oh good. I love roast pig. What, no fork?” he picked up the meat and bit into it, then nodded with approval. “Fine. We will eat and then we will go, but I suggest we buy new provisions before we set out. Food at least.” “I agree,” Shiro said. The animals they had stolen from the Urutai warriors had packs of provisions. Not huge packs, as these men were warriors, not travellers. Most of the food consisted of dried meat and fermented milk—something Shiro found that he did not enjoy drinking.

“Akh!” Ali had noised at that time. He spat it out. “What is this rotten swill?” Now they were in the city of Azu and could buy better foods. “Then it is settled.” Ali said. He glanced toward the desk. “Where can we buy provisions, man? Food—real food. Not that rotting milk!” “Ali,” Shiro said. “Try not to incense the locals too much.” “What?” he asked in incredulity. “I am an Abassir man! An imperial, a cultured individual in a land of barbarians, Shiro—how do you expect me to act?” “In a manner befitting a man who will not have a knife slipped into his back when he leaves this establishment?” Debaku glanced at Shiro. “His words carry wisdom, arrogant one.” Ali snorted bemusedly.

Chapter Thirty-Eight—Azurbadan

Shiro pulled his cloak tighter about himself. It was freezing, especially now that they were caught in this blizzard. It was hard to see very far ahead, and even with that lack of visibility, he could tell that Azurbadan was a foreboding place. The wind howled and a chill went up Shiro’s back, both from the eerie nature of the rocks, jagged, like malformed souls, and from the cold. Before them a set of snow-covered stone steps fell, and statues of hideous monsters on each side with claws and scales peered down at them. At least, as far as Shiro could tell through the snow and ice covering them. “Is this it?” Ali asked. Shiro look over at him. “I think so,” he said. Glancing to his right, there was an overhang of rock that kept a part of the cliff there sheltered from the snow. “We can get the animals over those steps,” he said. “Let’s tie them there.” After leaving the animals, Shiro lead the way to the dungeon entrance by travelling up more steps. There were hundreds of them. Luckily the blizzard had just begun and up until now was rather tame, other than the heavy snowfall. “Shiro,” Ali said. “If we get trapped in the dungeon because of the blizzard, I worry for the animals.” Glancing back and down the steps, Shiro felt almost dizzy at the height. If he slipped and fell, he would go all the way down on these icy rocks. But Ali was right. “What else can we do?” he asked. “Do you want to turn back?” Ali shook his head. “No.” “We are not far from Azu,” Debaku said. “If the animals die, we can walk if we must.” Shiro nodded. He didn’t much like leaving them there, but they were all at risk, most of all Jessamine. They had to do this, to work toward saving her, even at

the expense of their animals if they must. “Ah,” Ali said as he made his way up, “they’re Urutai pack animals. They should be fine with their long fur, yes?” “Indeed,” Debaku said. “Let us move on.” Shiro nodded and continued climbing.

Chapter Thirty-Eight—Unexpected Findings

When they reached the top Shiro and Ali were breathing heavily. Debaku breathed slightly faster, but he was otherwise not winded. “I wish…” Ali began. “I wish I was a top-tier adventurer… like you, Mar’a Thulian.” Throat burning, Shiro bent and put his palms on his knees to rest. All was quiet in the snow, and now he felt hot. In fact, he was sweating, which wasn’t good. He knew well enough that if he was sweating, once that moisture lost heat, he would begin to feel cold, and could even freeze in this harsh cold. Straightening, he led the way through the white snowfall. There was a tiny outcropping of rock from the mountain ahead visible near the bottom of the drop and totems, but otherwise they had no idea where they were going. “We follow the totems,” he said and glanced up at the one before them. It had a mouth and eyes at the top—the horns broken off. The image carved within was demonic and monstrous. “A little foreboding, eh?” Ali asked. “I hope there are not too many monsters within.” “I am certain Razul and his party have taken care of them.” “Either that,” Ali said, “or he’s dead.” He laughed nervously. “Do you always laugh about the possible demise of your friends, Abassir?” Debaku asked. Shiro turned and glanced at the two men as he walked backwards. “What? Of course not. It was just a joke, man. Razul can’t be killed by monsters. He is too powerful.” “Too powerful?” Debaku asked. “Like me?”

“Ha!” Ali scoffed. “You want me to call you powerful? Fine—Debaku, you are powerful.” “Thank you.” Shiro was surprised the Mar’a Thulian was making jokes. “Actually,” Ali said. “Razul is strong—probably stronger than me and Shiro, but I do not think that he could best you, my Mar’a Thulian friend.” “Nevertheless,” Debaku said, “I am certain he will be useful in our quest to get Jessamine back from the sultan.” “Yes!” Ali said. “Exactly! That is why we are here.” He spread his arms in a grandiose fashion. “We have arrived!” he called. “This is the temple of Azurbadan!” “I see nothing,” Shiro said. “Exactly!” Ali said. “Razul will probably be too bored not to say yes to our proposal, haha!” “Has that been your reasoning all along?” “No,” Ali said. “But…” “But what?” “He craves excitement, and notoriety. I know he will want to do this thing. It is crazy. He likes crazy, I think.” “I hope this friend of yours,” Debaku said, “also possesses a hand of restraint.” Shiro nodded. “Mm.” “Ah,” Ali stressed, the look on his face somewhat dubious, “I believe he possesses this quality.” The face of the temple, an outline in gray in the snow, became visible. “Look,” Shiro said. “There it is. Come on!”

He picked up his pace as he trudged through the shallow snow. He hoped that wouldn’t change too drastically from this blizzard, otherwise they might get trapped inside the dungeon. The face of the dungeon turned out to be the mouth of a massive cave, the rocks surrounding the entrance carved into fanciful scrollwork. On either side a naked mermaid stood, their likeness grasping what looked like a swirling pillar. With one arm they held on and with their other free hand, they blew horns. “Very interesting,” Ali said as he put his hands on his hips. Further into the cave, the true face of the dungeon was not yet visible. “I wonder how far that goes?” Shiro said, feeling like he wanted to shiver—and not from the cold. Debaku regarded the carvings. “We will see,” he said absently. He didn’t look Mar’a Thulian without his turban covering his bald head. Right now, none of them wore turbans, not even Ali. Instead, the fur-trimmed hoods on their cloaks kept their heads warm.

Chapter Thirty-Nine—Outer Sanctum

Further into the cave, Shiro realized the frigid cold of the environment had lessened here. But perhaps it was because they were out of the elements. “We need light,” he said. Shiro took off his pack and removed three short torches from it. If Jessamine was here, he would have demanded she use her magic to light them, if only because of her joke with the fire during their journey to Darshuun. Without her, he bent and struck a piece of flint with his dagger. The torch caught sparks and the wood fibers within started smoking. He blew on them and a flame appeared. Once the torch was fully lit, he made to light two more, but when the last one was still left to be lit, Debaku interrupted him by removing the glow stone from his pocket. Ali regarded the stone. “Damn,” he said. “Why did I not bring mine?” “You have glow stones?” “Of course I do. I am rich, ?” The leather pocket Debaku had the stone incased in kept out all light, which was why they didn’t know he had the stone, Shiro realized. A useful device. “Is it getting warm?” Ali asked as he raised his torch. Debaku nodded. “Yes.” “Are you certain?” “Yes.” “I thought so too,” Shiro said.

The cave floor was wet. Actually wet which meant that it was warm enough to keep the water from freezing. Drips echoed through the space as Shiro walked across tiles leading further in. Each tile was engraved with various images. Some had mermaids, others tridents, or what looked to be temple-like structures. “Oh,” Ali said. “It drops off.” Shiro nodded, and Debaku said, “There are steps leading down.” “How do you know?” Debaku just gave him a look and said nothing else. They went down the steps. The roof of the cave was covered in short crystalline stalagmites that sparkled in the light of the three adventurers. As they descended the steps, the roof of the cave ascended out of their view to reveal a stone walking path with pools of water on either side. Water dripped about from various places into those pools, the sounds of which echoed about the cavern. “Spooky,” Ali said. “A lot like Akarilion, yes?” “Hai,” Shiro said, nodding. “Hey,” Ali said with a smile. “Maybe I will find myself my very own jinni in here.” “Sorry,” Shiro said, “but that would be Razul’s jinni.” Ali made a face. “Be still,” Debaku said as he halted on the steps. “I smell the blood of men.” “What?” Ali asked incredulously. “Are you trying to frighten me, man?” Debaku didn’t even glance at Ali, he simply outstretched his arm, pointed with his finger in the direction he was indicating.

Ali smiled. “It is nothing, surely.” He stalked down the last few steps. Shiro followed. As their light lit the floor ahead of them, a body was indeed revealed —and it was the body of a man, an Abassir in fact. “Oh gods,” Ali said, then he glanced about. “I think there are no monsters in this chamber,” Shiro said, though that thought didn’t prevent him from glancing about as Ali just had. Ali stepped forward and kneeled next to the corpse. “Mmm,” he noised, putting his arm over his mouth. “Dead a few days at least.” “Why are you touching a dead man?” He turned the body over. “It is not Razul.” Shiro glanced ahead. “That is good. But… what will we find further in?” “Let us find out,” Debaku said, and unsheathed his scimitar.

Chapter Forty—A Forewarning

In a line of three broad, the adventurers stalked forward across the artisticallytiled stone walkway. Many of the tiles were cracked, some had been removed altogether. This dungeon was surely ancient. As they neared the doors into the dungeon proper, mermaid statues with the heads of fish that held onto oil lamps lighted with a sudden poof. “Gah!” Ali yelled. Shiro looked at him, and he shrugged, seeming abashed. “What? There are bodies on the floor. You have to be ready for anything!” Nodding, Shiro unsheathed his Urutai scimitar—this newly acquired sword that he quite liked. He would have to buy a new one before leaving. “Why do they have to have fish heads?” Ali asked as he gestured at the statues with his scimitar. Why can they not be beautiful women with their breasts free like outside, hmm?” “Perhaps…” Debaku said musingly, “those carvings outside are meant to lure would-be victims into the dungeon, Ali.” “Oh,” he said. “Shiro, do you think so?” “I don’t know,” he said, “but let us move forward instead of hesitating.” “I agree,” Debaku said. They stalked forward sixty or seventy more paces, the torches of the fish men and fish women statues lighting successively as they moved forward. “Blood,” Debaku said.

Ali jerked his head around. “What?” he asked with an air of annoyance. “How do you know these things?” Without saying a word, Debaku simply looked at him, and Ali nodded with a stupid sounding acknowledgement. He must have realized that Debaku had abilities he didn’t possess upon being reminded of his pale-grey snake eyes. They walked forward several more steps, and the maroon puddle revealed itself, thick and viscous. “That is a lot of blood,” Shiro said and a shiver went through him. “It was pooled here.” “A monster died here,” Ali said. “No,” Debaku corrected. “This is not a monster’s blood. This belongs to a man.” Shiro realized he was sweating. “It is hot,” he said. “Shiro,” Ali said. “Yes?” “I do not like this.” “Neither do I,” Debaku added. “Well that makes it even worse!” Ali hissed. “We are not turning around,” Shiro said. “Razul may need our help.” “Or he may be dead, Shiro!” “We must find out,” Debaku said. “We are adventurers,” Shiro added. “This is what we do. Now it is time to investigate. We must know what is happening—if Razul is still here.” “All right,” Ali said with a nod and started stepping around the pool of congealed blood. Shiro followed.

The doors up ahead were cracked opened, just enough to let a man with a large pack on his back through. Ali stepped through first. There was a pause, and then… “Shiro!” Stepping quicker, Shiro turned his body sideways and stepped through until he was standing next to Ali. They were atop a landing with more steps leading down. But there, with them, were more corpses. Three men, and some blood that was clearly not human. It was a murky grey-blue. “Yes,” Debaku said from behind. “As I suspected.” “What happened here?” Ali asked. “I don’t know, but how many men do you think Razul has taken down here?” Ali turned, glanced at Shiro. There was worry in his eyes as he shrugged. “Perhaps he brought a small expedition?” “That may explain why there are so many corpses,” Debaku said. “These men may not be high quality adventurers.” “And so we are supposed to think that Razul just left them where they fell?” Shiro asked. “Ali, what do you think?” The men, they did look like they were left where they fell, undisturbed, their weapons not gathered. Many of the corpses still grasped the hilts of swords or spears. “Umm,” Ali said, sounding distracted. “Well… he might?” Shiro narrowed his eyes. “What kind of man is this Razul?” “Eh… he is an adventurer, Shiro. A greedy godless pig. Wait, no—he’s not godless.” “A murderer?”

“No.” “A thief?’ “Oh,” Ali said with a chuckle, “he is definitely a thief!” Debaku stepped forward and held out his glow stone to expand their area of visibility. The torches here in the fish statue’s arms did not light. Perhaps something went wrong with the mechanisms—or the magic had dried up. “He sounds like a very crude man,” Debaku said. “Maybe we should not judge him,” Shiro said. “Why not?” Debaku asked. “Did we not leave dozens of dead soldiers on the road when you broke me out of that prison cage?” “This…” Debaku said. “You make a good point, Shiro.” Being more disposed to honor, Shiro wanted to make judgments, but the practical adventurer in him rejected those notions. If an expedition had to halt for every man that fell, nothing could ever be accomplished. And it was the same in war. When one’s allies fell in a battle line, his friends must step over and atop him to advance on the enemy, or be routed—making his death pointlkess. Glancing about the corpses, Shiro realized one of the men—all of them looked to be native Urutai—was lying atop a sword. The shine of the steel revealed that the weapon was either cared for very well, or that it was newly forged. Shiro moved the corpse over. “What are you doing?” Ali asked. Shiro picked up the Urutai scimitar and hefted it in his hand. “I am trading up,” he said, setting down his clearly older blade. “And you sir are also very crude, my infidel friend.”

Shiro turned and made a sarcastic show of praying for the dead man by asking the kami to guide his spirit wherever it belonged. Ali rolled his eyes. As the water below them splashed, Shiro whirled, raising his sword for a possible attack. “What was that?” Ali gasped, also raising his blade. Debaku stepped forward, shining his light about down the steps, his scimitar in his left hand at the ready. “Something moved,” Shiro said. “I do not think that we are alone.” “I think you are right, Shiro,” Ali said. Then a noise reverberated from beyond the chamber, a sound that echoed through the halls and chambers, one that made the water vibrate. “What the hells was that?” Ali asked. “I don’t know, but if there are noises like that!”—Shiro growled—“then there are either men down here moving things, or there are monsters!” He started making his way down the steps. Then another loud sound thundered through the dungeon halls. An explosion, followed by a battle cry. “Someone is fighting!” Ali said. Shiro jerked his head toward their intended destination. “Come on!” He raced down the steps.

Chapter Forty-One—Razul al…

As they ran through the chamber, the water on both sides began to stir and spash with agitation. “Shiro!” Ali called. “Something is in this water!” “I know!” He didn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop for a bit of a disturbance in the water when whatever was happening in the next chamber beyond could mean the life or death of the man they were here for. But suddenly he slid to a halt as a something jumped out of the water and into the path ahead of him, his stomach knotting up with apprehension. It was a small… monster, it’s face that of a gaping fish, it’s maw filled with long sharp teeth and its eyes gleaming green and glinting in the light of Shiro’s torch. In its left hand—in the webbed and clawed finders—was a silver trident. “Move!” Shiro shouted, giving the spiny fish-like creature a chance to leave him. But it screamed, a wet cry between a hiss and a growl, and lunged at him. Shiro batted the trident aside as Ali and Debaku grunted behind him. The metal on metal from, Shiro’s with the creature’s trident was repeated from behind him as his friends fought the other monsters. “It is an ambush!” he called. Shiro kicked the creature in the midsection and it flew back into the water. “Haha!” Ali cried triumphantly. “These monsters aren’t so tough, Shiro!” And then the water all around them began to agitate. “I think there are more,” Debaku said.

Suddenly five or six more jumped into Shiro’s path. “Fight!” he called, and lunged forward, cutting the first fish man in half from the forehead down. Three lunged at him, hissing and growling, their sharp tridents thrust forward. Shiro batted them aside, sidestepped the third trident, then came back with his torch and hit the creature, the hot portion of his makeshift weapon hissing against scales. The fish man whaled shrilly as he flailed back into the water. Debku grunted from behind and Shiro saw the outline of a dark form move above him before the Mar’a Thulian landed in front of Shiro behind the other fish men and attacked, killing two before they even realized what was happening. Shiro slashed at his final target, but the monster squealed and jumped into the water, disappearing with a traveling ripple of water. “Into the next chamber!” Ali called and ed Shiro up. Debaku turned and preceded him out. The torches in this chamber were lit, revealing the men still alive at the end of this corridor, which was steaming and hot. “Why is the water so warm?” Ali asked. “And why are there fish men underground in the mountains?!” “Later!” Shiro said. “We need to help Razul and his men.” Ahead of them in the oval-topped frame was a closed portcullis of silver and black metal, barbed with points that Shiro could easily see, that if touched, would make a man bleed. There were men on the other side. “Help!” one called in Imperial Abassir. “They’re going to kill us!” another screamed. “Open the gate!” A man further inside the chamber beyond cried out, and another thunderous

sound crashed through toward them, hot water splashing forward. The men at the portcullis, bleeding, shirtless and desperate, cried out. One fell, a spear point sticking through him and almost striking Shiro in the face. “Why do they have chains?” Ali screamed. “Why do you have manacles on your arms, man!” “We are prisoners! Save us! SAVE US!” And then the men were swarmed by the little fish monsters, at least twenty or thirty of them. It was difficult for Shiro to see beyond the portcullis into the next chamber that glowed with a blue luminescence that only glow rocks or prolonged magic could maintain, but he thought he saw a man in there, swimming in the hip-deep water. Shiro tried to move closer, but the water pouring out, hot and steaming, was too strong—the mist obscuring everything from view. “How do we get in there?” he called. A man within bellowed a battle cry as he used his strength to perform some unknown martial action. There was a metal on metal clash and a monster—much larger than any of the others he had seen—whaled, the horrible sound travelling even better through the water. “There!” Debaku called as he pointed to a platform up above. There was a visible chain leading to a latticework of gears and mechanisms unseen inside the walls. The monster beyond cried out again, and the water that rushed through the portcullis came through even more thickly. Shiro could see that even the fish monsters had trouble in the current, as many of them were stuck against the portcullis, their grey-blue blood filling the water around the gate. “I won’t make the jump from within this water!” Debaku called. “You need to help lift me out!” “All right!” Shiro called. He moved to Debaku, but the current started pulling him away, back toward the end of the chamber from where they came.

“Shiro!” Ali bellowed. He was hugging a statue as he reached out. Shiro took his arm and Ali pulled him forward. Debaku was in front of the statue on the other side. He turned and began to climb it. “Oh no!” Ali snarled in complaint. He pointed to the water ripples with his scimitar. “Those fish monsters are coming back!” “They are called squimen,” Debaku yelled as he climbed the statue. “I don’t care what they are called!” Ali hissed and swung his sword into the water, a blue expanse spreading and washing away with the tide. “Haha! I got it!” “You forget!” Debaku said. “You had questions before, Abassir man.” “Do not be over confident!” Shiro called, and swiped at the fish coming near him. Even these little squimen had trouble fighting them in this current. Shiro almost lost his balance as he moved to reposition his knee behind the statue so he wouldn’t be dragged away. Debaku grunted loudly as he jumped from the head of the statue to the platform on the other side. Shiro turned as he lurched again and took hold of the chain. His body weight pulled it down, the mechanisms within clanking and sounding to a general churning. The portcullis opened, filling their chambers with dozens of the little fish monsters. Shiro turned and parried the attacks of at least three of the creatures as each one tried to get a hit in as it flopped past him through the water. “The water!” Ali called. “It’s lowering!” “Good!” Shiro said, glancing at Debaku who held on to the chain with one hand, his boots two paces from the floor.

He dropped, plashing into the water. “We need to stay near that lever!” Shiro said. “It’s the mechanism that resets the trap!” “Yes!” Debaku said, still holding onto the chain. “Ali, take the chain.” But the Abassir must have not heard, because he rushed through the archway into the chamber beyond, where blue-grey blood filled the water. Shiro trudged after him. There was a monstrous form ahead, its armor sparkling among the coral in the corners of the room with iridescent beauty. The man before them, his back turned to them, completely shirtless and covered in ink growled and grunted as he swung a weapon at what was clearly a dungeon guardian, dead, bleeding out in the water. Ali did not approach the man directly, but skirted to the side somewhat. Shiro did the same, taking Ali’s cue and moving to the man’s opposite side. Is he dangerous? When Shiro’s eyes landed on the man’s face, he realized that he was covered in the creature’s blood. He didn’t seem to notice them as he hacked a luminous jewel out of the creature’s body. He lifted it, grinning like a man who had just found a treasure vault and laughed. Then his eyes lowered, flicking from Shiro to Ali, then back to Shiro. “Have you come to rescue us, strange foreigner?” “Razul?” Ali said from the left. The man glanced at him and paused. “Ali? Is that you, Ali? By the gods, man, what are you doing here?” “We came to get you.” “Well,” Razul said with a laugh. “I know my exploits travel, but I did not know

our foul predicament had become so widely known.” He gestured with the glowing orb as he spoke. “Oh!” Razul shouted excitedly as if he had forgotten something. He bent, feeling in the water. “Where is it? Where are you? Damn you, you whore’s—Ah! Got you!” He lifted a sword out of the water, gleaming in an iridescent blue-silver and shaped like a curved fish’s fin. In the hilt rested a blue sapphire. “Good gods,” Ali said. “That is quite a find.” “Yes, it is. And this too!” he hefted the glowing orb. “Razul! Razul—you are alive!” Two of his men appeared at an opening on the other side of the chamber. They strode through the door, the trim of which was carved like that of a fish’s lips, its eyes containing sapphires in the wall. “Look!” Razul said, pointing above the door frame. The men who had just entered glanced up. “Ahahaha!” they laughed. “We are rich!” “And even richer now than most of your men are dead,” Shiro said, his eyes lidding halfway. He did not like what he was seeing. Razul smiled, walked up to Shiro and tapped him on the shoulder. “We all know the risks.” He smiled and strode past Shrio. Then glancing over his shoulder, to his men he said, “Get up there. Yes, yes—boost him up. Yeeessss—just, pluck them out with your dagger. No, you fool, not like that. There. Perfect.” Shiro glanced at Ali and Ali held his stare and shrugged, seemingly in an almost apologetic manner. “Well,” Ali said. “We have our man.” Razul strode out of the chamber like he owned the dungeon. After a moment, Debaku said from the other chamber, as he was unable to leave the lever that controlled the portcullis, “I am concerned about the quality of ‘our new man.’”

“Kami-sama…” Shiro breathed.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lawrence Caldwell is believed by some to be a wandering samurai, or a vagrant, or possibly a ninja—though perhaps in his infinite mystery, he’s none of these things. Whichever the case, he wanders home as Odysseus did after the great Trojan War in some realm unbeknownst to our world. And—by direct theft of a quote from a certain dwarf named Varric Tethras—he “occasionally writes books.”

Look for These Other Titles by Lawrence Caldwell

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THE JINNI AND THE ISEKAI The Jinni and the Isekai The Black Cobra of Mar’a Thul Coil and Strike The Sultan of Darshuun Sultan’s Legacy

ANARCHO Fracture Rating Hussy Landfill Lich

May Day Rescue Dreams of Forever

THE PRINCESS AND THE MAGICIAN The Wind Steppe Princess and the Amalfi Magician

OTHER TITLES Wakiagau Haven Teisatsusha Blackwood Company Littlehand Hakuria Attack on the Spire Keep The Reconnoiters Skydrift Acheron

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