After crossing the bridges that guarded the entry to S̆addānu, it was only a short ride to the crossroads where the highway branched off to the east and west, and as they approached, Jasper saw a small cluster of tents had popped up like mushrooms after springtime rain. A lone Seraph stood watch at the perimeter but, when he saw them coming, he turned and raised the alarm. By the time they had reached the impromptu camp, a good half of the tents had already been torn down.

Raucous cries of welcome rang from all sides side as they rode into the little camp. Abnu greeted them all cheerfully, but a touch of dissatisfaction was on his face as he surveyed the men, and he stopped one of the Seraphs long enough to inquire how long it would take before they could depart.

"Half an hour, if that," the man promised before he scurried back to his tasks.

With a satisfied grunt, Abnu leaned back in the saddle and closed his eyes, content to rest while waiting. "You should rest while you can," he warned.

Ignoring the man's advice, Jasper watched the milling crowd in silence. At first, the camp had seemed a veritable hive of activity, but as more and more of the tents were rolled up, Jasper started to realize the group was smaller than he was expecting. “Is this all your elders are sending," he asked Abnu, interrupting the man's meditation. “There’s what, maybe 30 warriors here?”

The Seraph didn't bother to open his eyes as he shook his head. “Nah, the others have already gone ahead. After your meeting with our elders, most of our camp packed up and began a slow migration toward the village - they should’ve reached a week or two ago. I would have gone to, but I volunteered to stick around with a few of the men from my household in the hopes that you’d show up.

“Aw, I didn’t realize you cared so much,” Jasper jibed.

The Seraph snorted. “I don’t. But your bloody goddess wouldn’t stop haunting my dreams. Night after night, I kept dreaming that I was trapped in that frigid, empty void of hers, while a voice whispered in my ears that I must wait for the return of her “hand.” I ignored it the first few days, but when I woke up one morning so cold my lips were blue, I decided maybe it was time, for my own health’s sake if nothing else, to give the goddess what she wanted.”

“Huh,” Jasper grunted in surprise. Kas̆dael had mentioned she’d made the Seraphs wait for him, but he hadn’t realized she had taken such a forceful approach. “That sucks.”

“It really changed my perspective, I can say that. I was a little jealous of your special connection to the goddess, but now?” The man shook his head with a laugh. “I am glad I don’t have her attention.”

Jasper shrugged. “Eh, she’s really not that bad.” As long as she’s not ripping my heart out, he silently added. Deciding to change the topic, he turned his eyes back to the road. “So where is this cultist village anyway?”

The Seraph jerked his head toward the west. “Nib’u lies a few day’s journey that way. It’s nestled in the southern foothills on Kalmū’s southern flank, if you know where that is. It’s a long journey if you follow the roads, but once we pass Iradom, we’ll cut through the plains and get there a lot faster.”

Jasper vaguely recognized the name Kalmū from his training with Annatta; the city had made its money from the copper mines in the hills that surrounded it and had a bit of a reputation for making under-the-table deals with nearby S̆addu’â villages.

Not having any real understanding of the geography, he just nodded, but Annatta leaned forward with a frown. “Why are we cutting through the plains at Iradom? Sure, the ride will be shorter but following the highway will be safer and easier. It will only take a day or two longer, if that.”

Abnu smirked. “Is the royal guard too afraid to journey off-road? I thought you guys were supposed to be made of tougher stuff?”

She snorted. "As if you would have any chance against me. Believe it or not, the reason we guards live long enough to retire is because we don't take foolish risks. The highways are safer, free of monsters and bandits, and nearly as fast as cutting through the countryside."

Jasper tuned them out as the two descended into a petty squabble. He was inclined to entrust Annatta's advice although, with a group of nearly forty soldiers, he doubted they would run into any serious trouble. The two of them can figure it out.

In the end, the Seraph’s promise proved overly optimistic. Nearly two hours slipped by before the last of the Seraphs’ belongings were packed up and the group was able to hit the road again. In the meantime, Abnu had won his argument with Annatta. Though she remained convinced her path was better, once Abnu expressed his intention to cut through the plains with or without their party, there was little discussion left to be had.

Thus they rode west along the well-maintained royal highways for little more than a few hours before turning off onto a much smaller path. Their new road was barely better than a deer’s trail, a narrow ribbon of open space that wound its way through the thick grasses of the southern plains like an invisible river.

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Two days of hard riding followed. When they had ridden to Dūr-Ēkal to save the scouts, Jasper had thought he and his group had pushed as hard as possible. They’d barely stopped to sleep or rest, outside of occasionally pausing to give their mounts time to recover. But the pace they’d set was nothing compared to the mad dash of the Seraphs.

Though none of them had the talent to be mages, they’d learned to funnel what little essence they had into their mounts, allowing them to exceed all usual bounds. It wasn’t until the third night that the party called a stop.

When Jasper finally slid off Dapplegrim’s back, his body still felt like it was vibrating. His eyes could barely stay open, after two days of no sleep save for whatever brief naps he could catch while on horseback, and he didn’t even bother to try to set up his tent. Wading into the tall grasses a few feet away from dusty road, he trampled them down just enough to make an almost comfortable bed, and flopped down. A moment later, Dapplegrim sunk down beside him, and he nestled closer to the welcome warmth before drifting into a deep sleep.

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An enormous tree towered over him, a colossal version of the gis̆ātu he’d seen only once before. Small tendrils of fire crept along its trunk and limbs and swelled along its many-colored leaves, an endless fire that burned but never consumed. Its warmth called to him and, shivering with a sudden, deep cold, Jasper answered. His hand reached out to touch the tree, to revel in the warmth of the flickering flames.

Pain swelled through his body as his hand brushed against its rough bark. A thousand fiery needles tore through him, and he frantically tried to pull back, but the tree would not let him. His hand sunk into the trunk as the bark around the tree sucked him in. He thrashed and flailed, his screams unheard, as dozens of tendrils sprung from the ground and wrapped around him. The trunk opened wide to swallow him whole. No spells would answer his call and no help came at his cry; undeterred by his efforts at resistance, the tree’s trunk closed around him.

Darkness and flames surrounded him on all sides and in them he sensed a presence. No words passed between them, but Jasper’s struggles calmed as a feeling of peace, mixed with confusion, flowed into him. He realized then that, despite the pain he’d felt, the tree hadn’t meant to harm him. Still trapped in its grasp, he tried to force himself to relax. The welcome heat washed over him again, driving away the bitter cold he’d felt and, though he was in darkness anyway, he closed his eyes in meditation. I am the river…

In the distance, a cacophony of screams echoed. Shouts and cries grew louder and louder, the flames around him burning ever hotter, driving all attempts at peace away.

With a gasp, Jasper lurched upright. His lungs begged for air but found none as he breathed in the thick clouds of smoke. The world around him was a sea of red - the thick grasses in which he’d fallen asleep were rapidly crumbling to ash as the fire consumed them.

His chest screamed in pain as he stumbled through the burning brush, desperate for a breath of fresh air. Shouts and cries echoed from every side, and he fumbled awkwardly with the sheath by his side until he managed to yank out the weapon his aunt had given him, now shortened into the length of a sword. Pushing through a not-yet burning crest of grass, he burst out of the fire and sucked in gulping breaths of still smoky air.

Tears streamed from his eyes from the acrid smoke, and he brushed them away and tried to get his bearings. What the hell is happening? His mind struggled to come to grasp. Where’s the gis̆ātu…was I asleep?

Something flickered in the corner of his eye, and instinct kicked in. His right arm slashed up, and a clang filled the air as his blade collided with the shaft of a spear, knocking the blow aside.

The essence surged through his body as Jasper spun toward his attacker. Scourge of Despair. The spectral whip manifested in his left hand, and he swung it with all his might. Only then did he catch his first glimpse of the threat.

A thin, withered woman was backlit by the burning grass. He could make out no signs of her features, but her eyes burned with an eldritch flame. Her wan lips were drawn back in a perpetual snarl revealing jagged, yellowed teeth that oozed with a thick black ichor. The scourge slashed across her face, riving the skin in twain, but no hungry ghosts appeared - not a drop of blood dripped from the wound.

She leapt forward, thrusting the spear straight toward his heart with a vigor that far exceeded her frail frame. He knocked the blow aside again and lashed out with his own weapon. It struck the side of her temple, which caved in like crumpled wax paper and exited out the far side undeterred.

She didn’t even acknowledge the blow, nor did the light in her eyes flicker as she lashed out with her spear again.

This time he failed to block the blow fully, and the spear’s head carved a jagged canyon along his right side. Damn it. A grunt of pain escaped his lips as he danced out of reach of the spear.

Summoning his essence, he cast Fiery Shackles. Blazing claws rose from the earth and clamped tight around its ankles, arresting its pursuit. It screeched in outrage and beat the butt of its spear against the shackles, but it wasn’t strong enough to shatter them.

Pressing his advantage, Jasper leaped forward, muttering warku under his breath. The shaft of the glaive expended as he swung, and the extra reach was enough to connect. With a sickening crunch, the blade sliced through the creature’s neck and tossed its wizened into the burning grass. The eldritch fire in its eyes continued to burn as the head bounced and rolled along the ground, and Jasper rained down blows on the defenseless body until it collapsed in a pile of skin and bones.

Breathing hard, he leaned against his glaive and surveyed the chaos around him. What the hell was that? Some sort of undead? The being reminded him vaguely of draugr, but the Djinn didn’t mummify their dead - at least, not as far as he had seen.

There were more of the creatures all around - fifty, a hundred? Jasper couldn’t tell at a glance, but it was clear the battle was far from over. Hell. Pushing off his glaive, he ran to aid the others.