Nabul sprang forward, so fast that he was almost a blur. On pure instinct, Jasper threw himself toward the ground, rolling forward as Nabul’s sword whistled through the space he had just occupied. Turning swiftly on his heels, he cast Seraph Burst just before Nabul closed in on him. He rocketed forward about three feet, the black wings unfurling behind him, their obsidian feathers glistening in the cold daylight.

His progress was almost immediately stopped as a translucent protective barrier sprang up around the lord. Slamming facefirst into the barrier, Jasper was tossed back to the ground, his bell thoroughly rung. Groaning, he struggled to stand up, his muddle mind struggling to cast a spell as Nabul stepped over him. An arrow whizzed overhead, deflecting off the noble’s ward harmlessly, two more hitting in close succession with equally disappointing results.

A deranged chuckle escaped the lord’s lips. He pointed his sword at Ihra, who stood frozen with the useless bow in her hands. “Feisty, aren't you? Maybe I’ll get to know you better before passing you off to my son.” Nabul crunched his foot down on Jasper’s chest, grinding his heel into his ribs.

An image flashed before Jasper’s eyes - a tiger looming over him, teeth bared, long strings of saliva dripping out of its ravenous mouth - and he did something he swore he wouldn’t do again. He cast Shooting Star at close range.

Nabul’s shield prevented the explosive orbs from reaching the lord; what it couldn’t do, however, was negate the explosion altogether. Cramped into a tiny space between Jasper and the noble, the force of the blast had to go somewhere.

A wave of fire rushed over his body harmless as Jasper was pushed deeper into the pavement, the paving stones cracking beneath him, a small crater forming around his body. But the majority of the explosion rushed upwards, slamming into the shield. The protective barrier held, but Nabul was sent flying through the air like a spiked beachball.

Jasper lay in the burning pit, the stars dancing across his vision as the flames licked at his skin. This warm bath feels good, he thought. Something slammed into his cheek, and he lazily brushed it away. It hit again, far harder this time, as a screech entered his ear.

“Snap out of it!”

His brain clicked back into gear as the stars coalesced into the face of Ihra. She looked over her shoulder nervously, and turned back to him with more urgency. “Come on - move it.” She pushed him to his feet, the world spinning around him. What’s going on?

Then he saw him.

Lord Nabul had survived his fall, but the shield, it seemed, did have some imperfections. It blocked any attacks from breaking through but didn’t protect the noble from being damaged inside the shield. The Djinn limped toward them, his left leg dragging awkwardly behind him, no doubt smashed against the very shield meant to protect him.

“Come on.” Ihra dragged him towards the temple steps, which offered a sanctuary that even most nobles would think twice before breaking.

But their steps were arrested as burning claws sprang up from the ground, red-hot manacles closing around their ankles. Jasper's ears burned with Ihra’s screams as he struggled against the restraints, the fire doing nothing to harm him. He recognized the spell immediately. It was his own, Fiery Shackles.

“Running away so soon?” The lord laughed bitterly, as Jasper frantically tried to free himself from the shackles. “That’s the problem with empire mages. There are so few of you left that most of you don’t even know how to fight another mage.”

Jasper could only growl in frustration as he struggled, futilely, to break through the bonds. The Djinn's smile widened. “Clearly, Aphora didn’t teach you much, so let me give you a tip. If you should be fortunate enough to resurrect, learn to dispel a spell.”

He raised his sword above his head, a mocking smile on his lips. “Any last words?”

A silver blur shot past Jasper. It slammed into the Djinn’s shield, the shield bending beneath its impact. Then the shield shattered.

Nabul staggered backward, clutching at his chest. His sword clattered to the ground as he wrested a silver dagger out of his shoulder. “By the fires of Shamsha,” he swore. He instantly dropped the dagger which clanged on the ground noisily as the lord wrung his hands in pain. It was the misericorde Ihra had gotten from Aphora. The Djinn's eyes met Jasper’s at the moment the two reached the same realization - the barrier had been destroyed.

The two were ill-equipped to fight each other; two pyromancers with flame immunity had about as much chance of hurting each other with foam swords as with their spells.

But only one of them had a second class.

“Shamsha's Wrath” the lord screamed as Jasper stepped forward, his spell on his fingers. The flames of the Djinn's spell engulfed him, disintegrating his clothes while lapping harmlessly at his skin. Then he cast Scourge of Despair. The glowing whip lashed out, grazing the edge of Nabul’s jaw before disappearing into the ether as the howl of the summoned specters echoed across the abandoned marketplace.

The specters fell on the wounded man like lions on a gazelle, tearing and ripping at his flesh, while Nabul let loose a string of fiery explosions. The shackles dissipated as the spell ended, and Jasper sprinted forward, racing toward the chaotic melee. The waves of fire passed over him harmlessly, his wraiths phasing in and out of existence. In the light of the fire, he saw a glint on the ground. The misericorde. Bending down, he picked it up and, ignoring the rush of pain that raced up his arm, Jasper stepped beside the frenzied noble. With more than a hint of savage satisfaction, he buried the dagger deep into Nabul's chest.

The man fell to his knees, struggling to pull the dagger out again, but Jasper gave him no chance. Grabbing the noble's head by the nape, he slammed his knee into the face of the noble over and over again until the Djinn finally went limp, his face a shattered mess. Jasper stood over his quarry, struggling to catch his breath.

“Is he dead?” Ihra limped over to him, her legs scorched by Nabul’s spell.

Picking the dagger up again, he stabbed it through the noble's ruined eye, wiggling it around. "He is now."

Ihra spat on the corpse, kicking the noble in the ribs, wincing in pain as her burnt flesh protested at the impact. Then, gingerly, she bent down and began to run her hands over the Djinn's body.

“What are you doing?” His voice came out hoarse and raspy.

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“Looking for his purse. We didn’t get paid for the auction; we might as well get something out of this.” Ihra fished a bag out of his coat and stashed it in her own, placing the misericorde there as well. She stood up with a wince. “Come on, we’ve got to keep moving.”

Shaking himself out of his fugue, he followed Ihra to the temple, ignoring the screams and mayhem that echoed through the market. A squadron of guards ran past, headed for the burning auction hall, but stopped when they saw the corpse of their lord sprawled out on the pavement. Jasper turned around, wearily summoning another spell as he prepared for a fight. But the guards, after taking a long look at the battered pair who had probably killed their lord, chose the better part of valor, averting their gaze. A mage strong enough to defeat their lord was not an enemy they were equipped to handle.

As he reached the steps of the temple, Jasper nearly stumbled over a body. Bā’er lay in a pool of his own blood, his eyes staring sightlessly at the heavens. A pang of guilt pierced Jasper’s heart. This is all my fault. Bending down, he closed the man’s eyes, muttering a fleeting wish beneath his breath.

“My lord!” He looked up to see the priest and most of the hunters standing at the top of the steps, just inside the temple’s walls. Making a split-second decision, he hoisted Bā’er’s body over his shoulders, staggering into the temple. He laid the body down gently on the pavement as the men gathered around them.

The bandit’s ring fell out of Bā’er’s pocket, clattering across the stones, and Jasper snatched it up absentmindedly as he turned to the priest. “Can you perform his rites?”

The priest nodded, his face distressed. “The villagers worship Lady Hurbas̆u, do they not?”

“Yes.”

“I will make sure the priests of Hurbas̆u take care of him,” the priest promised. He waved his hand, and a servant came rushing over, carrying a large package. The servant thrust it into Jasper’s hands. “You must go to the harbor, my lord - quickly. The guards won’t ignore you for long.”

The priest pushed a pouch into Ihra’s hands. “I am so sorry for the trouble Nabul caused, all over a simple favor. Please, take this money - it’s the least I can do.” She shoved it back at him. “Use it on the orphanage.”

He bowed deeply before her, slipping it back in his pockets without protest. “Thank you, my lady. Lady Yarha’s blood runs true in you.”

“Will you be okay?” Jasper asked. “Will the, uh, house of Nabul come after you?”

The priest shook his head. “Times will be hard for the temple, but they will not dare directly attack us, merely hassle us. I have a deity on my side, after all.” He waved his hands toward the temple entrance. “You really must go.”

Taking the hint, the two fled the temple, the hunters running beside them. As they raced down the muddy streets, Jasper glanced at the villager next to him. It was one of the hunters who had joined them in the kalmû ritual. He vainly racked his mind for the villager’s name, giving up after a moment. “Are the boats ready to leave?”

The young man turned to face him, sorrow mixed with a spark of anger in his eyes. “Yes, my lord, father sent Rīmu and Akkû ahead to gather the others and your mounts.”

Father? It took a moment for Jasper to recognize the same high cheekbones and dark smoldering eyes that Bā’er had possessed. He choked back the words that sprang to his lip, renewing the speed with which he ran.

Kār-Kuppû was not a large city in the first place and, with the streets all sloping down towards the sheltered bay, their flight was hastened by gravity. They reached the harbor unimpeded, blowing past the started harbor guards, who were standing around gawking at the pillar of smoke rising from the hills above them.

“What is happening in the city?” Jasper ignored the harbormaster’s questions, helping the villagers cast off the ropes.

“Answer me, or we will be forced to hold you until an inquiry can be made!”

Jasper slowly turned to face the man, willing the essence into his hands. The blue flames leapt into the air, spreading up his arms and across his naked torso. The man backed away, unable to hide the fear that sprang up in his eyes. Not bothering to answer the harbormaster, he rejoined the crew’s efforts and, moments later, they cast off.

They slipped into the harbor, backs bent blow over the oars, as they sailed against the wind. As night fell over the shores of Lake Hurbas̆u, a red glow could be still seen above the city.

It was only when they finally crested around the edge of the harbor, out of sight of Kār-Kuppû, that the villagers relaxed, releasing that no pursuers followed in their wake.

Jasper and Ihra sat apart from the hunters, the men stealing sullen glances at them from time to time, but no one approached them. The ship bobbed between the gentle waves, the sail still furled along the mast.

“What do we do now?” Ihra asked quietly.

Jasper shook his head. “I don’t know,” he admitted. His hands fell on the heavy package sitting beside him. “What do we do with this? This lyre has caused more trouble than its worth.”

She tucked an errant strand of her behind her ear. “Obviously the deal we had with Qarda’s house has fallen through. Is it worth trying to take it to another Moon-kissed noble?”

Jasper groaned in frustration, running his fingers through his head. “Honestly? I have half a mind to just throw the damn thing overboard and be done with it. None of this would have happened if we hadn’t taken it to the temple in the first place.”

“Let’s not be hasty,” Ihra objected. “It could still be a good bargaining chip.” She stole a glance at the brooding crew. “Right now,” she whispered, “I’m more worried about them. They lost one of their own and didn’t get the money they were expecting.”

Jasper looked at Bā’er’s son, who stared over the prow with a dead look in his eyes. It bothered him that he hadn’t even bothered to learn the man’s name. “What about the purse you took from Lord Nabul?”

Ihra fished it out of her bag, pawing through the contents. “There’s quite a lot of gold here.”

“Let them have it. It’s blood money to me.”

Ihra shook her head. “No, we have to pay them, but we need some of the profits ourselves.”

He started to protest, but she cut him off. “Have you ever gone to bed hungry? I have, and I'm not doing it again. We need money to survive, whether there's blood on it or not, and, quite frankly, we need money to avoid more situations like this. None of this would have happened if we were more powerful. Money is its own form of power.”

Unable to argue her point, Jasper subsided, watching as Ihra split the coins into two piles, tossing two coins in the left pile for each one she threw in the right. As the piles grew higher and higher, it quickly became obvious that the amount of the coins that continued to spill out of the bag was far more than the bag would hold.

“A bag of holding!” she whispered excitedly. “At least we got something good out of this mess.”

By the time the last of the money was separated out, the hunters had gathered around the pair, their previous ill mood buoyed by the wealth glittering before them. The sum, in the end, amounted to nearly 80,000 gold crowns, slightly more than they should have made at the auction. Perhaps, Jasper guessed, the auctioneer gave Nabul our share of the profits.

While Ihra swept the larger pile back into the bag, Jasper dispensed the villager’s portions. Only one of the hunters didn’t come to collect his money; Bā’er’s son stood silently at his post by the prow. Reluctantly, Jasper approached him.

The young man gave him a stiff nod, the anger that had been in his eyes before largely replaced by sorrow.

“You gave the men well over the percentage my father bargained over.” He finally spoke, his voice barely reaching over the howling wind.

Jasper grimaced. “It was the least I could do.” He hesitated, not sure what to say. He barely knew any of them, and yet the death of Bā’er weighed heavily on him. “I’m sorry about your father. He seemed like a good man.”

The young hunter barked with bitter laughter. “He was a drunk and a lech who chased every skirt he saw.” He shook his head, the lines on his face deepening. “He was also one of the greatest hunters our village ever had.”

Jasper suddenly remembered the ring that had fallen out of the hunter’s pockets. Rummaging through his bag, he held it out to the man. “Here - your father was planning to give this ring to your mother.”

After a long moment of indecision, the hunter grabbed it, giving him a curt nod. The two stood at the prow, watching the waves crash against the boat as they slowly idled in the waves.