“New identities again. We seem to be snakes, shedding off skin after skin.

And my Master appeared to have mastered the knack of pissing off kingdoms.

Not towns. Not cities. But kingdoms. In such a short period, too. Now, that’s what I call epic,”

commented Sheqer gleefully.

“Where to now, Master?” asked Sheqer.

They couldn’t find their original mounts, but the pick of the horses of Namir’s dead troops was available. Not that their owners could ride them anymore. But the Azat made sure that the rest of the tethered horses were set free. A small mercy, but he’d rather not add the deaths of innocent animals to his conscience. Unlike their dead masters, they have done nothing against him. 

“Undemoile, where else? I doubt Namir’s expecting us to go south. Like Farel, they’d suspect us of doing our best to escape this realm,” replied the man. Pavel’s face betrayed his concerns. It was a long way to that southern city.

“The guards on the road?” reminded the bard. 

“Kill them all. Those are but two to three men patrols. We’ll take our chances on the main road, though I expect larger complements along that stretch. And no soul-taking!” ordered Pavel coldly.

A change had come over him. He could sense it. A substantial part of him had grown darker. A detached and calculating shadow was spreading its cold tendrils within his soul. Sheqer vanished. The man had no doubt the demon would do well. His victims were but ordinary soldiers. He urged his mount along with the reins of a spare horse tied to his saddle. They’d need to go back to their guises at a certain point on the road, and he didn’t think the bard would appreciate walking behind Pavel and his horse. 

As he left the ruins and its recent dead behind, Pavel’s troubled thoughts kept on returning to his inner transformation. The act of using a substantial amount of chaos energy appeared to have triggered it. The dispassion had always been there, but it was restricted to a compartment in his psyche. Now, it had broken free, and the Azat wondered how much of his individuality he would lose. 

Why the hell was it there in the first place? mused Pavel. A consequence of the Lady’s gift? The power of chaos changes people? Am I supposed to learn how to use such strength from other Fated? 

Then he remembered Kriyamana’s words. Epithets which mockingly denied what he was thinking. Even the bard’s snide remarks appeared to support the exasperated comments of the messenger of Fate. Pavel’s life was already confusing as it was, and an eldritch contagion was growing inside his mind. He could only sigh as the bizarre mixture of contradictions ebbed and flowed, issues that found no resolution in his deliberations.

The Azat halted. He was already close to the dirt road leading to the highway. The reflections could wait. He was back in the business of surviving, and the problem of evading the Ampol fort’s notice demanded his immediate attention. For those matters, he needed the demon’s suggestions. Pavel didn’t have the appetite to take on that bastion so soon after what he did back in the ruins. Sheqer reappeared after a few minutes and walked to him.

“We need not worry about the guards. I’ve taken care of those on the uphill route. But somebody got the ones on the crossroads,” reported the bard as he took the other mount’s reins. 

“We don’t have any friends in this land, Sheqer. Did you see who killed them?” asked Pavel. It was another twist in a long, bizarre day. 

“I only felt a fleeting presence. Whatever or whoever it was, I believe it wants to meet us. It could have attacked already if it meant us harm,” said the demon. 

“It escaped your scrutiny?” said the alarmed Azat. 

He knew Sheqer was powerful, and even mages would be hard-pressed to hide their presence from the demon. But this strange newcomer was able to defeat the bard’s scrying abilities. 

“Surprised me too. I suggest you dismount. We’ll be meeting our guest on a short while,” advised the demon instead. “I venture he’d be waiting ahead.” 

Pavel followed the bard’s advice, and the pair continued on foot. As they turned a curve in the road, the duo saw a man standing in the middle of the lane. He was expecting them. Seeing the two, the figure approached. 

The pair stopped where they were and waited. Pavel could tell that a mass of energy swirled around the person. It prevented one from looking past the visible image. The Azat couldn’t even ascertain if it also served as a magical protective barrier. He glanced at Sheqer. The demon appeared fascinated by the magical anomaly approaching them. 

“Hey! Stop gawking and help me out here! What or who is it?” admonished Pavel. 

“Sorry, Master. But the magical configuration is magnificent. I couldn’t even tell what it does. The only explanation I have is that the effect results from the combination of a spell and two or more amulets. Fascinating and very powerful too. Only a High Mage could manage such a complex weave of magical effects,” replied the occupied demon. “Interesting.”

“You seemed obsessed with that word lately, Sheqer. Not helping here,” came the Azat’s irritated remark. 

“Don’t worry. I doubt if our visitor means us immediate harm. The sword is sheathed, his strides confident, all wrapped in a calm, magical aura. Didn’t you notice that our guest made it a point to keep his hands well away from his body? He means to talk, not fight,” offered the bard.

Pavel saw the demon was right. Out in the open, any hostile intention would have been clear. He didn’t sense any killing intent. But the Azat remained in his ready stance, even if their surprise guest appeared to be alone. That in itself spoke volumes of the confidence of the newcomer in his abilities. 

“Greetings, travelers. I believe I am meeting Arno, the mercenary, and his bard with the unbelievable name?” hailed the man who stopped just beyond a spear’s length from the duo.

He appeared to be in his late forties, though the long hair, tied at the back, and trimmed beard were an early gray. A blue cloak barely concealed the leather and steel armor beneath the traveling garment. And the figure exuded magic. He positively glowed with the energy.

Pavel thought initially that what he detected was a spell, but found he was wrong. The power he had observed was of a passive kind and evidently came from enchanted objects the visitor carried. Still, the absence of an active conjuration didn’t mean the figure before them wasn’t a mage. The Azat trusted the bard’s assessment of the man’s magical ability. From he had seen, interesting for the demon meant dangerous.

But the image before them ran counter to Pavel’s conception of a High Mage. Armor instead of a robe, and a sword instead of a staff. The man also gave off the aura of being used to command and authority. If he didn’t know any better, the Azat would have concluded that the man was a military commander of high rank. 

“You have us at a disadvantage, my good man,” replied Pavel. “You know our names, and yet we don’t know yours.”

“My apologies, Arno. We’ll go with your listed name for now. I am Duke Salvindi of the House of Truan, Senior Chancellor for Commerce and Transportation of the Kingdom of Farel.”

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

***

The man’s declaration hit Pavel like a pair of bricks. The first shock was that before them stood a high-ranking nobleman of Farel, a kingdom he knew was hunting him. Yet, the fellow – a Duke, no less - appeared unconcerned about that little fact. The second blow was the comment about going with his listed name – Arno. A simple statement that meant the Duke knew their identities and their progress through Namir. 

“Here for our heads?” asked Pavel casually. Surprisingly, the bard kept his silence through the initial exchanges. 

“Far from it, my good man. You’re still wanted in Farel. Killing a governor who’s also an Earl does that, I am afraid,” said the Duke nonchalantly. “But I am not here because of that trifling yet bloody matter.”

Trifling? The trivializing description danced its way through Pavel’s disbelief. 

“A fourth cousin of the King. You forgot that part,” said Sheqer suddenly. 

“Of the Queen, actually. But everyone wants to be a relative of the King. I guess that fellow could claim to be a distant cousin by association,” replied the man, who then stared at Sheqer. 

“Ah, the heralded bard. There’s something strange about you. You are not what you appeared to be,” remarked the Duke, still conversational. 

“Aren’t we all behind one mask or another?” smiled Sheqer with an unexpected display of obsequiousness. 

The man stared at the bard, a slight smile dancing on his face. 

“Very well, both of us can push beyond what we see. But what purpose would it serve? I offer a truce, bard,” laughed the newcomer. Sheqer merely bowed his agreement. 

“Your companion’s magical skill is more than adequate, mercenary. But though the two of you raise my curiosity well enough, duty calls, and I’ll limit our discourse to my purpose,” smiled the man mysteriously, turning his attention back to Pavel. 

The Azat merely nodded. It was going to be another proposal. One he couldn’t ignore. Pavel could only groan inwardly. His litany of woes seem to get longer during his journeys. Yet the current development was strange enough to invite his attention and curiosity. 

“Farel won’t hunt you down in Namir. I’ll make sure of that,” began the royal. 

It was a statement that caused the bard to comment that a Chancellor for Commerce and Transportation would hardly be in the position to make such guarantees. The Duke laughed merrily. 

“I said Senior Chancellor. Other people do the actual work. But the title enables me to travel freely and poke my nose into other people’s concerns,” came the oblique explanation after the laughing fit ended. 

Farel’s spymaster, realized Pavel. 

The Duke won’t say it openly, but his answer made it obvious. And he made his way deep into Namir, tracked them into Ampol, and evaded detection from the realm’s spies and mages. 

“But just to be clear. Namir won’t be hunting for you, but I cannot speak for that oaf’s pretentious yet large family. They’ve engaged bounty hunters, and luckily for us, they’re all up in the northern kingdoms looking for you. You exhibited commendable skill in evading trackers. Using that smuggler’s route was ingenious,” clarified the man with a wink. 

He knew about that part? thought the stunned Pavel.

“You found that out, and yet you expect us to believe you kept that tidbit to yourself,” remarked the Azat. 

“I decide what’s best for the kingdom and my brother, the king. He rules Farel, and I keep him and the kingdom safe from external threats. It’s an effective way of handling the problems of ruling a kingdom. Worked so far,” came the reply. “Except for this Namir problem created by that moronic Earl.”

He had no idea what the Duke was talking about. Though Pavel remembered the late Captain Materis mentioning a plot being hatched by the unlamented, late governor against Namir. 

“Is this related to the plan against Namir? The one that governor was implementing?” hazarded Pavel. 

“The same. We have no interest in a war with Namir. Yet. Farel already has its hands full with troubles on our northern borders. A border conflict, raids in force, and avoiding being dragged into two major wars is enough even for me. That stupid governor thought he was doing the king a favor,” explained the Duke. “Don’t get me wrong. We have a history of hostilities with Namir. It will erupt again. Farel is still interested in acquiring this land. But now is not the time for it as far as Farel is concerned.”

“Where do we come in? It’s politics again, and I do hate being dragged into such headaches,” said the Azat with obvious distaste.

Yet he had already given up avoiding being entangled with political games. Beheading that foppish governor apparently sealed Fate’s plans on that stage. Pavel doubted if the Lady didn’t have a hand in previous and future incidents that hounded him. He was Fate’s pawn. Minions don’t get to see the larger picture. 

“You’ve handled yourself well so far. Escaping what one of Five Hands of Namir had planned for you was impressive,” grinned the Duke. 

“Wait, wait. What’s that about Five Hands?” asked the bewildered Azat. 

“An arm of the Duchy intended to handle confidential matters with dispatch and secrecy. It reports directly to the Duke of Namir and is independent of the usual eyes, ears, and dagger department of the realm,” explained the man. “Few people know of its existence.”

“And they’ll hunt us down once they learn of what happened in the ruins,” Pavel concluded wearily. Another fucking complication.

“Of course. Eliminating one of the Hands would catapult you into the top of their hate list once they learn about the failure and death of the unlucky captain. Knowing Materis, he would have alerted the soldiers along the main road in the event you escaped his clutches,” grinned the Duke. “They’ll be watching out for both of you.”

Pavel shook his head resignedly. Fighting their way to the south wasn’t an option. He’d seen how Namir guarded its roads. There would be small detachments all the way to Undemoile. Scouts, assassins, and more troops would be sent against them once the failure of Captain Materis was revealed. 

“I offer you a way south. I don’t recommend the northern kingdoms for now. Give it a month or two to throw off the hunters if you intend to go that way. Though I have to warn you that war engulfs that region. It might be a good opportunity for a mercenary, but not to a hunted sellsword. But while in Namir, I need you to do something for me,” smiled the Duke. The grin reminded the Azat of a cat with its cornered prey.

Another deal, grimaced Pavel. More fucking work. 

“Tell us first what you want,” blurted the bard, noting the disturbed mien of his master. 

“Namir is planning something big. It could be a reaction to what the deceased Earl planned. Maybe they’ve had enough. But my sources tell me Namir’s mages have been looking for some artifact down south. In the Deadlands,” explained the Duke. He looked at Pavel straight in the eyes and then continued. 

“Once found, I have been informed that it would be the trigger for whatever they’ve prepared. Go south and disrupt whatever they’re doing. And when I say disrupt, I mean death and destruction in a big way. Enough to set their efforts back for a generation,” continued the man. “From what I’ve seen and heard, that’s a job right up your line of expertise.”

“Fine. We’ll do it. Any idea where?” asked Pavel. 

“Not in Undemoile itself. Somewhere where the Deadlands begin. It’s a major activity. It’s not even a secret. You’ll find it,” answered the Duke. “One of their official expeditions for ancient artifacts.”

“Could be devilishly difficult. For one, our faces would be on posters all over Namir,” warned the bard. 

“I already thought of that,” came the reply. 

The Duke gave each of them a small, thin bronze medallion. Once they neared Undemoile, breaking the amulet in two would grant them magical disguises powerful enough to hide their identities from any magical scrutiny. They just need to avoid getting close to High Mages. A heavy purse filled with Namirian currency accompanied the talismans. 

“Once near Undemoile? How are we going to get there? The main road is swarming with soldiers and probably mages,” remarked Sheqer. 

A lizardlike creature suddenly appeared on the ground. It looked like a monitor lizard, but Pavel could sense it was more. The Duke had produced a magical familiar effortlessly. 

“Follow it. A boat awaits you on the shores of Lake Namir. It will bring you to a location near Undemoile. The creature will guide you to your means of escape and help you avoid patrols,” explained their new employer. “Don’t even think of betraying me or not finishing the contract. I’ll know, and you wouldn’t want me personally hunting you down.”

***

“New identities again. We seem to be snakes, shedding off skin after skin. And my Master appeared to have mastered the knack of pissing off kingdoms. Not towns. Not cities. But kingdoms. In such a short period, too. Now, that’s what I call epic,” commented Sheqer gleefully.

The pair were following the lizard. It moved quickly and occasionally looked back to see if the duo was following it. 

“Interesting journey, to use your word of the moment,” replied Pavel. “That fellow smelled lethally dangerous. Not as powerful as Hayna, but I guess his skills lie in another direction.”

“He. You do know he’s a she?” laughed the bard. 

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