Bazā’u’s eyes were wide and bloodshot as he peered into the darkness, straining to see anything. It was a darker night the unusual; the storm had rolled in late, cutting off the light of the moon and stars, and the heavy snow had made visibility even worse.

On the hill opposite the fort, three figures crouched in the snow. In the darkness of the night, their cloaks looked black, but Bazā’u had no doubt that they were blue - the blue of the Royal House. Arrîl, he cursed to himself. I guess they saw through me. Despite his annoyance, the old Djinn’s estimation of the three went up.

The moment he’d laid eyes on them in that fool’s office, he’d barely been able to keep his joy checked. The tribe had been hitting Nekelmû’s company hard the last few months - perhaps a little too hard, if he was being honest. His nephew really had struck the last shipment against his orders, as Bazā’u knew that if they wrung too much out of the company, it would just pass into the lord of Kiribāti’s hands, and at that point, the guards would no longer look the other way. Still, he’d seen an opportunity to apply some light pressure to the company, steal a little more money out of their pockets in exchange for letting the next few caravans through unharmed.

Instead, a walking, talking gold mine had passed through the doors - a Djinn noble wearing the colors of the Royal House. The man had no assigned bodyguard with him, so Bazā’u immediately judged that he couldn’t be too important - not the sort of man that would bring down the whole fury of the House down upon them. But like all nobles, he undoubtedly was loaded.

His mind worked frantically to finalize his plan as he persuaded them to go after his son-in-law. A bit of truth was the perfect leavening for his lies - his son-in-law really was getting antsy for power - but he knew this would be the perfect peace offering. With any luck, they’d wring a king’s ransom out of the noble’s family. And if it did piss them off, well - with the money they’d reap, his clan should have no trouble buying their way back into the good graces of Araddūr’s lord.

As soon as the contract was struck, he’d left the city. A touch of paranoia had forced him to initially head down the road toward the main settlement of his clan, but he’d quickly realized no one was following him. The fools didn’t suspect a thing. Turning off the road, he’d cut through the forest and arrived at his son-in-law’s compound.

Their meeting was tense. When he saw the veritable fortress Laḫāssu had built, Bazā’u realized that he had perhaps underestimated just how impatient for the rule his son-in-law was getting. His numbers had swelled too, buoyed by several S̆addu’â not of their clan whose loyalties, if they had any at all, were solely toward Laḫāssu.

For a moment, Bazā’u feared he’d made a mistake and that his son-in-law would simply strike him down before he could even explain his plan. It’s what he would have done, after all. But there was a reason Laḫāssu wasn’t yet ruler. He let Bazā’u and as he listened to the plan, the tension melted away. The group had feasted that night, not expecting the planned attack to come until the following day. Only the sentry had been forced to remain sober, and Bazā’u, who pretended to drink far more than actually passed his lips, for as much he hoped a tentative peace had been reached between them, he’d be a fool to trust the man.

He’d turned in with the others, forced to sleep on a mat stuffed with an altogether insufficient supply of hay, but had woken up in the middle of the night with a full bladder and an aching knee. Ah, the perks of old age. Stumbling into the courtyard, he’d sighed in relief as a steady stream poured out, only for that sigh to be joined by a strangled scream. “Int-“

The hot liquid splattered over his hands as he jerked his head up in time to see the sentry in the tower slump over, eyes wide and desperate as he tore at his own throat. The man was dead by the time Bazā’u reached him and old instincts kicked in. Hunkering down out of sight, he snatched up a bow and took a cautious peek. That was when he’d seen the intruders.

Yes, his estimation of them had gone up in that moment.Apparently, they hadn’t been foolish enough to trust him, but Bazā’u felt confident his plan would succeed nonetheless.Clambering down the stairs, he roused Laḫāssu and his men from their slumber.The S̆addu’â might have been still half in their cups, but they were hardened warriors.In moments, they’d assembled and taken position at the notches cut into the fort’s walls.The storm’s fierce winds prevented their arrows from being of much use, but Bazā’u knew they had the advantage.

There were thirty of them to just three. The numbers alone might not have been to their advantage as Bazā’u suspected that at least two of the three were mages, but his group was not bereft of mages themselves. Despite Laḫāssu’s many flaws, he was the second most talented stone mage in their clan, second only to his own son. With the two of them, Bazā’u felt assured his trap would succeed.

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But his jubilance slipped as the three, rather than advancing against the fort, turned away and disappeared back into the forest.

“It seems these Djinn were not so easily duped,” his son-in-law remarked, a slight sparkle in his eyes as he watched Bazā’u’s face cloud over.

“There’s no reason for them to turn away,” Bazā’u fumed. “They’re mages! Surely this little fort wasn’t enough to scare them off.”

Bazā’u’s grandson spoke up. “Why not send a party after them? I can take some of the men and hunt them down. They can’t have gone far in this weather.”

Disappointment welled in his heart as he listened to his grandson’s proposal. He's a talented mage, but he simply doesn’t have the cunning to be a leader. Oh well, at least I’ll be dead by the time he takes the reigns. “It would be foolish to leave the protection of these walls in a storm,” he chided his grandson. “Perhaps that even explains their actions - they may be hoping to draw us into an ambush, but we shall not be that stupid. We will wait them out. If they want to finish the contract, they must return.”

“Yes, we must.”

Bazā’u’s heart thundered in his chest as the voice echoed behind him. He spun around, his hand fighting to drag his axe free of its sheath, but his reaction time, slowed by age, was not fast enough.

As he turned to see the door, he saw dozens of red, fiery orbs swarm from the mage’s hands.They darted straight toward him, filling the cramped room where the S̆addu’â had gathered.A shield of stone slammed into place in front of him and then the world went white as the orbs exploded.

His son-in-law’s spell held firm as the room shook. In truth, the explosions themselves were not that strong, but in the small chamber, the sound alone was deafening. Blood dripped from his ears, but Bazā’u ignored it; preparing his axe, he darted forward the instant Lahāssu let the spell drop. I guess I owe you one after all, he admitted begrudgingly.

The others in the room had not been so fortunate. Half their number lay dazed or maimed on the floor, but Bazā’u felt sure the tide could be turned. In a flash, he closed the gap on the mage and swung straight for the jugular.

His strike went awry as a pair of shackles clamped around his feet, causing him to lose his business. The mage danced out of his reach and swung his own weapon, a glaive whose blade was ridged with frost. Bazā’u batted it out of the way with his axe, the warrior’s strength more than enough to prevail against a mage, and smashed his weapon into the shcackled binding him. Breaking free, he staggered back as an arrow lodged in his side and fell to one knee.

Lahāssu rushed past him, covered from head to toe in a solid sheet of rock, and launched himself against the mage. The mage backpedaled frantically, and Bazā’u grinned as he saw his son-in-law land a crushing blow, only for the stone mage to be picked up by a sudden gust of wind and tossed across the room.

Shaking himself out of his stupor, Bazā’u rose to his feet and left the fight against the mages to Lahāssu and his grandson. Instead, he focused his attention on the one member of the party who had shown no signs of magic - the elf.

Standing behind the Djinn noble, her arrows had made short work of the S̆addu’â injured by her partner’s blast.But after the first bout of surprise, the men who were still left standing had hunkered down behind their shields and were slowly advancing upon her.

A pair of shadowy wings matching the ones on the Djinn noble stretched above her, giving the elf a rather exotic look, but she was still just an archer - the Djinn’s pet or consort, no doubt. A savage grin stretched across his face as Bazā’u angled himself closer to her, moving slowly lest he catch her attention.

The girl didn’t seem to notice him, occupied fully by the approaching S̆addu’â. She whispered something as she released her next arrow, and it fell apart midair landing on the ground in front of the men. The S̆addu’â ignored it, advancing confidently with their shields upraised but a cry of pain rang out as the first in line stepped on something unseen. His shield slipped and her arrow struck true, burying itself in his neck, and his body killed over, her hands moved like lightning, sending another two men to the ground before the rest managed to scamper back into a huddled protection.

Bazā’u chose that moment to strike. Leaping over whatever danger lurked on the floor, he raised his axe above his head and, going against every instinct in his bones, he choked down his battlecry, not wanting to give the little elf even a second of warning before he arrived.

He was already committed when she pivoted on one heel. Her bow clattered to the ground as she swung to face him and a silver dagger with an unusually thin blade, sprang into her hand. Bazā’u slashed wildly at her, but the elf ducked beneath his blow with preternatural grace and, springing back up, stabbed her dagger through a chink in his armor.

The blade burned as it sunk in, but Bazā’u pushed through the pain. Grabbing her hand in his gauntleted fist, he slammed his helmet down on her head. Her hand went limp and he smiled grimly. Got her.

With a sudden surge of strength, the elf’s hand pulled free of his grasp as she dug her heels into his torso and flung herself backward. Her flip was low, her hands grazing the ground, and she snagged hold of the bow. Bazā’u only hesitated for a moment before charging after her, but it was a moment too long.

The arrow in her bow glinted red as she released. Trusting in his armor to tank the arrow, Bazā’u ignored it. But the arrow punched through his armor like paper and stopped in his throat. He fell to his knees again, choking as blood filled his throat. Trying to staunch the bleeding with his fingers, he searched the room for any sign of succor.

His eyes stopped on his grandson, and his already fading mind struggled to reconcile what he was seeing. The stone mage leaned against the wall, flipping a coin in his hand. There wasn’t a speck of blood on his clothes, no sign he’d joined the struggle at all. What—?

The elf bent down himself. With a rough shake, she drew the burning dagger out of his side. Her hands flashed again and Bazā’u knew no more.