Day, Half Past the 6th Hour

Eirian District, Faravahar Compound

With a grunt and a heave, Kershi toppled over the windowsill and into the apartment. Panting, he glanced out the window for a moment, grateful he hadn’t fallen backwards from the second story.

That wouldn’t have ended too well.

But there was no time to rest. He could smell the fire, and it was so smoky and acrid now that his eyes stung.

Getting on all fours, Kershi crawled down the hall and then managed to skulk down the stairs. He thought about calling to everyone else—Heba, Shani, and the rest—just in case they needed help, but the smoke closed his throat and…and…

He was too scared. What if the wrong people heard him?

Kershi clamped a hand over his nose and mouth, trying not to breathe in the smoke as he sought out someone—anyone—who could help him with Sama. There was no way Kershi could move her on his own, and she couldn’t walk. Not after what Vaha had done.

He crept to the kitchen first. “Heba?” he whispered, squinting. “Shani?”

No answer. He crept into the other rooms, but the first floor was eerily empty—well of course was. The fire had started downstairs. It was obvious with the way the smoke was pouring in.

He’d have to go back upstairs.

He crawled back to the sleeping room, and stuck his face in. The smoke was still thick here, but with the high, open windows, it wasn’t that bad. Still, he coughed and closed his eyes. “Sama,” he hissed, “I’ll come back. Don’t worry, okay? I’ll come back with someone.”

There was no answer—which was to be expected. Kershi wasn’t sure if she’d heard him, but he aimed to keep his promise, anyway.

He crawled his way up the stairs again.

“Heba? Shani? Musa? Anyone?”

No answer.

Eventually the smoke got so bad he couldn’t keep going. He crawled into an empty room and stuck his face out the window, gasping.

“Bibos!”

He looked down, confused.

Everyone was already outside.

“Heba?”

“Bibos! What are you doing? Get down here! The building’s on fire!”

It was Heba, and she had Shani and Musa with her, except…

Why were they dressed so good? Wasn’t that Vaha’s cloak? And everyone was wearing good sandals. And…

When Musa raised his hand to gesture him down, Kershi saw a purse on his belt. A fat one, bulging with coins.

…What? What was going on?

“Bibos!” Musa hissed, and Shani and Heba glanced around nervously. “Get down here, you fool boy!”

Nodding, Heba gestured at him rapidly, her gray hairs peeking out from under her shawl and wobbling.

“But—but—”

“Bibos! Climb down. I’ll catch you if you jump from the ledge.” Musa, who was often easy-going, sounded tense—and frightened.

“But—what about Leyla?”

They glanced at each other, then at him. They seemed to be agreeing on something, but what?

“Don’t worry about Leyla. She’ll be fine.” Shani. She smiled up at him, but it was all wrong. The smile didn’t touch her eyes.

“I’m not stupid,” Kershi said. There was no way Sama would be fine. She was still laying in her corner, in the smoke. She’d die. “I’ll unbar the back door. You have to help me move her, Musa.”

“Bibos—”

But Kershi wasn’t listening. Heedless of the smoke, he darted down the stairs as fast as he could.

Something about their faces scared him. It was the same face his aunt had had when his ma had died, except she’d lied and said—

Oh no. No. That wasn’t true.

Kershi sprinted to the kitchen, finding some reservoir of strength he didn’t know he’d had to haul the heavy bar of wood off the struts. He didn’t bother with being quiet, letting it fall to the ground before dashing to the sleeping room.

“Sama!” He cried, not bothering to keep his voice down, “Wake up! We have to go! We have to go now!”

No answer.

Kershi felt his heart hammer harder in his chest, even as his gut clenched.

No.

He stopped, staring at the still figure under the blankets.

Someone had pulled the blanket over her face.

No.

With a little cry, he darted forward, tearing the blanket away.

“Sama!”

No response. Her eyes were closed, and her face—swollen still, full of bruises—was slack and still.

“Sama!” Compulsively, Kershi took her shoulders and shook her once, before jerking away with a sob. No, that would hurt her. He had to be careful, because—because—

“Bibos!” Someone grabbed him around the waist and hauled him up and over a broad shoulder. Kershi’s vision blurred even as the world tilted upside-down. He saw Heba approach, looking sad through the haze of tears and smoke.

“Musa! We can’t leave her! We can’t leave her!” His voice jagged. “Tell him, Heba! Tell him!”

“Bibos. Stop. Stop.” Heba’s voice was gentle. “I am sorry, little one. But she has gone to meet her fravashi, you see? She lived bravely. And we must be brave, also.” She put her gnarled hands on his face and kissed his forehead.

The tears would not stop, no matter how he sniffled.

Musa began walking, speaking in rapid, clipped tones. “Nasra does a circuit up to Kyros and back down to Heliopolis. We need to find him and convince him to take us with him. Don’t kick up a fuss, Bibos, and just come quietly. Everything will work out. I promise.”

Kershi said nothing, hanging limply over Musa’s shoulder like a sack of grain as Sama’s swollen face got smaller and smaller. He would remember it forever.

Goodbye.

Day, Quarter Before the 6th Hour

Eirian District, Faravahar Compound

It was the smell of smoke that got him first.

Heru frowned as a whiff of something burning hit his nose. His first thought was that some idiot had burnt something again—it had been happening more and more, lately, and he knew he’d have to have Jaadi disciplined soon—but the smoke. There was so much of it, so much that it was seeping beneath the door of his office.

Then his next thought was: Fuck. Is something on fire?

It was that second thought that roused him from his stooped position over the desk.

Heru’s office reflected his personal philosophy: bare, neat, and functional. He didn’t have much furniture, and what he did have was necessary. His desk, for one. His shelf of documents, all neatly organized by name and topic. Then there was his own chair, which he used every day, and a small chair across from his own for guests. That was it.

Even this much furniture was a luxury.

It was a pity Vaha didn’t understand that.

Heru was a simple man, and Vaha was one too, except Vaha was a ditch snake. The boy—now man—had a bad temper and bad judgement, and something had to be done. He’d taken to damaging the merchandise, not just sampling it, and Heru could see the ranks were crumbling beneath the weight of his second’s degeneracy.

Heru stood, grimacing as his joints creaked. Age. It caught up to everyone. He stretched, sighing as his joints popped.

Surviving in Kyros had been work. A great deal of work—often unsavory and often hard—and Vaha was doing a fine job unravelling it all.

Heru stifled his second sigh. It was a damn pity, but what could he do? Vaha had to be reined in, and soon.

Still, he was useful for now, though he was taking his sweet time taking care of Neva and his friends. Surely the butcher hadn’t grown a pair?

No matter. Even if Neva had, Vaha would cut them off and feed them to him in short order.

But first: the smoke.

Hm. Now that had better not be Vaha. There were limits. Burning a man alive was conspicuous as fuck, and it’d bring the guard down if he did, though it would serve as a very good deterrent to future rabble-rousers.

Heru strode over to the window, which were double shuttered to keep the noise out, then unlatched them one after another, leaning out the window for a good look once he was done.

“Fuck!”

That…was not a bonfire.

In fact, it was the entire fucking courtyard. The courtyard was on fucking fire, and so was the entire fucking building. “Mithras' teeth!”

Oh, and bodies. There were dead bodies. Everywhere.

Everywhere.

Slamming his palms against the sill, Heru, jerked away from the sight, dashing to his desk and slapping the account book closed. He shoved it into the safe, then started tossing the pile of coins back into the money chest. That had to go into the safe too, and then the promissory notes.

Why the fuck hadn’t anyone reported in? What in the fuck was going on? Were they under attack? Had the Sons of Fire gotten clever? Or was this something else, something worse?

Weapons. He needed a weapon first, and he’d have to find—

Heru froze, the hairs on the back of his neck rising.

“Who’s there?”

He whirled around, hand going to his waist—but of course he wasn’t armed. This was his own gods-damned office. Why would he be armed?

Instead, he picked up the letter-opener from his desk. It made a piss-poor weapon, but it was better than nothing.

The man who had been watching him from the corner by the door unfurled from his crouch, and for a moment—just a single moment—Heru thought it was Kurush.

But that was impossible. There was no reason for Kurush to come here, just to kill him. Kurush had lackeys for that—and the eyes were—

The eyes were wrong.

They were the wrong shade of amber—they were too dark, too flat and devoid of anything resembling life, which was not a look Kurush had ever had—ever. No matter how bad things got, Kurush had never lost that spark, never.

Heru blinked, disoriented by the familiar face that was not at all familiar.

The hair was wrong, too. It was too dark, a pitch black that seemed to suck in the light. But his face, with its high cheekbones and strong nose, was so very familiar, though he could not quite…place…

And then, suddenly, he did.

“Farhad?”

The man moved so he stood beneath the light from the window.

It was. It was him. Older now, taller and broader, no longer the angry, scrawny sixteen-year-old slave he had been—but it was him.

There was no mistaking those eyes, now that he was really looking.

Heru began to laugh.

Farhad said nothing. He only stood in the square of light, watching Heru with the same level of interest the old freedom-fighter would expect of a man watching an ant.

Heru walked to his desk and counted out five drachma. He held them out to the younger man, but when Farhad did not react, he tossed them on the floor, by the boy’s feet. “Those are for Kurush. He always did say you’d come crawling back.”

Farhad said nothing and did nothing.

Heru went to his shelf and opened a box, pulling out a bottle of arak. He had been saving it up for—what, exactly? A special occasion?

Ha.

He sat in his chair.

“Take a seat, Farhad.”

Farhad did not move or show any interest in doing anything other than imitating a statue.

“Or stand. Up to you. Don’t suppose you want a drink, too? Don’t worry, it’s not poisoned. It’s my own stash.”

Silence.

“Well, I’m having a glass or two. Join in or don’t.”

Heru took his cup of a’chai from that morning and tipped the remainder onto the floor. What did making a mess matter now?

He poured a generous portion into the vessel and toasted the silent man. “Cheers, then. To your return, I suppose, though really—sending you to Kyros? Guess you’re not forgiven, hm?”

More silence.

Heru took a nice, big swallow. Ah, there was some quality arak; it burned all the way down.

“One prayer.”

“Hm? What was that?”

“I’ll give you time for one prayer to whichever god will have you.” Farhad’s voice was calm and cool, like they were discussing the weather rather than Heru’s impending assassination.

“Generous of you, but very Illosian. It’s distasteful, Farhad. Speak like a proper man of Er. I know you can do it if you really, really try.”

“You’re down to twenty heartbeats. Make them count.”

Heru laughed again and toasted the man. Then he set the cup down.

“Tell Kurush I’ve always respected him. But he’s wrong. Tell him that. He’s wrong. There’s no Er left to save. It’s Illos or nothing. That’s our future. That’s it.”

It was true. The last time Heru had been to Er, it had been like he’d never left Illos. The towns had the same streets, the same agora, the same everything; he had gone to a banquet thrown by an old friend, only to find himself at a bathhouse where slaves floated the food to the guests as the merrymakers cavorted with whores—just like rich, fancy Illosians.

And they had all been so proud of themselves, too, for being so fashionable.

It was then that he had come to his final, terrible understanding: The Motherland was gone. Gone.

Er was not eternal. Not even close.

There was nothing to save.

Nothing.

“Time’s up,” said Farhad, and he stepped in close with a blade in hand.

Ha, wasn’t that Sousa’s? Hahaha. No wonder no one had raised the alarm. They were all dead.

Farhad was in good form today. So much for being Lukios the Lion, Hero of the People or the People’s Hero or whatever the fuck it was they called him, these days.

Ha. The People’s Hero. That one never stopped being fucking hilarious. Which people, exactly? Illosians? Well, that was just like them, wasn't it?

They never just settled for taking things.

Sousa's blade looked somehow sharper in Farhad's hand, but Heru only nodded. What was the point? Heru had left his prime years ago, and he could hardly best Lukios the Lion, who clearly had not been killed by bandits, with a letter-opener.

Ha. Smart. Had Farhad come up with that, or had Kurush? It was likely the latter. It really was a Kurush-sort of plan, wasn’t it? Sneaky.

It hurt when the blade went in, but Heru was no stranger to pain. Still, he couldn’t stop the moan, couldn’t stop himself from clutching the younger man’s shoulder as he shook, gagging on the blood that welled from his gut. “Farhad,” he managed, dribbling red onto the floor, “don’t believe him.”

And then Heru Rusa Sabi said nothing more, because Heru Rusa Sabi was dead.

Day, 9th Hour

Eirian Quarter, Farahavar Compound

“Lucky!” ‘Kles poked his head through the last door, relieved. “Fuck! Why didn’t ya say somethin’! We’ve been callin’ and callin’!”

The fire had been successfully gutted, thanks to the added manpower of the fire brigade, but it had been a near thing; they’d had to evacuate an apartment, and then they’d taken out the lower walls to bring the whole damn place down as a fire break. The entire neighbourhood had shown up with their own buckets and made a line from the nearest fountain, though the fire brigade had—thank Zeus!—one of them fancy hoses that went right into the fountain-pipes.

Lucky. That had been damn lucky. Lofos didn’t have no fire brigade at all, though Lofos didn’t have any crazy fucking stone-suckers, either, so it all evened out in the end.

And if they wanted to stay lucky, they had to get gone—now. The compound was made mostly of stone and brick, and the interior had withstood most of the flames, but the stairs had still shifted alarmingly on the way up; 'Kles didn't really trust the beams and frames to hold. There were fucking scorch marks.

“Told ya,” said Pitie, nodding sagely. “He’s fine. He’s the Lion.”

Lukios blinked up at them owlishly from his seat at the desk.

“Oh, what? Were you looking for me?”

“Oh for—of course we were lookin’ for ya! There was a fire! Didn’t ya notice?”

“I did, but you seemed to have it under control.” Lukios shrugged, then flashed them a wide, cocky grin. “And I was right. You did have it under control. Never doubted you two for a second.”

Askles scowled, determined not to be mollified, but the back of his neck heated all the same. “Ha,” he grumbled, “flattery. Don’t think I don’t know your game none.”

Lukios smile only widened. “It’s not flattery. It’s true. I looked out the window.” He pointed. “And we’re all fine now, aren’t we?”

“’S not the point,” ‘Kles grumbled. “And we coulda used ya for the fire.” And gods damn, his knee was just achin'. Would it have killed the damn man to come down the stairs, instead of makin' 'em climb it?

"I did,” said Lukios, “I was putting the fires out from the inside. See?” He pointed to the wet splotches on the walls and floor, the black marks on the brick. The wooden frames had been eaten nearly through, and 'Kles suddenly had a vision of falling to his death as the floor gave away. He shuddered.

"We gotta leave, Lucky. This building's gonna fall down 'round our ears."

"Sure." Lukios shrugged. "As soon as we do something about that." He pointed to the dead body in the corner.

“Aw, Lucky. We can’t pretend he died from the fire. Didja have to stab ‘im?”

Lukios expression went incredulous. “No one’s going to believe the guys in the courtyard died from the fire. Not all of them.”

Pitie shook his head. “’Kles had a good idea, though. We put the bodies where the fire was, see, an’ that means the wounds and things get all burned up. So when the guard comes to ‘vestigate they’ll think it was the fire, an’ not us. ‘Cause ya know, murder’s illegal an’ all.” Pitie's expression was doubtful when he said 'murder', but he seemed to understand they'd all get arrested and put to death if they were caught. 'Kles could see Pitie didn't like it or agree, but he understood he had to keep his damn mouth shut, which was the most important thing, anyway.

‘Kles tried not to look smug. See? Lucky weren’t the only one with a turnin' noggin.

Lukios raised an eyebrow. “Huh. Good call. Except uh…there are lots of bodies in the other rooms.” He cleared his throat. “Just saying.”

“Aw, Lucky!”

“Sorry.” He shrugged. “We’ll make it look like the infighting started the fire. How’s that? We can put the weapons in their hands and arrange the bodies.”

“Guess it’ll work.” Askles grimaced.

Fuck, what a day it’d been. It had been the absolute worst. 'Kles spotted a bottle of what looked like some kinda booze on the desk. Without a word, he popped it open, sniffed, then drank.

Better. He'd washed the blood off his face and rinsed his mouth, but the taste still lingered; this helped. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and held the rest out to Pitie, who took it without a word and drained it.

Lukios was still smiling. “’Kles. Pitie. Come on. You two love me, right?”

“No.” Askles didn't hesitate. If his knee didn't heal right, he'd take it out of Lukios' hide. He really, really would.

Pitie opened his mouth, then closed it. “Kinda real hard right now.”

“Aw, guuuuys.” Smiling, Lukios raised his hand and tipped a medium-sized box over so that the mouth of it hit the edge of the desk.

Gleaming gold and silver coins spilled onto the ground.

‘Kles felt his mouth drop open.

Holy fuck. Holy fuck!

Lukios’ grin only widened. “You sure?”

Pitie’s eyes looked like they were poppin’ out. “Hera’s tits! These Fafafucks were richer than Hades!”

“Yup.” Lukios tapped one of the leather-bound books on the desk. There were two, and they looked ‘xactly the same. “This one’s the fake ledger.” He tapped the other one. “This is the real one.”

He shrugged. “I scrapped all the promissory notes and contracts in that fire anyway, so…”

Pitie knelt and picked up the coins. “Holy fuck. Holy fuck. ‘Kles! ‘Kles! You can buy yer marriage gifts again!”

It was true. There were enough coins to buy another mule and load it down with gifts. Bolts of fabric and spices for Chloe’s ma. Candles and other goods for her da. Some live chickens too, and gods, some proper damn clothes.

He glanced down at his tunic—a loaner from Mahdi—and grimaced.

Yeah, he’d have to replace this one, too.

Askles knelt beside Pitie. “You gonna send some back?” The man had five siblings, and only the older two worked. They were always short on something.

Pitie nodded. “Mene’ll need a dowry soon. And Eulos!” He ran the coins through his fingers. “Fuck, ‘Kles! I think he can get a ‘pprenticeship with this.” He smiled. “Think there’ll be enough left over for a houseslave, ‘Kles? My ma could use ‘un. She’s getting old.”

Askles patted his back. “Dunno about that. Maybe?” He glanced at the pile again. “A third each?”

Lukios shook his head. “Split it between the two of you. I’m good.”

“Aw, Lucky.”

“See?” He smirked. “You do love me.”

“That ain’t right, though.” Askles rubbed his nose. “You gotta take somethin’.”

Lukios paused, and ‘Kles could see he was thinking. “Okay. Let’s split it three ways.”

Pitie and ‘Kles glanced at each other, then nodded, though Askles eyed Lukios with suspicion. “You gonna give it away?” That pause of his had been real suspect.

Lukios only smiled at them and buried his head back in the ledger. “Don’t worry about Niki. I’ll take care of him tomorrow or so. He’ll have heard about this by then, I think.”

Askles glanced at the pile of coins again, suddenly feeling uneasy. “Uh…”

“It’s fine! I’m burning the real ledger.” Lukios smiled again. “What Niki doesn’t know won’t hurt him, and oh boy, did Niki miss something juicy.”

“Yeah?” Askles left Pitie to count out the coins and wandered over to Lukios to peer over his shoulder. “What’s so interestin’, anyway?”

Lukios’ grin intensified. “You know how everyone’s been blaming the bandits for…well, everything?”

Askles eyed him with doubt. “Whaddya mean?”

Lukios began to chuckle.

“Lucky?”

He tapped the two ledgers. “Know what’s real funny, ‘Kles? Pitie?”

“No.”

Pitie was too busy counting coins to respond.

“The numbers are all wrong. For the bandits, I mean.”

“Huh?” Askles frowned. “You’re not makin’ any sense, Lukios.”

“Okay, okay. So…I went down to the barracks this morning, right? To get the uh, bandit-killing contract?”

“Yeah? And?”

“Well, I asked about the numbers up in that fort, ‘cause how else am I gonna know how many men to muster?”

“…Right. And?”

“Well, they gave me a real stupid number.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It was real damn high, though it made sense with all the supply shortages and things. But here’s the thing, ‘Kles.” Lukios patted the ledger. “It looks like the Faravahar were extorting merchants, but they didn’t want that getting out to the guard. So what’s a convenient excuse?”

“Oh, fuck. You serious?”

“Yeah, I’m serious. Bet you they intimidated a whole bunch of merchants into filing false loss reports. You know, blaming the bandits? And not just these guys. I’ll bet you all the gangs are doing the same in their own districts. It’s too good an opportunity to pass up. This way they get the goods, but not the scrutiny.”

Askles whistled. “Damn. You serious?”

“Yeah. That’s how I’m reading the numbers, anyway. These margins are fat.” Lukios was still chortling. “But that makes the counts way off. I mean way, way off. Makes sense. Thought it was funny that Red Stride Fort could fit so many bodies. It wasn’t so big when we were there, was it? What the fuck were they doing, sleeping on top of each other?” He sobered, then brightened immediately, grinning up at ‘Kles. “Say, what are you two doing tomorrow?”

Askles groaned.