They found an abandoned shack a distance away from the neighborhood. Guards had increased patrols due to Ostrik and crew’s stomping about, and arguments with Kasar. The residents, thugs, guards, and business-folk alike knew something was happening. It was fair to say, Shaenik already had his eyes on Sigvali and perhaps even the slaves.

  Rhea said they shouldn’t have realized she’s escaped, but perhaps with how tense the streets had become, he did now. Guards kicked around the homeless. Thugs shook down passerbys. Questions littered the area, and all before the sun had even risen.

  A salty wind rushed over the area outside, but inside the shack, everyone decided their next steps.

  “Fire mage inside a manor,” said Ostrik, brows raised.

  “I hear a lot,” said Rhea. “I hear this and now you do too.”

  “Why tell us?” asked Kasulta.

  “Fuck Shaenik.”

  Ostrik chuckled. “All the reasons one needs sometimes.” He looked at Kasar. “What about you? Giving up on the prize?”

  “I have reason to stay a bit longer,” said Kasar. “Figured you should have the chance to get your prize if I dropped out of the race.”

  Rend’s eyes narrowed. “The slaves. You wish to save them.”

  “Yes,” said Kasar.

  Ostrik and Kasulta grinned. “Just like the stories from the deserts.”

  Kasar frowned.

  “They have traveled far, and folk say the rebellions around the fighting pits have spun out of control. The champions that freed themselves now free others. They carry the word of Grimblade far and wide across the sands.”

  Kasar blinked and looked to Vorza.

  “Stories do travel far,” said Vorza. “Some even inspire others to act.”

  “And kill,” said Kasulta, a vicious look on her face. A glint of mischief. “Your little uprising made so many wars start. So many dead.”

  It was Kasar’s turn to throw daggers with his eyes. “And so many were freed.”

  Kasulta didn’t object.

  Even Ostrik admired the retort. “Finally, Grim’s getting gutsy.”

  “I’m getting angry,” said Kasar “You wanted information for your ship and crew. Go use it.”

  “See, Grim, I know you mean to help. Out of principle, I can’t let you for free.”

  “Buy me a meal,” snapped Kasar. “All of us, how about.”

  Ostrik shook his head. “Consider this insurance.”

  “Kasar!” roared Vorza, and suddenly Kasar felt Blue shooting out toward them. He searched for the bard, but realized his error. It was Rend, and he’d just hit him with enough nausea to send him sprawling to his knees.

  Beside him, Vorza dueled with Ostrik. Kasulta wrestled Cryppe to the ground. Rend loomed above Kasar, pity in his eyes.

  “You won’t die,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  Kasar tried to unsheathe his saber. Vorza had gone into a frenzy, but he heard him yell strange commands and peculiar curses in his tongue.

  “Infantry line!” he roared. More curses. Then swinging of his arms. His saber lay clattered elsewhere. What had happened to him? “Push forth!” Vorza slammed into the wall, and Kasulta cackled at the scene. Cryppe lay unconscious.

  “Don’t kill them,” said Rend.

  “Not my boss.”

  “Come on, Kas,” said Ostrik. “Let’s get going.”

  Kasulta groaned and kicked Cryppe a few yards away. Kasar groaned from the pain in his head. He couldn’t sense anything around him. His stomach started churning.

  Then Ostrik helped Kasar to his feet. “Good luck with the slaves.”

  “Slaves,” mumbled Kasar. He noticed Rhea passed out where she’d been standing, a large lump on her head. “Why?” he asked Ostrik.

  “To keep you out of the scene for a little while,” said Ostrik. “You know, insurance.” Then he pushed Kasar out the window.

  ***

  Kasar woke up with a splitting headache. A putrid stench lingered in his own mouth. Crusted flakes of blood and muck caked his eyes from opening right away. He had to peel them open. He lay in a ditch. No, worse, he lay in a sewage dump.

  A groan escaped his lips. Where was Cryppe? Where was Vorza?

  And Rhea?

  His hand moved to touch his face. Swollen and bruised from quite the tumble. He peered up to see how far he’d rolled down the hilltop where the shack lay. His senses lay in shambles still. He couldn’t focus on anything but the immediate pain in his body and the sickness in his stomach. Vomit clung to his chin and oozed down.

  How had the plan gone so wrong? Ostrik didn’t even trust brutal honesty. Now they were on their way to recapture Sigvali. They’d taken Rhea too. They may have already found him. How much time had passed? Precious time to use their attack as a distraction and strike at the slave camps. They needed Rhea for that, to guide them back under.

  Now all had run off its rails because Ostrik couldn’t be given a damn boon for free. The concept of a gift didn’t apply to the scoundrel. All goodness had plot, and all plot was met with plunder and plight.

  Something Vorza had said once before. Something he’d wished he’d listen to. Now he felt rage against Ostrik. A simmering oil inside a vat made of poor decisions. How many lives might have been lost due to his trust in Ostrik’s ability to be reasonable. That oil was beginning to overflow.

  His hearing began to return as Kasar limped back up the hillside. Inside the shack, Cryppe lay on the floor as well, panting, and recovering.

  “Kasar!” he gasped. “What the hell?”

  “Where’s Vorza?” asked Kasar.

  “I heard him cursing and yelling out there. Thinks he’s in some battle.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “Dumai probably got him. Sent him into a mental loop.”

  “We have to find him.”

  “Yeah.” Cryppe groaned as he tried to stand. Kasar helped him. “She did a number on me.”

  “Kicked you again for good measure. Rend convinced them not to kill us.”

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  “What a friend,” said Cryppe dryly.

  “Friend enough to let us fight.”

  “Is there enough time?”

  “We’re breathing still.”

  “Time enough, then.”

  “They took Rhea.”

  “And Vorza’s running about.”

  “And the sun’s going to rise soon.”

  “And you stink.”

  “I fell quite a bit.”

  “Into?”

  “Shit.”

  Cryppe shook his head in pity. “Rough day.”

  “Been a rough few.”

  Cryppe and Kasar shared a moment of silence. When their eyes connected a laughter burst out from their lips. Hands patted each other’s backs. The laughter didn’t make sense. Nothing was funny about this. However, Kasar felt whole as he fought by this man. They needed the levity. They needed to smile.

  “My insides hurt,” cackled Cryppe.

  “Mine too.”

  “What a friend.”

  A laugh broke out of the young Devil. “What a friend!” spat Kasar, doubling over. “Damn him.”

  “Next time we see Rend, let him take a good whiff of our stench.”

  “Maybe use some of your Blue to make it stink more.”

  “Devilish.”

  Another bout of laughter. It was interrupted by Vorza’s roars.

  “We should get him.”

  “Yeah.”

  ****

  Guards had cornered Vorza against the back of a wall. He held his saber up and they planned to just shoot him with crossbows.

  “He’s mad!” cried the captain. “Just shoot already.”

  “Hold!” roared Cryppe, channeling Blue to make his voice boom so all could hear. They listened and turned to see him and Kasar bound over the hill.

  “What is the meaning of this?” barked the captain.

  Vorza had slowed down and wavered as he stood. Reality coalesced around him, but so much adrenaline had pumped into him from the hallucinations, he didn’t know what to do with that energy.

  “The manor is under attack,” said Kasar. “Go help!”

  “What?”

  An explosion answered the question for him. In the distance, where Rhea had said Sigvali had been located, a fight burned and pillars of smoke billowed above.

  “What in the name of- '' stammered the captain. “That’s one of Lord Shaenik’s properties.”

  “We’re dead if we let that fire spread,” said another soldier.

  “We got this mad man,” assured Cryppe. “Go help that fight.”

  The captain stopped caring about Vorza at that point. His troops rushed off. The wave was enough to keep Ostrik and crew occupied for a time longer.

  Vorza had fallen to his knees.

  “I’m done with this,” he mumbled. “That bard got into my head.”

  “Where is he?” asked Cryppe.

  “I think I killed him.”

  “What?” cried Kasar.

  “Don’t say that to me, lad. He muddied my mind. I muddied his face.”

  “Where?” asked Cryppe.

  Vorza’s eyes glistened with tears and pain, but also hate. “I won’t tell you. Let him bleed out.”

  Kasar felt a dagger turn in his gut. This didn’t feel right. “Vorza, please.”

  “You don’t get to save that life,” said Vorza. “I won’t even let you.” His words dripped with venom. “It’s not your place to deprive me of that death.”

  The words felt so twisted coming from his mouth.

  “Kasar,” said Cryppe. “The slaves.”

  “Save them,” snapped Vorza. “Just go.”

  “What about you?” asked Kasar.

  “Let me be.”

  Cryppe touched Kasar’s shoulder. “Come on.”

  Kasar sniffed and nodded. He followed along.

  ****

  Ostrik and his friends aimed to topple a mage in his manor.

  “In the business,” said Ostrik. “They call this a raid.”

  “Who cares what they call it,” said Kasulta.

  “I care. It makes it sound interesting.”

  “Picking up a lot of thugs in there,” said Rend, his eyes closed as he drew from his Mind Source to channel Blue. His senses reached inside the looming manor built of polished stone and marble. Dark, wooden beams framed the building to add to its eclectic nature. “Some are more armored than others.”

  Kasulta’s fists slammed against each other. “Armor’s just casing for fodder.”

  “Never change, Kas,” laughed Ostrik.

  “Wasn’t planning on it.”

  The three advanced.

  ****

  Imrikas understood why his men were so agitated. Ships burning. A Vrodian Blood Forger on the loose. Orders to stop Asheevi from getting him. Devils and lizard folk on the Isles. In Imrikas’s life, a vast number of strange things ventured onto his homeland. He always crushed it with flames. But there was always something stranger. To disregard that fact of life was to attract misery.

  Sometimes, though, misery couldn’t be avoided. That too was a fact to regard well.

  His men gossiped about how one of them was a pirate king or a demigod. Other gabbed about slave rebellions in the desert, and scaly demons rising from the ground. Someone mentioned a sickle warrior who reaped souls. The situation was not good for morale. He felt the general disinterest for their wages start to rise. What good was a gold coin when you and it melted all the same in the broiling hate of violence

  Shouts rose from outside, and the sounds of screams followed. The doors burst open and three sellswords strode in. A grin spread wide on the one bearing a shield and a scimitar. He looked like the leader of the bunch. The second was a lizard thing, and the third a gaunt man with dark eyes boring into him.

  “Let’s start this party,” cackled the first leader.

  “Defend!” cried the mage. His spells unfurled from his fingers as he channeled Red. He saw an explosion to his left. Where had the lizard gone?

  The flames Imrikas had shot forth dashed against a glimmering shield of emerald glass, cracking from the strain. The leader crashed into Imrikas’s men. They died before they could even assume any battle stance.

  The gaunt man was the caster. He channeled efficiently against Imrikas’s Red magic. Along with those strands of arcane energy, he also enhanced the leader, propelling him further into Imrikas’s ranks. His men screamed as limbs lopped off, heads rolled, and blood spurted through fingers and hands clutching at their wounds.

  Another explosion to his left and he saw the lizard barreling towards him, fists ablaze, maw dripping in blood. His left flank had been decimated but his right one supported him as he began the duel with the scaly martial artist.

  A sword had already formed into Imrikas’s hand wreathed in flames. The lizard had stomped hard on the platform. Her foot sent a shockwave through the groaning timbers that held up the second floor. Imrikas swung forth and found the floor splinter under him before his blade could touch the lizard.Her laughter hissed as he fell. Imrikas slammed into the ground. Stone and wood debris peppered him, scratching into his flesh. His right flank screamed and protested, his ribs fractured from the impact, but the lizard soon rushed downstairs to help her leader. He sighed a breath of relief.

  His thugs did not share that relief.

  The caster continued to enhance the leader. There the sword and board villain zipped, clearing out a horde of men storming into the burning property to help from neighboring properties. He moved like a lightning bolt, but crashed like waves, his deadly arcing steels casting a wide reach of death. The men shattered in spirit and fled the premises. The last trickle of reinforcements saw such a mass rout and followed suit.

  Imrikas stood, dust sliding off his shoulders. He would not flee. Perhaps it was pride. Perhaps it was out of honor. How dare they attack his home with such carefreeness. Life was not a game!

  Fire burst out his mouth, hands, and legs. He flew upward, and his tendrils of heat licked at the three below him.

  The caster blocked a significant amount of the damage yet again. The lizard dove away. The leader, however, raised his shield, and took the brunt of the blow. Splinters dug into his arm as his shield shattered. Imrikas’s burning hate enveloped him. He screamed in pain. Even then, Imrikas wondered if he’d heard the mad man cackle through it.

  The gaunt man redirected his efforts into healing and defending the leader. Imrikas laughed as the flames now filled up the room and overwhelmed the building’s magical defenses placed into the outer structure. It groaned as fire ate away at its integrity

  He would bury them if he had to.

  Imrikas landed on the remnants of second floor. Blue alerted him to the lizard’s footsteps as she closed the gap between them. A swirl of fire from his foot gave her a taste of her own medicine. She grunted in pain and smashed through a wall. He’d relished that more than he’d care to admit.

  Below, the leader bore a grimace. His eyes burned into Imrikas. The caster shot forth a spectral sickle that now hurtled toward him fast enough to appear as a spinning disc. The leader clambered to the remnants of the floor.

  Perfect!

  Another swirl of fire, and the platform the leader stood on exploded. The leader collapsed into the ground floor, and rolled to his feet. A deft one indeed. The caster’s sickle missed its mark as Imrikas flew down the hall to another room.

  He must reassess. Strategize.

  Or… He must play the coward.