Water is the best armor, but it has yet to blunt a knife.

Sauvain saying.

Vimodi forced himself to unclench his fists, burying the excitement that sparked in his chest when his guard slammed a mailed fist into the wooden door. “Stand aside!”, the guard shouted gruffly, shouldering the door open and charging in with several of his fellows. The warm light of the guest room spilled into the hallway, and Vimodi counted off a few beats before strolling in with practiced nonchalance.

The four Gadhun Draatim travelers were there, towering over his guards with surprised expressions as they stood clustered in one corner of the room. The two hulking men stood at the fore of the group with their hands resting lightly on their odd cudgels. His guards kept their composure even faced with the visitors’ aberrant size and appearance, forming a line to enclose their position with their spears held at a polite but ready rest. Vimodi shivered inwardly at their stature - yes, he had been right to order his guards to corral them immediately.

“My honored guests,” he said, inclining his head slightly to the Gadhun Draatim. “I hope you’re having a good evening.”

“Vimodi,” the pale-skinned man replied, shifting his weight slightly forward. The line of spears twitched at his motion, sharp blades dipping to hem him in. The man looked darkly at the guards before taking a step back to glare at the governor.

Vimodi bristled inwardly at the man’s familiar manner of address. That response would have been an insult if delivered by a Sjocelym, but with this brutish foreigner he could only smile in response. It suited his purposes in the end even if it rankled, he had to admit, because the guards he brought with him would remember his courtesy matched with insults from the foreign delegation. Too many of his peers neglected to consider the opinions of their lessers, forgetting that even a humble guard’s recollection of events was significant if heard in court.

No, this was too important to ignore the particulars. The chariot would inspire ambition in his opponents just as it had done for him, and his acquisition of it must therefore be unimpeachable - so he smiled, eyes twinkling, and walked to stand in front of the foreigners.

“I thank you once again for bringing news of the impending danger from the desert,” he said, speaking slowly. It was important that he be seen making the effort on their behalf. “Unfortunately, such an extraordinary threat will require equally extraordinary measures on our part if we are to successfully defend our home.”

He inclined his head toward the end table near the window. “We must temporarily retain the sigil for your chariot,” he continued, struggling to keep his voice even. “Please know that it is necessity that drives me to this extreme, and that I will make all efforts to provide recompense for the inconvenience.”

“No,” the same man replied, pale blue eyes locked onto Vimodi.

Vimodi hesitated. Had the brute understood him at all, or was he just reacting to his motion towards the end table? “I regret that the situation forces this action,” he said smoothly, walking onward, “but it is my duty as governor to defend the valley with all available resources. I must do this, for my people.”

The pale man stepped forward once more to stop him and Vimodi paused, but his guards intercepted the man with spearpoints held steady at his throat. Anger flashed from blue eyes as he moved back to stand beside the others, eyes locked on Vimodi. “Do not take it,” he said in a level voice, sounding oddly coherent for once.

“This is for the best,” Vimodi replied, not taking his eyes from the small drawer in the table. “I’m doing you a favor, you know. Even if I let you leave, someone else would take it from you - and most in the kingdom would gladly slit your throat for the chariot. I have no desire for such violence, only for the means to defend my lands.”

He reached the table and slid the drawer open. The dim light in the room reflected off the metal key, and Vimodi could feel his heart beat faster as he reached trembling fingers down to pick it up. His fist closed around it and he pulled, frowning as he encountered a moment of unexpected resistance. As he lifted the key from the drawer he saw that there was a small cord attached to it, and at the end of the cord there was a thin piece of coiled metal with a protruding pin.

A pinging clatter sounded as two objects fell from behind the drawer - a flat metal piece that skittered away across the floorboards and a green metal cylinder that rolled forward heavily. Its thin shell was perforated with a series of regularly spaced holes and splashed with a broad stripe of a lighter pastel green. Vimodi peered at it curiously, and his guards turned to look at the source of the noise.

Then there was a sound beyond sound, and the world went white.

Even with forewarning, there is only so much one can do when trapped in the same room as an exploding flashbang. As the guards stared at the rolling canister the travelers had turned as one to avert their faces, close their eyes and plug their ears - but the concussion was like being punched in the chest, the noise echoing around the small room mercilessly even as the blinding reflected light from the detonation shone bright red through their eyelids.

That said, there was no comparison to the state in which Vimodi and his men found themselves. The guards had dropped their weapons to clutch at their eyes and ears, stumbling and kneeling in blind panic. Vimodi was moaning incoherently on the floor, the truck’s keys sitting forgotten next to him.

Jesse stepped over to grab them, tucking them into his pocket as the rest of them hefted their packs and filed unsteadily towards the door. With one last glance at the room of incapacitated men Mark shut the door and sighed. “Well, Plan D worked like a charm,” he said, speaking overloud past the ringing in his ears. “Time to head out.” He gave Gusje a quick double-click on the radio and motioned for the others to follow.

They moved down the hallway as fast as they could without running. There was no hope of remaining unnoticed, but it seemed that the fiction of Vimodi’s hospitality would at least let them move about the palace unmolested.

Mark began to talk quietly with Gusje as they walked, her whispering voice over the radio guiding them up to the opulent suites where she was being kept. The stealth turned out to be unnecessary as the suites were merely locked rather than guarded. One kick from Jesse sent the doors swinging inward with a splintering crash, revealing a rather shocked-looking Gusje sitting on a plush bed and surrounded by a mound of frilly poufs and folded clothing. She had exchanged her desert leathers for thickly-woven traveling clothes in a fine silken material inlaid with handsome filigree and beadwork.

Jackie promptly burst out laughing and ducked back into the hallway. Gusje scowled up at a smirking Mark as she stuffed a few expensive-looking items into her backpack and stomped towards the door. “What?”, she asked, annoyed. “I’m not likely to see cloth this nice again unless you plan on letting me betray you in every city we visit.”

“Let’s not make that our first move,” Mark replied, shooing her out. “Come on, we don’t have much time. Vimodi tried to take the key by force and things… escalated.”

Gusje goggled at them. “You killed him?”, she asked incredulously.

“What? No!”, Mark retorted. “We specifically tried not to kill him, and it was a complete success.”

Jackie rolled her eyes and grabbed them both by the arm, marching them toward the door to the room. “Later,” she said brusquely. “Alive Vimodi very angry. Leaving time.”

Mark winced. “She’s got a point,” he muttered. “Come on, we can tell you about it in the truck.”

“What about my people?”, she objected. “If he’s as angry as you say and I’m gone when he comes looking-”

“As much as it pains me to say it,” Mark sighed, “it looks like we’ll have to count on Tasja.”

Vimodi threw the door to the scriptorium open with an echoing bang, heedless of the scandalized looks from the clerks within. His vision was still swimming with angry purple blobs from the travelers’ trap, his ears buzzing with an insistent high-pitched whine and the maddened throbbing of his pulse.

“Tasja!”, he bellowed, lurching into the room unsteadily. Vertigo gripped him and he grabbed a chair for support, casting his gaze around the room until he found the diminutive clerk looking at him wide-eyed from a side table.

“Vimodi Ma?”, the boy stammered, standing from his seat uncertainly.

“Where are the papers, boy?”, Vimodi thundered, stomping over to grab him by the front of his robes. “The agreement with the sauvain bitch, give it to me!”

“I don’t-”, Tasja said weakly, grabbing at Vimodi’s arm. “It’s in the archives!”

“The archives?”, Vimodi repeated, letting his grip on Tasja’s robes slacken. A sick feeling began to settle in his stomach. “Already? I only gave it to you at midday!”

The slender clerk straightened up, tugging his robes back into order. “Gusje asked if I could send out the dispatches immediately, to hasten aid to her people,” Tasja explained, staring uncomprehendingly at Vimodi’s growing look of horror. “You put your seal to the agreement, Vimodi Ma, so I saw no reason to delay. I’ve already sent messages to the two gates, to the Ministers of Stone, Soil and Bread…”

The boy trailed off as Vimodi began to laugh, erratic and high-pitched. “Fooled,” he croaked. “By Maja’s grace, I’ve been walking blind. Those lying foreigners, they planned all of this. All of this.” He continued to laugh, slumping into a chair as the docents converged on him in concern.

He had been quite neatly swindled, he had to admit. The chariot made for convincing bait, the Cereinem and the gigantic foreign freaks a veneer of legitimacy for the entire operation. His adversaries had overplayed their hand, however. The resources involved in orchestrating this sham were as good as a signed letter from the council advertising their intent to humiliate him, not to mention they had been agitating for certain preferential land allotments for quite some time now. He had thought to rob them of their prize by handing the land to the refugees, a neat solution to two problems at once. If the sauvain intended to turn around and hand the land to the council rather than staying beholden to him, however...

But no, they had still erred. A chariot could have been excused away as some foreign heirloom, but the saon draim they had used to incapacitate him and his men was too powerful to be anything but one of the jeqiva, the city-treasures. One was scarcely going to turn up in the hands of some foreign giants without the sort of political connections the council cultivated.

He began to laugh again, drawing renewed stares of concern from the docents as he slowly pushed himself up from the chair. “The road goes both ways,” he muttered darkly, looking to where his handpicked guards hovered uncertainly just outside the scriptorium door. He staggered toward them, beckoning sharply. “Yes, yes,” he half-sang, feeling another bout of laughter coming on. “It goes both ways.”

Few people walked the grounds as they made a beeline for the carriage house. They had been surprised to find a ready-made covered parking spot when they arrived, but Sjan Saal was apparently expected to receive visitors by chariot even if they had none of their own. Two guards stood on either side of the open doorway as they approached but did not move to stop them from entering.

“I guess they didn’t get the memo,” Jackie whispered wryly. She slung her bag into the back and clambered in, turning to help Arjun up into the cab.

Mark laughed darkly. “Nah, you didn’t get all of Vimodi’s little speech back there,” he said. “He’s sticking to the guest-right story, he wants this to look like it’s a ‘voluntary permanent loan’ from us to him. He won’t have told anyone what he was really up to.”

“So he would have let us leave?”, Jackie asked incredulously.

“If he had the truck he probably would prefer it,” Arjun pointed out. “I doubt he cares very much one way or the other-” Arjun cut off as Tasja slipped into the carriage house, flushed and breathing heavily. He carried a battered leather satchel with documents and papers haphazardly stuffed inside.

“Tasja?”, Gusje asked, looking at the clerk in confusion. “I thought you went to the scriptorium, what are you doing here?”

“You have to go!”, Tasja shouted, wheezing. “Vimodi Ma is looking for you, he’s going to kill all of you!”

Mark and Jesse exchanged a look, readying their rifles. “How many men?”, Jesse asked.

“Only a few, but that doesn’t matter,” Tasja said agitatedly. “He was trying to get the jan met savedrai from the vault, the docents won’t be able to stop him, his men brought weapons into the scriptorium-”

“Hold up,” Mark said, an alarmed look spreading over his face. “He came to get what? The flaming hand of-?”

“The Fiery Hand of Destruction,” Jesse said, looking perturbed. “It’s a concerning name.”

“-not thinking straight, I’ve never seen him like this,” Tasja continued frantically, tears streaming from his eyes. “I brought you maps and directions and - please, please, you have to leave before he finds you.”

“Well, that was always the plan,” Mark said. “Let’s finish up before Vimodi can show us what he checked out of the library. Tasja, you shouldn’t have come. If Vimodi sees you with us…”

Tasja glared up at him, his eyes red and his lip quivering. “I had to do something,” he said defiantly. “He’s breaking his oaths to Sjan Saal, to the scriptorium and as your sworn host. What he’s doing, it’s not right.”

Mark looked down at him, surprised, then grinned and ruffled the clerk’s already-disheveled hair. “I take back everything I said, Short Round,” he grinned. “Now hide, before-”

The door to the carriage house burst open with a crash, revealing a furious Vimodi stalking toward them. “You!”, he screamed, pointing a quivering finger at them as he advanced. His left hand was enveloped in an odd metallic gauntlet hooked to a bracer set with glowing crystals. Behind him, a handful of spear-wielding guards filed nervously into the carriage house to take up positions behind the enraged governor.

Vimodi’s bloodshot eyes fixed on Tasja, who was standing half-hidden behind Mark. “And you,” he said again, his voice a low growl. “I knew someone from my house was guiding them, but you - you traitor, you little ingrate! You’d betray me? After all I’ve given you?”

Tasja was frozen with wordless panic in the face of Vimodi’s rage, but Mark moved to stand in front of him. “Leave the kid alone,” he said calmly. “You know, Vimodi, I’ve got to say that I’m very disappointed in your hospitality so far.”

The governor froze, his face twisting in apoplectic rage. “A pack of filthy liars,” he spat. “Conspiring against me, pretending your ignorance. I see now.” His eyes came to rest on Gusje, staring at him wide-eyed from the truck’s doorway. “I see now,” he repeated, his voice manic and high-pitched. “You came to me under false pretences. You tricked your way into my home. I have no obligation to you.” He raised his hand with trembling fingers splayed wide.

“I will tolerate your disrespect,” Vimodi said viciously, “no longer.” At once, he clicked his fingers together.

The metallic device enveloping his hand glowed white-hot before belching out a roiling mass of flame towards Mark and Tasja. The rest of the travelers scattered as Mark cursed and dove to the side, throwing an arm out to catch Tasja across the chest and slam him to the floor. The fireball passed just over them to impact the wall of the carriage house with a crash. Splintered timbers blasted out over the grounds and spread motes of fire into the lush garden outside, sizzling where they fell into the dewy greenery.

Vimodi cackled deliriously, the recoil sending him staggering back a few steps. One of the crystals on his arm had lost its glow, but five more burned brightly as he lifted his arm once more. “Behold Sjocelym might,” he gloated breathlessly, “and die.” His eyes narrowed as he sighted at the group, but as he brought his fingers together once more a pair of sharp cracks echoed through the room. The fireball flew wide as his arm jerked sideways, the blast impacting the ground with a spray of dirt and splintered flooring. Some of Vimodi’s men nearest the blast were peppered with debris and driven to the floor by the concussion.

Vimodi fell to the ground screaming. His bloody hand clutched spasmodically at the twin bullet wounds in his upper chest. Before his knees settled on the floor Jesse had advanced to loom over him, smoke still trailing from the barrel of his rifle as he smashed its butt into Vimodi’s skull. The governor crumpled and lay motionless on the ground.

Mark pushed himself upright and stalked forward with his own rifle raised. One of his sleeves was scorched and smoldering where the first fireball had brushed it. Traces of red, blistering skin showed where the cloth had burnt away. He reached Jesse’s position just as the other man finished tugging the ornate metallic gauntlet off of Vimodi’s hand.

“You good?”, Jesse asked, holding the fingers of the gauntlet carefully apart as he stood.

Mark nodded, not taking his eyes off the guards. “Yeah, peachy,” he replied. “How’s our pyro?”

“Alive, knocked out,” Jesse said. “My shot went high, I don’t think I got his lung.”

Mark nodded, then shot Vimodi in the head. The governor’s body jerked weakly before falling still. Jesse jumped back, startled, and looked at Mark with wide eyes.

“Jesus, Mark!”, Jackie shouted from behind them. “He was knocked out!”

Mark turned to face the others. Jackie was glaring at him, rigid with fury, while Arjun stood just beside the truck with a tight, disapproving frown. Tasja had risen to kneel on the debris-strewn floor, his face a horrified mask as he stared at Vimodi’s corpse. “You think I should have let him live?”, Mark asked sardonically. “We tried that before and look where it got us. Do you think he would have woken up after we left and thought, ‘Gee, that was unpleasant’ and gone on with his life?”

“He was helpless,” Arjun said softly.

“You know what he was,” Mark said, his voice thick with disdain. “You’ve read about them, I’ve shaken their hands. He would have taken it out on us, or on Gusje’s people when they came here. One way or another we would have paid for leaving him alive. So I didn’t. It’s done.” He looked at the far wall of the carriage house, which was rapidly burning out of control. “This place is about to come down,” he sighed. “If you want to talk about it later, let’s do it on the road.”

He turned to look at the guards, who had remained frozen by the entrance. “We’re leaving,” he shouted in Ceiqa. They stared at him blankly, and he shook his head in exasperation. “Go outside, at least?” The guards stirred into motion, filing reluctantly outside and standing clear from the door to permit the truck passage as Jackie drove it out. Mark peered down at them with a stern look. “Listen, we’re not going to have any trouble from you guys, right?”, he asked, sweeping his gaze across the group. “Guys?”

One of them stood forward, shaking his head. “Vimodi M… No, Vimodi went too far,” the guard said. “We will not interfere if you wish to leave. Only…” He hesitated, nodding at Jesse emerging from the building with Tasja leaning heavily on him for support. “You must leave the Hand. It is jeqiva, held in trust by the scriptorium for the defense of the city and the wall. If we are to have any chance of surviving the Emperor’s blight we will need its power.”

Mark laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, you want the weapon? The one your governor just used on us?”, he said bitingly. “No, I think we’ll keep this until we feel some trust between us.” He took a step towards the guard, towering over the smaller man.

“Vimodi signed some orders before he died,” Mark said. “For the evacuation of the Cereinem in the desert and their safety behind the walls. See that they’re carried out in full and we’ll bring it back before you need it.” He clapped the guard on the shoulder, making him flinch. “If you help the Cereinem you’re our allies. Work with us, we’ll work with you.”

The guard looked up at Mark and Jesse, then back at the burning carriage house. Beside them, Tasja had shifted to stare at the flames with a glassy, disbelieving expression. “And if we don’t we’ll never see the Hand again, is that it?” He returned his gaze to Mark, who shrugged noncommittally. “Do we have a choice?”, the guard asked.

“Not unless you think your men can stop us from leaving,” Mark replied, fixing the guard with a look and resting his hand lightly on his rifle. The man sighed and shook his head slowly, and Mark gave him a thin smile. “Cheer up. We’re not a problem for you unless you make us one. So when someone asks what happened here...”

“You were gone when we arrived,” the guard said tonelessly, looking towards the carriage house as the flames began to lick through its windows. “Vimodi flew into a rage and burned the building, disappearing with the Hand into the blaze.” He gave Mark a stony glare, crossing his arms. “My men and I will hold to our side of the arrangement,” he said, “and you will hold to yours. If you fail to bring the Hand back then the last act of Sjan Saal will be to find you and put one blade in you for each life you doomed.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” Mark said, holding out his hand. “Don’t worry, we’ll be back.”

The guard clasped his hand listlessly and turned away to gather his men while Mark walked back toward the truck, clapping his hands. “Let’s get gone!”, he shouted. “We need to move before the fire draws more guards.”

Jesse nodded and knelt next to Tasja, who swayed unsteadily. His eyes were glassy as he stared back towards the fire. “Tasja, we’re leaving,” Jesse said quietly. “Go with the guards. They’ll take you back to the palace.”

Tasja turned to look at him, his eyes struggling to focus on Jesse’s face. “I can’t,” he whispered, trembling. “It was me, I ruined everything, and Vimodi Ma... I can’t go back there, I can’t, can’t…” The clerk trailed off, then grabbed Jesse’s arm with sudden intensity. “Take me with you,” he pled. “Please. I can’t stay here.”

A moment passed, and Jesse considered Tasja’s dirty, tear-streaked face as the young man clung to his sleeve. “You sure?”, he asked softly. “We could use your knowledge, but things will probably be… like this. Again.” He gestured to the burning carriage house.

Tasja took another long look at the carriage house, then sniffed and nodded. “I can’t go back there,” he repeated hoarsely. The flames licked higher, shooting through a hole in the tiled roof as the broad rafters succumbed to the heat. The smoke was thick and dark against the sky now, and they could hear faint shouts of alarm from the palace proper.

Jesse nodded and stood up. “All right,” he said, opening the door to the waiting truck. “Get in.”