Ishad was not a calm man as he left the Palace. Mai had been taken, and he had been helpless to prevent it. Ishad had thought he had grown from the time the Nari had melted his Symbol, and he had been reduced to tears, but when Mai had been taken, Ishad had felt just as helpless again.

He walked through the streets of the Palace ground now, not aimlessly, but with a purpose.

For even if he was helpless in the situation, he knew one who was not.

Broken.

Broken had disappeared from his and Mai’s lives in recent months, and Ishad could not say he was sorry. He understood that Broken was more tortured than evil, that he owed his life to the man.

But he also knew that he had almost died because of something Broken had done, purposefully.

Ishad had said he had forgiven Broken, and in truth, he had, but Ishad still didn’t want to see Broken any more than necessary.

He was glad, a month ago, when Mai had said she no longer spoke with Broken, because she could no longer find him. Ishad hadn’t liked them talking behind his back, no matter what he said out loud.

Perhaps because he had been a monk, Ishad believed that actions and words meant far more than absentminded thoughts. When Mai had talked with Broken, even after the man had done what he had did, Ishad forced himself to put up with it. But when Broken had disappeared, Ishad had been happy.

And now, he found himself in the peculiar position of having to find a man he had been glad had left his life forever.

Ishad looked first at Broken’s villa. He knew where it was, if just barely. It was not that far from the Palace.

Ishad came to the door of the pleasant-looking villa, and rapped loudly upon it.

A minute or so later, a servant opened the door.

“Is your master home?” asked Ishad. “I need to speak with him.”

“My master’s just about to leave,” said the servant. “Here he comes now.”

And the servant backed out of the doorway, as Broken appeared to replace him.

A pair of months had not changed Broken at all. He looked the same as he always had. He wore his black leather armor, and his sword was at his waist.

Broken’s penetrating gray eyes stared at Ishad. “What is it?” he asked, tersely.

“Mai,” Ishad responded. “Soldiers won’t let her leave, and…”

“I know as well as you that she must escape this city,” said Broken. “I was going to her at this very moment.”

Every last bit of Broken seemed to be focused on his business. Ishad felt humbled.

Ishad turned around as a servant brought around a horse to Broken. Broken walked around Ishad, and mounted.

The moment before he was about to ride off, Ishad shouted, “I’m coming with you!”

“Then get on,” said Broken flatly.

Ishad mounted the horse behind Broken, and then they were off.

Sprinting through the streets, it had taken Ishad ten minutes or so to get from the Palace to Broken’s villa.

It seemed Broken was going to make the return trip in half that.

Or less.

Broken urged his horse ever faster, upsetting traffic as he barreled through it. On this day, because of the siege, tensions were high, and Broken was cursed at in a variety of astonishing ways.

After a fruit cart was overturned when it made a quick stop to avoid slamming into Broken on his horse, the owner tried to pursue Broken. On foot.

Even Ishad hadn’t been the slightest bit worried that the man would catch them.

As the Palace came into view, Broken urged his horse ever faster, rushing past the guards before they could bother to check his credentials.

At the pathway to the main entrance, Broken came to a sudden halt, and dismounted.

Quite disoriented, Ishad did the same.

A startled stable hand remembered his training, and took the horse away, to the Palace stables.

Neither Broken nor Ishad were waiting to see what was to become of the horse. Together, they rushed for the main entrance, then up the massive spiral staircase, to the third floor.

Ishad found himself so filled with sudden energy that he was pacing Broken, which he found to be incredible.

But soon enough, they came to a halt, perhaps ten feet away from the door to Mai’s room.

For the running was over. Eight Asan Paril guards, all armed and strong-looking, were interposed between Broken and Ishad, and the door behind which was Mai.

“Eight?” Broken asked them. “Don’t you think that’s overkill?”

“Lord Savel knows quite well how capable you are, Broken,” said one of the guards, drawing his sword. “He knows that you oppose his designs on the Princess. He would not dream of leaving her under-guarded.”

“Eight versus one?” laughed Broken.

“Eight versus two,” corrected the guard. “We see the Princess’ lover.”

“Stand aside,” said Broken. “I wish to talk to her.”

“Lord Savel expected as much,” said the guard. “And, in his benevolence, he chooses to allow it. You and the merchant Ishad may enter. But remember, you will not be allowed to take her with you when you leave.”

“And what if I try?” asked Broken flatly. “What if my skills are such that eight versus one is a possibility?”

“Then you will run into all the other guards of the Palace,” said the talkative guard. “I know you bluff when you say you can face eight, but even if, by some miracle, you succeed, every guard in this palace would die before allowing the Princess to escape.”

“So she’s Savel’s prisoner,” said Broken.

The guard did not deny it. “Yes.”

“Now,” said Broken, “let us in, or break your former oath.”

The guards parted, and Ishad and Broken entered Mai’s room. As soon as they did so, the doors shut behind them.

Mai was sitting in a chair, not moving, and sitting so deeply in that it seemed she was trying to hide. But as she saw Broken she got up.

The two said no words between them, but Ishad saw that their eyes communicated an understanding.

Mai was glad to see Broken. Very, very glad.

“Are you doing alright?” he asked her.

“I’m fine,” said Mai. “But, a few minutes ago, a pair of spellweavers came in here and cast some enchantments over this room.”

“That should hamper the escape process,” said Broken. “But you will get out.”

He walked over to the window, and flung the shutters wide open, as Ishad and Mai followed him.

Ishad looked down. The ground was maybe fifty feet below.

“There’s no way you can jump that,” he said.

“Quite untrue,” said Broken, eying carefully the tiny courtyard below. “But what I worry about is what precautions were made to prohibit the jump.” He tried to put his hand through the open window, but unbidden, it leapt back as if stung.

“Anti-organic enchantment,” said Broken, rubbing his arm awkwardly. “I expected as much.”

“So then, how do I get out?” asked Mai. “I heard your conversation with the guards through the door. We can’t have that much more time before they force you two out.”

“Window, door,” said Broken. “The window’s not a viable option, and the door…through that way lies a lot of dead bodies, quite possibly including ours. There’s no quick way out of here.”

“But there is a way out,” said Mai, almost pleading. “Right?”

“There’s always a way out,” said Broken.

And at that moment, the door swung open, and one of the guards appeared. “Time’s up,” he said. “You might not get a chance to see her again, so say goodbye.”

Broken looked at the guard in such a manner that made him shrink back.

Ishad and Mai hugged, and he whispered her a few words of encouragement.

Then Broken, from the doorway, looked at Mai, across the room. “I will be back for you,” he said, blatantly. “I give you my word that I will get you out of here.” He seemed not to care that the guards outside were listening to every word.

Broken walked out, and Ishad followed. Then the guards shut the door, and placed themselves in front of it. Broken gave the soldiers one last look, and turned to begin to walk away.

Ishad followed him.

“What were you thinking?” he asked Broken. “Telling them you intend to get her free?”

“I am sure as much had already been surmised by Savel,” said Broken. “He knows I will not stand idle and let him do with Mai what he will.”

“What do you think Savel intends to do with Mai?” asked Ishad.

“Either use her as a bargaining chip to get the army to go away,” said Broken, “or smuggle her out of the city, abandon Asan Paril, and give her to Ehajdon. Either way, she will end up prematurely dead.”

Broken’s tone confirmed he knew what he was talking about.

“If you knew this,” asked Ishad, “why didn’t you tell her?”

“If Mai had asked, I would have told the truth,” said Broken. “But Mai did not, and I saw no reason to burden her with information that would not help her.”

They reached the great staircase, and the stairs seemed to melt away between Broken’s and Ishad’s feet as they jogged down.

“What are you going to do?” asked Ishad, as they concluded the stairs, and headed out of the Palace.

“A variety of things,” said Broken. “But rest assured, all three of us will get out of this city, together, and quite alive?”

“You can’t elaborate?” asked Ishad, as they entered the stables, and began to look for Broken’s horse.

“I could,” said Broken. “However, if I did, you’ll be telling me a lot of what I plan is impossible, so I don’t see the point.”

They found the horse.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” asked Ishad.

“Not really,” said Broken. “Just lay low, and stay at your villa as much as possible, so I’ll know where to find you.”

They both mounted the horse, and began to ride out, but had to stop for a procession heading down the streets.

At the procession’s head, Tur is Ashat rode on a proud white stallion, and behind him, a servant, also on horseback, held a white flag tall.

Behind both were a variety of nobles on horseback, the most significant of which being Savel himself.

And Savel, on a brown horse, was shouting at the citizens all around.

“The Lords of Paril have decided that, despite his gross incompetence, the former lord Ashat will make parlay with the Makini!”

“Why are they giving him an honor?” Ishad whispered to Broken, looking at the procession.

“Parley’s no honor,” said Broken. “They’re sending him out because he’s disposable.”

At that, Ishad looked carefully at Ashat’s face, and saw the truth. The one-eyed man did not look even slightly happy or proud.

Ishad had not yet seen the Makini, but fear of them pressed tightly around him.

***

The procession faded away as the great gates of Asan Paril opened slightly, to allow Tur and the flag bearer out.

And now, without the walls shielding the sight, the army of the Makini was fully visible. Tur had seen them before, from the crenellations, but being on their level was a wholly different experience.

This was not twenty thousand tiny little black dots.

This was twenty thousand fully armed soldiers. Just out of arrow range, their camp was being constructed. More black shapes rose. Tents, arrayed in a semicircle around the city, pining Asan Paril against the sea and the river.

Tur and the flag bearer rode to them.

As Tur came closer, Makini soldiers greeted him, and he could truly understand the size of the army. He was in the belly of the beast now. Black uniforms were everywhere. Tur dismounted, and the flag bearer did as well. Their horses were led away.

Tur found himself standing in a sea of enemies, which circled around him, giving him room, and at the same time, ignoring him. He was a ripple in the ocean.

Tur had been in armies before, seen army camps, but he had never seen anything on this scale before.

A city had been erected, just to bring his city down.

Armies did not march alone. For every soldier, there were two camp followers, somewhere. The sight was humbling.

Out of the mass of black, a tall man strode, a man with a metal left hand.

“General Varsis,” Tur acknowledged.

“The very same. Lord Ashat, I presume?” Varsis stopped walking forward a few paces from Tur.

“No longer,” said Tur. “Lord Savel is Varad is of the First Paril, now. I was stripped of my rank after ignoring the threat your army posed, the threat that is now realized.”

“And I thank you for that,” said Varsis. “Your incompetence has made this process easier.”

“What are your terms?” Tur said gruffly.

“My army is here to bring Asan Paril into the fold of the Makini Empire,” said Varsis. “And, for one other reason. We of the Makini demand your city’s surrender, and we of the Makini demand you hand the Princess Maiako as Arathou del Tachen over to us. Only then shall your city be spared siege.”

“The Lord Varad rejects those terms out of hand,” said Tur. “He requests that you leave our city’s lands, before your vast host breaks itself on the White Walls, as all other armies have before yours.”

“I expected as much,” said Varsis. He looked at the flag bearer, and made a signal. A Makini trooper returned the flag bearer’s horse to him.

Varsis looked at the flag bearer. You have heard our ultimatum. Return swiftly, as your city has but a day to consider the offer, before the siege begins in force.”

“What about myself?” asked Tur, as the flag bearer stood still, confused. “I stand under the white flag of parley as well, and so you are honor-bound to let me go.”

“Unfortunately,” said Varsis, “things are not quite so simple.” He muttered something under his breath. Something that sounded like a curse. Looking at the flag bearer, Varsis said sharply, “Go, go now, or you will not be returning to the city either.”

The flag bearer didn’t give Tur another look. He rushed up onto his horse, then, as the Makini parted, raced back to the White Walls, without even glancing back in Tur’s direction.

Pathetic coward, Tur thought. If he had been able, he would have torn the flag bearer from limb to limb.

But he was not.

“What do you want from me?” Tur asked Varsis.

“I want nothing from you,” said Varsis. “Another is the one who wants something. Follow me.”

Varsis turned, and began to walk.

The crowd of Makini soldiers pressed around Tur, giving him no choice but to follow Varsis.

Varsis led Tur to a small black tent, within which was a small table, and nothing more, not even chairs.

Varsis looked at Tur carefully, in a way that made him seem almost sympathetic to Tur’s plight.

“You will not believe me,” said Varsis, “but I wished to respect the parlay. I, however, have no choice in the following proceedings.”

He then left the tent, leaving Tur quite alone.

The big man paced for a moment, wondering what was to become of him.

Then he heard the sound of another entering the room.

Tur wheeled around, looking at the entrance of the tent, from across the table.

A man had just entered, who looked the opposite of Tur in virtually every way. Tur was a tall man. This man was short. Tur was a heavy man. This man was light. Tur had one eye. This man had two. And while Tur felt completely out of place and confused, this man seemed completely confident.

“Who are you?” asked Tur.

“Don’t you know?” asked the small man. “My name is Eton. I’m the demon.”

The words took a few minutes for Tur to comprehend. “You’re the demon who tried to kill Mai, and tried to kill me?” he asked, all but laughing.

From what he remembered, the thing under the cloak had been bigger, and substantially more terrifying.

“Indeed,” said Eton. “Do I not look appropriate to you?” he asked.

“I could throttle you with one hand,” Tur responded.

“Somehow,” said Eton, “I doubt that.”

Tur blinked, and when his eyes opened again, Eton had suddenly left the tent entrance, and now stood no more than a few inches in front of him.

For Tur, the terror came right then. “How…how did you do that?” he asked.

“I’m a demon,” said Eton. “Don’t ask questions.”

Tur looked down at the thing, and stepped back a pace.

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“I told you that you would live to regret not handing over the Princess,” said Eton, dangerously. “I told you that you would live to regret harming me. Now, your city is under siege, and you are stripped of your status. Do you regret defying me now?”

Tur was determined not to let the demon feel satisfaction. “Every moment you do not accomplish your goals is worth it to me,” he said.

“That’s sad Tur,” said Eton, taking a small step forward. “I’m still going to get everything I want. You, however, will soon have nothing left.”

“You’re going to kill me?” asked Tur.

“Of course.”

“How?”

Eton took out a vial from within a fold of his clothing. Within it was a black liquid. “Wrath,” he said. “Drink of the immortals, Nari and Terrasanu alike. Its mere touch burns those with frailties.”

Tur stared at the Wrath, remembering that liquid was what Savel tried to use on Broken. It seemed odd, somehow, that there would be so much Wrath readily available.

“Goodbye,” said Eton. He opened the vial, and flung the contents at Tur.

There was a burning sensation, filled with agony.

And then there was death.