"It is the Pasha's orders." Markus declared, face once again wrapped within the strange Arabyan helm. 

The two guards, less armed and less large than the elite men outside, glanced at one another. Despite being of a lesser variant in height, they clearly were (to your average man) dangerous by the way they held themselves. The two eyed the Princess that stood before them, the lithe woman attempting to appear both subservient yet brusque in manner, at least as far as she could. She had spoken to Markus only briefly; too soon to gauge on whether he was a threat. She had to admit if he wanted her dead he could have done it far earlier, and likely to greater benefit unless there were strange circumstances about. 

"Hurry and move, slave." She snapped at them, drawing both ire and confusion from how she spoke. "My love had ordered me to come and see him. Yes, I know of the foreign whore, but I still do as he bids, as you do. Hurry or your lives will be forfeit!" 

He knew she was a native to the land, but Markus wished he sounded as fluent as she did. He saw their will collapsing, breathing easier once he realized they were about to let them in. Until they heard a muffled yelp and a frustrated cry through the oak and brass door, and not that of a woman. Markus couldn't help but smile at that. Only Emmaline could make a man sound like that, which meant she was still alive! 

The moment passed and the two guards turned, Markus grabbing the Princess's forearm so she didn't do anything rash. He watched as the left mamluk fumbled for the leather thong around his neck where the doorkey lay. Hastily the guards went to opening the door, pushing against the heavy material and swinging it in to reveal the situation in the room. A fit, dark man wielding a sword searched high and low for something no one could guess whilst a naked Emmaline was bound and strapped across the room, a long cut and a few bruises on her fair skin. The Princess gasped, but Markus elbowed past her and ran the first guard through whilst his back was turned, his backsword blade erupting out of the man's chest. He didn't hesitate, yanking it out and slashing the next guard across the face as he turned, sending him screaming onto the floor of the room. 

Markus pulled the Princess along, telling her to close the door behind them in harsh Arabyan as he saw Mavikim finally noticing them, a wicked gleam in his eye. 

"Jahazra?" He asked incredulously, blinking. He seemed almost too amused to be mad, but there was indeed a simmering rage beneath his visage. "You dare betray me? Is this your pathetic attempt at a coup?" The pasha held his sword in the practiced stance of a dervish, glaring at the Princess in a way that promised a slow and painful death. She shrank back behind Markus, who remained unmoved save for the quick downward thrust that ended the door guard's life. 

"No, it's mine." Markus said in Reikspiel, pulling down the scarf to reveal his suntanned but clearly unArabyan face. He gave Emmaline a wink, and despite her injuries she seemed ecstatic at his sudden arrival. The look on Mavikim's face was priceless, though it was nothing compared to the look he gained when an asp slithered along the floor just before Markus's feet, an old brass lamp in the coils of its tail. Both swordsman glanced down, and then at one another. 

"Jahazra," The Captain told the woman, eyes never leaving the dark man that approached. "Free my lover while I kill the pasha." 

That was what set the scene in motion. Mavikim suddenly leaped with impressive grace just as Markus bent down to scoop up the oil lamp with his offhand. Mavikim thought to halt the move, but Markus merely rolled out of the way, Mavikim's scimitar slamming into the smooth floor with a 'clang!' The Captain rose up from a new position and grinned, raising his backsword up in a block from Mavikim's next attack that sent sparks flying.