Two weeks later, the town seemed to explode with people. Sirin departed on her –now weekly– night raid, leaving Liam to practice magic in the cellar and sleep. When the morning dawn rose, Liam was alone, an annoyingly common occurrence.

‘Quetz, where is Mom?’

‘Hiding in a barrel. Probably. Last I saw she was hiding in the baker’s cellar, then I came to watch you sleep.’

Liam ground his teeth. It was so simple, so annoying. Why couldn’t Sirin just stay home with him? Why did she keep leaving?

‘Thanks.’ He managed to think, replying to Quetz.

There was nothing he could do now. Not with the sun up. He would have to wait until the next night, when she would inevitably return with a new set of muscle tears.

Liam sat on the cold stone, opening a peeping portal to survey the city once more. A full thousand soldiers trundled along the road to Khereshetal, carving new ruts into the dirt. Sirin’s nightly raids decreased, her tight lips always repeating one mantra as to the reason behind the change, ‘I just want to stay home with my little Tufan’. Though she often accented the word to sound more like ‘tough man’ in the English language. He couldn’t tell if she was trying to be affectionate, or mocking his use of healing magic to grow faster than normal. He had become weirdly muscular, and was more the size of a five year old than a toddler. So he put the thought aside.

Outside the shuttered adobe home, the town bustled with crowds, peeping portals showed the city coming to life. Valiant men returned home, immediately setting their homes in order. Abandoned villa’s were filled, with more than one complaint about missing grain. When Liam checked on the magistrate he found a line of fifty people running out of his office, and the magistrate, complete with purple turban and robes, sneaking out the back door. Sirin’s tactic of spreading out losses seemed to backfire, and only added quantity to the complaints.

Kharmite warriors were added to the ducal guardsmen patrols, locking down the streets and chasing away the few portal monsters brave enough to enter the city. From one man for every other street to a squad of four warriors on every corner. Somehow half the city seemed to return, empty homes were now reoccupied, creating an endless stream of residents stomping up Khereshetal’s streets to complain of burglaries. They always had the same look on their faces, flared nostrils, gritted teeth, and narrowed eyes, as if anger was somehow genetically shared between the denizens. In short, the missing food was noticed. Liam watched the complaints mount, wondering if Sirin had robbed everyone in the entire duchy. Eventually the magistrate, a portly man with fancy purple robes, constructed a gallows in the public market. Barely a dozen yards from the slave pens.

That made Liam check their supplies, they needed to lay low until he could get a job or patronage. There were plenty of wounded men he could heal, now he just needed to find a way to contact them.

“I’ll figure that out tomorrow when mom comes home.” Said Liam, pulling open the cellar door and ducking into their storage.

A dozen bags of grain were tucked between, six barrels of dried fruits. These barrels were small, maybe five gallons of volume instead of the fifty five gallon drums of the modern world. They looked more like rolled up sleeping bags than a sealed container. Liam took his time opening and resealing each barrel, making sure each barrel was full. Dried green lumps of what was probably a fruit the size of his thumb, long and thin, but so sweet they tasted sour. A snack that seemed designed to encourage hydration. Beside them were four crates of dried meat, and a dozen barrels of water in addition to the integrated cistern. Which was built into the wall and filled half the basement, with stone and cement used to seal the reserve of life. This food represented the entirety of Sirin’s life.

It would last a few months.

Enough time to think.

Though the bags of grain would need to be processed into flour daily or weekly. a task that Liam was uncertain how Mom was accomplishing. He hefted one of their few remaining loaves, examining the coarse grind and overall staleness of the bread.

“Hey Quetz, do you know how mom gets baked bread?”

‘She steals yesterday’s leftovers and leaves fresh grain for the baker to grind.’ Answered the serpent, who was enjoying a midday nap atop the roof, where the sun seemed to empower him. Or kept his cold blood circulating.

Who actually knows what makes a divine serpent run? The lil guy could be photosynthesizing for all I know. Thought Liam, shrugging.

Mana sight told him that mana particles were flowing into the serpent, and confirmed that sunlight facilitated the process. Similar to how vitamin D worked as a hormone within the body.

Taking yesterday’s dregs and bribing the baker with extra grain seemed like a prudent act, albeit desperate. Liam frowned at the low grade loaf, wondering how easily it might be traced. Sacks of grain were often marked in surreptitious ways, an extraneous line of stitching, or a crest sewn into the inner lining of the bag, anything that could be used to alert the baker and magistrate of stolen grain. While stealing the baker’s unsold bread and replacing the waste with excess grain worked in his favor, it would engender no loyalty. If the magistrate called upon the baker, or worse, searched his bakery then it would be as clear as the Argos above that the grain thief was working with him, a fate that would lead to Sirin being sold out, or the baker being tortured.

Except, bakers fed the city. They had a guild that defended them, even the Duke would be hesitant to torture a baker.

He needed to be sure. A short Q&A session with a certain golden noodle, and Liam was spying on the baker Sirin frequented, using a portal to see within the bakery.Where the man’s conduct quickly assured him.

Torture a baker? Ha! This clown would flip on his own mother. Thought Liam, watching the man. Within a half hour, he noticed the baker mislabeling his bread, marking the roughly ground C grade bread as B grade so he could charge a higher price, and miscounting change on more than one occasion. Shameless attempts at extracting more coin than was legally allowed. After all, bread was a regulated commodity, with prices, standards, and grades set by the city’s guild. The baker’s eyes followed a group of merchants who took a hundred loaves with them, carrying their bounty through the market. Camels nipped at them, trying to poach a loaf, while residents and foreigners hawked their wares, shouting over the drumming feet of hundreds. A noble of some sort paraded through town on a veiled palanquin, with a score of soldiers as their vanguard, and ten bearers to hold them aloft.

Liam tried not to roll his eyes. Palanquins were common, but it seemed too absurdly decadent to be carried around in a golden box by a dozen slaves. It was gross, like working as a salesman in a used car dealership. The kind of personal disgust that could not be washed away with soap. In contrast to the nobles were the fulminonimbus knights and their various paladins, magi who wore runic armor to enhance their –generally meager– abilities. Since paladins were those who were too weak to gain entry into a college of magic, or were those few humans blessed with the ‘holy’ affinity of light.

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Why didn’t I think of the church earlier? They’ll take me north… Right? Maybe? Ah, that assumes they’ll side with a Lightning Toddler over king and church. Probably, but those twelve bishops tried to shoot me in the back…

Liam shifted to another portal, moving to follow the paladins. Who often mingled with Kharmite veterans, and even the artillery crews that serviced three bronze cannons. Siege weaponry that seemed out of place in an ocean of sand. Since stone could be worked with magic, there was no reason for their destructive force in tearing down old homes. Nor was there an opposing army. There was no need for siege weaponry–

The Argos. These idiots are trying to bring down the floating island! Realized Liam, already beginning to panic.

If they brought down the floating island whatever lived atop it would suddenly be dropped into the middle of the most barren desert in the world. Any civilization or monsters would immediately be pissed that mortal men popped their rock balloon and anchored it’s house. Then there was the small issue of what predators could be strong enough to dominate the floating island.

Sure, island dwarfism was a thing, but the island above Kheresh was massive, at least hundreds, if not thousands of acres. If they managed to shoot down the island, the landmass alone could cause a tidal wave of sand, or bury the city in rubble. But that was a tangent to the obvious threat. The island had moved with purpose, deliberately circling the city to stay out of the sun’s light so farmers and herdsmen did not go overlong without the sun.

It was moving deliberately.

Someone was piloting the island. That was beyond doubt. Liam was no astronomer, and even he’d noticed the pattern. How could the duke not know the same? Whomever possessed that much power, was going to be extremely pissed if the local Duke started putting holes in his foundation.

“The duke wouldn’t be that dumb… Right?” Muttered Liam, wondering when Sirin would return.

The sooner they left Khereshetal, the better. But she’d gone out for bread again, despite his protests. Not that he’d expected her to listen. Sirin did what she felt was necessary, and part of that was acquiring bread weekly. Freshly baked bread and an open fire would draw too much attention to themselves. So she had gone out for her nightly raid on the baker’s home with enough grain to bribe the baker and earn their daily sustenance. Liam had watched her depart twelve hours ago, and had gone to sleep after practicing magic, but she still hadn’t returned. An unpleasant occurrence that often meant she had crammed herself into a barrel of dried fruit to hide from guards, after all, Sirin was slender, athletic, and flexible, hiding in unusual places was just another Tuesday evening for her. She’d return the next day when the coast was clear…

Or maybe the increased guards had finally caught her.

‘Quetz, leave the house. I need you to find mom. Don’t kill anyone, and try not to be seen, but I need to know mom is safe. With an army in town they might actually have the manpower to catch a grain thief.’ Said Liam.

Sensing his mental tone, Quetz obeyed and swam into the air, flying into the noonday sunlight. Liam closed his eyes, focusing on the link he shared with the divine serpent, using his familiar’s eyes as if they were his own.

Senses intertwined. Warmth made their feathers tingle with joy, the blazing sunlight of the Kheresh wastes invigorating Quetzalcoatl’s cool blood and warming every inch of his scales. Hiding in the shadows had been Liam’s wish, so he obeyed, remaining a nocturnal hunter until today. Noon sunlight felt like pure adrenaline, making his heart thunder and his soul leap for joy, bouncing from the tip of his golden tail to the white nostrils of his snout. Together their minds ascended a mountain of adobe to see the gallows host their first guest. Four bare chested men had the floor drop out from under their feet. A scene that held no interest for Quetz. He ducked and shot off at a forty five degree angle, counting the prisoners who were left to bake in the beating sunlight, with bags over their heads and hands bound with ropes. Inhumane treatment, but they were convicted to die, there was no mercy for those who had offended Duke Kheresh’s law during his absence. Besides, if they died of thirst it would only make the hanging more spectacular when their heads popped off their shoulders.

A pit opened in Liam’s stomach, a void of endless concern. Where no reassurance, mundane or mystical could be found. Why am I getting a bad feeling now? New soldiers can’t know Sirin is a thief, and it would be the perfect time to try and find a patron for us. Yeah, Mom finally listened to me and is finding us a new life, or drumming up some customers for me to heal… I’m sure that’s all she is doing, and you can’t do that in the middle of the night, that’ll be too unsociable.

Yeah, you can’t just knock on a stranger’s door at midnight, you gotta talk to them during the day. Mom’s gotten into worse pickles before.

Yep, I'm sure she’s just out there chatting up the soldiers, maybe even found us a job… Thought Liam.

‘Quetz, have you seen mom yet?’

His mind worked, Sirin had taught him many things in the past year, and had pulled no punches, describing in detail what the men of Kheresh did to women who walked around unescorted. There were packs of undesirable men, those who worked, but were never wealthy, be it due to gambling, alcohol, whores, or some combination of the vices, these men had little to do at odd hours, and formed wandering gangs. Occasionally soldiers would join them, giving their ‘patrol’ an unearned sense of authority. Which always ended poorly for women like Sirin.

‘You expect me to search a city in seconds?’

‘Cmon Quetz, can’t you wishy whooshy some magic and find her?’

‘It’s whooshy whoosh you featherless feck! And it still takes time! I picked up her scent near the army’s camp, too many tents to follow it though, and too many wardens. Their magi detected my presence and would have worshiped me, but I wasn’t in the mood to bless liars. Circling back now.’ Answered Quetzalcoatl.

Air currents rippled around Quetz, concealing him in the wind magic of a mirage, effectively invisible to human eyesight. He swam over the prisoners, tasting their skin with his forked tongue, and scanning them with his heat sensitive pits. Sirin’s scent had been here at one point, but wasn’t here now. That wasn’t surprising, Sirin preferred to get water from the lower wells, since no one would question a beggar woman retrieving water from the market’s wells.

‘Oh god.’ Thought Liam, his mind halting as Quetz tasted something familiar.

A taste that reminded Liam of overly-salted and under-smoked jerky, gamey, and desperate. Medusa jerky. Except this gorgon was still alive. Her snakelocks had been roughly shaved, dripping ichor down her face and torso. A grizzly sight, but the violence hadn’t ended there. Someone had flensed her gorgon eyes, be it caustic chemicals like lime or a heated fire poker. Her wounds leaked puss, visible through the three bags covering her head. Which were pulled tight by a golden slave collar around her throat, one of the highest echelons of restriction and often reserved for rare slaves such as werewolves, umbraquins, or eclipsiarchs. She breathed heavily, rasping as if her jaw had been broken –which it probably had been– due to the gorgon’s lethal abilities.

Beside her lay two slain gorgon women, heads visible and bearing identical marks of torture. Additionally, they’d been staked to the ground, dismembered, and burned, but some of their iridescent scales could still be seen, like polished opals they sparkled, casting gorgeous hues across the vicious world.

Liam swallowed. Gorgons seemed monstrous, with petrifying eyes, vipers for hair, and poisonous fangs. But they considered themselves human. A fact complicated by the portals, who gave their young ‘daughters’ an avenue to interact with strangers. Half developed in mind and body these daughters often failed to communicate with human men, who treated the daughters as demons. Not comprehending the truth that they were butchering the equivalent of a twelve year old girl. A shudder ran down Liam’s spine. Whichever gorgon matriarch came looking for those daughters, was going to be furious. Khereshetal would have to pay a blood price. If they were shown mercy at all. He’d been lucky that Phaedra was alone and trapped, without an avenue home. She’d needed Liam and his magi to save her daughters, so a truce had been struck to prevent further casualties, a truce that led to a firm alliance when winter weakened the cold blooded gorgons. But this was a desert, there would be no snow to freeze the daughters. No need for shelter from hellhounds, and thus no forgiveness for a misunderstanding. Especially not when three daughters lay dead in the sand, tortured, killed, and violated.

If Phaedra saw this carnage…

Then Kheresh would learn exactly how lethal the gorgons were.