CHAPTER ONE—ATTACK AT NIGHTFALL
“This sun is baking my skin,” Shiro complained.
Debaku said nothing.
The two adventurers were lying down atop a rocky dune overlooking the river and Ghogha Prison. There wasn’t a lot of movement, but what movement Shiro could see, he knew were patrols.
There were walls, a large gate and sandstone structures that looked to be a thousand years old, built into the face of the mountain pass. The road ran directly against the prison wall.
To keep climbers out, the wall was lined with razor sharp metal spikes, and the patrolling guards patrolled atop them regularly.
“This will be difficult,” Shiro said. Then after a moment he added, “Why could you not have known Jessamine was a jinni before all this?”
Again, Debaku said nothing.
Shiro sighed in impatience.
I do not like that he doesn’t answer me, he thought.
But after a time the Black Cobra finally spoke. “It is likely that your sword skills are better than they ever were, Shiro.”
Shiro glanced at him. “What do you mean?”
“I believe Jessamine is lost,” he said. “She cannot find her way back to her place in the other world. She lost way when she saved your life—when she sent you her magicks. Now you have more of her power than you ever did.”
“I do not feel like it.”
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
That part about being lost frightened Shiro. It was one thing to be dead, but to be lost in a void, never to return was the epitome of the hells.
“When we go in,” Debaku said, “we will not hold back. We will rescue your friend and then we will return to Darshuun.”
“You will come to Darshuun with me?”
Debaku nodded.
It had only been a few days prior when he had dueled Shiro in the wet alley during the storm, took the lamp—though he had not known what it was at the time. After finding out, he had a change of heart.
At least, that was what Shiro understood.
And he had only done it because of his own relationship to a jinni in the past named Archaemenes, of which he was lost to Debaku.
With this man on his side, Shiro’s confidence rose. He was a top-tier adventurer, famed with the moniker of the Black Cobra of Mar’a Thul.
His blood began to boil as an inner rage took him. He felt… excited, ready to cut down a dozen men if need be to get Ali back.
The Abassir had shown himself to be a true friend, and so Shiro would also be a true friend to the man in return.
I just hope they haven’t started torturing him.
“What are you thinking, Shiro?”
Glancing into those blue-grey snake eyes unnerved Shiro. But he was beginning to get used to it. The change had been in part due to his jinni’s special powers.
“I am worried for my friend.”
Debaku nodded. “We will attack the prison at nightfall.”
“Do we have a plan?”
There was a pause between them. “Attack the prison at nightfall.”
Shiro almost started laughing. That was no plan. Debaku was much the same as he was. The simpler, the better. Shiro was no strategist—he was a samurai, an isekai brought into these lands for some strange reason by an unknown individual.
He needed to find out why, find out if he could get back home. But so far, troubles kept getting in his way.
Ali would be furious about their “plan.” “What are you talking about?” he would say with an impatient gesture. “That is no plan! This is my life we’re talking about, man!”
“This sun is killing me.”
“You should wear your turban.”
“It makes me hot.”
“Better to be hot, Shiro, than to be thirsty and sun cooked.”
He nodded, grabbing his turban out of his pack. He had actually taken it from one of the dead men on the road when Debaku had rescued him.
After a time of silence, and a particularly annoying fly that would not go away, Shiro said, “We attack at nightfall?”
“Mmmhmm.”