It was all strangely but inexorably erotic, her little display. She was the naked one and he still felt embarrassed for the very noticeable stirring below the belt, which yet again led him to wonder what was wrong with him. She had parted his soul from his body and now he could make dopplergangers and he was focused on her presentation of this very eldritch power. Once he was back in the room with the sorceress, he got ahold of himself and took a look at the bowl.

Lifting the shard she had indicated, he gripped it and closed his eyes, trying to think of anything else but another five Calliopes. Instead, something bright and shiny shimmered before him. At a focused look, it was a pile of treasure, but it faded out of the room like a mirage on the desert sands.

"Not like that, little thief." She snickered, pulling on trousers and rummaging through the closet, casting glances his way with her enchantingly dark eyes. They made him forget the 'little' comment, which he took offense to because he was about half again her weight and nearly a head taller. "You can duplicate things nearer to your bulk, but you'll stretch your soul out if you try and create a mountain. There are limits to the spell."

Neil gripped his chest at the mention of 'stretching his soul' like it was a worn shoe. "Well you might have told me that before." Neil deadpanned, but went at it again. He concentrated like he was trying to pick a lock, and slowly a figure shimmered into existence. He could feel it come alive, even though it wasn't technically alive...right? He knew enough about magic to theorize this wasn't regular illusion magic, and yet it served the same purpose. He guessed it didn't matter, he would leave what it was to the philosophers or the resident witch he had taken up with.

A second Neil stood in front of him, like a mirror. But it scratched its...his head when his arms were not performing the same task. Wow, he was hot though. By this point, Calliope was donning a black fur coat. She looked in the mirror and fixed her hair, before her reflection caught his gaze.

"Go, we're running out of nighttime! Just duplicate yourself, and take that robe there. It looks scraggly enough."

"Are you going to tell me what exactly-" One of the Neil's said, and she cut him off.

"Climb the walls, make it out to the front of the gate, and..."

After she explained the plan, Neil felt it was a simple but devious one, which were his favorites. He simply needed to make sure he wasn't pin-cushioned with crossbow bolts. It wouldn't do to get himself killed trying to win her favor, at least to himself. How far she cared about him was hard to gauge, though the sensual display earlier showed the woman had some interest. He gave her a dramatic bow, and skulked away like he had a limp and a hump in his back.

"Yesss mistresss..." He rasped in a scraggly voice of a low mutant. The other Neil made a beat with his mouth, humming gothic tunes as the first one dragged himself out of the door.

Once they were in the hall, the two Neil's looked at one another for a second, and then agreed to move to the north hall for a quick exit.

"Think this'll work?" Neil 1 asked Neil 2.

"Even if it doesn't, it'll be fun."

"Or deadly."

"Then again, that's part of the fun." Neil 2 reminded him as they walked to the window. "Still, I feel like we're owed a dinner and at least first base after this."

"We? You're going back in my soul when this is done."

Calliope felt a rush of lust as Neil departed. Her finger tips tingled and she felt an uncomfortable throb. It was always a risk to let her subconcious run free. Such lapses tended to end badly, stripped of her intellect her inner self tended to respond to base impulses which tended in one of two directions. She let out a sigh and tried to get her head on straight. Letting her innerself con the ship was likely to lead to a bloodbath or a... well a different scenario. She sat down and began brushing her hair, using an old techinque to bring herself into equilibrium, each of a hundred strokes to bring her mind to equilibrium.

She dressed herself carefully, adjusting the black fur cloak around herself. It would have been better to wear white she thought, but she just couldn't pull that off with her midnight black hair. Trying to appear pure always made her lookd fake something she couldn't afford at the current moment. The temptation to use her magic was strong. The spell she had worked with Neil had been powered by him, an enforced distance between his soul and his body. She imagined the watchers downstairs afraid she was a necromancer, then imagined the look of shock on thier faces as her magic began to rip them appart. She forced that thought down as well. The spellburn was fading but it would be days before she was up to her full potential. The battle at the party had stretched her well beyond her limits, she could feel that strength growing inside her. Maybe if she just looked at the book she could... No. She couldn't afford the temptation right now. Her hands strayed to the chalice and she lifted it up. She was looking forward to seeing what kind of show Neil and his shards of glass put on. Somehow she was prepared to be impressed.

Dobrogost trudged across the wall, booted feet crunching the snow underneath. His cheeks were frigid, standard issue protection was an open faced helm with a simple nose guard, and his mouth needed to be uncovered so they could shout to one another over the blowing wind. It was a cold night, this night. Something was in the air other than the snow, but he could not begin to guess it. Vaguely, he could see the flickering flame of a torch a few paces ahead of him, desperately trying to stay alive as the snow fell.

He passed by Pyotr, a soldier that had enlisted around the time Dobrogost had entered the watch. They gave the salute and a "Sve chisto" to indicate they had seen nothing of note, and the two continued on their way across the wall. Another twenty minutes and Dobrogost could enter a guardhouse and warm his hands by a fire. Snow flecked his brown beard and his lips cracked painfully. Hopefully they had some hot cafea to sooth himself. Another month and they would be in what Banian's considered spring.

"Vino aici! Aici!"

"Idi syuda! Nuragk!"

Dobrogost turned, and squinted as he gazed into the night. At first he saw nothing in the gloom, but moments later, fellow watchmen ran into his sight like aberrations. They sprinted, carrying leaf-bladed spears and hustling past him. A solder he recognized as Oleg, one of the men about ten years his senior, ushered him to follow.

"What is happening?" He asked in their mother tongue.

"The dead," Oleg stated grimly, giving Dobrogost a mere glance before he marched to join the others. Dobrogost followed, grabbing at the arming sword he had at his hip, taking three yanks to pull it out. The frost had made the blade stick. It's why he preferred the axe, but they had insisted on swords. He had even gotten a hand-me-down straight blade rather than the sabers the veterans used. Eight years under the Boyar and he still felt like a newcomer.

He followed the others, hard men all. They had congregated at the archway above gate, and when Dobrogost pressed through to see what they were gazing at, he gasped.

A cloaked man stood there, his robe untouched by the flowing wind around him. Behind were figures. Multitudes of dark figures, lankily swaying and moaning like the dreaded dead of the recent scourges past the mountain passes. But those he could handle. It was the herald itself that gave him pause. The cloaked man did not speak himself. No, rather he held a spear, and upon it was the head of a young man. A decapitated head, blood dribbling down its open neck.

The head began to speak.

"You have in your quaint little town a woman. A woman in black, though I know she was brought into town naked as the day she was born. She had hair as dark as her soul and eyes that could cut through your heart. You must go and fetch her, and give her to me!" The head cried, and cackled at some hidden joke only it could comprehend. "Bring her, or suffer this town to burn in the flames of the hells from whence I came! Go forth now, for I lack the patience of my great master."

The men almost tripped over themselves to go and fetch what was likely a half a dozen women, though a few that had been on the roster earlier that day knew just who the bodiless head meant. A supposed boyina who was also a suspected witch. Luckily, the woman herself had done the talking at the gate that day. They did not recognize her beau's voice, even if it was dramatically shrill and muffled by the rough weather.

Neil waved his head around like a standard. He was having fun with it.

When the Boyar's men broke in Calliope was kneeling before the bed in an attitude of pious prayer, hands clasped. She was arrayed neatly, dressed in black, the black bearskin drapped over her shoulders. In many cultures that would have been an ominous omen, but here the bear was a symbol of strength and right. If she had white silks to wear, Calliope would have worn them, appearing pure and virginal would have been her first choice, but dark and mysteious would have to do.

"Woman, you will come with us," one of the guards growled. Calliope stood gracefully and walked passed the guards, evading a half hearted attempt to grab her. She strode through the hallway, the guards falling into what might have been escort or might have been pursuit behind her. So long as she was moving in the direction they wanted, they wouldn't try to interfere. In the courtyard before the inn the Boyar himself stood, resplendent in silver mail and a white lion pelt around his shoulders. His steed, a great white charger, steamed and stamped in the snow. His guard, dressed in similar style, though less ostentatious, were astride thier mounts behind him. Short cavalry bows slung across pommels and pennoned spears snapping in the frosty air.

"You are the woman Dragoslava," the Boyar stated without question. Callipe bowed her head in aquiesence a moment before the two flusterd guards crunched onto the fresh fallen snow.

"There is a devil beyond the wall, calling for you. Why is this?" he demanded.

"I do not know, why any devil might want me," Calliope said, almost stumbling and using 'him' which might have given the game away. "I am a simple pilgrim, making my way through the world." The Boyar gave her a skeptical look but didn't contradict the statement.

"Do not trust her lord, she is an outlander and..." one of the guards cautioned but the Boyar held up his hand.

"Enough Ivan, get off your horse and help the lady mount," he sneered. The guard stiffend at the snickers of his fellows at such punishment for speaking out of turn. Reluctantly he swung down out of his saddle and made a stirrup of his hands. Calliope stepped into it and sprang up into the saddle before the red faced guard could make any mischief. All around them men were streaming to the walls, mostly half drunken laborers with billhooks, clubs and other improvised weapons. They cleared the main street for the Boyar and his party as they rode towards the gate where men were busily dragging wagons across the door to reinforce the vulnerable point. Torches were blazing all along the wall, filling the air with an ugly red illumination and the constant hissing of dissolving snowflakes. Calliope badly wished she could afford a little magic to keep herself warm, but she was going to need all she could muster for the next bit.

The Boyar dismounted and his men did also. Calliope followed their example without being told. They climbed the staircase to the wall. Calliope had to resist the urge to cheer with delight. Neil's illusion was so convincing that if she hadn't known otherwise she would have sworn it was real. It wasn't so much in what she could see as what was suggested. The rattle of bones, the faint witchlights in eyesockets, even the gentle moan of the damned souls.

"Send her too me or you will be destroyed!" a dread laden voice roared from the darkness.

"How do we know you will keep your word?" the Boyar called back. A malicious chuckle came from the hodded figure.

"The only assurance I offer is that my legion will slaughter you all if you don't," the NeilThing called. She almost felt sorry for the Boyar. He was at his core a nobel man, but he knew that he was holding the lives of his men against hers, an unknown stranger of uncertain allegiences. For a moment Calliope thought he was going to stand on priciple and refuse.

"The Goddess will not abandon me," she intoned loudly enough for all to hear. That seemed to make up the Boyar's mind.

"Let her down," he called, guesturing to a rope. Swords were drawn but Calliope didn't show any hesitation to climb down the rope to the snow infront of the wall.

"Good," the NeilThing crowed then faltered as Callipe drew the chalice from her pouch. She lifted it slowly above her head, the moonlight glinting off its exquisite craftsmanship.

"Kill them all!" Neil shouted, the slightest hint of panic coming to his voice. Calliope carefully scratched her hand with the shard of glass in her pouch. The undead horde was charging forward, gaining clarity as they came closer to the light. She drew in the tiniest bit of magic and channeled it into the challice. It began to glow with a golden light that spread infront of her in a wide golden arc.

"The Goddess Protect Me," she called, brandishing the glowing cup.

"The Goddess Strengthen me," she continued.

"The Goddess Preserve us all!"

Light exploded from every creature simultaneously, the merest flicker of magical illusion channeled through the mirror shards a thousand fold. Neil, in a feat of imagination so epic that even Calliope was impressed, rendered his skeletons stumbling and grasping forwards as their bones disarticulated. He even managed to make the bones burn away as he did so. Neil himself let out a shriek and then vanished in a burst of golden light that coloured for a moment with infernal red so bright that it blinded any eyes on the wall. Blinded them long enough for him to make his escape. Calliope injected the slightest hint of a heavenly chorous behind the roar of flames and it was nearly too much. She hardly had to feign falling to her knees, and her collapse into the snow was quite real.

The next morning...

Neil had only caught glimpses of what Calliope had been dealing with. A few serfs in awe here, a military escort there. He knew the local priest had checked her for 'purity' and by whatever standards he held, she had passed. He didn't know the custom or the abilities the Banian priest held. He had chanted before her and thrown some sort of spices in the air, and Neil had to admit he felt a tingle in the on his skin from the religious rites. However, the rapscallion was certain if the woman been examined by an adept of the Mythrim Tethir or a priest of the Trinity, Neil was certain they would be running for their lives about now. Maybe all the people of this land really cared about or were trained to see were magics of a necromantic or lynathropic kind. He didn't think it was good to guess, and he was pretty relieved they hadn't checked him for such things. He wasn't undead as far as he was aware, but he was something out of the norm.

The Boyar had moved Calliope and Neil to his estate before sunrise, giving them a small wing in his humble, frontier manor. It wasn't as large as a moderately wealthy merchant's home in Kalx Molaris, but it was a farcry better than the two small rooms they had at the Gilded Bear. The Boyar had smiled when he saw Neil, who was more concerned with Calliope's state of unconsciousness than anything.

"You are the Gresni who bloodied a few of the men when they tried to hustle the Sybil out." He said, Neil parting some of Calliope's hair out of her face. She was still breathing luckily. "I should reward you as well. You must have a magic cock too. She is still gifted by the Gods after you two have made the beast of two humps."

"Uh, thank you." Neil told him. "New clothes would work, and some food."

"All of that and more, my new friend. You are from Sebrovna, yes?" The Boyar asked. He had a large, dull beard contrasted by bright, intelligent eyes. He was swathed in a red cloak that was likely made of cotton that was extremely rare for this side of the world.

"She is."

"It is sad to hear what happened to the town. But favor shined on us, bringing you both here."

An hour or two later, Neil had eaten and had been gifted new, purple and black clothing. The vest showed more than he would have thought of his upper chest, but the furs draped over his shoulders helped keep him warm. After the aforementioned visitors of soldiers and peasants, he was finally allowed to see the 'glorious boyina' in all of her favored glory. Calliope sat on a chair, like a thone in Neil's eyes, at the center of a room in their new wing. She was covered in mink furs and the same black clothing she had donned a few hours ago. The chair was cushioned, and her hair had been styled, likely at her request, in a highly twisted low bun akin to the style a baroness would wear receiving guests.

Neil opened the curtain audibly, drawing her attention so she turned and saw him leaning against the wall with an eyebrow cocked and his arms crossed. He wore a deer hide belt that had a script engraving "boytoy" upon its copper buckle in Banian.

"Well your gambit worked. A little dramatic, but I can appreciate that." He quipped, a smile growing on his face despite himself. He's one to be talking, after his own performance. He looked at the empty, fur lined room. It was a meeting chamber, like an office but without a front desk and the chair was raised by a few steps. Talismans hung from the ceilings and the only rooms connected save for the locked door were to lavatories or dressing areas. "So what now? Got something devious or should I wing it wherever we go from here?"

Calliope awoke on the shore of a cool rocky stream. Awoke wasn’t quite the right term, she returned to her senses. The back of her neck prickled with the warm sun and she rolled onto her back to stare up at the cerulean blue of the sky for a long minute, allowing her body to fully rejoin her mind. Once she felt strong she sat up. It was just passed mid-day and a cool wind was blowing out of the low brown hills that stretched off to the north. To the south lay desert, increasingly arid and sandy as one moved away from the foot of the hills and this stream which drained what little moisture collected there. Whirling tempests capered above those hills and Calliope’s exposed skin felt the chapping that her mind didn’t remember. The Ghost Fence of Ibn Kaydos stretched for almost a thousand mile and was fully a hundred miles thick. An ancient spell which cut off the Banian Caucuses from the northern deserts of Al’ardbahja. Esoteric legends said it had been constructed in the earliest days, when some great evil had driven the early tribes from the Caucues where they had once flourished. To cover the retreat of his people Ibn Kaydos and his Four Hundred Acolytes had conjured the Ghost Fence. A vast magical barrier to keep their enemy, whomever or whatever it had been, to the north. Such a working verged on the miraculous and could not have been replicated by the petty and divided mages of this later age. Travel through the Ghost Fence was impossible, within minutes it destroyed the sanity of even the most heavily warded minds, and it made no distinction between the living, dead, or demon.



Calliope had seen the advantage at once, a barrier that the Ivan Deathbeloved and his minions could not cross. The Necromancer had been in hot pursuit of them since he learned of her completely fraudulent status as a holy priestess who could destroy the undead. The undead didn’t move as fast as the living, but they never rested and never tired. Short of reaching the coast, a thousand miles in any direction, this was the only way to out run him. Of course that left the problem of crossing the Ghost Fence themselves. Neil had provided the answer to that problem. If the living couldn’t cross, and the dead couldn’t cross, then what you needed was something in between. She had wrapped both their minds in Neil’s aura and put them in a kind of waking comma, imparting simple instructions to their bodies and to their horses to cross the Ghost Fence. It had been like going to sleep while drunk. Queasy but forgotten. And now they were across, or at least she was. She sat up and looked around for her horse and was relieved to find it clopping halfheartedly at a clump of scrubby grass. Probably the last easy sustenance before a long trek across the desert.



“Neil?” she tried to say only to discover that her mouth was beyond parched from days of travel across the windswept hills, the scarf she had wrapped around her face having fallen off at some point. She stuck her face into the water and drank greedily. The tepid water almost painful against her parched throat and lips.

“Neil?” she called again and then caught sight of movement further down the shallow creek bed. His horse was still walking mechanically forward, sunk to its chest in a pool and unable, with its limited instructions, to get out. Neil sat atop the steed, staring sightlessly forward. She had been lucky he hadn’t fallen in and drowned in his sleep. Unsteadily she pushed herself to her feet. Her stomach shrieked that she hadn’t eaten in days. The blood stung her legs as she made her way down to the pool and splashed in. Placing a hand on both Neil and the horse she lifted the spell. Neil’ eyes flew open and the horse reared in sudden surprise, dumping the thief into the pool with a splash.

Neil felt like his head was full and his body waded through molasses, just until Calliope's hands pressed against his flesh. The ground, or the horse more accurately, leaped up and Neil felt everything go from sluggish to weightless, and he flipped over. His head hit the ass of the horse and before he knew it, his body hit the creek with a splash. He sucked in some water involuntarily, and then yanking his head out, he hacked as he tried to breathe in precious air. His soul might be in the realm between life and death but his body was very warm and alive, and he wanted to keep it that way. At least until he'd die doing something fun.

"Good, you're awake." She said, crossing her arms and gazing around them.

"I agree," He deadpanned. He wasn't certain if they were going to make it, and now that they were here he was bewildered they had attempted that dreadful crossing. He got off his knees and sat down in the pool, taking handfuls of the water and drinking greedily. He was careful so as not to shove more water down the wrong pipe, but he felt parched. He hadn't thought of where they were, but he didn't really care until he felt something sharp prickling his skin below the neck.

He stopped drinking, freezing in place and slowly looking up. For a moment he thought Calliope had turned on him for some reason, but instead he saw two riders swathed in tan linen, with leathery faces and dark beards. If he had to guess, they wore chainmail under their fabrics. One held a long saber in his hand, mounted on a short pony. He glared at Neil in a very familiar way; the city watch had given him that look many times. The other man was atop a strange, humped creature with an elongated neck. A kameel? Camel? One of those, and in his hand was a wicked looking whip. He had a scimitar sheathed, but he seemed to favor the longer weapon.

"Ma hi kalimat alsir?" The one threatening Neil demanded harshly.

"No thanks, I'm on a diet."

He pulled his sword away and struck Neil hard with the pommel. Red flashed across the thief's vision and he realized now wasn't the time to be clever. He caught himself before he slapped into the water again, tougher than he looked. The thief contemptuously wiped blood off his lip, blinking away the stars.

"What is the password?" The man asked, now in the northern tongue.

"Password for...for what?" Neil inquired. Yet again a wrong answer. This time it looked like the man would strike blade first, but just as he went to cleave Neil from collarbone to chest, the saber hit something unknown. A small pocket of blackness, and through it the same saber had cut through. Only now, it had chopped into its own user's head. Neil watched dumbly as the man gasped equally as dumbly and swayed, blood now dribbling down his head. A few seconds later, he collapse into the water. Calliope looked at her nails as if she were bored with the whole affair. Neil scrambled to his feet just as the second man recovered and uncoiled his whip, and instead of going for Neil, he glared at the dark woman and snapped it at Calliope. Too quickly for the witch to do the same trick twice. Luckily, Neil was smooth on his feet as always.

"Insolent wench!" He yelled.

The whip was suddenly caught by Neil's forearm, wrapping around it like a constrictor. The raider had attacked something with some physical strength, which he likely wasn't used to. With a heave, the dark haired scoundrel yanked the man off the strange mount. It snorted and groaned oddly, but did not panic as a horse might have. As the man fell, Neil reversed his arm and punched him in the face as he fell, adding to the momentum of the hit. The desert dweller lay moaning in the pool.

"Thanks," She said and laid a hand on his shoulder. Neil found it was coming easier to her, at least. He gave her a wink, and with the gusto of a man who made things up as he went along for most of his life, he did not mount the pony or the horse, but deftly climbed atop the Camel. The beast complained but didn't bolt, and Neil offered a hand to Calliope. When she took it, he grinned. "You'll be happy to know I have a plan."

"It's what I pay you for..." She said, and then paused. "When we get paid, that is."

The next ten minutes was a flurry of activity in what Neil and Calliope discovered was an oasis. The Camel and the two intruders had trotted off, and a wailing, undulating cry in the native's tongue blew into the wind. The Camel they had procured burst out of the undergrowth of hard ferns and tropical trees and galloped into a sea of endless sand and dunes, the sun looming over the land like an ancient god. Soon, men on camels and stout ponies whooped and chased the camel in pursuit, scimitars and other blades flashing as the sand kicked up. They would overtake the beast in less than an hour at this pace, if Neil had to guess.

Luckily, Neil and Calliope watched with interest from the safety of the bushes. At Neil's insistence, they had dismounted the Camel at the edge of the oasis and he had slapped its ass so it would make headway into the desert, kicking up sand and making it seem as if the two had made for the wastes in a mad dash. Now they watched as seven mounted men had trailed the camel, and all 8 figures had disappeared over the nearest hills of dry nothingness.

"Now let's go see what exactly they're guarding here," Neil said with a playful nudge of his shoulder to the woman, the two kneeling under the ferns conspiratorially.

The oasis, like the rest of the landscape, was strange to Calliope's eye. She had read of them of course, much of the Old Magic came from the East and not all treatises were simple spell craft, but she had never seen one. It seemed like a beautiful jewel in the middle of a field of sand and rock. A rim of green around a large dark pool around which sprung up date palms and short prickly bushes from which orangish fruit with purple veins hung. The bandits, or whatever they had been, had clearly been here for some time and had constructed small shelters from woven palm fronds and other leaves. A fire pit had been indifferently covered with rocks and several joins of charred meat hung around it, the leftovers of some evening meal. The only permanent structure was a small hut that looked to be constructed of layers of palm fronds and layers of mud from the oasis that had been baked semi hard in the hot sun. Calliope thought it would melt if there were ever a really significant fall of rain, but that didn’t seem very likely in this arid land. A boy of perhaps ten summers stepped out of the hut looking confused and sleepy. His eyes focused on the intruders and he began to shout at the top of his lungs.

“Take it easy kid,” Neil advised. The kid did not take it easy. Instead he whipped a small knife from somewhere and lunged at him. Calliope snapped a word and he sunk to his waist in mud which a moment before had been solid ground. She spoke a second word and suddenly the ground was as it had been, save it trapped the lower half of the boy, including both legs and his knife hand. The boy continued to shout, thought they sounded more like curses than please for help. Intrigued Calliope stepped forward, batted away the childs free hand and grabbed both sides of his head. White wispy light gathered around her hands.



“Sawf 'aqtuluk! Sawf 'ateam,” he screetched, then the white light surged up into Calliope’s ears and eyes, “...your breasts to the goats. I will cut off your manhood and nail it to the door!”



“Take it easy kid,” Calliope recommended, though her words now sounded in his own tongue. Neil gave her a puzzled look and she flicked a wrist in his direction. A small storm of motes of white light floated up into his ears and mouth as the translation spell took hold.



“I will have the hounds rut with you! I will…” he continued to rant. Calliope sighed.

“Have it your way,” she said and picked up the knife and yanked back his head by a handful of greasy hair, pressing the blade against his neck so it pinked his dark flesh. The child fell silent, freezing in place.



“Out of threats are we?” Calliope asked. The child nodded and Calliope held his hair for a moment longer before dropping it. The child began to cry. Calliope stepped over him and into the hut. It was surprisingly cool inside, and for a miracle it seemed the bandits hadn’t been using it for a latrine.



“Well hello,” Neil said, spying a small wooden chest amidst the rough hewn furniture and few clay pots of oil, dates, and other necessities. Calliope lowered the earthenware pot of wine she had been sniffing to pay attention. The chest was made of some highly polished wood that reminded her somewhat of dark cherry and had been artistically inlaid with brass. Neil pulled the lid open and whistled, turning the box so she could see a few small handfuls of coins, gold and silver of unfamiliar type and a small scroll. He took the scroll out and proffered it to her. Calliope took it and unrolled it, the translation spell didn’t teach one to read unfortunately, but she knew enough of the old arcane tongues to make something out about tombs. The tombs of the Sisters who are Mother to the Sun maybe? It was very old and written on crumbling vellum. Lines of ancient ink formed something of a map which seemed to be bound by the symbol for Ibn Kaydos’ ghost fence and included markings which might have represented several of the larger hills, those which might be picked out from a distance.

“It’s a map,” Calliope mused as Neil gathered up the various foodstuffs as best he could.

“To what?” he asked, his eyes glittering with avaricious excitement.

“Who knows, we can talk about it when we are away from here, at least one of those bandits knew a few spells to get that box open in the first place.” The turned hand headed out the door.

“Please! Please don’t leave me here, they will kill me for letting you steal everything!” the boy wailed, his tears cutting lines through what was likely months of grime on his face.



“I suggest you start digging then,” Calliope told him without much interest, knowing there was no way he was going to get himself out in time.

“Wait, there is another treasure, I can tell you where it is! Hakim hides it so the others dont steal it! If you let me out, I will show you where it is!” he pleaded. Calliope and Neil shared a look.



“Alright, but its no trouble to put you back where I found you. Come to think of it less trouble just to kill you and save Hakim a job,” Calliope warned him. The boy shook his head so violently it was a wonder his neck didn’t crack.

“No trouble mistress, Ibrahim will not lead you astray, I swear it,” he pleaded. Calliope spoke the same arcane word as before and the earth around Ibrahim became mud once again. He scrambled out, furiously batting at the dirt as though it might entomb him once again.



“The treasure Ibrahim, we don’t have all day,” Calliope prompted. The boy bobbed his head obsequiously and stepped back into the hut. He crossed to the bed, and pulled the straw palette away from the wall. At first Calliope though nothing was there, but then the boy knelt down and thrust his hand through the wall. A space had been cleverly hollowed out in the wall and then covered with mud as though it were part of the original structure. He pulled out a gemstone, or half of a gemstone cut so cunningly that light seemed to be trapped within, even in the darkness of the hut. It seemed obvious the stone was meant for a setting of some kind, though at the moment Calliope couldn’t think of what it might fit.

“Where did you get this?” Calliope asked, taking it from the boy and turning it over in her hands, feeling the subtle presence of magical energies around the thing.

“In one of the tombs on the map, the Djiin there killed Subadah and Kareem and wounded Yafrid so bad Hakim had to finish him off,” the kid babbled. The word Djiin didn't translate in her mind. They lacked a common concept.

“Interesting,” Calliope conceded and then turned for the door. “We best get going before our friends return.”

Neil nabbed a length of rope from the juniper desk and used it to tie up a sackcloth to place in the loot they had gathered. He wished he could keep the chest, but they needed to hurry as is. He placed the chest down as Ibrahim grabbed the last of the horses to take, Calliope watching him like a hawk. As he placed the chest down, a small compartment in the wood creaked up from within. Neil raised an eyebrow, suspicious of a trap but too curious not to check. He grabbed a small utensil from the desk and pulled the small pocket open, and within was a small dagger with a jeweled, ivory hilt. He shrugged and took it, sliding it within the folds of the rope and heading out into the sun.

"Let's go, we need to get out of here before Hakim and the others return." Calliope said, holding the reins of the horse as if she were born to the saddle. Both he and she would need new clothes, but even her bedraggled and ruined dress from Bania still fit her well, and the furs added to the panache. Ibrahim clung to the saddle, and Neil merely hopped on and let Calliope ride them out of there. The palms threatened to scythe them as they rode, but she weaved through the trees quickly and a few ducks later, the party was out of the small patch of life amidsts the arid sands.

"Where are we going, again?" Neil asked.

"Ragbah Shahir! The greatest city in the world!" Ibrahim exclaimed, though his excitement did not seem entirely genuine when he glanced back at the isle of date palms fading away, likely wondering if he did the right thing there.

---

Amidst the Golden Gulf lay a city, larger than any in the world. Riches beyond measure lay within its walls and the greatest minds from across the world dwelt in its Academy of Wisdom. It is said the Djinni made the city as the center of their power on Torek, or whatever that meant. The boy talked a lot, clearly wanting to show off and impress his new 'friends.' Neil wasn't sure how much was truthful or not, and he was certain the Basilaens would have something to say about Basilos not being considered the greatest city in the world, but as long as it had good foot and a soft bed, he was happy.

It was the next day now, and the horse loped over the sand with a ginger trot. The ground had grown less soft, more sure of itself. Small tufts of grass began to appear, and soon birds were seen flocking and making great shapes in the sky. The air, though hot, grew less dry, and soon in the distance if one looked north, they would see a line of ocean that shimmered in the sun. Neil only gave it a passing glance, more impressed with the city that now loomed on the horizon. The kid had been bluffing a little, but it was still impressive.

Massive spires of white stone with golden domes towered over the landscape, and larger albeit more squat buildings of coppery color were cut open with arches the shape of broad sword points. Sandstone buildings with vengefully colorful tarps and drapes caught the eye, and every other color under the sun was displayed by flags or great works of artistry in the stone, and Neil could see all of this from the small glimpses he caught before they entered the walls. If nothing else, the city was grandiose and loud about it.

The wall was a huge structure, sunbaked but smooth as if made of marble. Grim faced men wearing lamellar armor and sporting helms with sharp spear points patrolled and guarded the three large entryways, holding large spears. The thief caught either moon-bladed axes or cruelly shaped maces at their belts. Each gate they defended was made from some different material. Bronze, Iron, and Brass if Neil had to guess, but he didn't ask. As they lazily approached, Calliope looked curious, her sharp eyes darting around, but kept herself from speaking. Ibrahim knelt behind Neil, warily looking at the men who watched them approach. Neil followed his gaze, and realized he wasn't looking at the normal men.

There were figures there, standing head and shoulders above the normal soldier. They were slightly lighter of skin, but still suntanned. They sported great beards and red eyes that glinted malevolently. Horribly, every time Neil saw one speak, he heard three voices. It must have been a trick of the crowd.

They weren't the only ones on the road, of course. Once the three of them had crested the hell, caravans and what seemed to be peasants and refugees swarmed like ants besides what one might call the 'mound' of the city. Though they were glared at, they were not stopped. Most cities in the west would have stopped them and asked to give a tax to enter, but either they had given up that practice here as a generous policy, or more likely the riches of Al’ardbahja lay elsewhere. Immediately their nostrils were assaulted with wonderful spices and perfumes, and as they continued, hookah smoke wafted from windows and opened doorways.

"Ok, now what kid?" Neil asked, and Calliope raised an eyebrow to showcase she was listening.

"We can go to the bath houses..." He said hesitantly. "You both smell."

"I want somewhere comfortable and more private." Calliope insisted.

"Good idea, we can go on our third date." Neil jested, mostly trying to be a tad silly. Though he was getting a little impatient on it. Calliope just winked at him subtly, but watched Ibrahim. The little boy nodded and nodded.

"I know just the place. It overlooks the bazaar and part of the gardens. It's called the Brass Lamp. Good bath, good food, great arak or...so I'm told." He said shyly. "Just keep to the side of the street. You never know if one of the Sultan's relatives is showing off their elephants or tigers."

Calliope would have admitted to having her doubts about the Brass Lamp. Ibrahim’s suggestion for what constituted a nice place, might have been closer to a camel stable than a luxurious rooming house, his vision being limited by his upbringing. Fortunately this was not the case. The Brass Lamp was a marble shod building set back from the street by an elaborate garden of fragrant date palms and large tamarind trees interspaced with smaller shrubs and flowers. Colorful birds flitted from place to place, twittering as they went. A fence of stone pillars and bronze kept the public back, as did two large hermes, local statues with elephantine heads and colossal phalluses, overlain with charms to keep out scrying and other hostile magics. A pair of heavily muscled men, completely hairless with oiled muscles that looked like they could crack stone and certainly cold crack necks stood on guard. They wore nothing save loin clothes and stern expressions. At first it seemed they might not admit the two apparent vagabonds until Neil produced several gold coins from their horde and jingled the rest meaningfully. The two conferred in their own language, not the one the spell had wormed from Ibrahim’s mind, and then called back to the house. A few moments later a figure emerged dressed in gold accented white with a blood red sash. It was so androgynous that Calliope couldn’t assign a sex to it until it spoke.

“I am Rashim,” he said in a voice that suggested he might have been a eunuch, “I apologize for the delay, there are so many refugees in the city we cannot be too careful.”



“Will you be requiring a room patrons, or are you simply hoping to avail yourselves of the baths?” he asked tactfully, though it was clear that a bath was high on his priority list.

“We will take a room, a nice once,” Calliope told him, “and a bath sounds divine.”





As it happened Calliope found it was her sensibilities that were somewhat paraocial. The Brass Lamp had two wings, one for men and one for women, that were set aside for bathing. The baths consisted of large heated pool, thirty feet across at the widest points with steaming hot water pumped in from below. They were ingeniously engineered so that while the water at the center was almost painfully hot, it grew cooler as one moved to the edges. Beautiful mosaics of sporting nymphs and mermaids were picked out in bright tile, along with hunting scenes and what might have been some kind of religious art. Small submerged benches with palms around the lips provided private nooks in which to bathe and a wall surrounded the whole edifice to ward off prying eyes. Though it was open to the sky, Calliope suspected that it could be covered with canvas if threatened by the infrequent rains. It all smelled of green plants and clean water, with only the merest hint of soap and perfume. Several other women were bathing and chatted quite freely as they splashed. By both temperament and culture they gave her a wide berth.



Feeling much refreshed after a long hour in the water Calliope emerged and wrapped herself in a soft towel to find Rashim waiting for her, an identical obsequious smile on his face.

“I have taken the honor of preparing some clothing for you while your own is washed,” he told her. Calliope’s eyes cut to her pack where the spell book bulged in a side pouch. Protective spells or not she could feel it there, as yet undisturbed.

“I noted that you are a practitioner,” the eunuch said tactfully.



“Be comforted that none shall harm you or interfere with your possessions here. We are bonded by the Seven Princes to provide such service,” he told her. Calliope had no idea what the Seven Princes might be but nodded as though she understood before turning her attention to the clothing provided.

“Shall I have the servants dress you? I note that you are a foreigner and our garb might seem strange to you,” he said smoothly.

“Very well,” Calliope told him.

Half an hour later she was escorted into their palatial room. Wrapped from ankle to head in silk. Each layer of silk was of a purple so deep it was almost black and fringed with a slightly different pattern in cloth of gold, pinned in several places by bejeweled fasteners set with amethyst and other semi precious stones. She wore a veil and hood with a net of gold across her face hung with small moonstones that glittered in the light.



“This seems a little extravagant for what we are paying,” Calliope suggested as she examined herself in the mirror.

“The cost is significant,” Rashim disagreed, “but in truth to host a practitioner is both a duty and an honor, it will add luster to our house. We would not displease the Seven Princes for the sake of a few baubles.”

Neil would have loved to bathe with Calliope, but instead he found himself cordoned off in his own section of the men's bath. He couldn't tell if he was away from the others because he was a foreigner or he was given special treatment, or perhaps he had paid more than usual. Either way, the water was hot and he let his muscles relax. Neil lay his head back and let it simmer, but unfortunately the water was colder at the edges, and he found himself constantly dragging himself back to the middle. Well, he supposed it kept people from falling asleep in the pool, which was smart.

Almost an hour later, he pulled himself out and walked back to the corridor he was bade to, the archway frames by statues of great serpents with manes like lion's. He stepped into the room he thought was where his clothes would be, but he was only half right. Four men wrapped in plain white and wearing turbans stood in there too, and Neil raised his eyebrow at them staring him standing there stark naked. His old clothes on the ground at the corner of the room, cleaned and neatly folded, as were his effects. To the right was a huge open door that led into a closet where stacks and stacks of clothes were placed, along with shoes and sandals on the floor.

"Eyes up here fellas." He told them, placing both his pointer and middle finger near his eye level. "Can I help you?"

"We will help you, master Edwards." The man furthest left said, giving a small bow.

Fifteen minutes later, with a lot of uncomfortable measurements and prodding, Neil stepped into the palatial room as Rashim was showcasing Calliope's outfit to the dark woman. Neil himself wore a coat of red, gold, yellow, and blue stripes with red at the center and encompassing the end of the wide sleeve. The coat covering a velvety, long-sleeved top a dark navy color, and he bore a gold sash belt. His trousers were a type of şalvar, baggy until ending at the ankle tightly, and his cleaned feet were in sandals. He looked quite good, though he felt slightly silly. He didn't think the same of Calliope.

"Selene help me," he said quietly, invoking the goddess of beauty when Calliope turned to look at him. Somehow the clothes fit her in both style, and fit her in form like a glove. She was certainly not Aradian, but her eyes were sharp and accentuated and she looked like someone who could barter the fate of cities with a promise of a kiss.

"Ah, the other is here!" Rashim said, clapping happily. He hustled over to Neil and pulled him closer to Calliope, letting him stand in the mirror with her. They looked like royalty to Neil, though it was likely an upper middle-class outfit or something wealthy merchants wore to impress true nobility. "I dare say the Seven Princes would be pleased, and I can see you are as well, yes?"

"Yeah, did a hell of a job." Neil replied, placing his hands on the inner edge of his jacket and turned around, admiring himself.

"The bath, the clothes, now the food! Now, we shall prepare. Close the door where the wind blows and we shall return shortly." He said, and ushered the other men out of the door with a quick snap of a word in his native tongue. They hustled out. Neil looked after them curiously, but Calliope decided to sit and lounge on the strange, square cushioned couch that surrounded the table on three sides. It was too short to sit on, so one lay on their hip to lazily eat.

"What was he talking about?"

"It means relax. An ancient proverb," She said, patting the cushion next to her. Neil sat down beside her, and looked up at the inverted ceiling with the patterns of flowers and designs.

"Fancy..."

“Well, well you do clean up nice,” Calliope approved as she glanced over Neil’s new attire. He looked every inch the dashing Imran Kaffir who was rumored to have gained the secret of magic for mankind by stealing the food of the Djinn.



“Shame the baths are segregated,” she teased and saw Neil smirk as though he had been having the same thought.

“Quick questions, who are these Seven Princes and are they going to kill us?” Neil asked. Calliope shrugged eloquently, her jewelry jingling slightly as she did so. Shrugging wasn’t a natural gesture to women of this region, to whom absolute control of their shoulders was taught as proper posture from birth.



“I think a cartel of local wizards, probably the greatest in the city. The sultan is in charge but there has to be some sort of hierarchy among the local mages,” she reasoned. The reading she had done had not covered politics in anything like so granular a fashion.

“As for wanting to kill us, I don’t imagine so, showing us a little charity establishes a pecking order,” she explained. It was a fairly common practice. If you accepted gifts from someone, you were effectively acknowledging their superiority to you. That might be a problem if Calliope wanted to marry into the Sultanate, but given her goal was simply to use the place for a base while she hunted for the tombs on their map, it didn’t seem likely to be an issue. Further discussion of political altruism was forestalled by Rashim’s return.

“Come, come, all is prepared,” he informed them. Calliope was hungry, but was ready to beg off attending a formal banquet in favor of something more intimate. Fortunately the issue didn’t arise.

“These are your rooms,” he informed them, opening a teak paneled door to reveal a large open room flanked by rows of stone columns. A bed chamber stood at the end with hanging silks cordening it off. The central section was dominated by a large table and several comfortable looking chairs. Both sides of the central room were flanked by smaller areas, set off by waist high balustrades of intricately carved timber but not by any wall that would block a line of sight to the center. A large table stood in the central room on which brass dishware was stacked, some were covered and clearly hot, others were open to reveal candied dates, fresh fruit, confections and other things Calliope couldn’t name. A large central basket of woven leaves held a heaping of golden rice. Pitchers of wine stood at the four corners of the table, each with the head of a different animal worked in cunning bronze.

“I will leave you now,” Rashid declared, “if you should require anything, you have but to ring.” He made a gesture to a silken rope which lead to a silver bell, and then turned and slipped from the room, closing the door as he went.

Neil was certainly happy for the privacy, and he thanked Rashim as the man departed. The scoundrel admittedly was very hungry, but he only wanted to eat a small portion at the moment. He could get his fill later, but his mind was certainly on other things at the moment. He and Calliope had run and run and finally they were at a place where they could relax, and he didn't really see much danger in these Seven Princes, even if they expected some sort of subservience.

What was on Neil's mind was Calliope. He saw the cues, the look, the smile within the veil, the subtle movements on her body. He didn't have to be told twice, and he sat on a comfortable chair on the table, and he pulled her own up very close, extravagantly presenting to her with a wave of his hands. She took the seat with a smirk and plopped down on it, plucking a grape out of the mounds of fruit and chewing on it greedily.

"One could get used to this," Neil remarked, eating some of the steaming chicken and fried vegetables. His stomach thanked him, and he washed it down an aged red vintage, letting him truly take the edge off. The bath, the comfortable clothes, and the food were just what he needed. As Calliope ate her fill, taking some honey fritters and a bit of the pork, Neil presented her with more grapes. He hung it before her eyes, and she snatched it out of his hands with her lips, which he noticed were delectably soft.

"Does this count as my buying you dinner?" She asked him smugly, leaning closer and giving him a marvelous view of her plump bosom. He felt his mouth not heeding his call for a moment, but he tried to steady himself.

"Honestly I...I was starting to think you weren't interested..." He admittedly, and then looked into her eyes somewhat suspiciously, though a smile played on his lips. He looked every bit the dashing bandit prince in his attire, and the smile accentuated it. "This isn't just a trick to kill me again, is it?"

It was clearly halfway a joke, but he also was somewhat intimidated by her. It was strange, but it only turned him on more. He'd never been with a woman that scared him and he quite liked it.

Neil grabbed her rump in his hands, giving her a place to rest on as they kissed and bit, their bodies moving in unison as the warm water kissed their skin.

"I can...get used to this..." Neil between breaths. He chuckled and was about to turn the tables and send them back under to continue before a huge crash erupted from the other room. Both Neil and Calliope's heads popped up and gazed at where the sudden thunderous roar had come from, and to their surprise they saw flames licking the doorway from where they had just been.

"Was that you?" Neil asked her, turning to look at the dark sorceress. She didn't answer at first, her eyes aimed at that direction, like she could see something other mortals could not. Neil snapped his fingers in front of her pretty face, and she wrinkled her nose and looked at him. He asked again.

"No, but I did keep a ward in there in case we were attacked." She said, and they both pulled themselves out of the pool, naked but warm from the waters and the flowing wind from the hot desert. Neil grabbed a towel and pulled it around his waist to cover himself, even if it was a bit sensitive after the love-fest. He winced when the coarse texture went over him, but he sucked in a breath and thought of less sexual things, though Calliope not deigning to get dressed wasn't helping. The lithe woman poked her head out into the hallway, her hair now tied in a loose, wet bun. Neil joined her.

"Was the ward supposed to explode?" He asked, wondering if they had immolated some poor servant.

"No, it was meant to make someone trying to kill us attack a place where we were not."

"Do you do that a lot?"

"When I have the energy and forethought," she explained. "Not that it's always foolproof."

Neil laughed. "Ha! Amatuers. Attacking us without even making sure we were in the room. What a bunch of dumbasses uh...whoever they were."

"Well, it was either someone who had followed us across an endless desert, or a group of magic users in the city who don't like our presence here..." She said, tapping her chin. Neil knew the question was rhetorical. There was only one sort of group in Ragba Shahir that would or could do that.

"The seven princes," they said together.

They came out of the fire. Three mages dressed in black desert robes marked with golden runes that blazed as they held their hand aloft, keeping the hungry flames at bay. A half dozen men clustered around them, sheltering in the flickering magical shields that stood between them and immolation. Other figures, merely dark silhouettes against the flames, too far to be protected by the hasty wards, fell to the floor as the fire burned away their flesh and cracked their bones. Calliope lifted both her hands, but before she could speak the armsmen clustered around their masters saw the two foreigners and lifted their carven teak crossbows. Neil dived sideways as a trio of crossbow bolts scythed through the air, clicking off the tile covered column behind them. Calliope let out a cry of pain and stumbled back in a flash of red falling back into the pool with a splash.

“Calliope!” Neil shouted, but there was no time to do anything other than take cover. Clear of the flames the mages let their shields fall and began to chant. Bolts of energy flew through the large arabesque doorway, blasting fragments of mosaic from the walls, as the thief scrambled back looking for cover and a weapon. With a war cry the armsmen threw aside their crossbows and rushed through the door, pulling evil looking scimitars from their belt. The water in the pool began to boil furiously as though a volcano were erupting beneath its formerly calm waters. The frothing water rose in a column bearing Calliope in the center of a column of roiling water, both arms held wide. A red stain twisted and coiled around her left arm where the first missile had struck, blood slowly diffusing like a drop of paint on a pool. Another crossbow bolt flashed, but the quarrel struck the water and slowed before it could reach the witch, sinking away and out of sight. Calliope’s lips moved but the word was lost in the sound of the churning torrent that bore her upwards. A column of living water lashed upwards like a great tentacle and then smashed down, swatting one of the armsmen into a wall so hard that the crack of his spine breaking was audible even over the near deafening surge of the now animated pool.

“Get the book!” Calliope’s voice boomed as two beams of golden light lanced from the enemy mages into the watery barrier that encased her naked body. Great gouts of steam blew out from the points of impact without any visible effect on the sorceress within. A second great column of water sprouted from the pool, now less than half its original depth and they lashed out in tandem. One of the mages lifted a shield of shimmering light and the water cracked and boiled away as it struck, the second wasn’t so lucky, taking the force of the blow smashing him from his feet and back into the fiery conflagration beyond. His robes burst into brilliant copper green flames as the fire took him. With incredible strength of will the wizard managed to stagger to the doorway, falling across the threshold with a blackened charred hand reaching towards the water that had killed him.

“It is in the fire!” Neil shouted as he snatched up a scimitar from one of the fallen armsmen, the weapon twisted into a snake in his hands and turned to strike. The thief swung it like a whip, cracking one of the survivors across the face before letting go. The sword clattered to the ground, a simple weapon again. Clearly the Seven Princes took no chances of their weapons being turned against them. Blashphemous chants from the two surviving wizards sent twin lances of force hammering into Calliope. The water around her exploded into droplets at the first and the second sent her sailing out of the pool to crash into one of the mosaic covered walls in a spray of brightly coloured tile. Staggering to her feet she shouted a spell, fallen pieces of ceramic knitting themselves into a rainbow hued shield that deflected the next two lances of force up into the glass roof, blowing it apart in a rain of fragments. The surviving armsmen, well trained in fighting wizards, rushed forward to menace her, but with a flick of Calliope’s wrist the falling glass became a whirlwind, whistling down in a storm around her attackers. All three of the survivors came apart in a spray of blood and winking white bone. Blasts of arcane fire stabbed through the red mist, setting it a flame in a low order explosion which shook the diaphragm of everyone in the room. Calliope caught both blasts on her mosaic shield, though the second one shattered it to sand.

Sensing victory, both enemy mages were stalking forward, one of them twisting his hand in a calling gesture that gathered shadows into something humanoid. Snarling in defiance Calliope made a ripping gesture, and the surviving mosaic shattered, as the glass depictions of a pair of tritons pulled themselves free and launched themselves at the two enemy wizards. One was blasted into colored ceramic shards as the shadow thing cleaved it in two with a sword made of inky darkness, the second one buried its trident into the belly of its target, lifting the screaming wizard overhead and tossing him into the pool on streamers of his own entrails. The shadow demon flowed forward cutting down with its blade and driving the triton back. With liquid speed it knocked the trident aside and bisected the mosaic construct in two with a single mighty blow before turning its dark fathomless eyes on Calliope. On the verge of succumbing to spell burn, Calliope readied her next spell, but before she could speak the shadow thing exploded into motes of twinkling darkness and then dissipated like wisps of smoke on the wind. The mage took a staggering step forward, bright arterial blood jetting from his severed neck. He clapped both his hands on the great wound and then fell to the floor. Neil stood behind him, naked having lost his towel, with a bloody shard of ceramic in his hand. He tossed the fragment onto the dead mage and stood backlit by the flames.

“Great,” he managed, surveying the ruin of the once beautiful bath house, “now we will never get our deposit back.”

A lucky servant who had survived the explosions poked his head into the ruined collection of rooms, beholding the scene of Neil standing naked over a dead sorcerer with the murder weapon. His eyes went wide at the very fact Neil, and evidently Calliope, had survived an attack from the what had to be the Seven Princes. He apparently could not help himself and rushed into the room, eyeing around to make certain no spell was flung his way before he pointed at the thief. "You brought decimation to our house!"

Neil looked at him for one, long, incredulous moment. He tossed the piece of bloody ceramic at the servant, who yelped. "Next time I'm planning on getting murdered, I'll try to remember if it's in someone else's house. Don't want to be rude." The fear of the seven princes was likely cultural. If Neil and Calliope had killed them, why did this idiot think harassing them was a smart move on his part?

"You have brought ruin upon us, by Hayashim!" He cried, trying to slap Neil. It was so audacious Neil was actually caught off guard and got the worst of it before he engaged the man, the two having an audible slap fight for a moment before the fit thief realized how silly it was and shoved him away. The slim man stumbled back, but glared at Neil. "Ruin I say! The seven princes will come back! And then you will not-eeeeuuuuUUUUGHGHGHG!"

Neil's eyes widened when he saw the fellow's eyes bulge and his neck tighten like someone had yanked a noose around it. Vein's bulged and then popped, blood suddenly and horribly sucking out of his body through his eyes and mouth, staining his scraggly beard. It continued for a span of seconds until the crimson liquid was completely drained from the once living servant, coalescing in a floating ball. Neil glanced to his left and saw Calliope step naked into the room, idly flicking her hand, commanding the ball to splatter across the floor in arcane symbols that began to glow iridescently as soon as it struck the tiled floor.

"Ew," Neil said. The withered corpse hit the ground even as the magic began to take effect, the magical flames that still licked the curtains and spread across the chambers suddenly vanquished. Wards against scrying was placed, and the doors to the room shut. What little blood there was left in the air coagulated into a ball and neatly dropped into an empty wine glass Calliope held in her hand. To his surprise, she drank the blood as if she were a vampire or a dorcha. The dark woman drained the glass before his eyes and gave a satisfied gasp of delight, tossing the glass away to shatter against the wall. Neil was horrified, but strangely aroused. When he realized that, he looked up, as if to the gods, and said, "Something is very wrong me with. But you made me this way. Why?"

"Much better," She said, and then her eyes grew sharp and focused like a sweeping falcon. She sauntered past Neil and began to brush aside kindling, using her magic to move aside the larger pieces. Neil went to help her, the two naked interlopers eventually clearing aside the debris and even a magician corpse. Neil caught sight of a strange binding and reached for it, pulling out the dark book he knew so well from the fortress at Kalx Moralis. He handed it to Calliope, who laughed happily when she reached over and retrieved the book she had sought for so long.

"I'd say we should leave like the dead guy said, but I don't know where we would go." Neil told her. He looked them both up and down. "New clothes would be good too."

Calliope was a little irritated that she didn't know a spell that could create clothing. With a little effort she might have wrought armor out of flames, or ice, or glass, but nothing that would be functional streetwear. Instead she waited for Neil to steal clothes from the servants quarters, an act so prosaic it seemed anti-climax. If there were other servants in the building, they had very sensibly made themselves scarce. Calliope probably wouldn't have killed them for lingering.

So it was the two of them found themselves on the streets of the city, dressed in fine, if not opulent clothing and with no particular plan. The Seven Princes would follow up their attack in time, but it was doubtful they imagined their assassination would fail. Fail it had however, and that left the question of why. There seemed two options, the book, or the map they had found in the desert. While the fame of the book was widespread, it was all but impossible that word of its theft could have reached this far so quickly, given the way the had exited the magelord's collapsing castle, it was likely to be considered lost. There was no way they could know that an itinerant sorceress was in possession of the text. Unless they had some kind of prophetic magic or far seeing of course.

The map was more likely. It was a local artifact, men had been out in the desert looking for it, men whom the Seven Princes might have been watching, waiting to take possession if they were able to recover whatever artifact lay hidden out there in the desert.

"I know what we need to do," Calliope declared.

An hour later they stood outside a mud walled compound on the edge of the city. Its walls sported several tall slender tower of dark red brick, at the top of which flames burned and Calliope could make out the silhouette of watchmen with long curved bows. At intervals iron cags hung from the wall. Men sat cross legged in the cages, their skin dark brown and their faces serene despite bloody gashes on their bodies.

"Who are these people?" Neil asked.

"Besarines," Calliope told him, "Wandering scholars and monks from the east, they are persecuted here."

"Sucks to be them I guess," Neil admitted, "but why are we here?"

"Twenty years ago Sukander Besar was imprisoned here," she explained, "he is rumored to be the most learned man in the world. If we can get to him, he may be able to shed some light on our map."

A shrill cry of pain and terror echoed through the dim halls of the Prison of a Thousand Torments. Once a military compound, the name derived from the ancient Sultan Beauteous when he threw his half-brother Selan into its depths to die. The greatest torturers and gaolers in all the realm were invited here to practice their skills on the destitute and downtrodden criminals. Both the oppressed and the truly terrible were sent here to live out their days. Neil knew none of this, but there was something unsettling for a thief like him in this dark place. He knew he could end up here very easily for many of his ideas of fun, and it was only the promise of treasures and Calliope walking in that had him stepping past the arch, following the gate-guard they had coerced with a promise of payment as he led them down into its depths.

Most humble dwellings in Rhagba Shahir were located on the outskirts of the great city, the opulence and wealth closer to its core. The lesser dwellings of lesser men were made of mudbrick or clay, their surfaces usually plastered or covered in painted clay to give it some manner of aesthetic. Doors were often missing, replaced with heavy curtains so there was always air flowing freely, and that a guest may clap twice in order to gain attention for entry. Bricked buildings were considered tacky and uncouth, even for the poor. The prison stood out amongst the peasant quarter, with walls of mortar and stone and a heavy door at its front, not to mention the crimson towers and the archers ready to loose on any fool who wandered too close without clear intent.

The two foreigners and the guard passed through the first floor quietly, keeping themselves away from the bars of the cages. Every cell had a man begging for release or crying out to Hayashim, still holding on to hope for freedom from this hell. They were the new residents, unused to complete despair. They passed down carved steps of stone to the next level down, this level below the sands of the surface, where the prisoners wept or carved the walls with stones to mark the days as they trudged inevitably forward. Sconces and torches were sparse here, but still present.

The guard grabbed a torch and led them down to the third level, the torch flickering feebly in the oppressive dark. Only once did they pass another lit torch in the labyrinthine level, turning this way and that. Some men lay dead in their cells, others hugged their knees and looked vacantly into the hall, unaware of the light or the strangers walking before their very eyes. Still, some seemed damaged, but not yet broken. With sunken eyes and hopelessness cloaked in apathy. It was in a long hall of caged men, where they found one in such a state. An older man, head bald and finger nails unusually long, curled up in the back corner of his cell. Neil thought he was dead at first, until the guard kicked him through the bars and his head raised lazily, like a turtle slowly peeking out of its shell.

"Sukander Besar?" Calliope asked, hands on her hips.

The man said nothing, but there was recognition in his eyes that revealed a familiarity.

"He is who I said he was," the guard said, his hawkish nose drawing a sharp shadow over his mouth. "Now pay me, bitch! And complete your business."

"Very well," Calliope said flippantly, gesturing with her hand lazily as her eyes bored into the elderly prisoner. "Neil, pay this man his due."

The guard's eyes bulged, his expectant look turning into horror when Neil's hand pressed against his mouth and the dagger pierced the side of his throat, blood gushing out of the wound onto the dusty stone floor. "Sorry, boss's orders." Neil said, clearly not happy about the murder, but knowing if they let him go without payment, they too would likely be thrown in here. To bring some levity to the situation, he slunk over to Calliope, one arm in his sleeve with a hand hanging out to make it appear as if he was malformed. "The deed is done, dark master." He rasped.

"That man was Radek," Sukander Besar said, gazing at the corpse with sad dark eyes, "He will be missed by his mother."

"And few others I suspect," Calliope replied callously, "though if you would like I can raise his corpse and send him home." The mystic gave a sad and world weary sigh but did not rise to the bait. He shambled to the edge of the cell to better regard them, thin almost skeletal, hand gripping the bars.

"Poor Radek has died so that you may speak to me," he said, "I encourage you to speak before his brethren compel you to kill them also."

Calliope produced the strange map and thrust it through the bars at the man. Sukander took it and examined it without speaking.

"Do you know what it is?" Calliope asked, "The Seven Princes seemed willing enough to kill me for it." Sukander sighed again. Calliope had the impression the mystic found much to sigh about.

"They are even more cavalier about death than you I fear, though for lesser reason," he replied, turning the paper slightly to gaze at its strange markings.

"These are the runes of Ak-Set," Sukander said, "A great kingdom that flourished on these sands thousands of years ago."

"And what do they say," Calliope asked eagerly. Sukander smiled wanly.

"There are none living who can read the runes of Ak-Set," he replied, then held up his hands to forestall objections.

"Fortunately, or unfortunately, there are devices which can read them, seeing crystals of great power," he explained.

"One may be found in the house of Maza-dan Sheref, one of the Princes so eager to take your life," Sukander went on. Calliope nodded in understanding.

"And what is your price for this information, shall I free you from prison?" she asked. Sukander bowed his head.

"Do as you think best, but remember, it is but my body which is imprisoned, not my mind. I fear for you it is the other way around." Calliope pondered his words for long seconds, struck by their unexpected weight. Then she reached out and touched the bars. The metal seemed to darken, then flake, and within moments collapsed into rusted powder.

"Go then Sukander Besar, and your gods go with you," Calliope told him, then turned and walked back the way the dead Radek had brought them.

---

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The marketplace was bustling with activity. Even under the torrid heat, fish vendors waved palms to grab the attention of passersby and men called out to the dozens of men and women to offer samples of fresh fruit from the Heblenon. Laughter rose from one corner of the bazaar, but it was hushed as the crowd parted to make way for a dozen Mamluks, helms with points like pikes gleaming in the sunlight, scale mail glittering as they marched, passing the stalls of cramped wood and colorful fabric.

"Come on," Neil whispered to his companion, placing the cloth back over his lower face and slipping back into the shadows. Calliope followed, her form lithe but not used to the ducking and dodging of a practice thief. She followed him under a shadowed alcove, up a small set of stairs into an alleyway, entering the less reputable part of the merchant quarter of the fabulous city of Ragba Shahir.

The cloying scent of fresh baked bread pierced even their swathed faces, and Calliope's mouth had only just begun to water before Neil presented her with a freshly baked cake, his dark eye winking at her before moving along. The next scent was unfortunately less pleasant, a manure farmer shoveling what could only be described as brown gloop into a carriage wagon, his nose pinned and his eyes red. Neil and the black witch hurried past, leaping over a small wall and traversing past a quaint garden before turning a corner down another alley, this one more shadowed and filled with the eyes of watchers, from the windows and the trash heaps. Doors closed and whispers to Hayashim drifted past lips, but Neil paid them no mind.

He stepped down another corner, passing a man swathed in a cloak with two wicked daggers at his belt in comfortable reach. Neil only gave him a wave, stopping at the cusp of an opening, veiled by a heavy curtain. Neil pulled it aside and held it up for Calliope to enter through. Once she stepped past the unremarkable sandstone wall, she was met with a well-lit room of, if not opulence, then a merchant's luxury. The torches revealed a room with soft carpets and lush lounge sofas arrayed around a small, mahogany table. A painting of a large breasted bedouin girl was hung above a foyer table, and cups of brass were arrayed on the table at the center. Past that, two steps up led to a small counter and a large, comfortable armchair.

Out of a small door to the northern end of the abode stepped a short man, with thin limbs and a sizeable paunch. He bore a large nose and a cloth was swaddled around his head, almost with the shape and likeness of a beehive. He yelped when he saw Neil and Calliope in the middle of his great chamber, the strong young thief pulling the veil from his face, tipping the brass cup back and downing some of his expensive wine.

"Who the- It's you!" The small man cried. "How did you find me!? I told you-"

"I followed you," Neil said before finishing his cup. The small man was flabbergasted and offended at that, but he did not seem overly enthusiastic on kicking both of them out, considering they were already here and he was unarmed. Any weapons could be hiding within the thieves clothes the two had procured for themselves over the past day.

"Why are we here, exactly?" The witch asked, lips pursed in thought and sharp eyes boring into the little man, before flicking to her mischievous lover. "You still have yet to tell me where you went yesterday. I assume this is apart of it?"

Neil took the brass cup and used it to gesticulate to Calliope. "Calli, this is the man that is going to get us into the palace of Maza-dan Sheref. He has a few connections that can get us past a bit of the security, if we make it worth his while. Allow me the pleasure of introducing you to Muk Al-matuk."