The tent was far nicer than Jasper had expected. Tall enough for him to comfortably walk upright, the tent was as large as a decent-sized bedroom. The ground was covered by a large reed mat and in one corner a cot was already set up. But his attention was solely focused on the small desk and chair on the other hand, where a dark figure lurked.

There was little light in the tent, for night had nearly fallen, and he was unable to make out any distinguishing features on the person, save for a large pair of black horns. Letting the flames run across his left hand, he lifted it up in the air, lighting up the small tent.

The figure was slumped over on the desk, apparently fast asleep. His face was hidden, but he wore the colors of the Royal House, and as Jasper moved inched forward cautiously, relief washed over him as he realized he recognized the intruder.

“S̆arrābī - what the hell are you doing here?”

His uncle didn’t stir when he spoke and he shook the man’s shoulder. “S̆arrābī!”

With a start, the man’s head lurched up, his horns whistling dangerously close to Jasper’s jaw. “Ah, Yas̆peh, you’re finally here.” The Djinn rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with a groan. “I saw your tsussîm arrive several hours ago. Where were you?”

“Apparently the guards are a bit skittish. They held us for a while, wanted to look through our stuff,” Jasper replied with a shrug. He sank into a chair opposite S̆arrābī’s with a gratified sigh and, stretched his legs out, began to massage his thighs which were throbbing after the long ride on the tsussîm. “Something about sabotage, I gathered.”

S̆arrābī let out a long sigh. “So the men are talking about it now? We’ve tried to keep the incidents under wrap.”

“I don’t know what other incidents might have happened, but the fires that keep breaking out are kind of hard to hide. Seems most are blaming the southern tribes.” Jasper paused and then corrected himself. “Well, that’s what the firebird I spoke to thought. I suppose I can’t assume that everyone agrees.”

His uncle winced. “That’s exactly what the king feared. Everyone knows that the southern tribes didn’t want to help the empire, and if these incidents keep occurring, the king is worried that his army will disintegrate into chaos before it even leaves our borders.”

“Are you afraid they’ll attack each other?”

“No,” S̆arrābī dismissed the thought immediately. “As much as the northern lords resent the southern, they are not suicidal. The southern tribes have nearly three times their population and while the North has comparatively more mages, the numbers are simply too stacked against them. Their lords are no fools.”

“But this problem must be solved. If the northern lords believe the southern lords are sabotaging them, they will refuse to work with them. And as for the southern lords,” S̆arrābī tapped the table irritably, “they never wanted to come in the first place. They are only here because the king strong-armed them. They will happily take any excuse to abandon this campaign.”

“So you think they are behind it too,” Jasper questioned.

“I don’t know,” S̆arrābī admitted. “They’re the obvious suspects, of course, but that’s hardly evidence of guilt, and without proof, the king is not going to start accusing nobles of anything.”

“Yeah, I suppose not,” Jasper agreed. “So that does mean you’re coming with us after all?”

His uncle shook his head. “No. I cannot go with you, not before S̆anukkat has given birth.”

“The king didn’t order you to go? That’s kind of nice of him. I’ve got to say, I’ve only met him one time, but he really didn’t strike me as the caring type. More like the ‘scary as all hell type.’”

“The caring type?” S̆arrābī snorted. “You should have trusted your initial instincts, Yas̆peh. S̆ars̆adû is a good king in many ways, certainly better than his predecessor. Under his rule, our people have prospered, not least because of his surreptitious support for the animmû nobles, who have done much to better the common people’s lives. But S̆ars̆adû, like most who have lived for a thousand years or two, is a man of cold practicality.”

“He doesn’t care in the slightest whether or not S̆anukkat lives. But he knows that I am already quite angry with him for deceiving me about my sister’s ‘death’ and has rightly assessed that if S̆anukkat died while I was away, he would make an enemy of me. And since I am useful, he has made an exception. Someone has been appointed to investigate the matter.”

“Wait - you’re not running the investigation?” Jasper stared at his uncle in surprise. “Then why are you here.”

“I’m here to warn you, Yas̆peh. I don’t know who the king has sent to look into these incidents, but you have several skills that could be useful in such an investigation, do you not?”

“I guess,” he agreed. “I do have a spell that lets me detect if someone’s the truth.”

“You also have a spell that lets you question the recently deceased,” his uncle added.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Jasper furrowed his brow. “How do you know that? I don’t remember telling you that.”

A thin smile crossed his uncle’s lips. “We have our ways. I’m quite certain the king knows all of your spells, and unless I miss my guess, there is a good chance this investigator will want to use you.”

“Are you telling me to refuse,” he asked.

“No,” S̆arrābī sighed. “It’s unlikely you’ll be given a choice. I am telling you, however, to be careful. Despite your spells, you haven’t been trained in subterfuge and have but the barest grasp of noble etiquette. That’s why I came bringing gifts.”

S̆arrābī pulled a parcel out of his bag and tossed it to him “It’s not much, but at least it should help.”

Jasper unwrapped the package carefully and laid them on the table. The largest item was a leather-bound book whose title, A Brief Survey of Djinn Customs, told him everything he needed to know about its contents. But the other objects were more interesting. He placed three small vials side-by-side, each filled with a thick white ooze that looked a bit curdled milk, followed by a small copper ring whose sides glowed with green-colored glyphs. “What are these?” He asked his uncle.

“The potions are antidotes,” his uncle explained. “Since I can’t predict what poisons they must use, I was forced to supply the closest thing we have to a cure-all, the milk of the bas̆mu. It doesn’t cure everything, but it will heal the vast majority of ills.”

Jasper held the potion up in the flickering light of the flames. It moved ever so slightly in the jar, so thick that it was closer to a solid than a liquid. “This is milk?”

His uncle grinned. “That’s what they call it. The truth is a bit more disgusting. Do you know what a bas̆mu is?”

“Nope. Something nasty?”

“It’s a horned serpent that lives in the jungles near Appāra, mostly hiding in the rivers. Everything about it is toxic. Its fangs drip with venom, its skin secrets a dangerous poison, and just a splash of its blood is enough to make a man blind. And yet, in a strange twist of fate, its internal organs are protected by a thick layer of fat with extraordinary healing abilities. The fat, when mixed with an emulsifying agent, is what we call its milk.”

Jasper shrugged. Sure, drinking a creature’s fat was kind of gross, but it definitely could have been worse. It was no rocky mountain oysters, after all. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”

S̆arrābī visibly shuddered. “Oh, it is. I’ve had the misfortune of having to consume it five times in my life and I pray daily there won’t be a sixth.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“Crack the lid,” his uncle suggested.

Curious, Jasper opened one of the potions. His eyes immediately wept, and acid burned his throat as his long-digested lunch surged back up. Clamping the lid shut, he raced to the tent’s opening, holding back the vomit just long enough to spare his brand-new reed mat. He returned a moment later, wiping his mouth, and did not speak until he’d taken several long draughts of water.

“That is the worst thing I’ve ever smelled,” he said shakily. “In fact, I’m pretty sure it could be classified as torture.”

His uncle, looking a bit green around the gills, managed a faint chuckle. “I’d like to say you get used to it, but honestly, you won’t.”

“Do you have to drink the whole bottle?” Jasper asked, dreading the response.

“No, a few swallows should do,” S̆arrābī. “But you have to keep it down.”

“Well…thanks,” Jasper replied dubiously. “I guess it’s better than dying.” He moved the potions into his bag, and then his hand came to rest on the last object. “And what’s the ring?” He picked the copper band up and spun it between his fingers.

“Try putting it on.”

He stared suspiciously at his uncle. “It’s not going to do anything nasty, is it?”

“No, no,” his uncle chuckled. “The milk of the bas̆mu was the only unpleasant surprise.” Jasper, remembering the book of etiquette he’d been given, was not so sure about that, but he held his tongue and, following his uncle’s instructions, slipped the ring onto his finger.

As soon as the copper band closed around his skin, the green glow of the glyphs died out. He shoved it the rest of the way up his finger, and held his hand out, admiring the simple band. “It’s a nice ring, but what does it do?”

S̆arrābī moved like a blur. A wicked black dagger appeared in his hand and he slashed it straight toward Jasper’s throat. Throwing himself backward, Jasper and the chair fell toward the ground, but not in time to dodge the blow. But as he fell, a golden shield of light sprung up around him and deflected the blade with ease. As Jasper rolled to his feet, the shield had already dissipated, but the blow had been stopped.

“Really? You couldn’t have just told me?” Jasper asked with a half-amused shake of his head. “Damn near gave me a heart attack.”

The Djinn grinned. “This was more fun. As you can see, the barrier lasts just three seconds, but it should be enough to stop a sneak attack. After that, you’ll have to defend yourself.”

“How long does it take to recharge?”

“I’m afraid it’s only available once per day,” his uncle explained. “Really, it’s a miracle Kaṣî got it to work at all; usually these glyphs would need to be on something much bigger, but I wanted something that an enemy wouldn’t immediately detect.

“Thanks,” Jasper replied, this time fully sincere. “And tell Kaṣî thanks too. This is a great gift.”

“I hope you don’t need it,” his uncle replied. “Just like the glaive, you’ll have to pay to get the ring recharged by a mage from time to time, but it should last at least a few months - unless you find yourself regularly getting attacked.”

Jasper grinned. “While I am with the army now. I have a sneaking suspicion I’ll be doing some fighting.”

“You do seem to attract trouble,” his uncle agreed. The grin slipped from his face, and he leaned closer. “I heard some of what happened with the Brotherhood. Only bits and pieces, I’m afraid, but it seems things did not go well. Are you going to be able to lead your troops?”

“It’s not like a choice, do I,” Jasper replied with a sigh, his mood sobering. “But I’ll be fine. We won and, while I feel like a cad for saying this, the one who died was….not exactly a friend of mine. Have you heard any more about Annatta?”

S̆arrābī’s face told him everything he needed to know. “She has improved very little thus far. Captain Ḫuḫāru was able to get the priests to release her, and he's chartered a boat to take her to the capital. With time, perhaps she can get back to what she was, but it will be a long road ahead.”

Jasper grimaced. “I feel like it’s my fault.”

S̆arrābī placed a hand on Jasper’s shoulder. “You wrestled with a demigoddess, Yas̆peh, and walked away with most of your crew intact. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

The two talked for a few more hours and, then, before the first rays of dawn appeared above the horizon, the Djinn departed, heading back to the capital.