Urash prostrated on the edge of his bed, having thrown on his crimson robe for the first time in weeks. He had heard the rumblings from underground, just as his mercenaries had. Unlike them, he knew exactly the cause. He knew the prisoners had reached the lever and shut down the fountain. Everything had gone according to plan.

Now all he had to do was wait. It wouldn’t be long.

The murmurings grew louder outside, and Urash made out the muffled sound of beatings on the other side of the door. Loud, pounding knocks broke the silence. The mercenaries nervously eased towards it, unsheathing their swords. They expected a fight and were not wrong to assume so.

“Enough,” Urash said, holding his hand high. “Let them in before they break down the door.”

The mercenaries hesitated before following his command. A shorter one nervously unlocked several hinges before backing away. The door slammed open, and the hulking frame of Thed pushed his way through, followed by several guards. A few mercenaries slunk between the entering congregation, placing themselves next to their companions. At least twenty people filled the room before Boah made his presence known.

Urash smiled, tapping his cane. “I see you’ve brought a party. What’s the trouble?”

“You fucking know what you did!” Boah roared, his face contorted in anger.

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Urash lied, flashing a devious smile.

Boah barely gave Urash a chance before he slapped him across the face, nearly launching him onto the floor. “That fucking hurt,” Urash thought, realizing Boah had been wearing jeweled rings across his fingers.

“The fountain,” Boah enunciated. “Turn it back on.”

“As if I could just pull a switch?” Urash said, cradling his bruising jaw. “Why would I do such a thing? I need to drink too, you know.”

Boah slapped Urash again, this time forcing his cane out of the old man’s grip. Urash struggled before slipping off the bed onto the floor.

“Turn it back on,” Boah repeated.

Urash spat out blood, wiping the dribble off his lower lip. He wanted to retort, but the last assault cut deeply into his cheek. Still, he looked up at Boah, smiling the same grin he had greeted him with when he first burst through the door.

“That’s it,” Urash thought bitterly. “Finish it. Release me from this torment. They’ll tear you apart before long. That’s enough for me.”

Boah did not slap him again. He instead gestured Thed over, and the massive guard stuck a meaty leg far backward and swung it into Urash’s chest. The impact was enough to push him back into the bed. He heard a crack, certain it was a rib or two. Urash tried to block another kick but only succeeded in having his fingers snap backward. Thed punched him a few more times before lifting him by the shoulders and throwing him back to the ground.

“Hurts more than I expected,” Urash thought, surprised he was still lucid. Thed gave another swift kick at Urash’s bad knee, shattering it completely. Urash wanted to cry, but Thed refused to give him enough time. It was not a beating meant to maim, Urash had seen what those looked like. No, this was a beating to kill.

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“Why persist?” Urash screamed at himself. “Drop dead! Put me out of my misery. Don’t hold out now!” But his body ignored him, desperately clinging to consciousness and pain. He endured more and more of the torturous beating as Thed pounded Urash with kicks and punches. He must've heard five more bones break, the pain coming from all sorts of places. All the while, Boah watched in a haze of fury.

Finally, Thed placed his platter-sized hands around Urash’s skull. Urash felt the pressure building up inside his brain, threatening to burst. He prayed to Ati one last time, expecting it to be the last thing that ran through his mind.

Instead of being granted the sweet mercy of death, Urash felt the pressure release. He opened his eyes, seeing Thed screaming and holding his right hand, now cut between the middle of his second and third fingers. One of his mercenaries held a short, bloody knife, standing between Urash and the rest of the guards.

“Back up!” yelled the mercenary, holding out the knife. “That’s enough!”

“Odd,” pondered Urash. “Since when do they speak Jyväskish?”

Boah stepped forward inquisitively. “Who are you to make demands?”

“You’ve made your point,” the mercenary said. It sounded like a woman. Urash had thought all of his mercenaries were men, but then again, he had never cared to watch them undress.

“You’re not a mercenary,” Boah said. “Who are you?” The mercenary fell silent. Boah looked around the room at the others, none of whom had come to Urash’s aid. He turned his attention back to Thed, who remained on the ground, sniveling as he realized his right hand had been split in two. Boah laughed in disbelief. “Amazing that after all this time, I would still recognize the voice of the proprietor of Eevi’s Tavern? Have you been here this whole time?”

The mercenary didn’t respond. She continued holding her knife out at the crowd of guards. Urash didn’t know an Eevi, but after the beating he sustained, he doubted he remembered his own name.

Boah moved along, gesturing to each mercenary as if they were wall mounts. “Who else has stowed away with you, Zaman? How many more plots against me?” He then turned, approaching Urash’s broken body, kicking away his stick. Urash coughed again, trying his hardest not to drown in his own blood. Boah crouched, putting his mouth right next to his ear. “I’ll figure it out, you know. Maybe I’ll burn this place down like your spice house?”

Urash glared at Boah with his one good eye. “Do it,” he tried to say with his gaze. “Burn it all down. See where that leaves you.”

A clattering of footsteps interrupted Boah’s speaking. Boah turned, finding Juddken standing between the clearing of others. The room became completely silent, save for Urash’s heavy breathing and Thed’s whimpering.

“Juddken!” Boah said, surprised by his son’s arrival. “What brings you here?”

Juddken walked around the room taking in the scene. He passed Thed, who desperately tried to squeeze his hand back together. He looked over Urash, his limbs broken and splayed over the floor. He even approached the mercenary, who angled her dagger towards him as he approached. Juddken made no reaction, not even a flinch as the mercenary kept her blade just out of reach. He then turned to his father, holding out a piece of parchment.

“What… what is this?” Boah asked.

“Guh,” Juddken spat, before pointing down to the ground. Boah quietly read the parchment as the other guards stood in a tense silence.

As Urash lay flat on the ground, pain crept up his shattered knee and met him at his broken rib cage. His time would be coming up, soon.

But for now, Urash would watch. And what he saw was that Juddken seemed to command more respect than his father. It became clear as Boah read over the parchment again, looking up at his son and then down again. He gulped before speaking.

“There is another way. Juddken, my blessed son, has provided us a path forward. The sacrifices that we have delivered have not been enough. Tomorrow, at rising of the sun, we will deliver Okkan a true and proper sacrifice. We will take these men and women, in addition to the prisoners below, and offer them to Okkan. Then, the water shall return!”

The guards and the crowd that followed gave a hearty “hoorah!” at the statement. Urash’s good eye shot between the glum Boah and the stoic Juddken, neither reacting to each other.

“Ati,” Urash prayed in his mind. “Do me a favor and just let me die.”