The room reeked of blood. The pile of bodies and parts spread across the room. The sound of violence turned to dying whimpers of agony.

“This is madness!" the boxer with the thinning black hair cried, pointing his sword to Hirodias. "We have all been doomed!"

"I am Hirodias. Tell me your name," Hirodias demanded.

"I am Andreus, and this is Palimedis," he answered, pointing to the one with the red braids. "We have been under the protection of Master Okur since children."

Palimedis lowered Andreus' sword. "Protection? We were kidnapped as children and made into slaves. I wish Okur had another head for me to crack open. The bastard deserved to suffer more than I gave him. Is it true? You said your name is Hirodias. You’re the true descendent of the old kings?"

"We are all children of Arkromenyon," Hirodias answered. He lifted his iron collar to show his neck. "I have the mark of the Yon."

"I can't read, but I'll trust you," Palimedis said.

The surviving slaves gathered around Hirodias. "The mark is true," said one of the older servants. “I can read it. We have planned for this day to aid the heir of Hesperyon.”

Palimedis rummaged through the dead guards' armor. "The party's not over. There are more guards coming soon. What's the plan?"

"Move swiftly," Hirodias said. “We need to know your numbers from Gamesh."

"Three more of our brothers are chained in the stables awaiting their matches later tonight," Andreus answered. “They will be guarded.”

Hirodias sheathed his sword and covered it with his cloak. "The plan is to become guards. We make haste to free your brothers. Then across the city to the magister's office, and we kill the Magister. Then we free our folk."

"All you had to say was kill the Magister," Palimedis said with a wide grin.

The dead guards were stripped as fast as they could be, and the slaves wiped cleaned their armor before dressing Andreus and Palimedis. The slaves wiped as much as blood as they could from Hirodias, but there was just no cleaning away that much death.

Hirodias knocked at the servants' door three times. The old blind slave opened the door.

“It is done, there is no turning back,” the old slave said.

Hirodias returned the bloody stick back in the old slave's hand. "This is stained with their blood, uncle. We used it well."

"Hurry to the Magister," the old slave warned. "When he comes down from his office to make way to the wedding, his Red Guard will be riding with him. The Red Guard is a force you cannot fight."

Hirodias placed his hand on the old man's shoulder. "Change of plans. We need to free men in the stables. Men from Gamesh."

"Then go through the horse groomers' pathway. You will have access to the stables from the rear."

Hirodias motioned to the servants. "Gather the food and retrieve the supplies you have hidden for the journey. Remember the plan. Move when the guards are distracted. We will meet at the reed beds. At sunrise if we do not meet, move west and do not stop until you are out of the Smote. Do not go directly south to the Old Road. Try for Old Menathinion, there may be others there. Aredunians will give you safe passage; they are not slavers and will not return you."

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"Mother guide you," the servants took turn telling Hirodias, touching his arms and hands as they departed.

"Mother guide us," he responded. "Be swift, keep quiet!"

As Hirodias turned, the old slave grabbed his wrist. “I know you will do what it takes. So will we. Remember you no longer fight for just yourself. Just as no longer struggle to survive just for ourselves. This is sacrifice, child.”

“Sacrifice,” Hirodias repeated.

After the servants left, Hirodias was alone with Andreus and Palimedis. "Three are enough. We make haste."

Hirodias led the Gamesh fighters through the dark alley until he reached another joined alley closed off by double swinging doors. The doors had crude images of horses marked by a branding iron. Hirodias crept through the doors and turned a corner where they came to the rear of the stables. The horses neighed as they sensed their approach. Hirodias crossed his wrist together as if bound, and marched toward the guards as if escorted by the two guards.

"The Gamesh dogs are needed," Palimedis called.

There were four guards, who turned and stared at Palimedis. "And who are you?" one guard asked, inspecting the two boxers. "Did you steal those uniforms? Why is the Jester out here? Is that blood on his cloak?"

Hirodias snapped the guard's neck and pulled the dead guard's sword from his scabbard as the body fell. He pulled his other sword out with his left hand and wielded both swords at once. He swung at another guard with his left. The guard blocked the strike but Hirodias' second sword cut into the guard's collarbone, a crunch loud enough to be heard over his scream. Hirodias plunged the other into the guard’s throat to end the scream.

The boxers circled the other two guards.

“Don’t do it,” warned Palimedis when he saw the guard trying to reach for his alarm horn.

When the guard reached for it anyway, Palimedis lopped off half the guard’s hand and split the horn in two. He punched the guard in the mouth and ran the sword through his belly.

Andreus was clashing swords with the remaining guard. The guard thrust his sword toward the boxer, who then parried it. Andreus lifted his sword to cut into the guard but a knife flew and struck the guard in the heart. Hirodias’ big hand pulled the knife from the dead guard.

"Andreus! Palimedis!" one of chained Gamesh boxers cried out. "What is the meaning of this?"

"It's a revolt, brothers, and it’s high time!" Palimedis said. He grabbed the ring of keys from one of the fallen guards and freed the three chained boxers. "This is Vasilis, the eldest of us. The others are Maletias and Symian. Okur is dead, I killed him myself."

"Dead!" Vasilis cried. "Where then will we go?"

Hirodias tossed his swords to the feet of the freed boxers. "I am Hirodias, from the line of Hesperyon. We are leaving Isimil and returning to the west but there is one last task. Come with us to kill the Magister."

"Okur," Maletias said as he spat on the ground. Symian spat with him.

Vasilis remained seated as his eyes widened at the sight of the giant. "Are you bull or man? I have never seen a slave as large as you.”

Palimedis began undressing the guards. "You'll have to dress up as one of them, and we're going to escort this bull-slave right into the magister's office. There isn't much time, they're going to find the mess we left soon. Every slaver is dead inside. We’re moving fast, Visalis.”

Hirodias offered his hand to aid Vasilis to his feet. "What is this…the hand of fate?" Vasilis said. "No choice we are given, but to follow you through this act or stay and be skewered by the might of the Yghr armed guards when they catch us. We’ve made enemies of both the Red Guard of Isimil and the Black Guard of Gamesh. The slavers will cover all the dunes of the Smote in search for us." Vasilis rose unaided.

“This armor is a little tight across the chest,” Palemedis said. “You’ll have to adjust these buckles.”

“It’s made for boy, not men,” Symian answered, trying to figure out how to strap the buckles on a chest plate.

“Then it should fit you just fine then, eh?” Maletias chuckled.

“Don’t joke when we are near the Red Guard,” Andreus warned. “We have to be believable. And grab their scarves too. You’ll need it to hide the collars. By the gods, this isn’t going to work. This is a bad idea.”

Hirodias had been examining the edge of his sword. He set it back into the scabbard. “You are right, this is a bad idea. Living in chains is a bad idea. Ignoring our bloodline. Standing by as the slavers torture and starve our people. And yes, dying. Dying trying to change those things is a bad idea. The breath of Arkromenyons in our lungs. Hundreds of years of bad ideas.”

Palemidis helped the others put on the soldier uniform. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go carry out this bad idea.”