Cas of Zabyalla reclined on the balcony of his bedchamber, watching the moon soar above while snacking on heavily seasoned roast finch skewered on the leg-bone of a hare.

His back sank as easily into the cushions of his divan as the night’s wine and feast had sank into his belly. Behind him, a young boy plucked the strings of a harp with talented fingers, filling the cool night with its melody.

It all made him feel comfortable. Lazy.

He smiled, gently caressing the glyphs on his sceptre.

Of course, he no longer had any need for sleep.

With a contented sigh, he returned his gaze to Zabyalla. The windows were darkened, all in fearful deference to his power and control. Much of the world’s wealth flowed through this city, it had become an extension of his will.

A great claw to close around anything he desired.

“Mm,” he grunted, licking his lips. “Like the lion.”

“Pardon, Master Cas?” Azar asked.

He threw an annoyed glance at his guard captain who’d finished her daily report. She was competent in the extreme, but of dour mood and ill humour. He paid her well enough, could she not have some cheer while protecting his body and property?

Perhaps he should rid himself of her. He looked down at the sceptre, fascinated by its violet lustre. Did he not have far more protection than any mortal warrior could provide?

“It is nothing,” he waved her away with a hand dripping in jewelled rings. A platinum bracer enwrapped his muscular forearm. “I merely remarked that I was like the lion.”

Azar frowned. “I suppose my master’s hair does look somewhat like the mane of the beast.”

“No, no,” he shook his head. “Have you no poetry in you, Azar? Look,” he gestured to the piled gold, jewels and finery he’d cast over the floor of his bedchamber like the treasure hoard of a great dragon. “All of this has been brought to me by the merchants of the city. I need not lift-” he raised a pinky clad in an emerald-crowned platinum ring. “-a single finger to obtain it. Is that not like the proud lion? He reclines on his rock while his lionesses seek prey for him. In turn, he protects the pride from threats such as wandering lions. Do you truly not see the parallel?”

The muscular woman shook her head, causing him to heave a great sigh.

“Come now, think!” he cried in mock anger. “I am the lion. The merchants around are my lionesses, while the entire city is my prey palace,” he gestured again to his treasure. “I control my huntresses, and in turn, protect the interests of myself and Zabyalla. The thieves that come to my sanctum to die are young, nomadic lions who fall before my might and that of my guards. Hence, I am the lion of Zabyalla. Its Merchant King.”

Azar frowned. “I see,” she said slowly. “Very good, Master Cas.”

He sighed. “Never mind, captain.”

“But, about protecting the city’s interests…”

He groaned wearily. “This again?”

“Forgive my rudeness,” she bowed. “But it’s something that begs thought, Master Cas. As we grow strong, the other merchant houses falter. Outsiders will have noticed.”

“It is of no consequence.”

“Master Cas. I have marched as a mercenary under more banners than I have years. The Nubtukans and Hebans have always wanted to add Zabyalla to their empires, and the Skyjernan pirates hunger for our harbours. The armies of the merchant princes are feared by all the world, but now they grow weak. Soon outsiders will see that only Cas is strong and say he is but one. Then they will come. Master, even the lion has things to fear.”

Cas’s laughter boomed out over the moonlit bathing pool far below his balcony. “Azar. I tell you; we have no worries!”

“Master-”

“Enough,” he said firmly. “You’re boring me, Azar. Why do you always have to bore me?”

Her jaw tightened, but she quickly lowered her head. “Forgiveness, Master Cas.”

“Forgiven,” he said lightly. “Now I think I shall retire. You may leave me, and take the boy with you.”

“Yes, Master,” she bowed deeply. “I will set the doubled guard to the hall as we discussed this morning.”

“Whatever,” he waved her off.

When she had gone, Cas chuckled to himself, lifting the sceptre before him.

Nubtuka? Heba? Pirates? How droll. What did he have to fear from human vultures when he grasped the very key to terror itself?

The Dreaming Sceptre.

How blessed he had been to find it.

The artifact was home to a demon, and not one of the tame things conjured by the Nubtukan wizard-priests. No, this was a true abomination; an eater of gods, spirits and mortals. An apex predator that stalked the world of dreams, spreading night terrors in its wake and killing with only fear itself.

And it was his! His!

Mighty spells interwoven in the sceptre not only kept the demon’s life force in the material world, but also bound it to the wielder’s will. They made it his servant, but Cas was no fool. Ever since he first called it out of its home, he’d treated with it politely and strived to feed its desires for death, fear and cruelty. While the magic ensured it would never turn on him, his conduct ensured it would have little need to.

He gave it free run of an entire city every night in return for simply completing a few tasks among its normal activities. The death of a rival here. The implantation of a suggestion within a dream there. All things so simple, they were nearly beneath its notice. It was like asking a man to step on a bug on the way to a feast he’d prepared for him.

Yes, that was all it had taken to make Cas utterly invincible.

Even in the waking world.

The artifact removed his need for sleep and protected his mind, but for others, simply viewing such a terror was enough to shatter the will, stifle the breath and still the heart. The thieves from the night before had learned that first hand. One of the victims had been the fearsome Kashta the Talon, whose name gave even Azar pause. The other had been a wizard! Yet, for all their skill and magics, they could do nothing against Cas’ demon!

He chuckled. Mortal threats, indeed! How fearsome could any army be when it was starved of sleep and frightened every night into madness? What good were generals that died in the midst of night terrors?

His mirth bubbled up until it could finally be contained no longer. “Come!” he roared into the night, holding the sceptre high. “The sun and moon rise on the House of Cas! Thieves! Kings! Emperors! Sharpen your blades and gird your loins, it will matter not! Come, challenge Cas! Only death awaits!”

Unbeknownst to him, in the bowels of his sanctum, two had already answered his challenge.