Jasper felt a little queasy as he stared at the man slumped between them. Sure, the mind mage had it coming. The gods only knew how many minds he’d suborned to his will, how many innocents he’d twisted to do his foul bidding. Yet, the pair of severed hands that sat on the blood-soaked table and charred stumps where the man’s hands had once been still formed a deeply unpleasant sight.

He choked down a bit of vomit that had climbed its way up his throat and hurriedly looked away. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do to clear out the noxious smell of charred flesh that suffocated the room.

“Do you think we can sneak him out,” Tsia asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“I doubt,” he replied, with a shake of his head that completely failed to rid his mind of the scene behind him. “We have to assume the mage has meddled with the minds of most of the quartermaster’s men, and without knowing what could trigger them to attack us…”

“We can always fly away,” she pointed out.

“But then the entire town will see us,” he objected. “And who knows how many might be under his spell? I don’t want to be forced to kill a bunch of innocent townsfolk.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door. “What’s taking so long? That lad is just an innocent worker-” The door creaked open, hitting the wall with a thud, and horror flooded the quartermaster’s face. “What have you done?” He managed to stutter out.

Jasper noticed the change in his eyes a fraction of a second before the man reached for his sword, but Tsia, having already experienced it once before, was faster. The shadows fled as a miniature bolt of lightning leapt from her fingers and cascaded down the man’s body. The sword clanked on the dirt floor dully as the man spasmed and began to pitch forward. Jasper intercepted him before he smashed face-first into the dirt and lowered him gently to the floor. “Shut the door,” he commanded Tsia, but a cry of outrage echoed outside before she could reach it.

“Ummadī?!” Tsia slammed the door shut, but it was too late. “They killed the quartermaster,” the guard screamed, and a moment later, a horn blared outside the door, sounding the alarm.

“Guess we’re doing this the hard way.” Dashing to the table, Jasper slung the unconscious mage over his shoulder with a grunt and headed for the door. As the two charged out of the small chamber, a loose cluster of guards had already formed and he stepped forward to intercept them. Didn’t want to have to kill them, but…

Before he could cast a spell, Tsia beat him to the punch. Lightning cracked from her hands into the nearest guard, and quickly radiated outwards, leaping from one armored chest to another. The guards spasmed and then dropped to the ground, like puppets with their strings cut off, leaving the path to the entrance clear.

Leaping over the seizing bodies of the guard, Jasper raced for the exit. Their mounts had been tied up outside the warehouse, and he quickly slung the mage over Dapplegrim’s saddle and fiddled with the knot. He cursed as he glanced up and saw reinforcements racing down the street. Giving up on untying the knot, he severed it with a quick burst of white-hot flames. Grabbing the reins, he swung himself into the saddle and pressed his hand against Dapplegrim’s thigh. Spectral Wings.

The horse bucked as the spell’s shadowy wings erupted from her flanks, and the mage slid toward the ground. With a curse, Jasper twisted in the saddle and snagged hold of the man's leg a second before he plummeted to the ground. They flew erratically as he struggled to wrestle the mage back into the saddle, staying lower above the city than he would have preferred.

Unfortunately, as he finally managed to pull the mage back up, the guard’s reinforcements took advantage of that, sending a flight of arrows to greet them. With a wave of her hand, Tsia knocked most of them aside with a gust of wind, but a few of the arrows slipped past her guard. Dapplegrim whinnied as one carved a long, but shallow, groove in her side, but her complaints were drowned out by the tsussim's frantic neighs, as two quivering arrows buried themselves in her thigh. The tsussîm's wings beat erratically, and she dipped toward the ground as another barrage of arrows rose to meet them.

“Bastards!” Tsia screamed in anger, whipping a veritable gale of wind that stormed down the street like a tsunami, carrying guards and civilians alike in its wake before depositing them in a tangled heap as its strength finally guttered out. The spell was overkill, but it did the trick. No longer afraid of being used for target practice, Jasper urged Dapplegrim downward and, sidling close to the tsussîm, reached for the arrows buried in her thigh. His first grab missed, and he swayed dangerously in his saddle before steadying himself, but with the third try, he seized the shaft.

The tsussîm screamed again, dipping lower toward the ground as Jasper yanked the arrows out. They were barely higher than the rooftops now, and he saw the guards begin to emerge from the tangled heap of bodies on the street. His hands were slick with blood as he reached for the second arrow, but he held on and pulled it free. His fingers writhed with Circle of Forgiveness, and as the tsussim’s flesh knit back together, they finally soared high enough into the sky to be out of bow range.

They quickly outpaced the angry guards, and zipping over Deḇur’s moat, angled down toward the durgu’s camp, with the winds whipping around them angrily. “Do you think they’re going to come after us,” Tsia yelled over their roar.

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Jasper glanced over his shoulder and cursed as he saw a steady stream of guards heading for the gate. He didn’t want to kill them, but if he had to… Jasper’s eye caught on the drawbridge, and the germ of an idea took root. Spurring Dapplegrim closer to Tsia’s mount, he shoves the mage onto the tsussîm’s back. “Take him to S̆ams̆ādur - I’ll hold them off.”

“By yourself?” She screamed back.

“Trust me; I’ve got an idea.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she gave him a curt nod and continued toward the camp. With a quick tug on the reins, Jasper urged Dapplegrim higher, and as they rose into the air, he pulled the glaive out of his bag. He shoved essence into the shaft, supercharging the glyphs until icy vapors roiled off its surface, while he eyed the pair of thick metal chains that suspended the drawbridge. Under normal conditions, the chains were far too sturdy for him to snap, but he hoped that if he could get them cold enough, they'd become brittle. Then I just need to give it a few good hits, and the weight should do the rest.

It wasn't the best of plans, but it would have to be good enough. Wedging the glaive firmly between himself and saddle, he guided Dapplegrim toward the bridge and braced for the impact.

As the glaive collided with the first chain, Ice and frost rapidly spread from the point of impact. The glaive caught on a link, and he was wrenched backward, nearly torn from the saddle, before it finally slid free. He struggled to right himself as he circled round and charged the chain again. And again. And again.

Deḇur was not a large town, and despite the cold emanating from his weapon, sweat wreathed his brow as he saw the guards reach the marketplace just beyond the main gates. Come on. Work!

*CRACK*

As the frozen links snapped, the top part of the chain, suddenly freed from the bridge’s ponderous weight, the top part of the chain whipped narrowly his head. With a groan, the bridge sagged to the right, but its tenuous connection to the far side of the moat and the remaining chain kept it from fully collapsing as he had hoped. He sent another frantic glance toward the quickly approaching soldiers and steered Dapplegrim toward the second chain.

A thick layer of frost covered the chain when the guards arrived, but it had yet to break. With angry cries, they paused at the edge of the drooping bridge, and drew their bows. Got to move. Arrows whizzed past his ear as he urged Dappelgrim higher and circled above the bridge, just out of reach of their bows. I've got to bring it down, but how? Not daring to dive back down, he opted for a spell instead, casting it twice in quick succession. Shooting Star.

He didn't have much practice casting the spell straight down, and many of the fiery orbs missed the chain entirely, exploding harmlessly against the old stone walls of Debur. But a shotgun doesn't require great aim, and neither did Shooting Star. With crackling pops, a handful of the orbs hit the frozen chain, and the rapid change from cold to heat finally stressed the metal to its breaking point. With a second thunderous crash, the bridge slid beneath the moat’s murky waters, leaving the guards and the citizens trapped within the city walls. With a final cheeky wave, he shot off toward the durgu camp.

Tsia and S̆ams̆ādur were waiting outside the prince’s tent as he landed. “I don't know what I was expecting when you said you were going to hold them off, but that wasn't it,” Tsia called out in greeting.

“It was a gamble," he admitted, "but I didn’t want to kill them I didn't have to,” he explained as he slipped off Dapplegrim’s back and tethered her beside Tsia’s mount. “Is the mage inside?”

“Aye. Still hasn’t woken up though,” the prince replied, eyeing Jasper’s frosty glaive curiously. “Haven’t seen you use that before.”

“You haven’t known me that long,” Jasper shot back. He glanced over his shoulder towards Deḇur, where the angry guards crowded the edge of the moat impotently. “Do you think we need to worry about them?”

“I doubt they have any way to get across the moat any time soon,” S̆ams̆ādur said dismissively. “There shouldn't be any boats in the city, so until they build a raft…”

“That’s what I hoped.” Jasper turned to face the prince’s tent. He felt a bit queasy as the image of the mage’s severed, charred hands flashed through his mind again, but he forced the mental picture away. “Then I guess it’s time to interrogate him.”

As Jasper entered the tent, he found the mage tied to a chair. The man’s head lolled against his shoulders, the eyes glazed and unseeing, and he shook the man to no avail. “He’s still out cold?” He muttered to himself, and pressed a hand against the mage’s neck. The skin was cooler than he’d expected, but the faint pulsing beneath his fingers told him the mage yet lived. Maybe a little healing will help.

Reluctantly, he drew on his essence and cast Circle of Forgiveness on the man. The spell was nowhere near powerful enough to restore his missing limbs, but the charred flesh and seeping wounds that covered his wounds sloughed off as the spell took root and fresh, pink skin sealed his wounds. The man stirred but still did not wake, and Jasper prepared to cast the spell, but S̆ams̆ādur intervened. “Step aside.”

The mage jolted upright as the bucket of cold, slimy moat water trickled down him. “Wh-what?” He struggled against the ropes, his eyes wild and terrified, and then he saw his hands. A hoarse, desperate scream filled the air, over and over, until Jasper, fearing that the man would knock himself out again from his panic attack, stepped forward and clamped his hand over his mouth.

“You need to breathe, slow and steady,” he commanded him. “Close your eyes and focus on breathing.”

The mage struggled weakly in his grasp, his body trembling like a leaf as he stared in horror at his missing hands, and a trickle of shame filled Jasper’s heart. He could only imagine how devastating it would be to lose his own hands, especially now that he needed them to cast spells. But how many deaths are those hands responsible for? he reminded himself. Doing his best to steel his heart, Jasper waited till the man had ceased hyperventilating before releasing him.

“I think you know what we want,” he spoke grimly. “The only question is, how many limbs are you going to lose before you tell us?”

The words tasted foul on his lips, but the threat did its job.

“Wh-what do you want? I’ll tell you anything,” the mage stammered.

“Let’s start with how you're orchestrating the Atrometos attacks. We’ll get to your plans for Lord Sarganīl later.”