Ardûl had taken his warning seriously, promptly sending for the lord of Abaya while the prince described everything he'd gleaned from the minds of the stoneflesh messengers. Granted, his limitations in mind-reading had prevented him from pinning down every detail of their plan, but he'd seen enough to be concerned.

Ēpis̆dāma. A castle soaked in blood. A portal in the backyard of the Empire. It didn't take a genius to put the pieces of their plan together, just someone who'd paid minimal attention to the outbreaks in the earlier years of Eligon's rule.

Unfortunately, the lord of Abāya hadn't seen it that way when he arrived. "How do we know you haven't made the whole thing up?" the Corsyth leader demanded bluntly.

"Even if we divert our troops to Dūr-Sūqerbettû, it will only delay the start of the emperor's campaign by a few months," Ardul intervened.

"And a few months is enough time for reinforcements to arrive at the capital," the lord snapped. "Is that your plan, durgu? To sabotage our campaign until your father can attack?"

"My father tried to kill me," he shouted back. "Not once, not twice, but three bloody times, and Selene knows, he'll try again. Why even ask me to help if you aren't going to believe me?"

The man rose from his chair, and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the table hard enough to crack it. "I wouldn't have asked you - that was the Djinn's idea - but even I wasn't expecting you to return with a claim this ridiculous."

"What's ridiculous-"

"Ēpis̆dāma is dead," the man hissed. "I watched him die myself."

The room fell silent at that. While S̆ams̆ādur was vaguely familiar with the blood mage, he hadn't known the man was supposedly dead nor, he suspected had the Djinn, holed up as he was in their sheltered province.

After a beat, he found his voice. "I can only tell you what I heard. The stoneflesh thought of Ēpis̆dāma. If he is truly dead, then perhaps it was not him they were thinking of, but someone who could perform the same magic - an apprentice, mayhaps."

"What a see-through attempt to hide your lies," Bahrê sneered. "I should have you thrown into irons for-"

"Does the Empire have his body," the Moon-kissed commander interrupted him.

"What?" the man blinked.

"Does the Empire have his body?" Ardûl repeated himself impatiently.

"No, the mage fell in the siege of Kār-Ḫabburu. Lord Eligon himself beheaded him, but we were forced to retreat when the stoneflesh set the city ablaze. There was little left of the town but ashes by the time the fire died out."

"If there is no body, then you cannot be certain he's dead," Ardûl replied calmly.

"He was dead-" Bahrê insisted, but S̆ams̆ādur understood immediately what the Djinn was hinting at. He let the commander continue speaking, though, knowing that anything he said would only poison the well.

"No one's disputing that he died, but death is not always permanent," the Djinn pushed back.

"As if those dogs could resurrect," Bahrê scoffed. "It's their one good trait - when you kill them, they stay dead."

"Most of them don't have any magic," the Djinn swiftly countered. "But Ēpis̆dāma was obviously different. Is it so far-fetched to consider the possibility that his god returned him?"

For the first time in the conversation, a flicker of doubt passed across the man's face. "I suppose…it's not impossible," he admitted through gritted teeth, "but the Bloodspiller has not been seen in years. If he had truly returned, why would the stoneflesh wait so long to use him? They've been losing ground for the last decade."

"No, I think you're ignoring the far likelier option. The durgu lied to us, too isolated in the north to have heard of the mage's death," he spat. "Only a fool would trust the word of a durgu, least of all the dwarven mindworm."

S̆ams̆ādur's chair crumbled as he bolted to his feet. "I am not a kruvas̆-cursed mindworm," he seethed. "I have willingly turned down those abilities time and time again. For you to accuse me-"

"How are we supposed to trust you?" Bahrê roared over him. "A durgu and a mindworm both."

"Shut up, Bahre." The two jumped as Ardûl slapped against the table with a sound like a thunderclap. "And you too, dwarf - you're only making things worse."

S̆ams̆ādur tried to sit down, only realizing at the last second that he'd destroyed his seat.

"You're paying me for that," the Corysth lord muttered.

"Enough." Ardûl roared again. "I understand your reticence in trusting the durgu, Bahrê, really I do, but I had him thoroughly checked out. There is nothing to suggest that he is a true mindworm."

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"That still doesn't mean he isn't working with his father," Bahre shot back, not willing to fly the white flag yet.

"No, it doesn't," the Djinn admitted. "But neither is there anything to suggest that he is. You know," he turned to S̆ams̆ādur. "I met your father on a trading mission long before I joined Lord S̆ars̆adû's service. You look nothing like him."

"I see you've heard the rumors then," he muttered sullenly.

"They're easy to believe," Ardûl shrugged. "And despite what some seem to think," he shot the Corsyth lord a dark glance, "the men of Mūt-Lā'is do not accept fake contracts. They are assassins, not actors, so I do not doubt the rift between you and your father is genuine."

If I can even call him that anymore, he thought bitterly.

"I still don't trust him."

"Enough to risk allowing a portal to spawn only a few days' ride from your city, Lord Bahrê?"

The noble hesitated and finally met the prince's eyes. "You swear, durgu, swear by S̆ams̆a's light, that the stoneflesh were thinking of the Bloodspiller."

"Aye, they certainly believed Ēpis̆dāma was coming."

"The man is dead - dead," Bahre shook his head emphatically, "but…it is possible he had an apprentice," he finally admitted. "You mean to divert your troops then?"

With the tension around the table finally easing, Ardûl slouched in his chair and drummed his fingers against the table. "It all depends on how far along they are in their plans. Yas̆peh will need reinforcements for certain, but as long as they can prevent the portal from opening, there is no reason to send the whole army. You were right," he admitted begrudgingly, "that delaying the campaign too long could give the stoneflesh the time they need to gather reinforcements."

"I'll go. I have about three hundred durgū following me. It's enough to reinforce the fort, at least."

"Not necessarily," the Djinn frowned. "By all accounts, the Bloodspiller earned his name honestly. How many died at Kār-Ḫabburu?" He directed the question to the Corsyth.

"Ēpis̆dāma is dead," Bahrê insisted, but he wilted at the commander's scowl. "Seven or eight thousand soldiers, thrice that for the city. But twas not all the Bloodspiller's doing. He had a thousand troops with him and an entire bloody portal of monstrosities."

"We'll split our forces," Ardûl decided reluctantly. "Speed seems more important than numbers, so I'll send what cavalry I can spare. As long as we stop the portal from opening, the mage should be manageable."

Jasper broke the seal on the letter carefully, but it was a struggle to open the wet pages without tearing them. Eventually, though, he'd gotten it spread out on a flat rock beside the fire.

The ink had run, leaving the message nearly incomprehensible, but with some effort, Jasper managed to decipher a few sentences.

…..I know we are enemies but….to propose a pact….I fear the deaths of all…..Lord Ēpis̆dāma's plan…. The second paragraph was nearly destroyed, leaving only the very last phrase of the letter intact, along with a signature. …speak to Damqa. - Ammatu Alikah marat-S̆orēlû.

"Well, I was right about one thing, at least. The Ammatu was the one who gave it to me. She must have been the woman who tackled me," he sighed, rubbing his chin. At the time, he'd thought it was just a bit of good luck that the woman's attempt to hold him down had broken the paralysis effect on him and let him escape, but the letter made it clear that was not the case. She saved my ass, he admitted ruefully. I suppose I at least owe it to her to hear her out.

It was unfortunate that most of the letter had been destroyed, but at least they had a place to start. Speak to Damqa. "I guess we're heading back to the castle."

It was too dark for them to navigate the dense forest and sunken glades, so they turned in for the night. He slept fitfully, haunted by nightmares of the mage's bloody tendrils. They returned tenfold, their sharp prongs burrowing into his body like maggots, spreading through every limb until he was turned into a living puppet, unable to do anything but watch in horror as the mage made him turn on his friends, as he squeezed the life out of Ihra's eyes

He awoke with a gasp, pawing at his body frantically, as sweat dripped off his forehead.

"You still want to pretend you're okay?"

He froze, not having realized Ihra was awake. "I'm fine," the well-practiced lie slipped off his tongue almost robotically. He flinched as her hand grabbed his jaw and gently forced him to look at her.

"No, you're not. What happened?" With their faces only inches apart, his ability to lie collapsed.

"The stoneflesh have a blood mage." The confession was almost physically painful as he continued. "And he caught me. I couldn't move, I couldn't do anything as he invaded my body. If the Ammatu hadn't intervened…I might not have escaped."

"You would have found a way." The simple faith in her words surprised him, and he swallowed thickly, suddenly at a loss for words as he stared into her eyes. At least, that is, until she released his chin and flicked him on the head. "But if you do something so stupid again-"

The strange tension between them dissipated immediately. "It really was just bad luck," he protested. "I should sue the contractors who built the damned roof."

She rolled her eyes. "You know I don't know what that means."

"That's okay," he grinned back at her. "Maybe one of these days, I'll take you back home. Then you'll get to be the one who makes references no one understands."

"You better take me with you," she threatened teasingly. She moved over to the fire, stoking the dying embers back to life before she looked up. "Do you…want to go back to Earth?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yes and no," he shrugged. "Despite the dead gods, Atrometos, blood mages, and other horrors of this world," he suppressed a shudder, "I don't think I want to go back permanently. I can't imagine returning to my mundane life before. But there are things I miss about it, I suppose." He rose from his sleeping bag and crouched down beside her.

"Like, I'd kill for a hamburger, a bucket of french fries, and an ice-cold coke. Or pizza. Or ice cream. And let me tell you, as cool as it is being able to fly on your own power, an airplane would be an absolute godsend. We could have crossed those damn mountains in a day, instead of a coule weeks. But most of what I miss are just…conveniences, I guess. They're not things that make life worth living."

"What about your sister?"

Jasper stilled, searching for an answer. "I need to see her again, Ihra. You don't know what it's like-"

"I lost people too - my brother, my parents," she reminded him.

"Right, sorry," he replied hastily, feeling bad for having forgotten. "While then I assume you understand. I have a second chance - I've got to take it if it's offered to me. But I mean what I said. If I go, I'd like you to come with me. We're like family."

"Family." She wrinkled her nose at the word and seemed about to say something else when Tsia yawned dramatically.

"Is it morning already?"

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