While Amal wouldn't exactly trade company, if he was alone he felt he might have a better chance of escaping. However, that was usually every thief's thoughts when in any group. He found even if he could, he wasn't going to leave her for a reason he chalked up to 'honor among thieves.' He himself had to back from the window as the bronze men closed off the escape route, and he backed up to stand just beside Emmaline, the blonde woman flanking his right as the soldiers moved in. 

Within seconds, the two lowlifes were surrounded by gleaming brass scimitars, poised like spikes to keep them rooted. It was a common enough occurrence for Amal, but not from automatons! For what it was worth, he kept his cool. One had to in the strange streets of Arabyan cities. At Emmaline's words, Amal replied with "I was going to ask you the same thing, truth be told." and he backed up one more step, his foot brushing one of the many towering cabinets that lined the walls. He glanced at it with a raised eyebrow, but his concentration was taken as an odd noise took his attention. 

It was clapping, and the door past the two dozen guardian soldiers opened without anyone having to push it. From within stepped a frail looking stick of a man with a contrasting air of powerful superiority. His eyes were piercing with a malign edge to them, and despite the fragile form and the barest wisp of a goatee on his unimpressive face, Emmaline's magesight would light up. It was clear this man was, if nothing else, more powerful than her lecherous old master. 

"And who have we caught in our web today, hmmm?" He asked thoughtfully, though there was a menace to his voice. He had the look of a spider about. Even his fingers idly tapping along his chin seemed like moving spider legs. "Did you enter my humble domicile by accident or design? I suppose it doesn't matter. You have used one of my devices without my consent, and you have damaged a promising if foolish apprentice. But perhaps you might have your uses to me?" 

Amal leaned over to whisper to the shorter woman. "He likes talking doesn't he?" 

There was a thunderous roar, and suddenly the man was cloaked in power and rising higher and higher, growing taller it seemed without changing his physical form. "[b]DO NOT INTERRUPT OR I WILL TAKE YOUR TONGUE. YOU ARE IN THE PRESENCE OF SUHAYL TAHIR AND I SHALL NOT BE DENIED[/b]." The air in the tower whipped like wind, and Amal held on to his looser cloth wraps to keep them from flying off of his neck and chest. 

The man reduced in size and grandeur, but the danger was still present. With a short breath, he continued. "Now, as I was saying...you seem to have an over abundance of curiosity. It just so happens I am in need of people of that nature..." His smile was evil and wide, and Amal knew indentured servitude when he saw it. It was one thing to be enslaved in the market, it was another to be under the thrall of a sorcerer. 

Amal prostrated himself before the man and his soldiers, dutifully giving praise in Arabyan as if the man were a God. Taken aback, Suhayl seemed please. "Aha, smart man. Yes, rise! Rise, so we may speak of grander things." 

Amal did as he was bid, rising to his feet, foot brushing the cabinet again. Amal raised a finger as Suhayl's mouth opened. "Master Tahir, may I ask a question before we speak in full?" he inquired politely. Impatience clear on the frail man's face, he acquiesced. "Yes what is it?" 

Amal elbowed the cabinet again, and a vial fell into his awaiting hand. "What does this do?" He quipped, and the taut muscles in his athletic frame sped the bottle toward the lines of the soldiers, hitting center mass. As the glass struck the bronze, green liquid heavily splashed across the metal as if searching for things to latch onto, and when exposed to the air it burst into blue flames that ate the bronze like it was dry leaves. Emmaline gasped and Amal had to agree. That was far better than he expected. 

The menace and power of Suhayl Tahir's voice was gone, replaced with a shrill scream as he tried to escape whatever alchemical concoction was in the vial. A bit of it splashed as Amal and Emmaline's feet, and the cutthroat sweeped Emmaline off the floor to keep it from touching it. "I think it's a fine time to leave, don't you?" he asked amid the cries of lamentation from Suhayl at his soldiers melting. 

Grunting, he let go of Emmaline with his left arm while his right arm still held her off the ground, and he picked up a fallen soldier's arm with the blue fire still burning along its stump. He lifted it up with gusto and turned, painting a door in the stone wall, liquid fire seeping into the rock of the tower and disintegrating its integrity. He dropped the bronze arm, and covering Emmaline's head with his free arm, he kicked the stone twice, thrice, and then shoulder rushed it. A near perfect door was pressed out of its place in the wall to fall heavily onto the ground, evidently crushing an unfortunate slaver who's recent purchase looked positively dumbfounded. 

Amal gave a very curt bow. "You are welcome my friend," to the thrall, before running into the alleyway and flee into the twists and curves of the city. 
[@Penny]