The ride back to the castle was grim. While Jasper knew it wasn't exactly his fault the villagers had been taken, it was hard not to feel guilty about their fate. Sure, he hadn't even considered the possibility that the blood mage would round up the villagers as sacrifices, but he should have - and now the villagers would die for his lack of foresight.

Worse, though, was the decision not to chase after them. If this were a movie, now would be the time where the hero would flip a middle finger to fate and ride off to save his people, common sense be damned. It was what Jasper wanted to do, but this wasn't a story. He'd already doubted they had any chance of destroying the stoneflesh camp without reinforcements before the blood mage had shown up. Now? He wasn't sure they could win even if they emptied the castle of its entire garrison.

Leaving the protection of the castle's walls would be folly, a foolishness that would result in the deaths of not just the villagers of Agur-Alamittu but the garrison and villagers of Dūr-Sūqerbettû, possibly even the citizens of Abāya, if the mage succeeded in opening his portal. Despite the guilt weighing on his heart, Jasper knew they couldn't afford to chase after the missing villagers, but just because it was the right decision didn't mean it didn't suck.

"We need to warn the other villages." It wasn't until Dūr-Sūqerbettû was in sight that Ihra finally spoke.

It was a plan he'd considered as well. Though the valley the castle guarded was sparsely populated, Agur-Alamittu wasn't the only village outside its walls. A handful of others were scattered on both sides of the pass, and Jasper knew they couldn't leave them to the Bloodspiller's depredations. "We'll send patrols to gather them as soon as we get back," he agreed. "Although that may be exactly what he wants."

"Why would he want that?"

"Because we're gathering a whole lot of potential sacrifices into one place," he replied grimly. "It's like we're turning the castle into a goddamned buffet."

The next two days were a hive of activity. After returning to the castle with news of the villagers' fate, it hadn't taken much convincing for patrols to be dispatched to the remaining villages. Jasper and Tsia had accompanied the patrols, ferrying the peasants back to the castle walls while Nissilat and Ihra stayed behind to prepare a place for them.

One positive, at least, of their trip was Uzzîl's return. While Jasper's healing spell had been insufficient to awaken him from his coma, Selene's priest was able to rouse him from his dreams. When the man had freed himself from his daughter's teary grasp, he had reclaimed control of the castle, healing the split that had occurred between Damqa and Tōrîl's followers.

In short order, the mostly abandoned castle was transformed. Dozens of abandoned homes were repopulated as the villagers took shelter behind the walls, while Tōrîl and Nissilât did their best to train the village militias in the basic commands of the army.

The uneasy peace was shattered on the third day, though, when a banner appeared in the distance.

"Jasper!" Jasper snapped out of his slumber in an instant and rolled off his cot with practiced grace.

"Are they here?" he grunted, as he slung his bag over his head and snatched up the glaive. The weapon's shaft glimmered as he activated the glyphs, but not as brightly as before, and he cursed. Damn it - of all the times for the glyphs to run low. His aunt had warned him that they would need to be recharged from time to time, but he doubted there was anyone in the castle who could manage it. Just have to hope it holds.

"They're here," Ihra confirmed solemnly, "and they brought the villagers with them."

"Crap."

Uzzîl and Tōrîl were already standing on the tower above the gate by the time they reached the wall, and the commander greeted them with a sharp nod. "Their numbers are larger than we expected," he commented. "Fifty, maybe a hundred more than we knew."

He frowned at the news; while their own numbers had been supplemented by men from the villages' militias, they were mostly just poorly trained farmers with hunting bows, mere chaff against a well-leveled combatant. "Ihra said he brought the villagers with him, too?"

"Aye," the man growled, "Though there's more prisoners than there should be as well; perhaps a caravan that ran afoul of them."

They lapsed into an uneasy silence as the stoneflesh forces approached the walls, their progress slowed by the prisoners herded in front of them.

In theory, the force in front of them should have had no hope of taking the castle. Traditional tactics would dictate that a besieging force needed 3:1 odds to have a decent chance of winning, and the stoneflesh gathered below them numbered less than half of the garrison's strength, even less if the militia were counted. But the calculus was different in a world like this; levels and the strength they brought with them mattered more than mere numbers, and that was without taking into account the potions the stoneflesh used.

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Do we even have a chance? His gloomy thoughts were interrupted as the stoneflesh troops reached the shadow of the castle walls, stopping just outside arrow range. The two groups stared in silence at each other until a man emerged from their ranks, bearing aloft a white flag.

Jasper recognized him as he neared the gate. He wore the same fancy robes, the same smug smile, the same cruel glint in his eyes that had shone when his bloody tendrils burrowed into Jasper's flesh. "That's the blood mage," he warned Uzzîl quietly.

The muscles in the man's cheek twitched as he stared down at the man, and his hand tightened around his bow. "It would be so easy to put an arrow in him from this distance…so easy, and yet…"

…breaking the rules of truce is a bad precedent to set. "If it helps," Jasper offered, "I doubt the arrow would be of much use against him."

"It doesn't," Uzzîl grunted, but he released his grip on his bow. Placing his hands on the parapets, the man leaned over the edge. "Speak your piece, before we shoot that rag out of your hands."

The blood mage ignored him, walking another fifty feet until he was just below the parapet before responding. "I've come to offer you a chance to surrender," the man replied smugly. "You know you don't have the troops to hold us off, so do yourself a favor and open the gates. The civilians will be allowed to leave the castle unharmed, and your men will be held until a ransom can be arranged. There's no reason for anyone to die."

The commander snorted. "Even if I were willing to be hung for dereliction of duty, do you really think I don't know who you are, Bloodspiller?" The man's voice boomed out. "You must take me for a fool."

The mage's smile broadened. "And how, pray tell, do you know who I am? Could it be a little birdie whispered in your ear?" He raised his hand, his fingers contorting in an odd motion, and someone stepped out of the stoneflesh's ranks.

Though the woman looked unharmed, there was something odd about her gait as she moved to stand beside the mage, and when she lifted her head, finally allowing him to see her face, Jasper understood why. Bloody tendrils dangled from the holes that had once been her eyes, wriggling slightly despite the windless day.

"I imagine your meeting with my predecessor may have given you cause for hope," the man continued, "But as you can see, that agreement is null and void. So I'll ask you again - open the gates, and I'll let the civilians live. Don't open them and, well," he gestured to the huddled prisoners behind them, "I will execute them before your eyes and, then, when I take the castle, I will kill you all. I wonder, Commander, how many limbs I can remove from your daughter before she dies? It's amazing what a surgeon can do when they can ensure their patient won't die from blood loss."

"You fiend," Uzzîl spat. "Do you think the Empire will let you live?"

"I think the Empire has been doing a rather good job of that, actually," the mage drawled. "But enough chit-chat, surrender while you still have a chance."

"I am no fool," Uzzîl thundered. "Faithless, oathbreaker, bloodspiller. These gates shall not open as long as I draw breath."

Ēpis̆dāma's lips twisted in a wry smile. "For a change, it seems my reputation works against me. Very well, I like a challenge - and for my first challenge, let me show you, commander, that I am not always faithless."

He dropped the white flag, digging into the dirt beneath his heel, as he shot them a cocky smile, as if daring them to shoot him. Someone took the bait, but before the arrow could even get close, a long, bloody tendril erupted from his arm and smacked it out of the air. "Watch closely, commander," he called out, "and remember, this is your doing."

"What is he doing?" Uzzîl growled, his hands pale as he gripped the parapets, but Jasper had a sick feeling he already knew.

His fears were confirmed as the mage and the Ammatu returned to the stoneflesh ranks, and with a few barked orders, a group of the bandits peeled off and began digging a shallow depression just outside of arrow range.

It took an hour before the mage was satisfied, an hour for his anxiety and disgust to run rampant. Then the sacrifices began. One by one, the villagers were led into the earthen hollow, where the puppeted Ammatu slit their throats and drained them of their blood.

He wanted to cry, to vomit, to throw himself over the walls in a frenzied attempt to free them, but Jasper knew it would be pointless. Their group had struggled to fight twenty stoneflesh at a time - what hope did they have against three hundred?

So he channeled the disgust and fear into anger, forcing himself to watch as even the children were killed, vowing that there would be a recompense.

But the sacrifice was only the start of the blood mage's horror. When the last of the villagers had been bled out, the Bloodspiller waded into the hollow and began to chant. The blood glowed as he sang, swirling around him faster and faster, until a tornado of blood enveloped him completely, hiding him from sight.

For a minute, it swirled in place and then, in a great flash of light, it vanished.

That's…all? There had to be more to the ritual than simply summoning a tornado of blood, but for the life of him, Jasper couldn't figure out its purpose. Was it all just some sick, psychological torture?

And then the cries erupted from the far side of the castle. Shadowy wings sprouted from his back as he threw himself off the walls and darted to the far gate - and there he saw the blood tornado had returned.

As he watched, its rotation slowed, and its shape began to morph as a hollow formed in its center. He's opening a portal, he realized in horror.

"I know, I know," Jasper started as the mage emerged out of the vortex of blood, "you were expecting me to wait until I could sacrifice all of you, but there's nothing wrong with a little light appetizer," Episdama smirked. "Don't worry, the real deal is still coming - but in the meantime," his speech was interrupted by a hideous screech that drove all the men on the wall to their knees, ears clapped over their hands. "Let's see how you deal with my master's pet."

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