A Sjocelym, an Aesvain and a Setelym are traveling in a far land and sit down for a drink. The Sjocelym takes a long pull from a flask and smiles, saying - “Ah! Liquor from roasted jehan. It reminds me so much of home.” The Aesvain produces his own flask, taking a hearty swallow that drains half its contents. “Reinetel brandy!” he bellows. “The true taste of home!”

The Setelym opens his own flask and sips sadly at it. The Aesvain asks him what’s wrong, but he only sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says. “This is proper Setelym drink, council-approved, but it just doesn’t feel like home to me. Something is missing.”

At that moment, the Sjocelym and the Aesvain drop dead from the poison the Setelym had slipped into their drink. “Ah,” the Setelym says, taking another sip. “That’s more like it.”

- Sjocelym joke.

“He’s out again,” Jackie said, ducking her head under the tent flap and wincing as she emerged into the heat. “Woke up for a bit, he seems okay - he responded to questions, knew where he was, that sort of thing. Seems like whatever he did with the stone took a lot out of him.”

Mark snorted. “Yeah, the bleeding from the eyes clued me in,” he said drily. “Not great news by itself, but I liked it even less when you told me it wasn’t the first time.” He turned to look at Jackie, the humor evaporating from his expression. “That’s the sort of thing I like to know about when it happens.”

“Christ, I said I was sorry,” Jackie said, pacing away. “I figured I’d let him tell you, he was the one who got hurt. With everything else going on it sort of slipped into the background, I didn’t exactly have a follow-up conversation the next day where I asked him how his fucking eye stigmata were going and if he had a chance to fill you in.”

“I’m not mad,” Mark said, holding his hands up placatingly. “I’m just worried about the guy, is all. You know Jesse, he’ll do a whole goddamn ruck with a blister or a rock in his boot because he doesn’t want to make a big deal about it. Ever since he got tagged by that warding stone he’s been knocked out, struck by lightning, sucked into bizarre hallucinations, you name it - and he’s holding up better than I would, for sure.”

He scratched his head, then coughed. “Even Jesse’s got a breaking point, though, and I don’t want to find out where it is. He told me he was going to check something out and I wasn’t going to try and stop him, but I might have had a few more questions if I had known shit like that was in the cards.”

Jackie shrugged. “This sounds like a conversation you should have with Jesse,” she pointed out. “If you want him to tell you about this stuff it shouldn’t have to go through me.”

“Whenever he’s back open for business, I guess,” Mark agreed. “Until then we’ve got to follow up elsewhere.”

“Yeah, how’s that going?” Jackie asked. “You get anything out of our secret admirer?”

Mark shook his head, looking over towards a different tent loosely ringed by Cereinem guards. Several people had noticed the cloaked stranger observing them from within the milling crowds of Idhytsen locals, but when Jesse slumped over beside the pillar the man had sprung towards him with such speed that none could have intercepted him had Mevi not been standing directly next to Jesse already.

As it was, Mevi had found himself thoroughly outclassed, barely able to hold his own. Three other men had rushed to help but found themselves unable to quite pin the attacker down - until a mislaid step brought him tumbling to the sand. Now he was bound securely in the tent while they figured out what to do with him.

“He’s been less than cooperative,” Mark said. “Not like we’ve done anything besides ask nicely, but he’s refused to even tell us his name - much less why he was running towards Jesse with a knife out. Arjun says that his kit is for real, though, he’s got script tech that is on par with anything we’ve seen Vumo pull out.”

“Scavenger?” Jackie asked.

Mark swept his arm towards the ramshackle tents of the Idhytsen camp, half of them barely standing upright and so patched-over that the original fabric was lost beneath layers of ragged cloth. “Look at this place,” Mark said. “Even the guy in charge before Tesvaji got here didn’t have toys that nice. This is a bunch of scavengers living on a garbage pile, not treasure hunters with cool ancient tech.”

“Besides, the folks around camp say they hadn’t seen him before we showed up,” he said. “As best as I can tell, he showed up more or less when we did.”

“Suspicious, or it would be if anyone had a way of knowing we were here,” Jackie said, frowning. “You just said it, this is the middle of nowhere. We only got here as easily as we did because of the gateway. Either he was already headed here for some other reason…”

Mark nodded grimly. “Or we’re just that much more interested in what he isn’t telling us.”

The tent was pleasantly cool from the drai hlanem whirring away in the corner, although the mild radiant heat from the fabric draped overhead gave it the ominous sense of an oven coming up to temperature. Mark sat on a low cushion and took out his lunch, one of the oilpaper ration packs that Vumo’s people had delivered during their supply run.

He sniffed gingerly at the strips of dry meat and some sort of crumbly shortbread before withdrawing some to snack on and offering the packet to Tesvaji. There was a moment of quiet while the Cereinem chief took a tentative bite - then both of their eyes turned to the third figure in the room.

The man on the floor of the tent was bound at the ankles, wrists, elbows and knees. He had previously only borne a rope on his wrists and ankles, but a serendipitous check by a Cereinem guard shortly after his capture had found him half-escaped already. The new bonds were tighter, and a guard had remained in the tent watching him at all times since the previous escape attempt.

“I’d offer you some of this tasty food,” Mark drawled, “but you’re really not doing a good job of making me want to unbind your hands. From what I hear you’re just a natural talent at escaping, fighting, sneaking, all sorts of stuff.” He took another bite, chewing slowly and offering the packet once more to Tesvaji. “Makes me wonder what a man of your talents is doing in a shithole like this.”

The bound man said nothing, offering only a disinterested glare before returning his eyes to a spot on the tent canvas above. As he shifted his head, they could see the small tattoo that had previously been hidden by his cloak - a single, staring eye drawn high on the side of his neck, with a seven-pointed star for a pupil.

Mark swallowed, then took a swig of water. “Can I at least know your name?” he asked.

A derisive snort was the only response he got. He looked at Tesvaji, who shrugged and took a bite of his own food.

“All right, we’ll go with - hm. Bob? Steve?” Mark gave the prisoner a look, squinting. “Kevin. You kind of look like a Kevin to me. So, Kevin, why were you trying to stab my buddy?” He cocked his head, leaning closer. “I’m not unreasonable, but you understand how that sort of thing puts me on edge.”

The man finally raised his head, meeting Mark’s eyes for a lingering second before snorting again and looking down at the tent floor. “Just kill me,” he said disdainfully. “If I’m going to die I’d rather get on with it without having to hear your amateurish veiled threats.”

Mark frowned. “Well, that’s grim and vaguely insulting,” he said. “Look, we’re not out to compromise whatever code of honor or important mission you’ve got going on - we’ve got enough of our own problems, trust me. Our sole interest in all this is not getting stabbed. You were trying to stab us, and we’d like to know why so that there’s less stabbing in our future.”

“Kill your friend, then,” replied the man provisionally known as Kevin. “If you can. Do that and we’ll have no further business with each other.”

It was Tesvaji’s turn to frown. “What is Jesse to you?” he asked. “I am under the impression that you two have never met before this.”

“Don’t get involved, Madi,” the man muttered. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“You tried to kill a man in my camp, a man who has saved my life in the past,” Tesvaji said mildly. “A man who was under the protection of my son. Am I wrong to be concerned?”

The prisoner opened his mouth to retort, then seemed to think better of it. He laid his head back down. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” he said. “If you won’t release me, just kill me and be done with it.”

“We’ve all had days like that,” Mark said sympathetically. “Well, maybe not exactly.”

He broke off as Jackie poked her head in the tent, motioning urgently for them both to step outside. Mark slowly rose to his feet, then smiled at the bound man. “Sorry, don’t have time to kill you right now,” he said. “Maybe later.”

Mark and Tesvaji followed Jackie out of the tent. She walked out of earshot before turning and showing them the drai sacetina that Vumo had given them to facilitate the rendezvous with his chariot driver. It was a disc of metal inlaid with small gems, one larger one in the center and several identical small gems spaced around the edge.

When they received it the gems had been inert, but now they glowed with a soft light - constant in the center, but only partially lit along the rim. As Jackie moved the disc, the glow shifted between the gems so that it remained in the same absolute direction, pointing the way towards its paired disc.

“Nifty,” Mark observed. “I’m guessing that we’ll find our chariot in that direction.” He lifted his head to look where the disc was pointing, a generally northwest-facing vector. “Now that we know you’re not a bunch of crazy people I suppose we can have him just come right into the center of town once we meet up. After that we can figure out how to break the news about the keystone.”

Tesvaji nodded. “I will tell the guards to expect a chariot,” he said, smiling. “It is not something I thought we would grow accustomed to, but these have been strange times.”

“We should be pretty quick, since we’ll get to ride back,” Mark mused.

“Do you need some men to come along, since Jesse is unwell?” Tesvaji asked. “I can spare some for you, if you believe it will be necessary.”

“Nah, I’ll grab Ajehet’s guys - and Gusje, if you don’t mind,” Mark replied.

Tesvaji made an ambivalent gesture. “She can answer as she will,” he said, looking back towards the center of camp with a faint smile. “From what I hear, she has earned that right.”

“Damn straight, she has,” Mark confirmed. “I hope that driver is here to play nice, because if he isn’t you’ll be able to see her credentials all the way from camp.”

The sun was dipping towards the horizon by the time they had made the trek to Idhytse’s outskirts, struggling up the dunes that had engulfed the outer edges of the town. Once on the crest of the sand wall they surveyed the horizon - but found no trace of the chariot, even with the drai sacetina as a guide.

“Maybe it’s got more range than we’re assuming,” Mark said, tapping it and frowning as he sighted down the centerline of the disc. “It should be somewhere in that direction, but I guess it could be over that far dune.”

Ajehet chuckled quietly. “We’ve come to scout for you, Cajet, but I’ll not lead my men up and over the far ridge when we can wait for the Sjocelym bastard to drive to us.”

“Fair enough,” Mark allowed, settling down onto the still-warm sand with his rifle laid over his knees. “Then I guess we wait.”

The sun dropped below the horizon and the air turned chilly where the wind stole away the heat from the dunes. The glow of the tracker brightened in the twilight, swelling until it finally began to pulse with a slow beat.

“I guess that means it’s close,” Mark said, squinting into the purpling expanse of the desert. “Still don’t see it.”

Gusje held out her hand for the disc, and Mark obliged her. She sighted down it after the glow, closing one eye, then opened the other to scan the darkness. After a moment, she extended a finger. “There,” she said.

“Where?” Mark asked. “I don’t see anything.”

“Dust over the stars,” Ajehet said approvingly. “Not bad, I’d missed the sign until you marked it.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Mark muttered, “she’s been doing this way longer than you have.” He stretched, ignoring the confused look on Ajehet’s face. “All right, let’s get ready. Can you hide a few folks somewhere?”

The scout nodded and whistled sharply at his men, half of which peeled off and circled behind the adjacent ridge, the last shaking out a bundle of weighted leather that he dragged over their tracks to leave smooth, unbroken sand.

It was only a few minutes more before the chariot came into view, the distant noise of its wheels against the sand heralding its arrival. Mark looked disapprovingly at the vehicle as it rolled close enough for details to jump out in the dimming light. It was boxy, like a miniature house complete with a gently peaked roof and eaves. Wide windows dotted the sides, framed with carved wood and ivory inlays. The wheels were large, with thin rims that bobbled on some manner of suspension as it rolled over the rough sand at the trough of the dune and made its way upward.

“Damn,” Mark said, watching it approach. “That is just… damn.”

Gusje nodded, her eyes not leaving the vehicle. “Are all of the Sjocelym chariots like that, or just the ones owned by the king?” she wondered.

“That’s the Sjocelym for you,” Ajehet said. “They’ve all the wealth in the world and absolutely no notion of what to do with it.”

They watched as it rolled gently to a stop some distance away from them, rocking gently on its wheels before coming to rest. There was a moment of silence, and the Aesvain halberdiers all gripped their weapons a bit tighter.

“Now be nice,” Mark said. “I’m sure this driver is just some poor idiot that Vumo forced to drive out here.”

Sjogydhu stepped out of the driver’s cab.

“Or not,” Mark added, raising his rifle and sighting down it at the scriptsmith guard. “Hands where I can see them.”

Sjogydhu sighed and lifted his hands, walking slowly towards the group. “I’m no happier to be here than you are to meet me, Mariq Ry,” he said. “But Vumo Ra made certain assurances to the king when he procured use of this chariot, and proper supervision of its use was one of them.” He paused several places distant, then slowly dropped his hands.

“Shall we proceed to the gateway?” he asked blandly. “Or will you be killing me first?”

Mark held his rifle steady for a beat, then dropped it and sighed. “What’s with everyone asking me to kill them today?” he muttered. “Not all social interactions have to end in death.”

“I take it you’ve had an eventful time,” Sjogydhu said, turning to walk back to the chariot. “Can I assume that the inhabitants discovered your presence?”

“You could say that,” Mark hedged. “There’s been some changes around here since the last time anyone checked. It turns out that the Sjocelym sent to help Gusje’s people were going to do that thing where you get friendly with people and then stab them in the back - you know, that stuff you all apparently learn as kids.”

He ignored Sjogydhu’s irritated look, walking blithely past him to inspect the chariot’s filigree. “Anyway, that didn’t work out very well for them and all of Gusje’s family ended up here - and then her dad ended up in charge, so no problems on that count. The whole city is friendly now, except for one really mopey dude who tried to stab Jesse earlier today. Weird tattoo, strange clingy clothing, not sure what’s up with him-”

Sjogydhu reached out to grab Mark’s arm, not heeding the look of warning he got in response - but that faded when he noted the genuine concern etched into every line of the guard’s face. “This tattoo,” he said. “Describe it.”

Mark frowned, tapping his fingers against the side of his neck where the man’s tattoo had been. “An eye, with a star in it. Why, do you know something?”

“Bring me to this man,” Sjogydhu said. “I must speak with him immediately.” He turned and jumped back into the chariot, sliding into the driver’s seat and pressing a lever that popped the side door of the coach open. Warm light spilled from inside, and the vague scent of perfume wafted over the air.

Gusje, Mark and the Aesvain scouts stood dumbfounded for a moment before Mark sighed and shouldered his rifle. “If it’s not one thing it’s fuckin - argh!” he muttered. “All right. Everyone pile in, and try not to scuff the leather.”

Mark pushed aside the tent flap for Sjogydhu, beckoning him inside. The Sjocelym guard hurriedly ducked under the canvas. His eyes immediately fixed on the bound man, his face going pale under the desert dust that lay in rough smudges over his skin. The prisoner lifted his head to inspect the new arrivals. His eyes flicked up and down, noting Sjogydhu’s arms and armor before he grunted noncommittally and rested his head once more.

“Release this man,” Sjogydhu croaked. “I don’t know how you managed to capture him, but you must release him now.”

“He tried to kill Jesse,” Mark protested. “I can’t just let him wander around, he’s as much as said he’ll try again. I take it you know who he is?”

Sjogydhu nodded slowly. “One of the Sajhamyn,” he said. “The long knives of the Setelym.”

“Setelym?” Mark muttered, frowning. “As in Tinem Setel? Far Tinem Setel?” He shot another look at the prisoner, who gave no indication that he had heard them speak. “Isn’t that, you know - far? What’s one of them doing all the way over here?”

“I would like to know the same thing,” Sjogydhu said. “But you cannot hold him. Inviting reprisals from the Setelym seldom ends well.”

Mark snorted, looking down at the bound man. “We’ve pissed off everyone else, what’s one more?” He walked over to nudge him with his foot, rolling him into a supine position. “How about it, Kevin? Sjogydhu here wants me to let you go. Seems to think you’re going to call in your buddies to kick our ass. Should we be worried?”

The man frowned, then levered himself up to look at Sjogydhu. “I thought I recognized that atrocity of a weapon from somewhere,” he muttered. “Operations head for the scriptsmiths under Vumo?”

Sjogydhu nodded stiffly in response, laying his hand protectively over Sunshine. “Have we met?” he asked.

“Not that you’re aware of,” the prisoner replied.

“If I arrange for your release, will you harm anyone here?” Sjogydhu asked, ignoring Mark’s indignant glare.

The man laughed, shaking his head. “I’ve only got cause to harm one person here, and I doubt I could touch him now,” he said. “Not while he’s in Idhytse, anyway. No, I’m pleased enough not to have to die tonight. Untie me, return my effects and I will take my leave.”

Mark narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, but why would we want to do that? What’s to stop you from just coming back later with more of your friends?”

“They’ll come for him anyway, if he doesn’t report back,” Sjogydhu said. “There was an outpost in the low desert that recovered an injured Sajhan, a long time ago. Rather than wait for guidance they acted on their own initiative - refused to let him leave, restrained him, tried to interrogate him, or at least that’s what their last dispatch said before their twinplate went silent. When we went to investigate we found only a stretch of the desert that had been turned to frothed glass, and no trace of the outpost.”

“Not really the same thing,” the prisoner said blandly. “I remember that operation. That was merely to ensure that Setelym scriptwork did not end up circulating where it should not. Given the nature of the last several reports I’ve sent, I doubt their eventual response in this case will be as restrained. Fortunately for us all, I haven’t missed my check-in yet.”

“Super,” Mark muttered, massaging the bridge of his nose. “Tesvaji’s got a stake in this, I’m not doing anything without running it by him first.” He nodded to the Cereinem guard, who left to fetch Tesvaji to the tent. Mark turned back to the others with a sigh.

“So, while we’re waiting for the big man,” Mark said, “would either of you like to let me know what the hell is going on? Why do the Setelym want a piece of Jesse? I’m not big into politics, especially not here, but it seems like stopping Eryha should be in everyone’s best interest.”

Sjogydhu blinked, frowning, while the prisoner gave him a considering look. “What’s your name?” the man asked.

“Asks the guy who won’t share his own,” Mark retorted.

“Cosvamo Qa,” he replied. “Third Cohort Sacajhan.”

“Huh,” Mark muttered. “Mark Walsh. Just Mark is fine.”

Cosvamo looked him over. “You’re not from anywhere I’ve traveled, and I’ve traveled quite extensively.” His eyes lingered on Mark’s weapons and radio. “Eryha is not a name that most would know, in these times.”

“We’ve got our sources,” Mark said vaguely. “I believe them more than you, in case you’re wondering.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Cosvamo said, smiling faintly. “Still, you’re quite well-informed for someone not born to these lands. It makes me wonder about the nature of these sources, and their intentions in helping you.”

“You and me both, buddy.” Mark stretched, poking his head out of the tent again. “I’ll be right back, Tesvaji is here.” He ducked out to speak with the Cereinem chief, leaving Sjogydhu and Cosvamo alone.

Sjogydhu raised his eyebrow. “Why play along?” he asked. “We both know you could have slipped those bonds any time you chose.”

“To what end?” Cosvamo asked. “I could shrug off the ropes, yes, but escape? There would be a convenient sentry at an inconvenient time, or if none could be arranged I would twist my ankle, suffer a burst blood vessel in my brain.” He shook his head, a grim smile on his lips. “That I am bound at all should be proof of that, unless you believe that I actually tripped over my own feet.”

“Asaarim,” Sjogydhu muttered. “Vumo Ra has said that planning around them is challenging.”

Cosvamo snorted. “Asaarim, he says. Spare me your backwater superstitions. Do you think Vumo’s childish fantasies have any import here?” The bound Setelym looked at Sjogydhu, a cold light in his eyes.

“What does your master think he’s playing at, Sjocelym?” he asked softly. “Surely even one of your rank knows the terms of our nonintervention?”

Sjogydhu clenched his fist, glaring at Cosvamo. “We have limited resources,” he hissed. “If Tinem Setel is so worried about Tinem Sjocel’s chances in this conflict, perhaps they should deign to intervene for once.”

“I would not be so eager to solicit their involvement, if I were you,” Cosvamo said. “The council chambers are not in a generous mood towards outsiders after having to deal with the Aesvain refugees plaguing our borders. If there is an intervention, it will mean that the council has decided the situation cannot be salvaged. They will act to remove all trace of the threat - as well as any who may have been exposed to it.”

The color drained from Sjogydhu’s face. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t just say that,” Cosvamo replied. “The council deliberates long, but do not mistake their inaction for complacency. If your incompetence forces them to act it will go poorly for everyone.” He closed his eyes. “Remind Vumo of that, when you see him next. I presume it was his actions that first associated your guild with this particular Inscribed?”

Sjogydhu hesitated, then nodded.

Cosvamo made a small, disgusted noise. “Of course it was. He’s constitutionally incapable of restraining himself where that particular madness is concerned.” He opened his eyes again, meeting Sjogydhu’s. “His obsession with past events will not aid your case to the council, especially given that it deals with another Inscribed. If he persists in his reckless behavior, you would be wise to consider removing him from power.”

“I cannot turn on Vumo Ra,” Sjogydhu said firmly. “I owe him my loyalty, my life. Besides, without him we would be lost against the enemy.”

“Perhaps so. It is your decision, in the end,” Cosvamo sighed. “But you know where his own loyalties lie. If his obsession should doom you, do not curse the Setelym with your dying breath. I’ve told you how to save yourself. Remove Vumo, and remove this other Inscribed if you can. The council will not deliberate forever.”