Near a dozen jungle-folk denizens of the Dwellship surrounded us, at about ten paces, standing between us and the dilapidated house where, ostensibly, the villainous Yariq Sahl was holed up.

I lowered my Bronze Spear of Blinding to my side and raised a hand in greeting, doing everything I could to indicate peacefulness. I had decided on this course of action for a few reasons: one, to prove Alator and his way of life wrong; two, to avoid unnecessary loss of life; and three, to try to put Lenya at ease, who had made the whole way shirking glances and almost pressed up against me — unless she was the instigator (and that was rare), she seemed to have a great aversion to violence.

I cleared my throat:

“We have business with Yariq Sahl, the Ripper, who is guilty of murder and torture. We are here to bring him swiftly to justice. We will do no harm to the Dwellship.”

“No further harm, you mean, wukka,” came a spitting call from the young man who stood in the centre of the half-ring. He did not bear a weapon but had his fists clenched, and stood blocking the entrance to the ruin. His body twitched with energy, but he was clearly waiting for us to make the first move.

Determined to not give him what he wanted, I shouted into the darkness:

“Yariq Sahl, come out slowly, unarmed, with your hands behind your head.”

Other people were quickly coming to inspect the suspicious assembly, hanging from the vines above our heads or squatting in the shadows, watching with big, round, hungry eyes.

I peered over the jungle-folk’s heads into the pitch black, and put my finger to the Analysis Card.

From the black depths, as had happened with the bandits on the trade route, a box popped up — despite my not being able to see, he was technically within my line of sight, as was another thing.

Name :

Yariq Sahl the Ripper, Level 13

Stats :

Str 12, Dex 16, Con 6, Mnd 4

Skills :

Beast Mastery Lvl 1 (Lvl 6)

Survivalism Lvl 2 (Lvl 3)

Vigour Lvl 1 (Lvl 1)

Special :

Mutilating Strike

Inventory :

11 Copper Coins

Weakness :

Over reliant on shadows

Home :

Breathing Sands, Barbican

Fiend :

Lapis Urocyon, Level 4

Stats :

Str 8, Dex 11, Con 6, Mnd 2

Attacks :

Razor Bite, Sand Sprint

Loot :

Fine Fang, Lapis Pelt

Weakness :

Unused to pain

XP :

36

I hadn’t thought of it during the heat of the Scouring, but it seemed the improvement to the Analysis Card gave me nothing extra when appraising fiends. . . . Ah well. As I stared, I saw a pair of glinting blue eyes peering back at me, as if they produced their own points of light.

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He has a pet . . . wolf? That’s so cool.

And then my eyes caught a subtle movement in the darkness of the collapsed building, and another box popped up for a moment before disappearing. Luckily, I was getting very good at picking out the useful parts and searing them into my mind at just a glance.

Name :

Gobblebobble the Sand-Striker, Level 9

Stats :

Str 10, Dex 11, Con 10, Mnd 5

Skills :

Survivalism Lvl 4 (Lvl 4)

Weapon Mastery Lvl 1 (Lvl 2)

Special :

Desert Blitz

Inventory :

11 Copper Coins

Weakness :

Clumsy in humiliation

Home :

Breathing Sands, Barbican

Go’leb from the Horizon Arena!

I squared my shoulders and filled my chest, and shouted out:

“Come out, both of you. And keep your beast to heel.”

There was a ripple of energy about most of those around me. Lenya came in close and whispered:

“I feel mostly confusion, but some unease — I can’t see anything in the house, and my eyes are something of a pride of mine. Yours must be very keen.”

I’d considered for a while telling Alator and Lenya about the specifics of the Analysis Card, but have so far decided that it is not worth the hassle, and that paranoid — perhaps childish — fear of losing it still played on the back of my mind.

“Along with the bounty, there is one other that I fought against at the Horizon Arena, you’ll remember Go’leb of the Desert Blitz, the one I got in the shoulder at the end of the bout.”

Lenya flinched for a second at the memory of the violence but then nodded and her eyes remained steeled.

“And it seems Yariq has some kind of desert wolf at his side.”

“Wolf?”

“Yeah, a Lapis Urocyon, specifically.”

“Oh, so a fox.”

“Huh?”

Raising her staff as a reflex, I felt a very subtle catch of wind, sweet like a spring breeze, draw in around her, but there was no other sign of magic. She readied herself.

Another few moments passed, and the young monkey-man at the centre of the group looked over his shoulder, unsure. A quick whispered call came from inside in the Vyneshi language, but even from my short time in the city I could tell it was not a native speaker; harshly accented. The young man disappeared into the dark for a moment, some more mumbled sotto voce words came, then they all stepped out into the light.

Yariq was exactly as he had been drawn; dark blue skin and severe pinched black eyes peered out through the light linen wrappings that many of the desert-folk wore. They were pulled up over his nose so I couldn’t see the dune tattoos on his face. Beside him, head almost to his waist, padded forwards a fox — not a wolf, but as large as any wolf on Earth. It had very faint and thin grey-blue fur, and white frosted tips rippled over its body as it moved. It had large ears, ever twitching, almost the full size of its head, like a desert fox, and big round white eyes, without pupils. Each paw was lined with half a dozen short but thick claws, and a long thick blue tail moved like a snake behind it.

Gobblebobble, or Go’leb, stepped out after them over broken beams and scorched rubble with his steady, desert-trained feet. He was already seething, glaring right at me, his face rushing almost purple. He held the same Iron Mace as before in his good arm — the other was hidden under his robe, likely held with good thick gauze to help with the wound I’d inflicted to his shoulder.

Yariq put up his hand to shield his face from the light, even though in the mid-afternoon the suns had not quite yet dipped below the ceiling. He put a peculiarly gentle hand on the shoulder of the jungle-folk that had stood directly between us and the house — with the Analysis Card I found he was a fairly normal man called Vaan — and moved him aside, pacing to within a few yards of me.

Yariq was unarmed (save for the massive fox beside him), but his hands were behind his back. His eyes were steely and his voice was guarded, and from behind the wrappings, a melodic accent played, with heavy breathy emphasis on consonants:

“I am Yariq Sahl. To whom do I speak?”

I stood straight, fighting a rising tension.

“My name is Talbot. We have declared our intention; we are to bring you back with us.”

Yariq stretched his arms up and I heard his back crack, then he gestured around.

“I t’ink I would rather not.”

His massive blue fox beside him raised its hackles and growled. Turns out you can fight unearthly demonic beasts all you like, but being faced down by a predator still gives you pause.

I lifted my spear and put the butt to the ground, sounding against the wooden planks at our feet.

“Yariq Sahl, you are wanted for murder, torture, escaping from lawful custody, and evading arrest.” Happy I watched all those police shows. “If you do not come willingly, we will use force.”

A murmur crossed the circle like a wave, all glancing forwards to see Yariq’s reaction.

He clicked his teeth and his fox moved forwards. I levelled the Bronze Spear of Blinding at it and widened my stance. At the same time, the ripple of energy from the group came to a head, and one shouted:

“Get out of here, wukkah niraki!”

“Leave the Dwellship to its own business — you’ve done enough!” came another shout. Thin lips were drawn over savage ape teeth.

Half a dozen of them brandished makeshift weapons and also took a step towards us. I gritted my teeth and held up my free hand to them.

“No need for anyone else to get involved,” I said, a growing unease taking me. I hoped at each point that my voice wouldn’t break.

“T’ere need be no fight. Does your cause justify risking your life — or t’eirs?” Yariq spoke directly to me, and gestured at the denizens.

“Not the way I want to play it, but you’re giving us little choice. It’s either the easy way with us, or the Wardship comes up again, full force.”

The jungle-folk bristled.

Idiot. Probably best not to mention the wardens again. . . .

Yariq raised his arms and clapped above his head.

“Just leave, say you did not find me, that I have disappeared into the winds again.”

I lowered my head and looked out under a furrowed brow.

“Not happening.”

The half-dozen jungle-folk of the Dwellship, dressed in tattered linens dirty from the chaos, some peppered with wounds from clashes with the wardens, encroached.

“Perhaps I am not making myself clear,” Variq called over their heads. “I am not going with you. I have much to accomplish here.” Then he addressed the crowd, “Force t’em out. Tails between t’eir legs.”

The heat rose, the suns dipped below the ceiling of the tier; shining bright white and red light crept over the floor planks. As it reached him, Yariq bristled and stepped backwards a few paces into shadow.

My frame vibrated, blood pumping, my grip on the spear tightened and I dipped into the inner stream of power within me to find the water running pure and clear and the points of light, representing my ever-improving Skills, glinting welcomingly.

As the jungle-folk closed the distance, I was brought back to the scene at Akhur’shet; desperate souls giving in to cruel authority. There was no good outcome. I was learning the harsh truths of Barbican, one step at a time.

Just try not to kill everyone.