The mistrust of the entire company of guards that accompanied them out toward the burned ruins of the Miram was evident. It might not have been the case that they knew the exact nature of what had happened at the complex, but no doubt they’d heard dark rumours. Still, both the household guard and the especially the professional sandshell legion held themselves without complete.

Would it be good enough for a demon? Possibly not, Efrain reflected. Still, hopefully they’d be enough fodder for him to come up with a more permanent solution, should they cross the path of one of those. The word ‘demon’ rang in his mind almost as much as the tolling sensation of the terrible acceleration.

He’d never seen one, never even seen what it had left behind, but there were stories. Not least of which came from Innie herself, who’d had an encounter in her youth. In her own words ‘she’d run and never looked back’. It was uncommon for Efrain to come across a subject that he truly knew almost nothing about. Demonology was a stunted branch of magical inquiry, not least of which was that demons seemed to be exceptionally rare.

He was shaken out of contemplation when they made it to the first of the ruined buildings. It was one of those that was less touched by the fires, though its exterior was still blackned and peeled. Efrain wondered just how bad it must’ve been to reach all the way out here. He got his answer about ten minutes later, when the central pyramid of the Miram loomed out of the water. The stone was untouched, mostly washed clean by decades of rain.

The same, however, could not be said for the house that stood in its place. The great house, as from its size it must once have been great indeed, had imploded entirely. Entire sections of the walls had caved, spars of shattered wood sticking out of the structure haphazardly. Torch light buzzed within, the fires offering little life to the bulk. As they neared the pyramid steps, one of the torch-carriers resolved into a Eisen house guard. He hurried down to them, bowing his head in difference to the matriarch.

“My matriarch,” he said in Karkosian, “we found evidence of the reprobate. He must’ve gotten advance word of our coming somehow, and slipped away.”

“Show me,” said Aysatra, slapping away any attempt to help her out of the boat.

The group, composed of Efrain, Aya, who’d insisted upon coming, Azio, his wife Sahadra, and Aysatra, as well as their retinue of personal guard, walked into the grim remains of the Miram house. The guard warned them to watch their steps, noting that some sections of the floor were unstable. That didn’t seem to bother the other guards, who stood around with torches and swords drawn, looking in this corner and that.

They were led to a small, sheltered alcove, with a bedroll and evidence of a cooking fire.

“Here it is,” the guard who’d greeted them said, “he must’ve holed up for almost a week. Clever, this one. No one searches these ruins.”

“No, no they don’t,” said Aysatra, “on my orders.”

She left the implied ‘that was a mistake’, in the drawn tightness of her lips.

“What are your orders, matriarch?” said the man, once more bowing his head.

“Where is he now?”

“We believe he might’ve slipped away to the south west, to the yards,” said the guard, “a company is on its way to search. Perhaps he’s hoping to blend into the workers, or to swim out to hide on one of the ships.”

“Bit of a dangerous proposition,” mused Efrain, “the tides would wash him out all the way to sea.”

“Perhaps so, sir,” said the guard, wrinkling his eyes at Efrain, “but he’s proven himself desperate enough.”

“Captain. Are you a captain?” said Aysatra.

“Yes ma’am. Of your house guard. Farenti, always at your service,” he said.

Efrain caught something muttering under the matriarch’s breath about how her husband was usually the one to deal with this kind of thing, and stifled a chuckle.

“Leave a skeleton crew to comb over the buildings once more,” she said, “take the greater number of your men, and come to the yards with me and mine. I want him alive for questioning, you understand?”

“It might be difficult, matriarch,” said the captain, “he’s proven himself capable of murder, or so I’ve heard. We’ll do what we can.”

“I hardly think a noble boy would pose such a threat,” snorted Aysatra.

“As you say, ma’am,” he said.

“I think I’ll stay here,” Efrain said, “comb over the ruins and see if there’s anything we’ve missed.”

The guard captain shared a look with someone beside Efrain, it was hard to tell who, then looked at the matriarch questioningly.

“He’s trusted,” she said with a wave of her hand, already turning to stride back to the boat, “follow what he says.”

The man nodded, and started shouting orders this way and that. By the end of it, Efrain had a small group of a half-dozen or so guards, who stood before him, awaiting orders. He began by getting a thorough accounting of the structure of the estate, as well as what they’d found already. The information wasn’t promising.

It was smaller than the other two estates, which Efrain had guessed as much, with only a handful of outlying buildings rather than the massive bridged complexes that now characterised the Eisen and Poutash. Most of those were small, and lacked any features of interest other than being intact. Most goods and possessions had long been stripped via official orders or unofficial thieving. The interior buildings had burned to the ground, leaving the main house the most interesting and most promising provision. None of the men had conducted anything but a cursory glance at the building’s content, and all search had apparently ceased when the campsite was found.

“Well then, you lot,” Efrain said, “I want you to go over it again. This time, focus on what structure remains intact, and what is precarious.”

Leaving them to their task, Efrain focused first on the upstairs. He didn’t get far, with the second level staircase barely intact, and the third level being little more than beams. He did find furniture remains but apart from that, there was nothing of any interest. The second sweep of the ground floor revealed a set of stone steps down into the base of the pyramid, hidden underneath fallen rubble.

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“I fail to see what this has to do with the fugitive, sir,” one of the soldiers said dully.

“Oh, you’re right to,” Efrain breathed, looking down at the darkness, and getting the hint of a cold breeze from below, “this has to do with the question of what happened here. You, when did this burn down?”

The soldier he pointed to blinked.

“About thirty years ago, sir,” he said.

“So, what happened here thirty years ago?” Efrain said as he began to take his first steps downward, “anyone care to guess?”

They looked at him confused, and eyed the passage down with trepidation.

“Oh well,” Efrain said, snapping his finger bones and conjuring a silvery light above his head.

Leaving the soldiers to their shocked gasps and whispers, he plunged into the depths of the pyramid. The landing he came to had a small pile of ash at its base, but beyond that this place was untouched by the fire. Efrain took care to examine the elaborate hangings and carved relief on the wall. He was pleasantly surprised by how well they’d been preserved for three decades. He was unpleasantly surprised by the chill he felt from the coordinator up ahead.

He was turned this way and that, occasionally bobbing his head in to investigate side rooms. Mostly store rooms of one type or another, filled with rotten food or dusty arms. It was only when he reached a carpeted section of floor when he first saw the dark stains. At first they had the characteristic of drag marks, but then they merged into a larger mass that had soaked through the carpet.

At the end of that section, the pyramid opened out into a large room, what must’ve once been the cooking hall. Efrain didn’t even have to step in to feel the maddening emotions. A rolling tide of anger, betrayal and revenge. Prepping a magical response to what he might find, he strode into the room.

The wooden tables and benches had been haphazardly dragged to the very edges of the circular room. Only one was left in the centre, and Efrain was certain that the crusty layer that covered the wood wasn’t stain or varnish. He crossed over to it anyway, noticing the gouges and stab marks as he ran a finger across it.

As if he’d dragged it across a rusty span of metal, it came away brown and powdery.

Efrain wrinkled his imaginary nose in disgust as he wiped it clean. A great many people had died upon that table, that much was for certain. How and why was the more pressing question - indeed the sheer number and specific location suggested that some kind of dark ritual had indeed taken place.

Efrain looked around, trying to find any additional clues in the scattered furniture and the connected kitchen. There was nothing that he could connect back to the events, only food that had long since crumbled to soil, shattered crockery, and chipped tools. He turned back to the crude sacrificial altar, finger at his temple as he considered.

The Miram’s Umtau seemed far more complete and premeditated than the matriarch suspected. Judging by the amount of blood, he suspected that the whole family, large as it was, and perhaps even the servants were sacrificed to whatever end. They must’ve been drugged somehow, Efrain thought, unless that ‘insane old man’ the matriarch mentioned was an unparalleled warrior who couldn’t be stopped by his own guards.

Of course, that was making the assumption that it was this old patriarch who’d done it. It seemed to fit in with the general qualities of a blood sacrifice - desperation, stress, going insane. Whether it was for rain for crops, or a financial windfall, or luck in a losing battle, blood magic was rarely one’s first resort.

Either way, there was one other question that necessitated answering. If the bodies hadn’t burned to ash, where had they gone? Efrain first looked back at the way they’d come. Nothing had come that way. The ash wasn’t even disturbed, and the rooms were bereft of remains, so that left…

There was, of course, the standard exit to the canal, which had been ordered walled off. It was demarcated by the steps lending down at a gentle angle at the far end of the hall. With a sigh, Efrain brightened his light and began to walk towards it. He soon stopped to investigate a set of bones, cast aside near the entrance.

It was certainly human, he was sure of that much - Efrain recognized the radius and ulna, as well as the humerus a short distance from it. An arm had fallen off? The sacrifice must’ve been violent indeed to make that outcome. But it was almost two dozen paces from the central table, so it must’ve been dragged or thrown. A wild frenzy perhaps?

Efrain made his imaginary frown as he looked back between the table and the remains. Something wasn’t adding up. He was certain that there was more to this, and he was quickly proven right. He found more bones as he went down the stairs, bits of stain that suggested blood or flesh had been left to rot away, and strange marks on the walls. He traced one with his finger, noting how jagged it was.

It was joined by others on the ceiling and on the opposing wall, all suggesting something had been pressed against it.

Whenever he found them, he discovered discarded bits and pieces of corpses. Down he went the broad, shallow steps, too wrapped up in the mystery of the body pieces to notice the approaching water. It was only when his boot made a splash that he realised he’d stood at the boarded-up exit to the canal.

Efrain looked this way and that, trying to see if there was any other piece of evidence. The lack of consistent drag marks suggested that the body pieces had not been pulled there. He’d even found almost an entire upper human body, nothing but warped and fractured. It was almost as if it had fallen off a cart and had just been left there.

A glimmer, just under the water, situated in the crease between the wall and the submerged stone floor caught his eye. He went closer, stooping to examine it, when he felt a pull and his light winked out. Efrain stood tensed, waiting for something to grapple and drag him into the dark, if shallow, water.

Nothing came, save the vague sense of coldness intensifying ever so slightly.

Efrain backed up a handful of steps, and let the light flicker back on, moving it behind him.

Its silvery light cast across the surface of the still water, and to the black crystal embedded in the wall.

Efrain looked at the jet surface, turned, and raced up the stairs. The guards to his surprise were still there, loitering around near the entrance speaking in hushed tones when he emerged slowly from the darkness.

“Anything of interest?” said the man, glancing down the way he’d come.

“Nothing relevant,” Efrain sighed, trying to keep his voice as steady and uninterested as possible, “we’d best be going and fast. I’d not want to miss the arrest.”

One of the soldiers laughed, and the others turned to silence him with a stare. They were soon underway to the dockyards, only a ten-minute ride from the burned-out husks. Breaking out into the open ocean, however, struck Efrain as odd.

“Excuse me,” Efrain said, “aren’t there better ways to the yards? Faster through the city canals, isn’t it?”

One of the soldiers shrugged as they pushed out deeper into the water, almost to the various ships that anchored in the bay.

“Often clogged,” he said, “ship workers leave their flotsam to clean it in the morning.”

Efrain hadn’t failed to notice that their’s was the only boat of three that had missed the turn off. He reappraised the six or so guards in the Eisen house boat, wondering at who he found himself with. His answer came by the nervous look in one of the younger guards eyes, and his hand straying a little too close to the dagger on his waist.

“Tell me,” Efrain said, “you are the house guard of the Eisen, no?”

“Yes, that’s right,” said the guard directly opposite him, the other nodding in agreement.

Their livery was standard, he could see no counterfeiting, and the matriarch had set no alarm bells, but… she didn’t know her staff, that much was plain. Neither did Aya, nor Efrain. Then something clicked in Efrain’s mind.

“It must’ve been quite a shock,” Efrain said, “getting the matriarch’s orders to explore a place that had been cordoned off.”

The man nodded, looking slightly greyer at the allusion to the Miram, but his eyes narrowed. Possibly because a strange man was asking a familiar question, possibly because it suggested cowardice on his part.

And possibly, because Efrain was nearly certain that the matriarch gave no such order in the first place. They were out in the deepness of the bay now, where the tidal ebb would soon rise. Perfect to wash a body out to the sea, never to be seen again. Efrain took a moment to consider the facts as he understood them, thinking back on what had happened in the last two hours.

“Ah,” he said, recalling who’d told them about the ruins, and who must’ve preempted the guard, “so it is Azio.”

The man stiffened, reaching for his sword, Efrain made to stand up. Then the guard behind him drove what must’ve been a dagger into his back, somehow slipping through his enchanted defences and glancing off his spine. He must’ve been devising the blow for some time to be that precise. In that instant, a plan occurred to Efrain - instead of whirling to confront the attacker, he gasped and fell forward.

He was stabbed three or four times more, twitching and writhing for good measure, then laying still.

“Good work,” said the guard, “could’ve gone for the neck though, quicker. I thought I taught you though, don’t drive it home, slip it in. If he was standing, it would’ve made noise. You slip it in, they stiffen, and you can lower them to the ground.”

“Sorry, sorry,” said the other one from behind in Karkosian, “whatever that cloth is hard. There must be some leather underneath.”

“Well, let’s throw him out before we get any blood on our uniforms,” said the man, “we have to be back on duty tomorrow.”

“Why?” complained the stabber.

“To maintain the illusion,” emphasised the first guard, “the matriarch is going to be dead, and people need some stability. Be glad you’re not one of the group who has to fight the legionnaires.”

“Fine. You’re right,” said the man.

Efrain prepared himself as he felt their hand closed around his legs and shoulders. He was hoisted up, turned to face the dark sky as he heard the men exclaim in surprise.

“He’s light!” said the stabber, “must be a slip of a man underneath.”

When he felt their grips slacked just slightly to prepare to toss his body over, Efrain prepared. Creating pure force was relatively easy, directing it not so much. Still, precision was hardly necessary, so long as he didn’t capsize the boat, all he needed to do was to send them stumbling. As they drew him back, he let loose, finding his magic wilder, flooding forth without mitigation. Four men went flying with a crack and a splash. Efrain stood up as gracefully as he could, as the two oarsmen stared up at him in wonder.

“Reach for those arms, and you won’t live long enough to use them,” he said, proud of how completely unperturbed he sounded.

He looked at the flailing men, their hauberks and leathers no doubt dragging them under. Amatuers, he thought, knowing the legionnaires would have armour claspes that they’d been trained to undo with speed. He glanced down at his fingers, feeling a slight warmth in them as he wondered where this profusion of strength had come from.

“Well then, let’s go pay master Azio a call,” he said, gesturing over to the dockyard, “he’s got a lot of explaining to do.”