Ezaras awaited Jaska in his office, pondering what he should tell Ooran when he came later at dawn. While on his way to a banquet last night he had met with Ooran but told him nothing, even though his palymfar informant had offered a substantial reward for news of Bavadi.

Ooran's words still haunted Ezaras: "If you see Master Bavadi, don't trust him. He's a traitor."

But Ezaras had to trust Bavadi. He didn't dare oppose the Slayer or risk palymfar fighting within his home. As his wine cup touched his lips, Ezaras knew what he must tell Ooran--that Bavadi had left here after compelling him to obedience. Ooran wouldn't detect any lies because his story would be true. Bavadi had compelled him in those first moments.

Bavadi slid inside so quietly that Ezaras didn't hear him until he cleared his throat. Ezaras flinched and spilled wine onto himself. He spun his chair around and his heart pounded as the Slayer loomed over him with his mask on. Except for those hellish eyes, he could have been any other palymfar.

"You summoned me?”

Bavadi terrified Ezaras more than when he had stayed here before because Ezaras no longer understood the man. He lacked wanton cruelty and lust, and he refused every entertainment offered.

"I-I hope I haven't awakened you too early, Lord Bavadi."

"I was up already. What do you want?"

"I have finished arranging what you asked of me." Ezaras handed Bavadi a stack of stamped documents. "These are the ownership papers for the Spindrift Cloud and the orders of command for her crew and a squad of fifty mercenary marines. I have already paid the first third of their wages and these papers provide for their payment upon arrival to Issaly."

"What if I need to stop at another port instead…"

"The payment notices should be valid with any major mercantile operation in Pawan Kor, but you are guaranteed of the money in Issaly."

"The ship is fully equipped with all the supplies needed?"

"Yes, my lord."

"And everything awaits me at this moment?"

"The ship needs only her commander. You'll find her captain trustworthy and competent."

"The rowers are free men?"

"I wouldn't delay you with a crew of slaves."

Bavadi seemed reflective. Ezaras didn't wish to interrupt him, but he did want the man to be on his way before Ooran arrived. At last Bavadi said, "Summon your two best couriers."

Shaking under the Slayer's now intense gaze, Ezaras rang his bell and sent Telerus downstairs to wake the courier boys. Easily roused, for they had no other duty in life, the two youths arrived within minutes. The first, Jaska sent off with a message he had already written, to be delivered to a house in the military quarter. The boy swore he could find it easily enough.

"Wait outside," Jaska told the second. "You too, Captain Telerus. Don't come back in unless I ask you to."

Ezaras was horrified as Telerus bowed low and said, "As you command, my lord."

Ezaras rose and spoke in anger, though he would instantly regret doing so. "How dare you compel my guard captain! Telerus, get back in here!" Ezaras rang the bell but the man didn't return.

Jaska drew a bagh nakh. "How dare you live, Ezaras. How dare you prey upon the innocent and betray your city to the palymfar. Your current rulers are far more merciful than Salahn would be."

Ezaras fell into his chair, a dead man already. He knew it without doubt. "You're a traitor to the palymfar."

"No, I am a true palymfar. Your allies are the traitors." Jaska rounded the desk. “Don't even try to draw your dagger. Take out your quill instead. You are going to write a letter for me."

"What do you wish me to write? I will give you a note for all my wealth."

"I don't want your filthy money." Jaska leaned up against the edge of the desk. "Write a letter to the Archons detailing all your operations and your alliance with the palymfar. Name the operatives here, how you contact them, your underworld connections, everything."

"My lord, please have mercy on me."

"I am having mercy on you, Ezaras. Are you not still breathing?"

Tears streaked down Ezaras’s plump cheeks. "If I do as you ask, will you let me live?"

"I might."

Ezaras wiped sweat from his brow. "Those are harsh terms, my lord."

"I promise that if I decide to kill you I will do it quickly and not in my usual manner. I will also spare your children, your wives, your entire household."

"Take them instead," Ezaras pleaded. "Sate the lusts that must be burning within you. Please, master."

Jaska's saber whisked free and cut a thin line across Ezaras's cheek. The merchant's bladder released. Urine flowed onto his chair, soaked his robes, and dripped onto the floor. Crying like a child, he tugged at Jaska.

"What-what can I do to save my life? Please, I'll do anything."

Jaska felt no sympathy and refrained from compelling him only because he wished him to suffer. "Obey me, that is all you can do. Your life will depend on my mood when you are finished with the letter."

Ezaras pulled himself back up into his chair. He drew out the necessary implements and detailed his operations and alliances, covering every nuance to stall. His only chance to survive was for Ooran to arrive and help him.

"You are being too detailed, Ezaras. Hurry up."

"I-I thought you wanted them to know everything."

"Enough that they can figure out the minor details. Cover all the basics."

Ezaras continued writing but went more slowly now. Jaska touched his bagh nakh to Ezaras's throat. "Why are you stalling?"

"To-to save my life," Ezaras muttered.

"Your life is worthless. You are waiting for someone to arrive. Who is coming here?" Jaska asked in a voice Ezaras couldn't resist. He had planned to use a compulsion on Ezaras anyway, to verify the letter contained no fabrications.

"Ooran … a palymfar who is a secret informant to me, the traitor you hinted of."

Jaska had only said that to throw Ezaras off. "A single palymfar spy cannot spare your life, not from me. Does he know that I'm here?"

"Not yet, but he is searching for you."

"Why?"

"I don't know, but he came to me last night and asked for you. I said nothing but then asked him to come back this morning."

"You sold me out?"

"He said you were a traitor and that I couldn't trust you. I was afraid they would find out that I had helped you. After you left, I was going to tell Ooran that you had compelled me not to tell anyone you were here. He is to arrive at dawn."

Jaska looked out at the lightening sky. "Did you do everything I asked?"

"Yes, my lord."

"You have not betrayed me or set a trap in any way?"

"No, my lord."

"Finish the letter. Tell them you had a change of heart before committing suicide, tell them you wish your wealth to be given to charities for the poor."

Ezaras did so, sealed the letter, and stamped it with his seal. Jaska called in the message boy. "Deliver this letter to the Archons at nightfall."

The boy left and as the door closed Jaska drew the claws of his bagh nakh across Ezaras's throat. Still compelled, the fat merchant didn't flinch or make a sound. He merely bled out and slumped in his chair. Jaska took a strange pleasure in the slaying, not in killing a man but in ending a cancer that ate at this city and its people.

Jaska crept to the front of the room beside the door. "Telerus," he called, "if anyone comes let them in. Say nothing to them."

"Yes, my lord."

Jaska chanted a spell of masking and waited. Ten minutes later, Ooran walked into the room, admitted by Telerus who returned to his post. The door shut and Ooran took four steps before seeing the blood-smeared body slumped in the chair.

Ooran spun and saw Jaska. He froze, his eyes wide with fear. "M-master Bavadi." Ooran bowed at the waist and saluted Jaska. "I-I didn't expect to see you here."

"But I expected you, Ooran."

Ooran reached for his sword. His hand never made it to the hilt.

Jaska’s saber tore through Ooran's neck, half-severing the head. Blood spattered Jaska and pooled on the floor. He spoke a command and his qavra blazed to life. The blood flowed down his uniform as if down a slick wall and left no stain.

As Jaska turned, he noticed a flicker in Ooran's qavra. He checked it and cursed. A conditional spell had been laced into the qavra. Ooran's comrades would know that he had been slain. And if they knew Jaska was in the city, they could easily track down Zyrella.

Jaska rushed from the room but paused beside Captain Telerus. "Are you an evil son of a bitch, captain?"

He grinned. "I'm no palymfar, my lord, but I try."

Jaska sliced Telerus across the throat. "I thought so."

* * *

When he detected Ooran's death, Hyrtu cancelled his plan to waylay the courier and question him on his way out. A message came through the Shadowland from Yrvas: he had ten mercenaries at hand, all that were available from the guild today.

Ohzikar and Zyrella left the house. Once Hyrtu knew their heading, he projected his thoughts through the Shadowland and contacted Yrvas.

"The priestess and her templar left after a messenger came. Traveling toward the docks, possibly to meet Jaska and leave. I'm trailing. Suggest ambush at Duck Tallow and Mariner."

* * *

Jaska found the house in the military quarter empty and cursed the messenger's efficiency. As he ran toward the docks, he chanted masking spells. The few people out on the streets at daybreak took little note of him. Later they might recall that someone had run past them. Jaska only hoped he didn't cross the path of a guard patrol. Anyone actively looking for trouble would see him for what he was.

Even gleaming Hectyra had its bad side. Whereas the avenues of the military quarter fell in straight, orderly lines, the streets of Low Town snaked between tanners and fisheries, brothels and warehouses. The scents of rotting fish, tanned hides, and human filth dumped into alleys spoiled the air.

Jaska knew shortcuts Zyrella wouldn't but didn't risk them for fear that he would get too far ahead. With one spell active already, he didn't want to boost his speed unless necessary. Scrying ahead would require stopping and that didn't seem worth the effort either. His allies couldn't be that far ahead. Nor could his enemies.

The distinctive rasp of drawn blades echoed through the quiet streets. In a full sprint, Jaska turned a corner and spotted Zyrella and Ohzikar a hundred paces ahead, their path blocked by eleven armed men whose leader wore an unconcealed qavra choker.

Bystanders fled with haste, except one rather ordinary-looking man who advanced along the edge of the warehouses. Only twenty steps behind them, this peasant drew something from his cloak. Their attention drawn by the men ahead of them, Ohzikar and Zyrella didn't notice him sneaking up from behind.

Jaska chanted the betrayal spell.

* * *

Hyrtu stumbled in shock as violet light erupted from the qavra beneath his peasant's cloak and enshrouded him. The light didn't harm him, but his active protections ceased. The same malfunction occurred for Yrvas.

Footsteps whispered behind him. Hyrtu turned and saw the hazy form of a palymfar rushing toward him. He knew the intense amber eyes locked on him and understood who could manipulate his qavra this way. He also felt no surprise as the two throwing spikes punched through his torso armor and dug into his ribcage.

Weakly, Hyrtu threw his own readied spikes. Jaska's blurred form made a poor target. The spikes missed and Hyrtu drew his saber. A word of power was spoken somewhere and flowed across his consciousness. Years of palymfar training hardened his will against the command but without the familiar aid of the qavra, the magic slowed him. Hyrtu attempted a parry but missed. Then Jaska's blade slashed across Hyrtu's eyes, drew back, and plunged into his stomach.

* * *

With ten mercenaries and a palymfar approaching, Zyrella saw no course but to call on her full talent. The palymfar would resist. The mercenaries likely would not. How many would fail, she couldn't predict. She didn’t know how much power she could summon on such short notice. Her abilities weren't battle-tested anymore than they were battle-intended. Ohzikar drew tulwar and shield then waited on their attackers. He would defend her as long as possible.

The palymfar said to her, "I've waited years for you.”

Forming patterns of sigils and runes within her mind, Zyrella couldn't respond. Let him talk, though. The longer she had to prepare, the more energy she could gather and the more assured her casting.

He motioned his men forward, leading them with saber in one hand, bagh nakh in the other. As Zyrella prepared to speak, the palymfar's qavra flared with violet light. The mercenaries paused. The palymfar's eyes widened with shock.

The assassin backed away, fumbling at his qavra.

Ohzikar smiled. "Death has come for you, palymfar. You won't escape the Slayer."

"Get them!" the palymfar said. Fear tinged his deep voice.

The mercenaries moved forward, and Zyrella unleashed the sorcerous diagrams held in her mind. The word of power rippled and struck. A shockwave like silent thunder pounded within the skulls of her enemies.

"Drop your weapons and surrender to me," she commanded.

Four mercenaries dropped to their knees. Their broadswords clanged on the cobbled street. Three clutched their foreheads in pain. Two battled a wave of dizziness. The last bolted down the street. Even the palymfar seemed shaken.

Zyrella herself fought nausea and vertigo. Having done all she could, she leaned on her staff and gasped for breath.

Ohzikar heard a noise behind them as Zyrella's word of power washed over him without effect. He turned and saw Jaska charging a man near them with his sword drawn. Ohzikar wasted no concern on an opponent who would be dead within another moment. He charged and shield-bashed the nearest mercenary, who was shaking his head. That one fell and Ohzikar launched an attack at a second. This mercenary parried weakly, taking a slash across his arm. Lacking the strength to counter-attack, the mercenary narrowly defended another sword strike but collapsed when Ohzikar caught him in the jaw with the rim of his shield.

The palymfar, still encased in violet light, gathered his courage. He charged the templar with two dizzied mercenaries beside him. Ohzikar backed away, defending their attacks. Compared to Jaska, this palymfar seemed slow. Ohzikar knew he could defeat him one-on-one, but perhaps not with two mercenaries helping him, even if Zyrella's spell had rattled them.

The remaining mercenary charged Zyrella. She lifted her staff weakly to block his attack. Before he could reach her, Jaska stepped in. The mercenary took a claw-rake to the side of his head and a slash across his knees. He fell and Jaska rushed on to help Ohzikar. The wounded mercenary pulled himself up. His skull met the iron-shod end of Zyrella's staff.

The palymfar hit Ohzikar on the shoulder. The blow glanced off his chainmail. Ohzikar countered but the palymfar dodged away. A mercenary slashed. Ohzikar bent backward and the blade whisked by an inch from his throat.

"I command you to stop!" said a voice filled with cold rage.

The mercenaries paused. The palymfar stood erect with a stricken look in his eyes. Jaska stepped up beside Ohzikar. The templar looked around. Four men still knelt on the street, awaiting Zyrella's command. No other enemies remained.

Jaska pointed at Yrvas and said to the mercenaries, "This battle is between him and me. If you wish to die, that's your choice, but if you run, I won't hunt you down."

The standing mercenaries bolted down the street, but those kneeling and under Zyrella’s control remained.

"So you are a traitor then, master?" Yrvas said.

"From your perspective, I suppose so."

"Why, master? You were the best of us."

"You were a prized student, Yrvas. A friend as well. I'm sorry, but I wasn't myself when you knew me before, I wasn't the man I was supposed to be. Salahn bound my will and made me serve his dark desires."

"The priestess has tainted your mind, Jaska. You are the cruelest man I know."

"She has done nothing to me. I lost my qavra in battle and gained my freedom from Salahn."

"So now you oppose the man who made you a legend and gave you power beyond that of everyone save himself? Men fear you everywhere. You have everything you could want."

"My dignity? My honor? Do I have those? What I want now is only to right the wrongs that I did under Salahn's sway. Nothing else."

"Am I one of those wrongs, master?"

"Yes, and I am sorry for what I made you."

"I'm not sorry in the least," Yrvas said and with a burst lunged forward, having in desperation broken free from Jaska’s compulsion.

Jaska stepped to the left, parried the sword strike, and guided Yrvas past him using the palymfar's momentum against him. Jaska spun and plunged the blades of his bagh nakh into the back of Yrvas's neck.

The palymfar fell and writhed in pain. Jaska hunched over him. "Because I valued your friendship before, I show you mercy now."

After the killing strike, Jaska stared down at the corpse. The work he must do in the world would be a sad business, having to kill men he remembered as friends, students, and comrades, that he remembered as terrors only in nightmares that later faded beyond his reach.

Ohzikar touched Jaska's shoulder, causing him to flinch. "We need to go. Before city guardsmen arrive."

Zyrella looked to the kneeling mercenaries. "When the authorities arrive tell them the two slain palymfar fought against one another and involved you without your knowing what was going on. You will not remember us."