Coinciding with the Young King's heated delegation, another, smaller-scale conflict reared its head in the North; a man driven to the point of violence; arms bound in rope; blood spilt; but at whose, or what's hest?

The city's Imperial Consulate was a mighty structure, rising from the tribal architecture like a watchtower from a prison yard. Betwixt the city's gateways, marketplaces, and townhouses, the Consulate's oppressive presence was manifest everywhere.

Now, one lonely consul guard sighs as she approaches her work: A pile of codices to be managed. The guard, sentenced to desk work, puts her all into this laborious task, despite its monotony. She sifts between documents and creates stacks: Prisoner records here, notices of policy there, and classified documents over there. How desensitizing a work! Her numbed mind yearns for excitement. Soon-- as if the Gods heard her pleas-- a clamor breaks out down the hall. Intrigued, the woman creeps towards sounds of vitriolic argument. She would be wise to remain at her post for fear of discipline, alas, she is not the fearful sort. What she finds in the lobby is most shocking: An escaped prisoner, revisiting his jailers! He bickers with the guards standing sentinel. The woman resolves to listen closely to he, who so unpredictably hath returned to face his fears...

Komas entered the Consulate meekly, under the tall, ostentatious architecture which screamed "Imperial." An awkward moment came to pass, then, as he met eyes with the Grand Sentries of the Venerable Old King's Empire- Who, by fate, were the very men who threw him into prison mere days ago. "Well, I'll be hanged," the more decorated-seeming guard said with amazement. "Look who we've here, lackey." His right-hand man's jaw fell to the floor. "What a clod, returning to the scene of thy crime!" He chittered. They drew their weapons, despite Komas being unarmed. "I come here, peacefully, to negotiate my charges. A misunderstanding--" "No, no, defectors don't get to negotiate nothing! Thou're the lowest form of criminal, betraying thy superiors. Lackey- grab 'im, and drag 'im to the hold." Damn, they are less receptive than I envisioned, Komas thought, yet keeping his composure. Ah-- I know what will get that officer's attention. He fastened his resolve, saying, "I would rather we settled this as men, with words. And if a hand is laid on me, in the Young King's name, you shalt regret it." The guard officer laughed at the threat, lowering his weapon, his underling following suit. "Ha! What could a simple soldier know of 'is eminence?"

Despite the sentry's mockery, Komas's threat was successful; it stopped them in their tracks. "Speak if thou really must," the officer said. "But only because I respect thy boldness." "Boss, should I...?" The underling asked anxiously, garnering no reply. Komas went on, "In truth I know the Young King well, as a former member of his guard-- A position I would still hold today if my general, Archelos, hadn't discharged me so improperly." The two guards looked on with dismissal, while another, female, guard had joined in the leering from 'cross the room. "Stare all ye want, for I take no issue invoking their names; the Young King himself once called me "brother." Verily, there--" "Okay, 'nough talking," The officer interrupted. "Thy charges have 'enceforth doubled, as a defector, a clod, and a liar, atop it all." The sentries closed in on the soldier-no-longer.

Komas, in peril, stood his ground yet. "I speak only truth! And sheathe your swords, for I do not intend to struggle! I will accept my sentence happily-- I only ask that you attend to mine one curiosity!" His desperation was palpable. The approaching sentries paused one last time, out of, blatantly, pity. "Why should we, criminal scum?" The underling asked, earning him a bop on the head by his officer- "I ask the questions, lackey." Komas took the opportunity to continue on, pleaing: "Prithee, I need to know the whereabouts of some people: My family. Inform me of this, and I shall do whatever sentence ye condemn me to." Sunk to his knees, the freeman displayed submission as fully he could deign to. This must work-- it must! He thought. What other option do I have? The officer stepped up, a grave expression donned: "Boy, all thou've accomplished today is making thyself look a fool. Thou should've known, upon enterin' this Consulate, the light of day would never meet thy low soul again." The young minion nodded in agreement, as he did to all which the officer decreed.

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Komas considered, then, struggling on his way down-- He would rise, then leap on the young guard who annoyed him so, and- even if impaled by his blade- contort his supple neck until air no longer left his throat. He waited patiently for the opportune moment to pounce, as a cat hunts a hatchling: Most violently.

***

When Komas spoke, Ini and his people hearkened carefully- Although a new face within the family, all treated him with respect and compassion. "I feel I must share with you, finally, the truth of my return to Eri Alsahva'; for I did journey here for good reason, afore all this fugitive business." With measured breath, he reined his composure for the difficult task ahead. "Well," he began, "My parents have been beggars for as long as I can recall. As a street child, I often wondered why they did not steal, as all the other destitute did. For, to a child, the needs of the self come before all else. In that way, I suppose I never outgrew my childish instincts, as I developed into a life of thievery. I practiced in the markets, and, to my shame, even among other beggars." Contrary to Komas' expectation, the people around him were sympathetic; poverty invariably led to treachery. However, exceptions did exist. His parents, he shared, were straight-edge, righteous people, never partaking in criminality. "Frustrated by them to no end, I hastily entered a life of soldierhood on the promise of a secure future, far from this sandy hole. Little did I know of the Empire's strict obedience policies... Every time I erred- as fools often do- and every time I began to question authority- as younglings often do- they threatened me with the punishment of my kin. On, and on, for years this went... They bore my burden... I must find and repay them."

Komas, his throat as dry as the dunes of the Northern Span, abruptly stopped. Anon, rising to meet him, the escapees admitted their own histories of strife, and burden-- And, of estranged families, and, of broken bonds, and, of endless grief-- It seemed that the Hand of the Empire dispensed these tribulations as readily as a merchant doles out goods, spreading merciless suffering to everything it touched. And tears rain down.

***

Komas' eyes are low, gazing at floortiles. The guards before him, bickering about something rather inane, are unaware of the cruel acts he prepares for in his mind: In return for the pain the Empire has brought to his city, Komas intends to kill the boy slowly and mercilessly. With his family ties worn hopelessly thin, there is nothing holding him back-- Except-- He thinks suddenly of the Young King, who mercifully granted him his steed-- As well the man Ini, who gave him that exhilarating brawl-- Even a mental image of old Archelos himself surfaces. Is this only the delirium of a man staring down his death? He wonders. Or...?

"Don't thou 'ave somewhere to be?"-- The officer, Komas realizes, is speaking to that distant woman-- He approaches her and strikes her swiftly, with nary a second thought. "Return to thy post at once!" He barks-- and the young guard turns to observe the altercation-- and away from Komas-- Now his opportunity has come. With fear in her eyes the woman watches Komas stand from the floor, like a corpse arisen from the dead-- Taking the officer's strikes, she moves not even an inch, her attention captured by the scene ahead. Nothing set the officer off like insubordinate women, and during his cloud of anger and brutality, Komas-- Slips away, unseen.

***

Komas was unsure why exactly he abandoned his scheme, especially after such humiliation by the sentries. It may have had something to do with her, and her terror. Did she fear for me, or herself? He wondered. Certainly she did not fear for that cruel guard who battered her. Regardless, any in her shoes would be afeard. Unless-- A wild theory emerged in the freeman's mind, that she turned the attention of the guards, even at the price of being struck, for another reason: To distract from his escape. Fie, the idea that he stood by while someone took a beating for his sake was enough to make Komas nauseous. "I shall never forget your mercy," he gasped as he dragged his poor self back to the warehouse. With sore knees, a curmurring stomach, and a crushed spirit, the soldier-no-longer vows his revenge...