A trickle of fear wrapped under Jasper’s heart as he glanced down at the deer standing beside him. It had been a long time since Ihra had been injured severely enough to trigger the transformation, but not nearly long enough by his standards. She almost died.

Though it was a sobering realization, he couldn’t afford to dwell on it. Sarganīl was dead, but their true target, Rahmû, was still at large and the fight had gone worse than he'd expected. Having been forced to use Equalizer on Sarganīl, he had nothing left in the tank if Rahmû proved tougher than expected. God, I hope mind mages are as crap at combat as they say.

He glanced down at the deer again. I wish I knew how long the transformation lasted. The last time it had been several minutes before she changed back, and he knew the length of the skill was tied in part to her level. God only knows how long it could take. He couldn’t afford to wait.

He quickly grabbed her bow and dagger, hissing in pain as he touched Aphora’s misericorde, and stowed them in his bag before returning to the deer. “Stay here,” he ordered, unsure if it would understand or comply, and turned to face the wall Sarganīl had smashed him through. A pile of rubble blocked the entrance, but there was still enough space to squeeze through. Turning to the side, he popped into the room, sighing as he saw the deer follow him. Can’t say I was expecting it to listen.

Ignoring his follower, he readied a spell as he quickly surveyed the room he’d found himself in, a bedroom so opulent he suspected it belonged to Sarganīl himself. The mage was not in sight, but there were a dozen places Rahmû could be hiding - a giant armoire resting against the wall, the massive bed elevated on a podium, the voluminous blue curtains covering a small window, and more.

His eyes drifted to the two closed doors on either side of the regal bed, tempted to continue his search beyond the room, but he hesitated. It was possible that the mind mage had himself, planning to slip out as soon as Jasper left. I better clear the room first.

With a growl, he charged over to the bed, ripping the covers up and ducking underneath. It was more than large enough to hold a person, but it was empty, scoured clean of even dust bunnies. It must be nice to have servants. He swept through the room like a windmill, tearing at the curtains and busting open the armoire doors before checking the nearest of the doors, which led to a small balcony holding the man’s tub.

On a different day, the view the balcony afforded of the city likely would have been lovely, but the floodgates of heaven had truly opened, with the rain pouring down so hard that he could barely make out the nearest tower.

“Kruvas̆!” Ihra’s voice greeted Jasper as soon as he stepped inside. He quickly glanced over to where the deer had been standing and found her leaning over the bed, both hands on the plush mattress as she vomited a brown mixture of food and fur all over the deep blue covers. “Selene’s grace, that’s even worse than I remembered,” she groaned, wiping her mouth clean. “Things are a bit hazy after the change,” she admitted as she shoved shakily off the bed. “Is Sarganīl dead?”

“Yep.”

“And the mage?”

“Still looking for him.” Reaching into his bag, he pulled out the bow and tossed it over to her, but he left the dagger inside his bag, opening its mouth when he walked over. “You can get that damned dagger yourself,” he said with a light chuckle, not wanting to touch the burning weapon.

She snatched it out of the bag and, quickly resheathing it, readied her bow. “Any idea where the mage is?”

He pointed to the second door beside the bed. “There’s only one more place to check. If he’s not here, then he could be anywhere in the whole damned castle.” And we’re screwed, he thought morosely.

“He’ll be here,” Ihra responded confidently. “He wouldn’t have commanded Sarganīl to guard an empty room.” Crouching down beside the door, she rotated the handle slowly, muffling the click of the latch, and nudged it open. A narrow passage awaited them on the other side, connecting Sarganīl’s bedroom with the rooms on either side and dead ending into an open arch, through which the golden aura of candlelight streamed, dappling the cold, stone tiles with a cheery warmth that drove away the storm's darkness. There was no one in the hall, but they approached the arch carefully, and as he caught his first glimpse of the room beyond, Jasper was relieved to see that Ihra’s confidence had not been misplaced.

The chamber at the end of the hall was some sort of a chapel. The warm light danced across its plain white walls and sent shadows scurrying across the lofty, vaulted ceiling, whose thick timbers had been painted a deep blue and decorated with the stars of heaven. A cluster stone benches were arrayed in a semicircle around a black basalt altar that occupied the heart of the chamber, while behind the altar rose a slightly larger-than-life-sized statue of a warrior with a mace raised above his head and a flail in his other hand. Judging from the spiky crown of rays upon his head, Jasper rightly guessed it was S̆ams̆a.

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But his attention was swiftly fixed on the man that stood before the altar. Dressed in simple brown robes, with a hood pulled over his head, he was either the mindworm or someone trying to look like him. Jasper couldn’t see what sat on the altar before him, but the man’s hands gesticulated wildly as he chanted in a barely audible tone. Damn it. He's performing a ritual.

While he wanted to bolt forward and immediately interrupt whatever the man was doing, caution slowed his step. Pausing at the threshold of the arch, he peered around the corners, checking for any sign of ambush, and only stepped forward when he saw the chapel was abandoned save for the mage. An unspoken agreement passed between them as he glanced at Ihra, and he raised his hand, counting down silently, as they readied their attacks.

Three. Two. One.

A red glow gleamed on the arrow’s tip as it raced the stream of fiery orbs to its destination. The mindworm didn’t budge, his voice rising and falling with a steady cadence as he focused on the unseen object he was crouched over. In a moment, it would be over.

Then the arrow rebounded off an unseen barrier, quickly followed by the orbs that detonated off the hidden shield with a roar that was nearly deafening in the tiny chapel. A second and third arrow shot past him before he could fire off a second spell, but it didn’t matter. As they bounced off the barrier, the mage's chant was broken by a low, dark laugh.

“Your spells won’t help you here. That shield is a relic of Duluḫḫû, the last remaining inheritance of a beggared house. It will take more than a few paltry spells to bring it down. Maybe that champion of yours can manage it, but by then…” He waved his hand dismissively, still not bothering to face them. “It will be too late. Once the ritual is complete, not even a champion of the gods, will be enough to reclaim the city.”

Abandoning his spells, Jasper grabbed the glaive and hammered it at the shield. The weapon was nearly torn from his hands as it bounced off the barrier, but he recovered it, and struck again. Surely we can overwhelm it.

“Yes, yes, tire yourself out,” the man chuckled. “But if I were you, I’d want to save my strength for the upcoming fight.”

Fight?

Jasper watched helplessly as the man reached into his pouch and drew out a bronze bell. “You didn’t think I would send all of my guards away, did you?” Raising it above its head, he shook it vigorously. Magnified by the bare stone walls, its peals swelled to fill the small chapel and, as it did, the two closed doors in the passage beyond swung open. A dozen guards stepped forth, each one wearing plate armor matching Sarganīl's. “I admit, they’re nothing compared to the noble, but they should keep you busy until you join my exalted assembly,” the man continued blithely.

He resumed his chanting as the guards approached, and Jasper turned to Ihra. “Any chance you can break through that barrier with a ritual?” He whispered softly.

“Maybe. If I had time to set it up. But what about them?”

“There’s only one door,” he growled. “I’ll fend them off, you take down the barrier, and we’ll kill this worm.” Not waiting for her reply, Jasper charged toward the chapel’s arch, desperate to make it there before the approaching guards.

Seraph Burst. He surged forward, knocking a row of benches over as he shot through the chapel and straight out the arch, landing in a whirlwind of wings on the other side. He was slightly dizzy as he staggered to a stop, but he already had the next spell prepared. Flame Charge.

The white-hot flames had barely begun to spread across his body when the first one reached him, swinging a long saber in a sharp downward slice. With a twist of his wrist, Jasper caught the blade on the glaive’s shaft and shoved it to the side, but it opened him up to an attack from the soldier behind the first.

With a sudden lunge forward, the soldier stabbed his spear directly into Jasper’s chest. The armored scales cracked beneath the pressure as they took the brunt of a blow, but were slippery enough that the spears slid off without piercing all the way through, although they did nothing to blunt the force of the impact. He staggered back with a curse, hissing in pain, but the soldiers gave him no space. The first one sprang forward, slamming his shield into Jasper, as he struggled to regain his footing.

His back hit the corner of the arch as he fell, stabilizing him, and Jasper finally managed to cast the spell he’d been channeling. Punishing Hand. It may have done nothing to Sarganīl, but these warriors were decidedly less powerful. All but one froze as the wriggling, pale hand manifested before them.

He winced as he breathed in, his ribs protesting where the spear had hit him, and he spared a quick glance for Ihra. She was on her hands and feet, hastily sketching a circle of chalk in front of the still-chanting mage. She’s not going to get it done fast enough on her own, he realized.

Turning his attention back to the still-frozen warriors, he started to weave a second spell when a stab of pain pierced his temple. His spell unraveled as his concentration vanished, but he quickly began weaving it again, with a new urgency. He was nowhere near essence deprivation which meant the feeling, which was rapidly spreading down his spine and through his arms and legs, could have only one source - the ritual the mindworm was preparing.

With a flick of his wrist, he cast Shooting Star, sending a wave of orbs that smashed into the gathered warriors. Shadows fled as the orbs exploded in bright bursts of light and fire that, sadly, did little to hurt them - not that he had expected it to. Another burst, and maybe there will be an opening.

They broke free of the Punishing Hand as the second wave of orbs swept through them, staggering as the flurry of explosion ricocheted down the hall, and he saw what he was looking for. The breastplate of the spear-wielding soldier sagged as the leather straps gave way, exposing a bit of flesh underneath.

Scourge of Despair. Jasper dodged under a wild swing of the sword and darted forward, flicking the spectral whip toward the soldier. It latched around the man’s shoulder, holding fast for a second, before it tore free, bringing with it skin and blood, and Jasper grinned as the howls of the dead filled his ear. Time to even the odds.