The journey back to Dūr-Ṣadê was just as miserable as before.

There was a time when imperial stone mages would have traveled up and down the empire’s length, repairing even the tiniest of cracks long before they had the chance to turn into craters. There were even a few places, like the northern capital of Celestia, where that was still the case, but the roads through the hinterlands that surrounded the once bustling port of Ālmakkar had been long abandoned.

Cold rains poured down relentlessly on them. Day after day, the rain ate away at what remained of the old stone roads, turning them into little more than a chilly, rocky bog. But the weather was an exercise in misery that, despite its best efforts, was unable to match the pall that hung over Eligon’s heart. He’d achieved what he set out to accomplish - gaining the promise that the maryannu would come to the empire’s aid in the fight against the Zalancthians - but his victory had been poisoned by Merûm’s death.

Still, when the walls of Dūr-Ṣadê once again loomed upon the horizon, it was hard not to feel a bit of cheer. After weeks of cold rain, a warm fire, a soft robe, and a cup of brandy were just what the healer had ordered.

The mages were already hard at work raising the temporary bridge when they arrived at the base of the moat. The mages wasted no effort on extra flourishes - there were no elven delegations to impress this time - so they were not left waiting long. As soon as the ice reached the muddy shores, Eligon and his remaining guards clattered across.

They paused beneath the gates, the walls above offering a welcome relief from the chilly rain, and he dismounted. Tossing the reins to a waiting guard, Eligon headed toward the guard station, choosing to walk the rest of the way back to the castle in the shelter of the walls.

He smiled as he saw the tall, blonde man who was leaning against the doorway. “Vayābī,” he called out enthusiastically. “Did everything go alright well we were gone?”

His friend laughed. “Better than ever, my lord. Perhaps you should take trips more frequently - I’ve never seen things run so smoothly.” Vayābī smirked, and Eligon matched his smile with a hearty chuckle - but a murmur of doubt rose in his heart. His friend said many things in jest, but there was a subtle sharpness to his tone that the emperor wasn't used to hearing.

Strange. Hiding his doubts, he wrapped the noble in a big hug.

“Stop, stop, you’re soaking me,” Vayābī protested, and the Emperor released him with a laugh.

“Ah, that’s just a little taste of my last three weeks,” he boomed as the two turned, and started their walk. The guards stayed behind, tending to the horses, and Eligon lowered his voice. “And what about our little project? Did Eṣidānu figure anything out about those vials?”

Vayābī’s smile soured. “I guess you could say his project was a success.”

The emperor’s gaze sharpened. “Oh? You don’t sound very happy.”

His friend’s lips twisted in a scowl. “You know how I feel about that man, Eligon. He has no respect for authority, neither yours nor the empire’s.”

Eligon understood Vayābī’s frustration, but frankly, it didn’t matter. Eṣidānu was one of the most powerful mages alive. He didn’t respect their authority because he didn’t have to. “What did he do this time?”

“He experimented with the vials on our own troops, my lord - soldiers that were under my command,” Vayābī complained.

“Forcibly?”

The noble frowned. “Not exactly. They volunteered for the job, in exchange for a sizable amount of compensation to be delivered to their families if anything happened to them - that’s why he was constantly begging for more money. They had no idea what they were truly signing up for, though. They all died, my lord, all of them.”

Eligon sighed. He wasn’t much happier about the mage’s actions than his Vayyābī was but, on the other hand, the men had made their choice and, really, how could he blame them? Anyone who signed up to serve in the empire's armies was making a similar choice - to accept a steady paycheck in exchange for a very real risk of death. In the end, the offer Eṣidānu had made them was not so different from what they offered recruits every day.

“What did he learn?” he asked brusquely.

“The mage believes the potion allows something else - a spirit, perhaps even a god - to possess them. It temporarily grants them an enormous boost in strength, but repeated doses seem to inevitably kill the user, whether sooner or later. He also suspects the potion is incomplete in some way.”

Eligon mulled over Vayyābī’s news. An incomplete potion? He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. The warrior he had fought had been an absolute monster, but still beatable. If the potion could be improved upon…Eligon didn’t want to consider that possibility. On the other hand, though, there would always be a limited supply of volunteers for a potion that could kill you at any time. If the Zalancthians couldn't perfect it, it might just work in their favor.

Lost in thought, the two fell into a comfortable silence as they walked back to the castle. Only when they reached his study did they speak again.

A steady flow of flames already danced across the tiled hearth as they stepped into the room. A maid quickly hastened forward and helped Eligon out of his drenched clothes. Vayābī turned around, a mocking smile on his lips, as the nude emperor changed into something dry, and then the maid departed.

With a sigh, Eligon sank down into a chair beside the fire. The soft down pillows embraced him like a comforting hug and he closed his eyes, trying to fight off the urge to just drift off to sleep. “Every year, I hate traveling a little bit more,” he groused to his friend.

Vayābī snorted. “Good thing your job never requires it then.” The men laughed as Vayābī headed over to the large buffet that lined the wall. Turning his back to the emperor, he grabbed a flask of brandy from the top shelf and split it between two glasses. He snatched the glasses up and returned to the fire.

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“My lord?” He held out a snifter of brandy. A slight tremor ran through his hand, so subtle that Eligon barely noticed it - barely. He accepted the glass and raised it in a silent toast, but he simply watched as his friend sipped his own drink. Something seemed off.

“What else happened while I was gone?”

The noble shrugged. “The same as usual. The elves sent another emissary, but I told them you were still considering their offer. The Zalancthian general in Agāmin launched a small campaign but ran into a few troubles. Apparently, they somehow stumbled into S̆addu’â territory.”

Eligon crinkled his brow. “So?” The S̆addu’â were a bloody nuisance, but outside of the handful of major settlements they possessed, their villages shouldn’t be strong enough to defeat a military campaign, even if it was a small one.

Vayābī's smile didn’t quite reach his eyes as he explained. “I’m sure you’ve heard the stories about rural S̆addu’â villages that get overtaken by bloodthirsty ‘gods’? Evidently, they’re not just stories. The Zalancthian army was almost completely wiped out by a strange creature and a horde of mutated Djinn.”

Eligon tapped his finger against his glass thoughtfully. “Are these beings a threat to us?”

His friend shook his head. “We sent some scouts to check it out. Whatever the creature is, it’s powerful but seems content to stay where it is. For the time being, it seems safe to ignore it.”

“Well, then,” the emperor smiled, “I guess it’s nice the S̆addu’â annoyed someone else for a change. We should make them honorary citizens.”

“I’m sure they’ll be delighted. Truly, the S̆addu’â are known far and wide for their great love of authority,” Vayyābī replied in a deadpan. He continued on more seriously. “But in all honesty, it worked in our favor. After the Zalancthians’ defeat, their general in Se’arah decided to move against the general in Agāmin. A full-fledged war for control has broken out between them.”

Eligon grinned vulpishly. “I assume you pressed the advantage?”

Vayābī smirked and drained his cup before responding. “Of course, my lord. Our forces from Merom are already on the attack and we should be able to regain a large chunk of Agāmin before the other generals can react.”

It was good news. Agāmin, one of the provinces that bordered the Harei-Miqlat to the south, had still been in the hands of the empire when he was a child but had been lost long before he took the reins of the power. If Eligon could reclaim it without many losses, it would be a welcome victory to boost morale for his true goal - the campaign to reclaim the capital. “Send the troops from Stryn too,” he commanded.

“Are you sure?” Vayābī questioned. “Pulling them away from the borders-"

Eligon waved his hand dismissively. “What borders? Gemlir is dead and gone, and his empire with him. Stryn’s nobles guard a border that no longer exists. We both know the true reason for their ridiculously high levels of militarization is their ever-constant desire to steal Sapiyā’s land.”

“Granted,” the man shrugged. “But they won’t be happy.”

“No, they won’t,” the emperor agreed. “But regaining Agāmin is more important. They can go guard the dead when they’re done.”

The two lapsed into a silence that was only disrupted by the noise of Eligon tapping his finger against the still-full glass of brandy.

Vayābī was the first to break. “I take it you’re not going to drink the brandy?” he asked with a sigh.

Eligon arched his brow. “Should I?”

His old friend’s face scrunched up. “No,” he admitted. “Of course, I never really expected you to drink it. You’ve always had an almost preternatural sense for danger.”

Eligon set the glass down. “Why don’t you tell me what actually happened while I was gone.”

For a few long moments, Vayābī stared into the fire. “They took her, Eligon. The damned stoneflesh finally abducted the right person.”

The emperor understood immediately. Like many nobles, his friend had been forced to marry young, a marriage made for the sake of politics rather than love. He’d had three wives and a dozen children, but there was only one that was truly dear to his heart - his second daughter, Vayābēltī. Vayābī had never revealed who the child’s mother was, but from the moment the infant had been brought to court, he had doted on the child above all the rest.

“Where did they take her, Vayābī? We can send troops to get her back.” He tried to reassure his friend, but the man snorted derisively.

“You don’t get it, Eligon. They didn’t take her to Agāmin or Se’arah or even Sicya. They took her to the Ēkallī. They said they'd kill her if you attack the capital.”

The emperor didn’t reply; truly, there was nothing to say. If the Zalancthians had taken Vayābī’s daughter to Ēkallī - the sacred palace of the emperors in the fallen capital - then there was no chance of rescuing her. He felt for his friend, he truly did, but Eligon could not stop the war for the sake of a single girl. He had a duty to all of his people, not just one, and Vayābī knew that. Hence the decision he had made.

Eligon stared at the poisoned brandy as the silence stretched on between them, watching as the flames’ reflection danced along its edges, and waiting for what he knew was coming.

Vayābī struck. Leaping from his chair, a long, jagged dagger materialized in his hands. Its wavy edges dripped with black, viscous ooze as he struck toward the emperor's neck.

A glass of brandy collided with the blade. Shards of glass and drops of liquid rained down on the carpet, pushing the blade off its trajectory and it cut harmlessly into the emperor's chair. Sweeping his arm beneath his friend's guard, Eligon’s other hand flicked forward and caught Vayābī in the throat.

The noble choked as his air supply was crippled, but he fought through the pain. His hand barely faltered as he yanked the dagger out of the chair and slashed it back toward his friend. At such short range, Eligon wasn’t sure he could deflect it without being hit by the mysterious poison.

Burden of the People, he muttered. His friend’s movements seemed to slow ever so slightly as the power washed over him, but it was enough for Eligon. Snatching Vayābī’s, he wrenched the dagger to the side and pushed back with all his strength.

His friend’s eyes widened as the blade buried itself in his own stomach. He tried to withdraw the blade, but Eligon’s hands were firm and his eyes implacable as held the dagger in place. Within seconds, black, rotting flesh began to spread from the wound and Vayyābī collapsed at the emperor's feet. “You always were better than me,” he rasped out.

Eligon blinked away the moisture that threatened his eyes. “Why did you have to push it, Vaya? I would have ignored the brandy.”

“She’s going to die. Am I supposed to just let that happen?”

“And now?”

The man clutched his rotting belly with a groan of pain, his eyes closed tight in agony. Eligon waited patiently until the spasms of pain passed and Vayābī summoned the strength to speak. “If I die, they might just let her live. Nobody else gives a damn about her. Promise you’ll try to ransom her.”

The emperor bowed his head. “I promise.”

A look of relief washed over Vayābī’s face. “Shamsha bless you,” he murmured softly. His hands fumbled with the dagger still buried in his stomach, and for a second, Eligon thought the man might try one last time to complete his mission, but the noble had a different request for him. Pulling the dagger free, he extended the handle to the emperor. “Can you finish the job? The pain is...”

Eligon took the dagger and did the deed. Tears fell freely as he let it fall on the blood-stained rug and, with a trembling hand, closed his friend's eyes.

"May Kas̆dael have mercy on you," he muttered softly.