"So did Ardûl have any idea where these messengers might be?" Erin asked.

"He didn't have any specific suspects, but if my hunch is right, and my father is using satyrs as his emissaries, we shouldn't have too hard of a time tracking them down. There's probably only a few dozen in the city, if that."

"If they stand out so much, why would he use them?"

"He probably doesn't have a choice. I'm guessing you're not familiar with my people?"

"Nah," Erin shook his head. "Unlike Jasper, I never played the original game. I've seen a little bit of Hareī-Miqlat, mostly just the capital though, but that's it."

"Even before my father began to plan his invasion," S̆ams̆ādur explained, "the durgū have never been on good terms with the Empire. The Empire's longest and most loyal allies have always been the elves - whom durgū hate above all else - so we naturally turned towards those in the South who shared our feelings. The Sidhe, the trolls, and eventually the Gemlirians. While we were smart enough to step aside once they realized they were going to lose the Desolyton, the Empire never forgot the initial aid we gave them. And, unfortunately, none of our allies are particularly welcome in their lands."

"But the situation with the Satyrs is more complicated. The durgū have had a covenant of peace with them, ever since the days my ancestors allowed them to shelter in our lands after they fled from Taks̆ulatar's ruthless consolidation of the Fey tribes."

"But the Satyrs never integrated into our society. Most of them live in isolated mountain villages that are functionally independent and only interact with us when they wish to trade. They're our friends, but not our allies. Technically, there's a battalion of Satyrs in my father's army, but since it's solely made of volunteers, the tribes are considered a neutral party by the Empire."

"So unless my father has somehow managed to recruit Corsyths to his cause, the only faction he could feasibly use as ambassadors would be the Satyrs," S̆ams̆ādur concluded.

But Erin wasn't entirely convinced. "Why are you so quick to dismiss the possibility of traitors?"

"It is possible," the prince admitted. "There will always be men whose loyalty, such as it is, can be bought with coin, but it would not be easy for my father to recruit amongst the Corsyths. Even the provinces that sided with the Gemlirians in the Desloyton - like Stryn - never forgave my people for their actions in the early days of the struggle. It's far more likely he'd just use the Satyrs, who already like us, rather than pay through the nose for traitors."

"Alright," Erin conceded the argument with a shrug. "So where do we start?"

"Got to swing by the castle first," S̆ams̆ādur grunted. "I asked Lord Ardûl to compile a list of the Satyrs in the city and where they're staying. Then we'll start hitting the taverns, get 'em talking, and see what I can glean from their thoughts. With any luck, we'll have found them by nightfall and, if not, well," the durgu shrugged. "Then we'll have gotten to spend the day drinking on Ardûl's coin."

As much as Erin hadn't wanted to get caught up in yet another quest, as he followed the prince through the bustling streets of Abāya, he had to admit that maybe he'd been missing out. The last few days, he'd barely left the run-down tavern they'd found themselves in, partially because he didn't feel entirely comfortable roaming the seedy streets around them by himself, but mostly because he'd been enjoying the attentions of a certain maid. But, as a result, he'd barely explored the city.

Abāya was undeniably the nicest settlement he'd seen since leaving the Djinns' capital. While it was nowhere near as large as S̆addānu, it was nearly as picturesque, trading the crystal shores of Lake Rabbānu for a stunning view of the Abulmahhu Mountains on the rare occasion that it wasn't raining.

Today was one of those days, though, and in the brilliant sunlight, the white streets and walls of Abāya positively sparkled. Even more remarkable was the massive tower that rose from one quarter of the city.

Erin had seen plenty of skyscrapers growing up; Baltimore might not have the greatest skyline in the world, but it still had a few skyscrapers and, more importantly, he'd been to NYC. He knew what tall was, but the tower that dominated Abāya would have taken pride of place even in downtown Manhattan. It was simply enormous, not just in height, but in circumference as well.

The center of the tower was circular, but it had four massive spurs that radiated out from it like the fins on a rocket ship. He was pretty sure a building made of stone simply couldn't be that big, would be crushed beneath its own weight, but the Corysths had made it work. Magic, most likely, he decided.

A chill passed over him as they reached the base of the tower and walked through the long shadow it cast. Without the sun's rays, he was reminded of how crappy the weather was - the city might be beautiful, but he sure as hell wouldn't want to live there.

Erin waited outside as S̆ams̆ādur ran in, having no desire to meet the Djinn commander who'd strong-armed him into joining the quest. It was only a few minutes before the durgu returned, clutching a list in his hand.

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"Do you want the good news or the bad news?" the man greeted him.

"Bad - always start with the bad," Erin sighed.

"There might be a few more satyrs in the city than I realized," the prince admitted.

"And the good news?"

"We get to drink more!"

"Oh, joy," he responded dryly. And this is why I hate these quests - they always spiral out of control.

He kept his complaints to himself, though, as he followed the durgu to the first tavern on the list. The Mute Swan was nothing like the seedy little inn they'd been forced to stay in. Set at the heart of the market district, the tavern was painted with a fresh coat of cheery green that stood against the mostly white buildings of the city like a neon sign. A carefully manicured garden surrounded the tavern in which guests dressed in finery that put his uniform to shame, drank from gilded goblets.

"Are you sure they're going to let us in?" Erin asked dubiously as they reached the tavern's gate.

"Leave it to me," S̆ams̆ādur assured him.

As he expected, as they stepped up to the gate, the maître d' met them with a frown. "If you're looking for the Blue Goose, you're in the wrong place. Head back to the tower, follow the main road to the east, and you'll find yourself there."

"No worries, my good man," the durgu greeted the man cheerfully. "We're looking for the Mute Swan - this is the right place, no?"

The gatekeeper forced a smile. "I'm afraid we don't have any rooms-"

But he paused as S̆ams̆ādur dipped a hand into his pouch and flashed a handful of gold.

"I'm sorry, sir," he started, more politely, "But we really are out of rooms."

"I was afraid of that," S̆ams̆ādur bobbed his head understandingly. "The guards at the gate warned me that the bloody Djinn had taken most of the rooms in the city."

"They're booked till they leave," the man confirmed. "If you're looking for something a little nicer, I've heard the inn at S̆ams̆a's temple has a few vacancies now."

"Thanks for the tip, we'll check them out," the durgu agreed. "But…" he pretended to hesitate. "I was hoping to sample some of Chef Tabhat's food. Dreaming of her puff pastries was the only thing keeping me going as we crossed the Abulmaḫḫu," he chuckled.

The maître d' perked up. "You've been here before?"

"Just the once, but ah," S̆ams̆ādur smacked his lips. "I never forgot it."

"Well," the man hesitated for only a moment. "We don't normally admit guests unless they're staying at the inn or a member of our club but if you've been here before…" His hand stretched out subtly and S̆ams̆ādur understood the hint. They shook hands, exchanging the gold the durgu had flashed, and the gate swung open. "Take a seat in the gardens," he told them, "and I'll send one of our maids right over."

"I thought you'd never been here," Erin remarked, as soon as they were out of earshot.

"I haven't," the durgu replied.

"Then how did you know about the chef? Surely Ardûl's notes weren't that detailed."

"Forgetting something?" S̆ams̆ādur tapped his forehead with a smug smile. "The man was practically drooling at the thought of ordering a pastry once his shift was over. Hopefully, they're as good as he thinks."

Erin frowned, suddenly wondering exactly how much S̆ams̆ādur knew about him - and the durgu's low chuckle was anything but reassuring. Still, there was nothing he could do but follow the prince through the terraced patio as they searched for the satyrs who were supposed to be staying there. There was no sign of them in the gardens facing Abāya's bustling marketplace, but as they rounded the corner of the tavern, they found an isolated nook, completely surrounded by tall hedges. Most of the tables there were empty, but one was occupied with a group that was decidedly not human.

Erin tried not to stare as the durgu headed straight toward them, but it was hard not to. Aside from the black horns and the occasional red skin, the Djinn didn't look that dissimilar from humans, but the satyrs sitting around the table were noticeably distinct.

It wasn't just the furry legs and cloven hoofs on their lower half that made them different, nor even the short, spiraled horns that peaked out of their hair. Instead of wearing normal clothes, the satyrs wore long cloaks around their shoulders in shockingly bright colors, cloaks that were only loosely fastened in the front, which led Erin to the startled realization that female satyrs existed.

Sure, the goat half was a bit of a turn off, but boobs were boobs, and Erin's eyes lingered a moment longer than he meant to - until he noticed one of the satyrs staring back at him. A blush spread across his cheeks as he quickly looked away, and S̆ams̆ādur chuckled lowly.

"Don't feel bad, lad - you're hardly the first one caught looking." He stopped at a table a few feet away and, to Erin's surprise, sat down.

"Aren't you going to go over and talk to them?" he whispered.

"Nope. Satyrs are a skittish bunch," the durgu replied. "Pressure them too much and they'll bolt like a rabbit. But, if you give them a little space, their curiosity usually wins out."

He flipped a gold coin in his palm and placed it on the table. "I'll bet you that by the time we've finished our pastry, one of them will have come over, or the coin's yours."

There wasn't anything to lose, so Erin shrugged. "Deal."

They only had to wait a few minutes before one of the tavern maids made her way over to their table with a tray piled high with an assortment of goods. "Ibrîl made sure to include those pastries you wanted," she said as she unloaded the dishes. "Let me know if there's anything else you'd like."

Erin's mouth watered as the smell hit him. The food at the tavern they'd been staying at wasn't bad, but this was another level. He dug in eagerly as succulent roast beef, fresh-baked bread, aged cheese, wine, and an enormous puff pastry nearly as large as his head and topped with fresh strawberries were placed in front of him.

He'd only taken a few bites, though, when a shadow loomed over their table and glancing up, he saw the female satyr he'd stared at standing beside him.

"Told you," S̆ams̆ādur smiled smugly.

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