When you’ve entered into a profitable arrangement with the Sjocelym, bear in mind they’ll give up the arrangement before the profit.

- Aesvain saying.

Jesse stiffened as the pair of men herded the rest of their group into the hall at swordpoint. Both were shrouded in dusty grey cloaks that seemed to blend with the stone behind them, their blades lazily extended towards the captured four. They appeared unharmed, albeit shaken and nervously shifting. Gusje scowled as Jesse looked at her, darting her eyes towards where her gauntlet hung loosely from one captor’s free hand.

“So that’s how it is,” Mark said, not taking his eyes from the hostages.

Sjogydhu cleared his throat, shifting his grip on Sunshine. “I regret the necessity,” he said, “but Vumo Ra has made his decision. Rest assured that your friends will be returned to you when the Gateway keystone is safely in Idran Saal.”

“Have to say,” Mark muttered, “You asking us to trust you now is pretty funny.”

“Trust requires choice,” Sjogydhu replied, smiling joylessly. “In this case you have none. Once they enter the portal, Tesu will direct you the rest of the way. After the Gateway keystone is delivered and your observations reported in Idran Saal, return to Ce Raedhil. I will instruct Sigu Qa to have you conveyed to us directly.”

He nodded his head at the two cowled men. They pushed the others gently forward and the captured group began walking towards the portal, the footsteps of the guards making no noise whatsoever on the stone. Jesse felt his heart pounding again as they drew closer, his mind racing with the sudden upheaval. He ground his teeth and let his hand drift to the grip of his sword, remembering its comforting solidity during the melee.

“You can’t take them,” Mark said, although the tone of his voice was more desperate than commanding. “That’s not gonna happen, Vumo.”

Vumo looked at Mark for a long second before smiling sadly. “I’m afraid at this point you’d like the other options even less,” he said. “It’s best if-”

Can’t take them.

The echo resounded with steely clarity, and Jesse inhaled sharply as a jolt ran up the bones of his arm. Vumo paused to stare at him with a quizzical expression. Jesse barely noticed. His attention was fully on the rush of warmth that flooded through his arm to the shoulder - and then it pulsed, and the room froze.

A moment stretched out in Jesse’s mind, still but for the hot drumbeat thrumming through his sword arm. The captured group was in midstride before him. Arjun was looking forward, jaw clenched, while Jackie and Tasja wore numb, shocked expressions. Gusje’s lips pressed in a thin line as she passed, her eyes still fixed on the gauntlet in the guard’s hand.

The pulse in his arm was stronger, painful, but Jesse drank in the scene before him with perfect focus. Every dusty stone tile from the floor etched itself into his mind, every fold of fabric in the guards’ cowls and each chip in their blades. He held on to the moment and was still.

Then he moved.

His sword cleared its scabbard and took the nearest guard’s hands at the wrist in the same motion before Jesse barreled into both men. They hit the stone in a bloody, dusty tangle. The wounded guard was screaming unintelligibly, the other fumbling as his sword fouled in his cloak.

Jesse looked back up just in time to see Mark’s eyes go wide. The other man flung himself at the bemused prisoners, knocking the group to the ground just as a blinding spear of light lashed out from the portal to score the wall behind them with molten stone. Sjogydhu stepped through the archway with his hand already reaching for a second crystal. His eyes were cold flint as he cycled the action and raised his weapon once more.

Jesse lunged towards Sjogydhu with a sweeping upward blow. A painful vibration jarred his hand as the blade collided with Sunshine’s metal barrel, sending its next shot high to trace a glowing line in the dome of the roof.

Sjogydhu scowled and dodged backwards, shifting his focus to the portal. Jesse followed his gaze and saw that Vumo had likewise moved back, giving his place to a score of advancing swordsmen cloaked and armed in the same fashion as the two on the Sjatel side. “You can’t win this,” Sjogydhu said. “We can send every blade in Ce Raedhil through the Gateway if need be. The Aesvain will die no matter what you do, don’t throw your lives away for them.”

Mark laughed, levering himself upright as the uninjured guard moved to stand beside Sjogydhu. “Because they’re just Aesvain, right?” he said. “You know, you tell yourself you’re not going to let this shit keep happening. No more suspiciously cool locals that turn out to be somewhere on the spectrum between racist and genocidal.” He stood and walked over to stand beside Jesse, shaking his head. “I think I have a type, and I’m worried it may involve mustaches.”

“You’re babbling,” Sjogydhu sneered. “Drop your weapons and your friends may yet live.”

Jesse exchanged a glance with Mark, who raised his eyebrow. They turned back as the first of the reinforcements stepped through the portal. Jesse cleared his throat.

“Vumo said that working to subvert an asaarim’s purpose is an exercise in futility,” he said calmly. “Was he lying?”

Sjogydhu chuckled darkly, leveling Sunshine directly at them. “Vumo Ra told you the truth, just as he did when he said asaarimyn are not proof against blades,” he said. “That which chose you will find another tool. You will not be the first asaarim to fail, nor the first to be guided toward that end by iron.”

Jesse looked at the soldiers arrayed behind Sjogydhu, feeling his full height again. Their eyes were locked onto him but he saw only sunlight on the grass, heard only joyous laughter echoing in the recesses of his mind. “She disagrees,” he said.

“This woman that you see cannot save you,” Sjogydhu said, his eyes narrowing.

“No,” Mark said, stepping to the side. “Not her.”

A gout of fire tore through the space he had just occupied to fill the portal frame, washing the shrieking mass of soldiers in flame. Gusje stood behind, hand raised and a vengeful glitter in her eye as the scriptsmith guards tore at their burning armor. At once, Sjogydhu turned to dart directly into the center of the conflagration. Jesse watched wide-eyed as the flames shied away from his armor, flitting off the singed cloaks and coats of his soldiers. Free from the threat of immolation, the soldiers warily reformed ranks before the portal.

Mark whistled. “Neat trick,” he said, raising his rifle. Sjogydhu opened his mouth, but before he could speak both Mark and Jesse had opened fire. Thunder resonated through the domed space and blood spattered to the ground as bullets punched into the group of swordsmen. The front line staggered back through the portal under the onslaught - but no more fell. Aside from a few that lay bleeding near the gate’s threshold the swordsmen were uninjured.

Mark frowned and squeezed off another burst of fire at the group. The bullets seemed to tumble from the air as they passed through the archway, falling harmlessly to the ground with a musical tinkle.

Jesse’s world slowed once more as a feral grin spread across Sjogydhu’s face. From behind the portal he leveled his weapon at them - and they had already seen that Sunshine had no issues firing through the barrier. Mark’s eyes widened once more as he shifted his weight to jump aside. It was plain that they were both too close to leave Sjogydhu’s field of view before he could fire.

Feeling as if his arm were dragging through icy water, Jesse grabbed at his vest.

Sjogydhu’s weapon came up as he sighted down its barrel at Mark, who was midstride in a desperate sideways charge away from the portal. One eye slowly drifted closed as he aimed, hand tensing to fire.

A ping sounded as a small object bounced off his pauldron and clattered to the stone at his feet, robbed of its momentum by the portal. Startled, Sjogydhu twisted to look down at the round, green-

There was a wumph of air and the view of Ce Raedhil disappeared from the archway. The room dropped into silence but for the noise of the grenade spoon skittering away across the cold stone tiles. Jesse raised his head from where he had dropped to the ground, looking up at the empty arch with shock, relief, surprise - and a sudden wash of fatigue that slammed into him like a physical thing. He tried to push himself upright, but he couldn’t seem to move his limbs. The world swam into fuzzy monochrome, blurred - and went black.

Gusje stood shakily, careful to keep the fingers of her left hand splayed wide - one crystal still burned bright in the gauntlet’s armpiece. The archway loomed dormant and empty over the fallen. Wisps of smoke hung in front of it, and blood puddled around a pair of engraved sabatons that sat incongruously to one side of the arch.

Moving as if in a dream, she walked over to the arch. There was a sharp, burnt smell in the air from the weapons fire, and her ears rang with a dull tone from their reports. The armored boots in the archway were oddly truncated, the blood around them swelling - coming from inside the boots. Her stomach turned as she realized, and she lurched away from the entryway.

“Jesse!” Mark called out, picking himself up from the floor. He shouted something short and urgent in their tongue as he rushed over to Jesse’s side, rolling him onto his back. His head lolled to the side nervelessly as he turned, and Gusje watched for a tense span of heartbeats as Mark pressed his fingers to Jesse’s neck. He slumped in relief as he found a pulse.

Gusje let her breath hiss out between her teeth, but she still shivered with too much of the battle fire to feel anything like relief at their evident victory. The swordsmen had crept up on them noiselessly, her first inkling of their presence the pressure of cold iron against her throat. They hadn’t been crude or needlessly violent - in fact, they had barely spoken or touched them at all past their initial capture. The threateningly casual grace of their movements was enough to convince Gusje that running would be a very poor choice.

But she couldn’t pretend her obedience was entirely due to reasoned restraint. The blade against her skin had brought her mind back to the chill morning when she met the travelers, the feel of blood and sand in her mouth as she waited for others to decide her fate. It had seized her as they walked up to the looming black building, weakened her legs and bowed her head even as she raged against it.

When a stroke of Jesse’s sword returned her gauntlet to her she resolved that it would not happen again. The gout of flame from her hand drove the soldiers back, screaming and tearing at their clothing. Sjogydhu stepped in to save them from her - but her focus never strayed from the men she had attacked. Gusje met their eyes and saw their fear of her, saw them shudder and turn away when she smiled. Their faces twisted in impotent rage - and she knew they had that same taste in their mouths. Blood and sand, while she grinned back with clean, white teeth.

Eventually, though, the fire faded into silence. Mark fussed over Jesse with Arjun leaning over like a mother tari. Tasja stood looking dazedly at the pale, staring face of the scriptsmith whose hands Jesse had severed, lying insensate in a pool of his own blood. Gusje found herself drawn toward Jackie, who was sitting quietly with an inward-seeming stare.

She had taken two steps forward when motion drew her eye. Forgotten in the struggle, the scriptsmith Tesu stood behind Jackie with a short blade - and, realizing he’d been seen, he flung himself forward to hold the blade at her neck. Gusje’s shouted warning came too late, only giving Jackie enough time to grab at Tesu’s wrist ineffectually. Jackie froze as she felt cold metal on her throat for the second time that day.

“Hey!” Mark shouted, popping up from where Jesse lay unconscious. He leveled his rifle at the pair, but Gusje could see the hesitance in his movements - the two were close together, and Tesu was actively shifting Jackie to block Mark’s line of fire. “You sneaky fuck,” Mark growled. “Let her go and I won’t paint the wall with you.”

“That’s not happening,” Tesu called back, his voice slightly shrill. “I’m getting out of here, and she’s coming with me. I’ll let her go when I’m at a safe distance, but I-” He broke off to stare uncomprehendingly at Jackie. She was grimacing with effort, muscles standing out on her arm as she forced Tesu’s knife slowly but firmly away from her throat. He had surprise, a weapon and perhaps even some physical conditioning over her - but at the end of it all, Jackie was a head and a half taller than Tesu and fighting for her life. She twisted to grab at the knife, squirming away from the scriptsmith’s hold.

Mark let his rifle drop and dashed toward them, but before he could clear half the distance Jackie gave a shout and heaved herself away from Tesu. He caught a fistful of her shirt with his free hand and they went down together. Gusje’s heard a wet, shuddering cough from where they lay and sprinted forward behind Mark.

Jackie lay supine on the ground, breathing heavily while Tesu clutched with bloody fingers at the knife protruding from his side. Mark stepped on his arm, ignoring his groaning protest as he helped Jackie to her feet.

She whispered something dazedly in the traveler’s tongue and Mark responded in kind. He guided her gently away from Tesu and caught Gusje’s eye, keeping his foot firmly planted on the man’s knife arm. She nodded and took Jackie’s hand, guiding her toward a bare stretch of tile unmarred by blood and bodies.

“Thanks,” Jackie said, settling to the cold stone beside her. “I’m fine, he didn’t hurt me.”

“Not hurt isn’t the same as fine,” Gusje observed. She reached out to put her hand on Jackie’s shoulder and paused, noticing with alarm that her fingers were bloody. It was only when she saw Jackie looking at her own hands that she realized why. She fished in a pocket for a couple scraps of cloth and gave one to Jackie.

“Thanks, sorry,” Jackie mumbled, swiping at her trembling fingers with the cloth. “Shit, I didn’t even mean to stick him with it, I just wanted to take it away. It felt - God, like fighting a kid. He grabbed my shirt…” She blotted at her fingers again and dropped the cloth in resigned disgust.

“He attacked you, you fought back,” Gusje said. “You won. It was well-done.”

Jackie snorted, and Gusje saw a tear roll down her cheek. “Thanks, grandma,” she said, quirking her lips. “It was my first real fight. Not something I want to make into a habit.”

“I thought so too,” Gusje said. “After Mosidhu. The shaking passes, and gets a little better the next time.”

“Ah, man,” Jackie sighed. “Gusje, I appreciate the sentiment, but I don’t want there to be a next time. What I did was… wrong, if correct in the moment.”

Gusje frowned. “He tried to hurt you,” she objected.

“He was scared,” Jackie said. “We both were. I could feel him shaking. He did something stupid, I did something stupid, he got hurt.” She looked over at Gusje and shook her head. “There was nothing good about it. I’m not stupid or naïve, Gusje, this is a war and I know there are folks that need to get hurt. I just don’t think he was one of them.”

“Well,” Gusje said, at a momentary loss for words. “Neither are you.”

Jackie smiled at her again. “Thanks again, grandma,” she said, hugging her around the shoulders.

Gusje scowled, pushing at Jackie’s arm halfheartedly. Behind them, Mark was talking in hushed tones to the incapacitated scriptsmith while Arjun and Tasja hovered over Jesse anxiously - but that was behind them, and neither one of them was looking.

“Please,” Tesu gasped weakly. “I can’t breathe, I can’t-”

Mark knelt over the struggling scriptsmith, his boot still pressed firmly onto the man’s arm. From under his shirt, he withdrew Gusje’s asolan and held it in front of Tesu’s face. His eyes went wide with hopeful recognition, and Mark smiled. “Yep,” he said softly. “We’ve got the good stuff.” He closed his fist around the coin and watched the hope in Tesu’s eyes bleed away to confusion and growing panic, his mouth working soundlessly as he struggled to summon the breath to speak.

“Shh, shh,” Mark said. “Listen up. We’re going to get some ground rules set up while I’ve got your attention.” He looked Tesu in the eye and raised a finger. “First, you’re going to help us. Not just a little, not just what you think won’t get you in trouble - you’re on Team Awesome now, and you tell us everything you know. Ra ta?”

Tesu’s face screwed up in agony as his chest spasmed. “Ta,” he wheezed.

“Good!” Mark said cheerfully. “Second rule - and, don’t worry, it’s the last one.” The smile dropped from his face and he leaned in close to Tesu, his expression blank. “We’re real nice folks, Tesu. I like being nice. I’m going to let you heal up with the asolan, and the others are probably going to treat you better than you’d expect.” He leaned closer, his face hovering right over the terrified scriptsmith’s. “So I want you to remember: no matter how nice we might be, one wrong move and I will rip your fucking face off.”

A faint squeak of assent escaped Tesu’s lips, and Mark pulled back with a beaming smile. “See?” he said, placing the asolan on the scriptsmith’s chest and laying his hand over the man’s mouth. “Not too much to remember. Rule one-”

He yanked the knife out of Tesu’s side in a single smooth motion, his scream stifled by Mark’s hand. “-and rule two,” Mark said. “Nice and easy. Now stay still until someone tells you to get up.” The scriptsmith didn’t respond - his eyes fluttered, then rolled back in his head as he passed out from the pain.

“Fair enough,” Mark sighed. “Hey, Arjun, how’s our hero?”

Arjun looked up and waggled his hand noncommittally. “Seems fine,” he replied, “but still unconscious. Breathing is steady, pulse is normal.” He hesitated, then laid a hand on Jesse’s upper arm. “His right arm is very warm, all the way up to his shoulder.”

Mark frowned and crouched down beside Jesse to touch his arm. It was fever-hot, noticeable even through his shirt. By contrast, his forehead was almost clammy. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say this is yet more hero business,” Mark said. “Too strange not to be.”

“So you think it’s not dangerous?” Arjun asked.

“Who knows?” Mark replied. “I mean, it’s probably about as bad as having a crazy fate spirit living in your head that tells you to pick the one sword in the Vault of Dangerous Swords that’s famous for killing people with crazy fate spirits in their head. I think Jesse has been operating on an entirely different hazard scale ever since he touched that damn stone.”

Arjun chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s fair,” he admitted. “And I have to say, he’s held up better than many would in his place. It can’t be easy to have the sanctity of your very self called into question like that.”

Mark looked at Jesse’s sleeping face and frowned. “I wonder about that, actually,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong, he says that he wants to run with this and I’m going to back him. It’s just that there have been flashes…” He paused, running a hand through his hair frustratedly. “Like, remember back in Ce Raedhil when he stepped up to talk to Sjogydhu? Or just now, when he - well, when he stepped up to talk to Sjogydhu? He felt different somehow, like it wasn’t really him talking.”

“You mean it was out of character?” Arjun asked, looking thoughtful. “I haven’t known Jesse for as long as you have, so I couldn’t say. It’s possible that you’re right.” He shrugged. “It’s also possible that’s the very reason Jesse is so willing to give this mysterious passenger a chance.”

“What, because he likes strange compulsions?” Mark asked skeptically.

“Like I said, you know him better than anyone else here,” Arjun pointed out. “Compulsions would be one thing, but his passenger’s alterations to his behavior - if that’s what this is - seem to be suspiciously apt considering his particular set of hangups.” He gave Mark a knowing look. “What was the phrase he used - parts he didn’t know were missing?”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “And you think he’s right?”

“I think he’s considering it,” Arjun said. “Whatever else has changed, I’m sure this hasn’t made him less prone to introspection.”

“Yeah, that’d be when we start worrying for real,” Mark chuckled. “Well, there’s not much we can do right now. Between Jesse and our perforated buddy over there we’re stuck until someone wakes up.” He turned to look at the vacant archway, his brow furrowing. “That could be a problem if they decide to come back through. I’m not sure how much Jesse’s present will have slowed them down.”

Arjun got up and walked over to the arch, carefully skirting the pools of blood in front of it. “Vumo implied that this keystone was the functional part of the Gateway. If we can remove it, it may prevent them from reestablishing the connection.”

“Great,” Mark drawled, craning his neck to look up at the thin black stone of the archway. “You have any idea where it is? There’s no part of this that looks particularly removable.”

“I agree,” Arjun said. He bent down near the base of one side, swiping dust away with his fingers. “It may not be in the arch at all, though. I’m hoping… ah, yes. Come and look at this.” He pointed to a large square tile at the center of the threshold. The blood covering it had pooled inside a semicircular indent set into the tile.

Mark made a face. “Well, that’s disgusting,” he said. “I bet you’re going to ask me to lift it out.”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Arjun said, smiling. “My back, you see. I’m afraid it’s been acting up…”

Mark snorted and placed one foot on either side of the stone, grimacing as he dipped his fingers into the pool of blood. “Oh, you so owe me,” he groaned. “All right, here goes-” His muscles strained as he pulled straight up, the solid stone block refusing to move until he redoubled his efforts - then a low rushing noise sounded and it jolted up from its recess in the floor easily enough that he nearly toppled over.

Arjun rushed to steady him, placing a hand on his arm. “Careful, now,” he said excitedly. “Don’t set it down like that, there’s some sort of crystal…” Together they set the keystone down gently on its side and stepped back to look at it.

“Yeah, that’s gotta be it,” Mark said, panting with exertion as he wiped the blood from his hands on a fallen guard’s cloak. “I mean - look at it.”

Arjun nodded in silent agreement. The keystone consisted of a crystal pillar set into a black stone base. The side of the base was coated with impossibly intricate geometric patterns, a metal latticework of holes and gleaming copper metal that twinkled at them in the dim light from the opening in the roof.

The two men stared at it for a long while, observing the way the light refracted from the crystal and glittered from the recesses in the metal lattice. Even without much familiarity with the higher mysteries of scriptsmithing, it was obvious that the keystone transcended utilitarian crafstmanship to become something much more akin to art.

“Neat,” Mark said, reaching into his vest and pulling out a beef stick. “Lunch?