As the spark­ing flame­craft arcs through the air, it slows down and then stops, hov­er­ing above the ground.

The tall man with the scepter flicks his weapon.

At the same instant the flame­craft flies back towards its thrower. It bursts into flame, send­ing Dron­aja flail­ing across the floor. A wave of heat knocks against Gil’s face. Hat­van and Kripa both stum­ble from the con­cus­sive force.

Jaruna had been train­ing his bow towards the hole in the ceil­ing. Now he is forced to roll away from the flames.

When the mys­tic takes aim again, he finds two sor­cer­ers stand­ing above the ceil­ing win­dow, staffs pointed straight down at him. Their hel­met gems glow brightly against the dark sky.

The tall man with the scepter, safely out of Jaruna’s aim, steps for­ward from behind his wall of hoplites. Gil rec­og­nizes the dis­torted voice now, and the hel­met with four gems. It is Satrap Nim­rod.

Jaruna keeps point­ing at the sor­cer­ers on the ceil­ing.

With his free hand, Satrap Nim­rod adjusts the face­plate on his hel­met, expos­ing his bare mouth.

Across the room, a few of the hoplites have bro­ken off from the pha­lanx to drag Yodhana’s corpse back behind their lines. Gil can’t see what hap­pened to Dron­aja, or if he’s even still alive. The flame­craft explo­sion has ignited tapes­tries on the far wall, and smoke begins to fill the air.

Jaruna still doesn’t lower his bow. He seems to be mut­ter­ing some­thing to him­self. Hat­van and Kripa clus­ter closely around Ayan.

He seems to be speak­ing to his pha­lanx of hoplites just as much as Ayan.

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