“I’m sorry - who are you?” S̆ams̆ādur avoided answering the stranger’s question, trying to buy a little time. It was true the unknown mage had helped them defeat the Atrometos, but that didn’t necessarily mean they were on the same side.

If anything, it struck the prince as a little suspicious. They’d been fighting the foul creatures for the last few weeks as the Atrometos waged a relentless war against Birnah’s outlaying villages, but so far they’d been unable to discover any reason for the sudden upscale in attacks. Lord Sarganil had declared it a plot by Stryn, and used it as an excuse to keep Samsadur’s troops - and all other unwanted groups - out of Birnah, but the prince doubted that was true.

The Atrometos were not unthinking monsters, nor were they particularly prone to ally with anyone except, in rare cases, their lesser brethren, the Gemlirians. While they may have reveled in occasional bouts of death and bloodshed, he did not think they would continue such a sustained campaign without a purpose. Could this mage be working with them?

It would be a clever ploy, a trick right out of his father’s court. Pay a few assassins to hit a target and then ‘save’ them, ingratiating yourself in their good graces. Then, when they didn’t expect it, you’d sink the dagger in, taking a little extra in the knowledge that they hadn’t seen it coming.

“I’m Jasper,” the man repeated, “And these are my friends. Meet Ihra, Tsia, and Erin.” The four of them were a motley crew. There was nothing too remarkable about the two Corsyths attached to him, save for the fact that both had used spells against the Atrometos, but an elf on the Western side of the River was almost unheard of. They were either very strong or very stupid, the prince decided promptly.

And then there was the man himself. The name was obviously foreign, and a bit hard to pronounce, and his ethnicity was unclear. In the darkness, it was hard to see his skin tone clearly, but it seemed to be some variant of red. The only race the prince knew of with red skin was the ever-reclusive Djinn, but he thought they were supposed to have horns. He hadn’t met one, though, so perhaps that was simply an exaggeration. But why would a Djinn have left the mountains to visit the West, with an elf no less. It simply made no sense, so he discarded the possibility, stiffening as another thought came to mind. Could they be another bunch of assassins? My father won’t stop just because of a single failure.

“Jasper,” he replied, his tongue stumbling slightly on the unfamiliar sound, “Your party came along in the nick of time. I’m afraid there aren’t any rooms left in the village, though,” he added with a rueful grin. “We got here too late. But if you’d like some food, my men are getting pretty good at whipping something up.”

“We’ve slept in our tents before,” the mage replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “But I noticed you still haven’t answered my question. Are you S̆ams̆ādur, prince of the durgu?”

And there it was. Uncertain if the mage was friend or foe, he had done his best to avoid clearly answering the question until he got a better sense of whether it would spark a fight, but it was clear the mage was not willing to be distracted. Probably an assassin, he decided. He stalled one last moment before responding, summoning what little essence had returned to him. He didn’t like his chances against at least three mages, possibly four - he hadn’t seen if the elf used spells or not - but he’d go out fighting.

“Aye, that be my name,” he replied gruffly, “Why?”

“Thank god.” Visible relief spread across the stranger’s face, accompanied by a dopey grin. If this was a prelude to an assassination, it was certainly an odd one. “We’ve been following the trails of smoke for a couple days, but every time we found the village, we had just missed you. I was beginning to think you were a ghost.”

“Despite my father’s current plans, I’m not a ghost,” Samsadur replied drily. He kept his essence ready, just in case, but was starting to hope he’d escape without a fight. “But now you’re the one avoiding the question. Why are you looking for me?”

“Oh, sorry,” the mage apologized. “I’ve had like two nights of decent sleep in the last few weeks. But I’m here because my goddess sent me.”

“To find me?” The prince knew better than to let his surprise show; in court, it would have been a rookie mistake, but he, too, was exhausted and his eyebrows had a mind of their own. “What goddess is possibly interested in me.”

“Kas̆dael.”

Great. So he’s a loon.

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

An hour later, as the group huddled around a hearth Samsadur and his men had built up, the prince had softened his judgment. He might be a follower of the Lady of Last Light, but he showed no signs of the madness that often infected them. That didn’t mean he’d decided he trusted the man - if anything, the mystery of the stranger had only deepened.

After their brief introduction, ‘Jasper’ and his followers helped Samsadur’s men rescue what remained of the villagers. The prince certainly appreciated the help, especially after Sarganil’s men had left a bad taste in his mouth, but he hadn’t been prepared for how effective they were.

It was rare, but hardly unheard of, for a mage to have inherited two strands of magic, so he’d already been impressed by the mage’s command of both fire and that strange, spectral spell. He’d been gobsmacked when he whipped out a healing spell as well. Between him and Asata, every single villager who still breathed was healed by the end of the night.

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The miracles had not ended there. One of the mages following him proved to be a nature mage with a particular adeptness at manipulating wood. Even though nearly every home in the village had burnt down, with a few flicks of his finger, this second mage - Erin, another foreign name - had torn down the wreckage of the homes and, after fishing out what good lumber remained, had constructed two massive shelters. No one would be sleeping in the dirt tonight, and there was enough space for the villagers to remain in until they repaired their ruined homes.

But all of that was nothing compared to his other discoveries. S̆ams̆ādur had always been frustrated by his inability to do true mind reading, but his ability to ‘eavesdrop’ on the thoughts of others was still usually enough to give him a good read on a person, but not with this group.

The elf and the Corsyth were the closest to normal, but that wasn’t saying much. Throughout the night, both girls’ thoughts had repeatedly flicked to a Sidhe. An apparently friendly Sidhe. And that didn’t include the brief glimpses of undead giants, Djinn, or abandoned ruins he picked up on. It definitely didn’t include the one, brief thought the Corsyth had of a perfectly normal woman whose gaze filled him with terror.

But the women’s thoughts at least made a certain amount of sense to the prince. They were clearly adventurers, and had run into a great many beings he’d never encountered, but, fundamentally, it was a world he understood.

The same could not be said for the men. Most of their surface memories were the same as the girls’, but there were others mixed in there too. Visions of massive cities that sparkled in the light. Of giant beasts soaring through the sky. Of boats large enough to house a hundred villages.

The prince was no rube. Travelers from another world were rare, but not so rare as to be mythological. In the years he’d served in his father’s court, he’d met three and had found the images of the worlds he’d gleaned from their minds truly fascinating. But none of those three had come from the same place, unlike these men, which made him doubt whether or not they were truly travelers - or at least that they were alone.

His thoughts turned to the Zalancthians, an unknown people who had simply appeared off the Empire’s shores one day. Could another invasion be coming? That thought, more than any, chilled his bones. His father might be able to take down the wounded empire, but if another people like the Zalancthians attacked, Biranati could not beat both.

As the mage finished whatever he’d been saying, he stared at the prince expectantly, and Samsadur realized he had missed something. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

“I was just thinking that now that we have the villagers fed and bedded, we could talk about why I’m here. I know you got a funny look in your eye when I mentioned I worked for Kasdael, but I promise I’m not one of her crazy followers. Honestly, she’s not like that at all.”

“I’ve gathered you’re not crazy,” the prince replied with a halfhearted grin. “But there’s clearly something - maybe a lot of somethings - that you’re hiding and I have good reason to be conscious.”

“Is it the assassins,” the man asked casually, as he dipped a hunk of crusty bread into the bowl of stew the durgu had prepared.

“You know of them?” All of S̆ams̆ādur’s fears came bubbling back to the surface, only for him to stamp on them ruthlessly. If they were assassins, the level of control it would require to allow him to glean their thoughts without catching even a whiff of their intent would place them far beyond his ability to defeat, and likely beyond the limits of what his father was willing to spend.

“Not really,” the mage replied with a shrug. “But Kas̆dael sent me here to save you from assassins, so I figured there must be some around.”

“That’s what your goddess wants? Why?” He didn’t bother to reign in his surprise this time.

“She seemed to think that you might prove a useful asset to the Empire. As long as you survived, that is.”

“Just because my father and I are currently at odds doesn’t mean I want to help the Empire,” the prince snorted.

“The three villages you just saved would probably disagree,” the mage replied mildly.

“I’m helping people, not the Empire,” he shot back dismissively. “I’m sure my father will change his mind after he’s had a little time to cool off.”

The mage started to speak, paused, then shook his head. “I suppose I’m in no position to be giving you advice, but do you want to serve someone who tried to kill you?”

The prince ignored the impudent question, digging into his bowl of stew rather than answering.

“Fair enough,” the man said when it became clear he wouldn’t speak, “but I’m still here to help with the assassins. Do you know anything about them?”

“Plenty,” he replied abruptly. “If your goal was to protect me from them, you’re too late. The followers of Mut-La’is have already struck twice.”

“Mūt-Lā’is?” Jasper’s face scrunched up. “That name seems familiar,” he continued, more to himself than to the prince. “But why…ahh.” Recognition dawned in his eyes. “When I played an elf, I-” He froze as S̆ams̆ādur turned to stare at him, and hastily amended himself. “I ran into them once when I traveled up north. Nasty little buggers and highly determined. They won’t give up after just two attempts.

Played an elf? Choosing not to pull on that thread, the prince settled for nodding his head in agreement. “Aye, those madmen don’t like to lose. But like I said, my father and I are currently at odds. I’m sure, given a little time, he’ll come around.”

“I see,” the man said simply, though the doubt in his eyes was obvious. “I hope for your sake that’s true. But in the meantime, I’m here to help. We’ll keep those assassins off of you and maybe - just maybe,” he said with a sly wink, “we’ll convince you to help the empire.”

Great. He’s a spy. For the third time that day, S̆ams̆ādur adjusted his opinion of the mage. “Not going to happen,” he replied bluntly, “but…I suppose I won’t refuse the help - just so long as you realize I am not agreeing to help the Empire.”

“I’m just messing with you,” the frustrating mage replied. “This is a divine quest, not a political one. Although,” he added with a slight frown, “I couldn’t help but notice something strange is going on in Birnah. Know anything about that?”

The prince suffocated a groan. “Too much, far too much,” he admitted.