Where once, Syla’s home was a sanctum of tranquillity and quiet in the middle of a bustling city, it now clamoured with greater activity than even the streets outside.

  The butler stood in the centre of the entrance hall, face blank and voice as monotone as ever while directing men and women of every shape, size, shade and even caste hither and thither. The air was filled with snapping footsteps, clattering armour and murmured conversation. The smell of pressed lizard bodies was masked by a constant stream of fresh food brought to satiate these countless guests.

  Ezerkal stood in the entranceway, Khafra and Cleonar behind him, staring in quiet surprise at the gathered crowd.

  “Seems our criminal is a busy woman,” Khafra said, watching the armoured figures with suspicion.

  “And a popular one,” Cleonar added, her gaze focussed on Ezerkal. “Where is she?”

  “We shall have to ask the butler., he said with a smile, taking a few steps forward into the press “…unfortunately,” he added under his breath.

  The butler looked down as Ezerkal approached, with that same heavy-lidded stare and a resigned sigh. “Up the stairs and on the left,” he droned before Ezerkal could even get a word out, dismissing him with a flick of the wrist in the direction he’d indicated.

  Ezerkal paused and blinked, but the butler had already moved on to directing another group. “Upstairs he said, come on,” he finally said, calling over his shoulder to Khafra and Cleonar.

  The two soldiers shouldered their way through the crowd, skirting around groups and cutting through the criss-crossing lines of moving servants, messengers and advisors. Ezerkal followed behind, apologising profusely as he bumped his way through the assembled mass.

  Syla awaited them in a small lounge, her black formal attire complimented now by a thin leather belt from which a slim blade hung, hidden in an ornate silver sheathe. One hand rested on the thin, curved guard that connected hilt to pommel, the other pressed flat on the table she stood beside.

  Accompanying her was a thickset priestess, draped in long silken robes of deepest green, and an unsavoury looking mercenary figure wrapped in leathers and chain. The priestess Khafra recognised, and she was lounging on a long divan, gently swirling a half-full glass of wine. He was surprised to see someone of her seniority here, though she did look quite at home. The mercenary Khafra did not know, and he loomed at the back of the room, arms folded and with one dirty boot braced on the wall.

  Khafra and Cleonar stood shoulder to shoulder in the doorway, disapproving scowls on their faces as they cast their eyes around the room.

  Ezerkal, hidden by his smaller stature, simply put his hands together and waited as the two groups stared one another down.

  “Can you sit down already?” the mercenary growled from the back of the room; his lips curled in a half-snarl. “Can’t believe we’re relying on such gormless idiots…”

  Neither rose to the bait, staying stiff and haughty as they moved into the room. Cleonar took up position beside the table, arms folded, while Khafra lowered himself into a seat, leaning forward with hands braced on his knees.

  “Tell him what you told me,” Cleonar snarled, lifting her head and shooting Syla a condescending stare down the length of her nose.

  Syla replied with a sneering smile as she turned on Khafra with a theatrical flourish. “Your mentor and master, Aiur Zerkash, is wounded, and doubtless pursued through the desert. By a Naga.”

  Khafra blinked as though smacked, taking a long moment to process her blunt statement and formulate a coherent reply. “I’m sorry…I must have misheard you.”

  The priestess raised herself upright, taking a slow sip of her wine. “Your master is pursued by a Naga. A fate I would wish upon none. Our best attempts at scrying for him have made this painfully clear.”

  “What reason do I have to trust you? Or your…arcanery, for that matter,” Khafra snapped, turning a scornful gaze on the priestess.

  She scoffed. “I may be no Augur, but the results of such divination should not be ignored. I am however, far more disappointed by your lack of faith in the priesthood, and in me. What reason do I have to lie to you?”

  “Your position as a priestess does not make you incapable of ambition,” Khafra snarled. “I have the utmost respect for Aten and the faith, but forgive me if I do not blindly trust someone who could just as readily be exploiting me as helping me.”

  “Silence, both of you!” Syla shouted, slamming her fist on the table. Goblets jumped and a jug nearly fell before Ezerkal swept in to stabilize it. “I did not bring you here simply to bicker over your meaningless differences.” She turned her baleful gaze from Khafra, to Aretuza, and back again. “I will explain the plan, and you will acquiesce. If either of you do not, Aiur will die. It is that simple.”

  Khafra sighed, reclining into the seat and allowing himself a moment to relax, physically if not mentally. Just being here felt like treason, even if Ra’ven had given him blessing to do so. “Let us pretend for a moment that I trust you and that I did not hear that threat. Explain.”

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  “A beast from the depths of our species’ past has returned. It will not be alone. You, Khafra, have an army at your disposal and a personal interest in seeing Aiur returned to you alive. You, Aretuza, have the knowledge and, albeit in a rudimentary form, the skills to track both Aiur and this Naga through the deep desert until we get close enough to find them both with more natural means. That is where Shadrak and his mercenaries come in. We shall find Aiur, we shall find this Naga. We shall follow in the footsteps of the prophet and put down another serpentine horror from across the sea.”

  Cleonar seemed at least somewhat convinced, Ezerkal thought, inclining her head before glancing back to Khafra. The Legatus was far less impressed, his brow creased into a small frown. “It sounds to me like I am the bait in this plan.”

  His words hung in the air between them, settling into an awkward silence. Taking the opportunity, Ezerkal skirted the table’s edge, jug in hand, to pour himself a small glass of wine, glancing around at the others in the room as he took a tentative sip.

  Unable to hold it in any longer, Shadrak broke the silence with a rattling snigger. One hand, balled into a fist, was held to his face as that snigger bubbled into laughter. “The bait is already set,” he managed, pushing down his laughter as he walked to the table in the centre of the room. He placed both hands upon it as he leaned toward Khafra. “It’s Aiur.”

  “What?” Khafra stared across the room at the mercenary.

  Shadrak’s face hardened, twisting from jovial to serious in an instant. “Aiur is the bait,” he stated flatly, jabbing a clawed digit into the table. “Nobody else knows of this snake. It’s hiding its presence by killing everyone that sees it. Burning down every village it passes through. Aiur got away, so it wants him dead before he can tell anyone. Its chase will be relentless. We find Aiur, we have our bait. You, little Legate, are the anvil.”

  Khafra moved over to the table, staring across it at Shadrak, his face a thoughtful frown. “So, you’re not just here as Syla’s muscle…you’re the hammer.”

  Shadrak snorted. “Muscle? Your legion outnumbers my little company what, damn near two hundred-to-one? But I have twenty-eight trained fighters manning three ballistae, you’re damn right we’re the hammer,” he said, his grin growing wider with every word. “You bring the beast to battle and hold his pack in place, whilst we pin him down and put a bolt through his skull.”

  “You make it sound exceedingly simple,” Khafra replied, unable to stop a small smile of his own as Shadrak grinned at him.

  “Simple is always best with beasts.”

  “It does seem exceedingly reliant on my cooperation however. That is quite the gamble you’re taking,” Khafra said, turning his attention to Syla now. She certainly had the forceful personality that Khafra expected; it was clear why Ezerkal had been so taken by her rhetoric. He, however, remained unconvinced.

  Syla did not seem in the least phased. “I don’t gamble,” she said bluntly. “I need a legion. You don’t want to see Aiur dead. You have no reason to say no. But if you do…I am not out of options. You will simply have to contend with your friend’s death, and your part in it.”

  “So, its blackmail then. How urbane of you.”

  “Is it blackmail if it’s a statement of fact? You have an opportunity, here and now, to save him. Who is to say how long he has left to live without that help?” Syla said with a sly, knowing smile. She was good, when she needed to be, applying pressure and jabbing sensitivities.

  Khafra scowled at her, leaning over the table slowly. “I have full command of this expedition. That is my term. We manoeuvre how I want, when I want, where I want. Any failure to do so will be punished in full accordance with military tradition. We find Aiur, and we kill this snake my way,” he growled, repeatedly jabbing a finger towards Syla to punctuate his words.

  “Of course, Legate. Deferring to you on military matters is the only natural option. We are ready to depart whenever you are,” Syla said with a smile that seemed so genuine even Ezerkal could not help feeling wrong-footed. It was written all over Khafra’s face that he was just as surprised at how easily she had capitulated.

  Khafra took a wary step back, as though she may spit venom at him. “Priestess, where is he?”

  “East. North of the banks of the Ahbek and across the mountains. More accurate than that I am afraid I cannot be.”

  The legate nodded, moving toward the door without turning his back. “Cleonar, you’ve been awfully quiet. Your thoughts?”

  Cleonar let out a breath she hadn’t quite realised she’d been holding, turning it into a thoughtful sigh. “If he truly is in as much danger as they say, we have little choice.” She paused, mulling over her words. “Though with you in command I would feel far more comfortable.”

  “Good. Ezerkal, we’re leaving. I will gather the legion at the eastern gate within the day, you will remain and inform Ra’ven of our actions,” Khafra commanded, turning on his heel and leaving the room with Cleonar in tow. Ezerkal was left flustered, gathering his robes and setting aside his half-full glass.

  “So…where do I fit into all of this?” he asked, hanging in the doorway and looking back at Syla.

  “You continue exactly as you are. Keep an eye on Ra’ven for me while I am away.”

  Ezerkal nodded, and just as he was about to ask another question, Syla gave him a knowing smile that said everything he needed. Satisfied, Ezerkal held his tongue and quickly made to follow after his fellows.

  A few moments of silence passed, disturbed only by the groaning of Shadrak’s garb as he lowered himself to a seat, a smug grin plastered across his face.

  “Do you think this will work?” Aretuza questioned, tapping a finger against her glass as her eyes drifted from the door to Syla, who had not moved an inch.

  “A Naga presents a rare and valuable opportunity. The praise house Amunet would bestow on us would be worth it alone. The prestige and influence on offer if we oh-so-selfishly kill the beast is immeasurable. It is too perfect to let it slip through our fingers,” Syla answered. She swept across the room to sit, shoulders sagging and tail coiling at her feet as she relaxed.

  “So Aiur has become secondary to our aims?”

  “In a way. His influence in house Zerkash could be considerable if he survives but the Naga is of far greater importance. However, this trap does require bait. Thus, we need him alive for the time being.”

  Aretuza nodded. “I have faith in this gambit. Let us hope it is rewarded.”

  “I am using all the information at my disposal and putting my trust in the faithful of Aten. It will be rewarded, so long as you are certain of where this will end,” Syla said, alluding to the countless verifications of her vision Aretuza had busied herself with in recent days.

  “I am, ma’am. All signs point to Balanzar.”

  “Then we trust in the allies we have made for ourselves.”