“What were you thinking?!” Tsia’s cheeks were flushed hard, her fists clenched at her side, her eyes sparking with anger as she stared down Jasper. “Why didn’t you wait for me?”

“I, uh-” the irony of the situation hit me; usually, it was the other way around - him scolding Tsia for thoughtlessly leaping into action. He was right, of course, and unfortunately, so was she now. “I didn’t see you, and I thought we could handle an Atrometos or two on our own. But you’re right,” he admitted. “I knew more assassins might come after us, and I should have been more careful. Next time, I will wait for you to come along too.”

A low chuckle echoed from the other side of the fire, where the prince was sprawled across a makeshift cot his men had made for him. The durgu was fine - once Jasper’s essence had recovered, he’d ensured the man was fully healed - but the scoundrel had taken the opportunity to play up his wounds for pity. “Are you sure you’re not together, cause you seem awfully whipped.”

“I’m not whipped,” Jasper replied icily. “It’s called an apology. If you’re unfamiliar with the concept, I’m sure we can find you a dictionary somewhere.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” the durgu snorted.

Jasper ground his teeth, but he chose to ignore the prince’s provocation and turned his attention back to Tsia. “We good?”

She sighed, and as she did, the fight went out of her.

“We were never ungood. You just scared me, that’s all.”

“We’ve fought worse enemies before,” Jasper reminded her.

“Not like this. Even Yasgah didn’t grow back her head.”

“Hey, we don’t know that. He could be the headless horseman the next time we see him. Or a pumpkinhead.” Seeing the irritation creep back into her face, Jasper continued, “But yes, I get that it was stupid. Honestly, I didn’t know these assassins could even wield magic like that.”

“They normally don’t.” The prince spoke up, shifting into an upright position on his makeshift cot. “This is the third time they’ve attacked me. They had no one like that the other times. I guess they’re finding my attachment to life frustrating,” he added wryly.

Jasper pursed his lips. “Damn. Does that mean we should expect more of those freaks next time?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Samsadur shrugged. “I’d like to believe that they don’t have a surplus of warriors who can survive a quick beheading, but who knows? The followers of Mut-La’is are a secretive bunch.”

“Any chance we can buy them off?”

“No. Once they accept a contract, they fulfill it.”

“So, what? We have to expect unlimited attacks?” Jasper strained his mind, trying to remember what little he knew of the assassins from the game. They were the followers of a dark goddess, who gifted them with strength and agility beyond their normal limits, but they were also, as Samsadur, secretive. No one knew how they were organized, where they were based, or how large their numbers were.

Samsadur shrugged at his question, but Tsia shook her head. “No, the men of Mut-La’is do not make open-ended contracts like that. They will have agreed to perform a certain number of attempts on his life, but if he survives them all…

“They’ll stop.” She nodded, and Jasper raised a brow. “You seem awfully well-informed about these guys. Hire them yourself?”

A look of unease flickered across her face, and Jasper regretted asking it. “No, but my, uh, brother tried to hire them once. Against me. It was a bit of a scandal at the time, and though my father tried to hush it up, I overheard more than I should have.”

“Damn.” Jasper paused, uncertain what to say. “That’s-”

“It’s fine,” she said hurriedly. “He didn’t succeed - and it’s a good thing. My mother would have killed him.”

That tracked with what he knew of Aphora, but it didn’t make it any better than her own brother had tried to put a hit on her. “Still, that sucks. I’m glad you’re not stuck there any longer.”

Sensing she didn’t want to continue the conversation, he changed directions. “So what do we do next? I suppose we can expect further attacks from the assassins, but what about the Atrometos?” Or the mind mage, he added in his head, but chose not to mention the touchy topic to the prince.

“Or the mind mage,” the man echoed, and Jasper cursed as he noticed the durgu’s hands twitch.

“Really? Do you have to cast that?”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Force of habit,” Samsadur shrugged, but his fingers stilled. “But you’re right - we have no leads right now. I don’t like to be forced to wait around for our enemies’ next move, but I’m not sure we have much choice.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Jasper sighed. “Although, if we do find another Atrometos attack, I might have an idea on how to get some answers - a good old-fashioned interrogation.”

----------------------------------------

The night passed peacefully, and when Lord Samsa returned to his throne in the sky, there were no pillars of smoke on the horizon. After a leisurely breakfast where Jasper was again able to indulge in the durgu’s surprisingly good culinary skills, they set out in search of the nearest road.

It was an hour before they stumbled across one of the Empire’s highways and, besides it, a settlement quite a bit larger than the villages they had seen thus far, which assumed must be the town of Devur the guards at Birnah had directed them to. While the settlement could not compare to Sarganīl’s massive fortress complex, the town was much better fortified than most of its size. A double set of stone curtain walls enclosed Deḇur entirely, followed by a dry moat that was filled with sharpened stakes. A drawbridge led into town, flanked by two sturdy towers and watched by a handful of guards.

As they approached, a guard came to meet them. He was an older gentleman with thinning black hair and a peppered beard. Deep bags lay under his eyes, and he ran a finger through his loose locks as he approached them, barely glancing up from the papers he held. “What village did you come from and how many survivors,” he sighed.

“We’re not from here,” Jasper replied and the old guard finally glanced up.

He froze as he realized most of the men accompanying them were durgū, and a wrinkle creased his brow. “Haven’t seen this many dwarves in twenty years. You haven’t gone and declared war on us now, have you?” He ended with a light chuckle, and though his question could have been perceived as hostile, it lacked the obvious distaste the guards at Birnah had shown.

“I assure you,” S̆ams̆ādur replied, offering the man a courtly bow, “we are not here to cause any problems. Lord Kabāni sent us as reinforcements for Lord Sarganīl, although it seems your lord feels our services are best used wandering the countryside.”

While Jasper doubted the wisdom of maligning the Corsyth lord to his man's face, fortunately, the guard didn’t seem to take offense. “Aye, I can’t say I’m surprised. Our lord seems…” he halted, not willing to go so far as to directly criticize his lord himself, and changed course. “Well, as far as I know, our realms aren’t at war yet and I haven't been given any orders to refuse you, so you’re welcome to enter. I must warn you, though - you may not find what you’re looking for. Times are hard in Deḇ̱ur.”

He stood aside to let them pass, and with a quick word of thanks, they continued on into the town. The meaning of the man’s cryptic warning became clear as they rode through the gates. Like many towns, the market was placed directly at the entrance, providing ease of access for the merchants who came to hawk their wares, but the town’s pavilion was not a market currently. Every square inch of the square had been claimed by hundreds of tents, occupied by the refugees from the surrounding villages.

They paused just inside the gate, and Jasper waved one of the guards over. “Is there anywhere we can get some food? And maybe an inn for the night?”

This guard was much younger than the one who had greeted them outside, but his eyes were just as tired. “I’m sorry, but the inns are all full. The market too,” he said, nodding his head toward the sea of tents. “I heard they were opening up more space for refugees in the outer ring, so you might try there.”

“And if we're looking for food?”

The guard looked at the small group clustered around Jasper, and then at the much larger horde of soldiers standing behind them and shook his head. “If you want supplies for your men, you can try your luck with the quartermaster. I can’t promise he’ll be willing to sell, though - half the harvests have gone up in smoke the last few weeks. But for you two and the lady,” he nodded at Tsia, “there’s a tavern still open in the craftsman district, The Gilded Pig. It won’t be cheap, but you can get something decent there.”

Jasper tossed the man a coin for the information and turned to his party. “S̆ams̆ādur, can some of your men visit this quartermaster and see what he’s willing to part with.”

“Aye, we can do that. But I’d rather camp outside than stay here. This place is just asking for a plague,” the prince agreed, his nose wrinkling at the smell emanating from the overcrowded market.

“True, but it might be worth lingering a night. How many villages are represented here?” he asked, pointing at the tents. “Ten? Maybe more? It might be worth talking to them to see if anyone remembers our mystery mage.”

The prince grimaced, but he didn’t disagree. “I suppose you’ll have no objection to me casting my spell now?”

“I don’t like it,” Jasper admitted, “but we need to know. I’ll talk to some of the refugees too. And you?”

Tsia hesitated a moment before replying. “If you’re both going to talk to the refugees, then I should investigate somewhere else,” she finally decided. “Maybe I’ll try my luck at that tavern. ‘Drunk tongues are loose tongues’ as my father always said.”

With their plans sorted, the group split up. S̆ams̆ādur, clearly wanting some space, headed for the farthest corner of the tent city, leaving Jasper to start with the closer ones.

The task proved harder than he’d originally thought. Perhaps understandably, the villagers were not quick to open up. The loss of their homes, their crops, their friends, and family were not topics they wished to discuss with strangers, especially a stranger as noticeably inhuman as Jasper had become.

After an hour of effort, he’d learned practically nothing. He’d gleaned the names of a few of the villages that had been destroyed - Is̆îl, Yarha, Agrūs̆ams̆a - but none of the villagers had mentioned seeing a man accompanying the Atrometos. Of course, most of them seemed to have few memories of the attacks at all, as the unnatural fear the creatures inspired had overridden their senses altogether.

He finally gave up and circled back to the gate where Samsadur’s men were already gathering. They’d returned from the quartermaster with empty hands, and when the durgu prince emerged from the sea of tents, the scowl on his face told Jasper that he’d been equally unsuccessful.

“Anything useful,” he asked nonetheless, hoping he’d misinterpreted the man’s dark look.

“I saw much,” the man growled. “Fathers torn to shreds, children in pools of blood, women covered in burns from head to toe. They could not hide their memories from me, yet I saw no sign of the hooded mage. Perhaps I was mistaken after all.”

“Or perhaps,” Tsia cut in triumphantly, emerging from the crowd to join them, “you weren’t looking in the right place. I got a lead.”