Timir woke up covered in blood not his own. The three Arambans, whose blood it was, lay dead and dismembered around him, their crushed heads and bent armours telling tales of last night. Fighting to keep thoughts of Koru out of his mind, Timir stood up and cleaned himself up with the water in the trough as best he could. There was bloody grime under his fingernails and it caked his hair as well. He would need new clothes soon too. The rags he had worn for the past several weeks had seen better days.

The horse had bolted in the night. He would have to find a new one... right after he found Ugr. Understandably, someone had swiped his big ugly greatsword thinking him dead. This wasn't the first town he had lost it in. It wouldn't be the last.

Having enriched himself with a dagger and some gold from the dead mercenaries, Timir made his way out of the stable and into the mid-day sun of Sueila. A few boys saw him and fled. Something told him to follow them, so he did and soon found himself in a part of the market he had been in last evening. Had he been less drunk then, he might have noticed things other than the three men tailing him, like the richly coloured fabrics that lined the shopfronts, or the fact that the Sueilan flag had a goat's head in the top right corner.

Timir swore and slipped into the lane next to the garment shop. He stripped off his bloodied shirt and entered the shop through a window, immediately startling an old man. Before he had time to make a noise, Timir threw his bag of gold at his feet and said, "This is Aramban gold. Can it buy me a clean shirt?"

The Aramban gold, it turned out, could buy him much more than a shirt. It could buy him robes and headgear to help him pass as a noble. It could even buy him smiles from the girls who dressed him and the caress of their soft hands. He allowed his thoughts to wander until better sense prevailed and he reined in his fantasies. He wasn't cruel enough to follow his worst desires. He spent a little more of the gold to buy their silence and left the shop through the main entrance before adding his new colours to those of the mid-morning market crowd.

"Is that a sword or a pillar from the ruins of Samargund?" said Ahala, examining the blade that looked more stone than steel. "It would take three men to heft it, forget swinging it. What's it made of?"

The two fortune hunters who had dragged the thing to her portside pawn shop looked at each other. "Enkum?" the short one suggested.

Ahala snorted. She had no idea what enkum looked like, so she decided to answer their bluff with one of her own.

"Wrong colour," she said confidently.

"We got it from a dead man by the stables," the tall one said, deciding to go with honesty. "There were some dead Arambans there too."

Ahala looked up and considered him with a frown, "And you decided stealing from murdered Arambans was wise, did you?"

"Since when do you care?" he replied. "Will you take it or should we find another…"

Ahala held up her hand and resumed examining the red letters etched into the blade as she spoke. "No one here will risk buying something you stole from Arambans. That right there…" she pointed at a small ship anchored just off the pier, "…is an Aramban ship. Would you like me to point you out to them? Maybe you can discuss what enkum is going for these days."

The tall man froze, then recovered in time to grab the short one by the collar, who seemed like he was about to bolt. He was about to say something when Ahala spotted a tall nobleman in rich greens turn the corner. She instantly thought him odd for he had no servants behind him nor a carriage of any kind.

"That is one ugly sword," Timir said loudly as he got closer. "Are you selling it?" The two men turned and stared at him. The short one was the first to run, away from the market. The tall one ran too, but in the other direction. The stranger looked at him go with an expression that Ahala thought was resigned sadness.

"I take it the sword is yours," Ahala said. "You don't look Aramban to me."

"Then I bought all this for nothing," Timir said, feigning regret as he gestured at his garb.

"If you wanted to pass for Aramban, you should have bought purple."

"I did, a few moons ago, in Aramba itself. Didn't work. They sentenced me to death."

"You don't seem dead."

"That is because I made my escape by killing a whole lot of them…" Timir said and pointed at the greatsword lying on the counter between them. "…with that."

Ahala took measure of the man before her. He wasn't bad to look at despite the scruffy hair and the sad eyes, but she doubted even he was strong enough to wield the monstrosity that lay before her.

"Tell me," she said. "Is this sword made of enkum?"

"Could be daitya bone for all I know," Timir replied. "I took it from a temple in Banki."

"Banki?" Ahala said, doing her best not to look impressed. "Is that to the east?"

"Yes," Timir replied. "Far east."

"Is that where you are from?"

"No. I am from even farther east."

"And what brings you here?"

"The need to go west."

"What's in the west?" Ahala asked, but Timir didn't answer. His attention had been claimed by commotion coming from the ship's general direction. Ahala figured she wasn't going to get much more out of the stranger. Not that she cared. Anyone the Arambans wanted dead was alright in her book.

"The sword is yours," she said. "If you can manage it."

"That's my curse…" Timir said and hesitated.

"Ahala."

"That is my curse Ahala. I always manage," Timir said, a gentle sadness colouring his words, just as the Arambans stepped into the shadow of the awning.

"It's over rakshas," said their leader who was wearing purple, unlike the rest of the Arambans who were in green so much darker than Timir's new robes, they might as well be dressed in black.

"It's been over before," Timir replied, sounding almost absent-minded.

The man in purple swore. Timir thought it sounded too coarse to be high Aramban. What followed was a chant though. He knew this because his skin began to tingle and the hair on his arms stood on end. Magic!

Ahala, watching, withdrew behind the shop's curtains as the Aramban jadukar spoke a ball of blue smoke and glowing golden fire into existence before him. The stranger, who he had called rakshas, placed one hand on the sword's grip and let it rest there as he waited for the soldiers to close in, their spears pointed at his heart.

In a flash, the stranger turned and proved the wizard right. He was a rakshas! Or at least a man close enough to one in strength. Tightening his fingers around the greatsword's grip, he swung it once in a half circle, knocking the spears away, then hefted it with both hands and stood snarling at his hunters.

The spearmen looked at each other before charging, but before they got close enough to strike, Timir swung the blade downwards and with the strength of both his arms, drove it into the paved ground upon which the shop stood. With a quarter of it under, the blade still stood half as tall as any of the attacking Arambans. He placed a palm on the skull-shaped pommel and pushed off, launching himself into the air above them. He had landed in front of the still chanting jadukar before they had realised he was behind them. He had rammed his fist into the jadukar's stomach, knocking the wind out of him before they turned. Unfortunately, as he realised when they tackled him to the ground, he had been a moment too late to stop the chant.

The small sun was already growing.

The jadukar, his right hand clutching his gut, cast the small sun he had created over his head, where it shone with a brightness that rivalled that of the real sun. He then touched the cobbled ground before him and caused a great wall of stone to rise between him and Timir. The shadow it cast quickly grew darker even than nights had right to be. Though the shadow did not even span the length of the quay, Timir found himself in a consuming darkness that confounded his eyes, ears, and even his thoughts. He swung his arms around and hit nothing, for the Arambans had skittered away and were keeping their distance. One of them lunged forward and stabbed his side, another clocked him on the head with the hilt of his shortsword.

Timir blinked, as if seeing double, and mustered a burst of strength to charge them. He flailed around, seeking Ugr, but it was on the other side of the spearmen. The jadukar beyond the wall was hidden from him. When he sought the edge of the shadow so he could go around and end the man in purple, Timir found it shifting — the coward must have moved his made sun to keep the false night upon him. Its darkness fed on him mercilessly until his every muscle ached and he had no thought left.

When Timir opened his eyes, blinking to understand where it hurt, he found himself in a cage that was rocking like the horse-drawn cart it was on. There was blood on his new shirt, this time his own. He groaned, and swore loudly that he would only fight naked from now on.

"Is it true then?" he heard the girl's voice and looked around, blinking. She was walking alongside the cart. "Are you a rakshas?"

"No," he said, rubbing his eyes to see her better. "Why do you ask?"

"That's what the jadukar called you," Ahala said. "After he knocked you out and they put you in this cage, they told everyone there that you were a monster and you had killed many innocents."

"And why did you not believe them?" Timir asked and was amused to see her blush. But she recovered quickly enough.

"They are Aramban occupiers for one thing. And you didn't strike me as a rakshas."

"It is true that I have killed many," Timir admitted. "But I am only a man," Timir said. "They call me rakshas because I serve Koru."

"Koru?"

"He is a god."

Ahala was lost in thought for a while. Then she asked, "Are you a priest then?"

"If only," Timir said, leaning closer. "Priests are better at resisting temptation."

"And you aren't?" Ahala asked.

"Me? I fall for everything. Foul magics, pretty girls, you name it."

"What about your god? Does he like what you like?"

"He is a man of simple tastes. He just wants to go west. He likes anything that helps him go west. He kills anything that tries to stop him from going west."

"What's in the west?"

"Fuck knows," Timir said and fell silent. For a while, the only sounds were those of the cart creaking and the occasional passerby yelling at the Arambans to leave Sueila and never come back.

A soldier came by to check on Timir and was somewhat disappointed to find him sleeping peacefully. He prodded him awake and threw taunts at him, "Wondering where your sword is rakshas?"

"Not really," Timir replied, his arm over his eyes. "You threw it in the sea."

"Good guess," replied the soldier.

"I am not guessing," Timir said and let his captor stare at him in confusion. He was about to get another prod for his trouble when the cart stopped. From the corner of his eye, Timir saw the jadukar get down, still a little winded from the fist to his gut, and walk into the constabulary.

From inside, Timir heard Hodi. It grew louder soon, and then there was shouting. "What are they talking about?" he asked.

Ahala, who was also listening, said, "The jadukar wants to have you executed here in Sueila this very evening. The constable refuses. He doesn't want the trouble of exciting a rebellion in Sueila."

"Why would my execution excite the rebels?"

"I think he considers you part of the Sueilan resistence. The jadukar is telling him you were sentenced to death in Aramba. The constable is saying he is most welcome to take you back to Aramba."

"This is priceless," Timir said, chuckling.

"You find this amusing?" Ahala asked. "They are deciding where to kill you."

"If only killing me was as simple a matter as deciding where," Timir said.