Nyssos was a massive city to be sure. The capital of the Salished Empire, built at the confluence of the Tashgad and Nabal Rivers, was perhaps the largest city in all of Azoth. Zar Dratha or one of the other great cities on the Bay of Teeth were possibly more populous than Nyssos, but the Salished capital was certainly larger in terms of the sheer size of the city. Nyssos proper, with its spires and ziggurats built upon floating plazas on and sometimes [i]in[/i] the rivers, was condensed along the rivers and did not cover a particularly large area. But the outlying slums where the vast majority of the city's populace lived stretched on for many leagues up and down the banks of both the Nabal and the Tashgad. Those slums gave way to a vast patchwork of rice paddies. 

From atop his steed, Irssun was afforded a commanding view of the surrounding countryside as he rode along. To the east, the mighty Nabal River flowed gently southward to the ocean and the quarter league or so between the riverbank and the road was comprised of shanty villages surrounded by several acres of rice paddy. And to the west, the paddies stretched on for many leagues, all the way to the hills and bluffs on the horizon that marked the interface of the Shadar Highlands and the floodplains.

The paddies on either side of the road teemed with serfs. The peasants wallowed through thick mud with curved blades in one hand and bundles of half-desiccated rice stalks in the other. Irssun knew enough about the rice harvest to know that they were harvesting too early. The hot dry season had only begun a moon ago, and the rice was not due to be harvested for another two or three moons. Rice harvested now would not have sufficient time to mature, the grains were bound to end up shriveled and small. But Irssun knew that this premature harvest was not being performed out of ignorance, for these Rainlander serfs had been cultivating rice here for a thousand years before the Saliszi warlords ever descended from the Godfangs. Irssun knew that these peasants were harvesting out of fear.

Irssun had heard the rumors spreading through the peasantry: word of warlock armies gathering in the west was spreading among the serfs as quickly as any pox or plague. The peasants feared a war was coming and that this time their Salished lords would not be able to protect them. These peasants meant to harvest what they could before finding refuge from the coming conflict.

The very first refugees were already on the road; a creaking cart drawn by a crippled ass rumbled down the road in the opposite direction of Irssun, Dimaza, and their retinue of mounted Sashul's Guard. A sun-bronzed rainlander paused from whipping his nigh-lame donkey to watch as the braid-beards rode past. His spouse and three young children sat in the back beside with a few of their possessions and enough rice to sustain them on their exodus. Irssun suspected they were on their way to the great causeways in Nyssos that spanned the great river, and from there they would probably venture on into the hill country on the eastern fringe of the Salished Dominion - somewhere far removed from anything that might interest any invader from the Ashlands.

"Miserable wretches," Dimaza snarled as the peasants' cart rolled past. "Truly, these Rainlanders take no shame in cowardice. Our Saliszi ancestors did this lot a favor by conquering them. Were it not for Salished strength, they would have been made thralls by the Dratha long ago. But they do not stand and fight, but flee into the hills like sheep. A lesser race of men, without question."

Before yesterday, Irssun would have been inclined to contest the feisty young vizier, to assure him that the Congress of Masters had no intention of open warfare against the Salished Dominion. But when the Congress' envoy to the Dominion openly requested Remun's abdication and fealty to the Archmagister, the Congress' intentions were made abundantly clear. The Salished Dominion and the Congress of Masters were going to war.

To make matters worse, the Sashul was anything but decisive during this critical hour. Following the meeting with Master Kaliban and his Drathan envoys, Remun had been sullen and aloof. Irssun and Dimaza had spent the better part of the morning trying unsuccessfully to get the young Sashul engaged in mobilization against the Dratha. A half-hearted 'I suppose,' in response to Dimaza's request to fortify key ascents up the Vorghul Shelf was the most decisive thing that Irssun or Dimaza were able to coax from Remun. By lunch, Irssun had had enough of Remun's sour attitude and set out for another errand. The old spymaster had no time to babysit the foul-tempered boy; not when there was a war to prepare for.

"Remind me, Irssun, why exactly I must join you on this errand of yours?" Dimaza asked, turning in his saddle to face Irssun. "I doubt you brought me along because you enjoy my company. My time would be better spent facilitating the defense of the Vorghul Shelf. Can't you do this on your own?"

"Lord Varrod has answered our call to arms, and has sent a contingent of his warriors to our aid against the Dratha. Early this morning, a ship from Vertskhilis landed at the fortress at Mador Tul bringing warriors from the Varrod League. They wish to demonstrate their capabilities to us, and I feel it would be best for you to know what these men are capable of, that you may best incorporate them into your plan to defend the Vorghul Shelf."

"Thankfully, we are nearly there," Dimaza sighed, looking upon the great hill of Mador Tul rising above the floodplain before them. It was a hill from the nearby Shadar Highlands, misplaced by geological happenstance to be located right along the bank of the great Nabal River. Situated just two and half leagues to the south of Nyssos, Mador Tul had obvious strategic value. Some Rainlander king built his keep atop Mador Tul centuries before the Saliszi descended from the Godfangs. During the zenith of the Salished Empire, the fort was fortified and expanded into an imposing citadel armed with catapults able to sink unauthorized vessels attempting to sail toward Nyssos. But over the past two generations, Mador Tul had fallen into disrepair. It was so neglected that bandits occupied the fort up until five years ago, demanding payment from ships going up and down the river and successfully resisting attacks from the anemic Salished Dominion. Though the bandits occupying the fort had been dispatched, it was apparent that little had been done in rebuilding the fort. The burned-out remains of watchtowers stood above the crumbling ramparts, whose neglect was accentuated by tufts of brushy grass and Quabir saplings sprouting from between the stone blocks of the fortress walls.

Irssun, Dimaza, and their guards rode up the switchback trail up to the gate of Mador Tul, or rather, what remained of it. The actual gate of the citadel had long since been destroyed. All that remained now was a gap in the wall, where the rubble from the ruined gatehouse had been cleared wide enough for two men standing abreast to pass through. Flanking the aperture into the fortress were two Salished men-at-arms, armed only with crude wooden bucklers and spears. The Salished garrison at Mador Tul was a pitiful affair; a dozen men drawn up from the local peasantry to keep bandits and pirates from taking up residence in the fort again.

"What do you lot want?" One of the guards asked as the horsemen cantered up to the entrance.

"We represent the Sashul," Dimaza snarled, bristling at the militiaman's insolence. "Show some respect to your betters."

"We have come to meet with the Vertskhili forces that arrived here this morning," Irssun declared.

"Right, Varrod's folk. They mentioned someone might be coming to see them today. They're right inside, follow me."

The man-at-arms led Irssun and Dimaza through into the parade ground of the dilapidated fortress. Dozens of crude tents had been pitched upon the courtyard of the fortress. A hundred soldiers milled about around them, pausing from their chores to watch the Sashul's men ride through their encampment. These men were a cut above the armed levies that comprised the bulk of the Salished hosts; they were professional soldiers, well trained with expensive armor and weapons. These were the soldiers of Lord Varrod's men, the master of Vertskhilis. Vertskhilis, while nominally part of the Salished Dominion was in truth ruled by Lord Varrod alone. Decades past, the Salished had attempted to oust Lord Varrod and reassert control over the Arm of Azoth, but were repulsed in a disastrous battle in the mountains. Ever since, Lord Varrod answered to the Sashul's will only when it served his interests. Knowing this, Irssun was unsettled by the fact that Varrod's forces had effectively commandeered a fortification so close to Nyssos. But during this dark hour, Irssun could ill afford to deny any assistance against the Congress.

The Salished militiaman stopped at the entrance of one Mador Tul's two surviving watchtowers, directing the Sashul's men inside. Irssun and Dimaza descended from their horses and went inside, ascending a staircase up to the the tower's crenellated top. There, Irssun and Dimaza encounter number of Vertskhili soldiers accompanying a man who wore the vestments of a noble underneath a scalemail curiass.

"Irssun of Tehre, Vizier Dimaza," the Vertskhili nobleman recognized. "I am gladdened that you were able to visit us. I am Faresa of Hamalsarak, commander of this regiment. Lord Varrod supports his Sashul in this difficult time, and has therefore sent this force and ten others like it to preserve the Salished Dominion and repulse the Congress of Masters."

"The Sashul is grateful for your assistance," said Irssun, knowing that Remun didn't know - and perhaps, didn't care - that Varrod's League was supporting him.

"I am glad to hear it, though I confess I wish the Sashul could have joined us," said Faresa.

"His majesty, as you can surely imagine, is totally preoccupied with war preparations," Irssun lied. Having anyone outside the palace seeing the Sashul in his current depressive state would be bad for morale. Even if Remun had wanted to go, Irssun would not have permitted it.

"As I suspected. It is a shame, this demonstration would not have been possible without Remun's counsel."

Irssun cocked his eyebrows with that. "What do you mean by that?"

"Let me show you," Faresa said, turning to his soldiers gathered near the tower's battlements. He took one of the curious-looking weapons out of the arms of one of the soldiers and presented it to Irssun and Dimaza. It was a long, slender tube of hammered brass, with a long, sharp spearpoint affixed to the front and a string fuse running out from its back end, where feather halves had been affixed to make fletched fins for the device. "Certainly, you recognize this device."

Irssun and Dimaza indeed knew what this weapon was, and what it was capable of. It was a rocket powered by firedust: coarse black powder that, when brought to spark, ignited with terrible force. Originally an invention of the Dratha, the noblemen of the Arm of Azoth somehow managed to acquire the recipe for firedust. Whereas the Dratha had seen as firedust as only an interesting curiosity, the southern city-states sought to utilize the material's deadly power. Jealously guarding the formula, the rulers of the Arm of Azoth developed fire arrows and rockets to wield against their adversaries. When their Salished masters came to put the Arm to heel, they turned their firedust weapons against the Sashul's hosts with terrible effect.

"Now, firedust on its own is potent enough. But, your Sashul, in his studies, discovered a way to further amplify its destructive potential." Faresa led Irssun and Dimaza out to the parapets, giving the three view over the Nabal River. Out in the middle of the river was a crude raft made from woven dumur reeds. The boat had no occupants and carried only two large ceramic vessels.

"Warriors," Faresa said to his soldiers. "Make ready to loose a volley, aim for the raft."

Irssun and Dimaza watched as the Vertskhili warriors reached for their torches - stationed well away from the rockets - and carefully lowered the flame to the very tip of five of the rockets' fuses. The wicks ignited with a burning hiss, prompting the warriors to quickly move their rockets into position with long poles mounted on the bellies of the rockets, pointing them off of the parapets directly toward the floating raft. A seemingly-interminable period of a few seconds passed as the fuses burned down into rear of the rocket before a roaring jet of fire erupted from the rear of the rockets. With trained precision, the rocket-wielders knew to release the guiding pole as soon as the rocket ignited, allowing them to careen off into the horizon. Irssun and Dimaza watched as the rockets flew away at terrible speed, their smoky contrails snaking around and spinning wildly toward the Nabal River. One of the rockets settled into a screaming cartwheel, circling up and down a hundred feet above the water before exploding in the air with a percussive bang. Another rocket flew straight across to the opposite bank of the Nabal where it exploded and set fire to some riverside bushes. Two other rockets arced down into the waters of the Nabal River. The rockets shot into the water with a sizzling splash before exploding a few feet underwater, creating a frothy geyser that erupted high into the air. One of the rockets had true aim, and hit squarely in the middle of the raft. Perhaps, in the fraction of a second before the rocket exploded, Irssun or Dimaza could have seen one of the urns shatter from the impact of the rocket and spill its black, viscous contents all around. But as soon as the rocket exploded, the tiny boat was consumed in a bright flash of white light that was followed by a deafening bang a nearby clap of lightning. Irssun and Dimaza could do naught but recoil from the sheer power unleashed before them. The explosion generated a shockwave that could be seen rippling across the water at tremendous speed.

It took several seconds for the echoes of the blast to carry across the land. The rolling booms gave way to the cawing of terrified seagulls scattered from their nests in between the fortress' weathered stones, and a bloodhawk could be heard screeching from its perch in a ruined watchtower. Irssun looked back to the river in silent awe, seeing only a column of steam and frothy water falling back to Azoth where the little boat had floated only moments before. Dimaza, however, could not contain his disbelief.

"How did you accomplish such a feat?" The young vizier demanded.

"Ichor," Faresa revealed with a wide grin. "In that boat were a pair of vases filled with about an amphora each of ichor, hardly an inexpensive demonstration, but what power. When the ichor in those vases came into contact with the spark of firedust, it burned with a tremendous force."

"Ichor does not burn," Irssun said. "It is basic alchemical knowledge that ichor is not combustible."

"Not with mundane fire, no. Neither flame from a torch nor spark from iron and flint will ever ignite ichor. However, our genius of a Sashul happened to have read Drathan alchemical texts during his... [i]confinement[/i]. He recalled that Drathan alchemists had discovered that when brought to the spark of burning magnesia, ichor will in fact ignite. Even a cupful of burned ichor was noted to be deadly enough that pupils were advised never to attempt it. The Sashul, suspecting that the spark of firedust might be hot enough to ignite ichor, sent word to Lord Varrod to see if ichor could amplify the power of firedust to be used as a weapon to even the odds against the Congreess. As you have witnessed, the technique certainly works. How fitting that the knowledge of the Drathan masters shall be used against them."

"Remarkable to be sure," replied Irssun, making every attempt to conceal his dismay. In attempting to find a means of evening the field of battle against the Congress, Remun had foolishly given a terrible weapon to Lord Varrod. Lord Varrod, while nothing compared to the threat posed by the Archmagister, was no friend of the Sashul by Irssun's reckoning. So long as the Congress of Masters threatened to destroy the Salished Dominion, Lord Varrod was an ally. But once the Congress was repelled, what then? Lord Varrod, seeking ever more power and autonomy, could just as easily turn such a weapon against the Sashul. Remun had been Sashul for scarcely a month and had already managed to alienate one of the Dominion's allies while empowering a rival. And just how had Remun managed to get a missive to Lord Varrod without his knowledge?

The spymaster had little time to ponder over Faresa's revelations, for the sound of hooves falling upon the cobblestones of Mador Tul's parade ground announced the arrival of another group of riders. Irssun, Dimaza, and Faresa peered over the watchtower's parapets to see who had just rode up to Mador Tul. They were mounted Sashul's Guard, adorned in the standard lamellar armor of the palace. Their horses were matted in sweat from a fast and hard ride.

"Spymaster, Vizier!" One of the riders cried from the parade ground when he caught glimpse of Irssun and Dimaza. "The Sashul is missing!"

That declaration stole the attention of everyone in earshot.

"Are you certain?" Irssun replied.

"Of course they're certain!" Dimaza screamed.

"We have looked throughout the palace!" The new arrival affirmed. "We cannot find him anywhere."

"This is the work of those Dratha emissaries," the vizier snarled, shoving his finger into Irssun's breast. "I told you we should have put them to the sword like the beasts they are."

"The emissaries," Irssun mumbled to himself. "By the Gods, of course."

"You doddering imbecile, what are you going on about?"

"Come with me, vizier." Irssun demanded, descending the stairs of the watchtower as quickly as his legs could carry him. "I think I know where we can find Remun."