If there was anything far more tedious than sitting through meeting after meeting regarding the encroaching wedding, it was not readily apparent. The princess of Agrabah could no more yawn from the excitement than she could inwardly balk at the pang of regret and nostalgia that soaked her psyche like oil. Agrabah had been quiet as of late and the lack of adventure had set the princess back on her predestined path once more to becoming the next sultana of the kingdom. Aladdin had catching up to do as far as palace etiquette and diplomacy, but as a celebrated hero of Agrabah, he was afforded far more leniency than would have been his right had he been high-born. The sun had been steadily sinking behind the golden dunes when the meetings finally concluded and Jasmine was released from the tyranny of blue-blood life and free to wander on her own. It wasn't long before she found herself back in her own chambers, feeling the oppressive heat of the outside weigh on her head and shoulders. A bath was readied for her and she readily disrobed and sank into the heated water sprinkled with rose petals and scented with lavender oil. Almost immediately, she was relaxed.
"We could use some diabolical attack right about now." She said with a single exasperated exhale of breath. She sank lower until only her face was above the surface, her hair becoming waterlogged and plastered to her back. In retrospect, all the adventures did them all good, starting with Jafar and progressing from there. It let them know just how much of a threat the world around their kingdom could pose. She briefly wondered if the surrounding kingdoms experienced similar troubles with the likes of Mirage, Sadira, and Mechanicles and wondered how they fared against such powerful foes. She wondered how much of their victories toted the line of blind luck and cleverly prudent planning. There were times where she had thought they would never make it, and she wondered in the events that she and Aladdin found themselves bereft of Genie and Carpet how they would fare against their foes in the future.
Perhaps a bath was not what she needed to free herself of the tyranny of matters of the state. Jasmine tarried a while longer before rising from the bath to groom herself and return to her chambers for a much needed rest. She could worry over the matters on the morrow with Aladdin at her side and a clearer head.
. . .
While dawn crested the Seven Deserts, the Land of the Black Sand was pitched in eternal night, as if light feared to impugn its touch past the border of golden dunes into the pitch of a realm that harbored death close to its jagged edged heart. Mozenrath did not particularly care for dawn as it was not an element in which he worked his best. Three days had passed and he anxiously awaited the arrival of his newly leashed vipers. There was no indication in the texts about how they arrived, only that they would when they were contracted. It was not in his nature to lose patience, but the anticipation hung heavy on the air like a dew-drenched violet and as his bare hand tightened on the balcony, he saw them cresting a dune in the distance just after moonrise. Three figures alone riding hard on horseback, little more than silhouettes against the star-speckled sky. Mozenrath grinned hard and left the balcony to go and meet the trio of killers at the entrance to the citadel. They were there by the time he materialized before the large doors that remained, for the most part, adamantly shut. Three black Friesians stood at attention snorting and breathing heavily from what was obviously a hard ride. Mozenrath watched the trio silently, as if calculating the risks of contracting these deadly mercenaries. They were wrapped in black as he expected of their kind, and as they dismounted their steeds with graceful ease, Mozenrath noticed their size differences.
The first Viperinae was tall, towering over the sorcerer by at least a head, with broad shoulders and sturdy legs. When he pulled down the black scarf around his face, Mozenrath noted his dark skin and the look of intensity that formed tension around his mouth in a perpetual frown of disapproval.
"Greetings," Mozenrath said evenly to the three of them and they did not respond…as expected of their kind. They were here to perform their task and leave, no more and no less. Any more than that and he was certain he would not be able to bring them to heel. However, he considered that they were not mindless killers that would run amuck if the tether was cut. He observed the second Viperinae, a slender man who had the look of a feline about his features. His skin was dark as well, and of the two men he'd observed thus far, he noted that this man radiated danger as if he wore it every day. He was a pure killer, Mozenrath read that in the way he stood, the way he shifted his weight with such subtlety that had the sorcerer not been watching he may have missed the change. Finally, his dark gaze siphoned to the smallest of the three. When this one pulled down the scarf Mozenrath hid his surprise with a smile.
A woman.
The third Viperinae was female, with skin that was darker than Agrabah's sand, but slightly lighter than a cocoa bean. She had eyes that spoke to him in one word, and when their gazes met, she inclined her chin a touch as if in greeting. Mozenrath caught sight of tendrils of black hair from beneath the cowl of her cloak. He was even more surprised when she spoke.
"Mozenrath," her voice was a noose of black silk that threatened to choke off any retorts should he harbor them at the tip of his tongue. She spoke as if she were pouring honey from her mouth, and he could almost taste his name on her lips. "I would suggest," and the word was anything but, "you be quick about your business. We've other clients to attend to and we are not likely to wait for you to consider reneging on the deal anytime soon." Her words sobered him, and he chuckled.
"Of course, of course. Come in. I do not like to be seen as an improper host to my guests." In a flourish, flames of blue and black engulfed them and they were transported to his throne room. Mozenrath was used to the vertigo that followed a teleportation spell, and he saw that the Viperinae were as well, save for a slight movement of their feet—they were trained well to endure such nuances. The sorcerer turned to face them.
"I trust your handler has briefed you on the nature of my request?" The trio regarded him impassively, and the female—obviously their superior—spoke.
"You wish to systematically conquer the Seven Desert kingdoms, starting with Persis." She spoke with confidence, unfaltering, as if she had done this before. Of course she had, Mozenrath chided himself inwardly. Decimating the lives of others was their bread and butter. Anything else would be unreal. He pointed his gloved finger at her with a grin.
"You're as perceptive as I had hoped you would be. What is your name?" The woman's face did not change.
"Our names are irrelevant. You need us to weaken the foundations of these kingdoms, and that is what we will do. We will begin on the morrow." Mozenrath decided he did not like this woman. She was self-assured, yes, but she seemed to think him incompetent of conquering a kingdom on his own. As if reading his mind, the woman smiled, her two compatriots moving to flank her left and right shoulder.
"You are new to this method of conquering, sorcerer. You may have taken the Land of the Black Sand, but that is because there was only one person to oppose you. You are the ruler of an empty kingdom." Mozenrath's lip curled in a snarl at her words. He had defeated Destane, yes, but the cost of it was staggeringly high—empty kingdom or no. The woman's brows raised in apparent surprise.
"Remember you are under my orders by contract. For now, your loyalties lie with me—"
"Our loyalties lie only with the highest bidder, Mozenrath. As we have been told, your debt to us has not yet been paid." It was a more serpentine voice that cut through the air like a finely honed blade. It was the slender male who spoke on behalf of the trio now. Mozenrath knew they would be trouble, but he would not have paid the price if he knew they were mouthy. But the man spoke truth.
"If I cannot have your true names, then give me your call-names." Mozenrath was tired of them already. He reconsidered his deal with the god that called itself an Aljenu. These three had no scruples about treating clients with respect.
"I am called the Cobra." The largest male spoke first, his voice sounding as if it came from the bottom of a well…deep and brooding. Mozenrath considered him. He was obviously the brute strength of the group.
"I am the Asp." The slender male spoke offhandedly, as if this mission was not worth his time.
"And I am the Adder." Mozenrath eyed the woman curiously who had pulled back the cowl of her cloak with a deceptive smile that turned sinister in her eyes. He did not trust her—and as well he shouldn't. The Viperinae acted alone as well as in a group, and he had read of her treachery. Her beauty was far more appealing now that she had removed that cumbersome cloak. "If you've no confidence in our competence, Mozenrath, by all means, feel free to test us however you see fit." Mozenrath liked challenges, and the look in her eyes dared him to try her, but he knew his strength lay in arcane might rather than physical prowess. She was lithe, she was beautiful, but he saw no weapons on her that he could name. He knew they were capable spellcasters in their own right, but their true lethal abilities were with blades, arrows, and close-quarters combat. Mozenrath smiled at the Adder and lifted his finger and in an instant, lightning struck. The Adder slid her foot back to brace herself against the force, but Mozenrath was surprised to see a ripple in front of her that roiled with flames, absorbing the lightning with ease. The spell was not powerful—far from it—but had it struck her she would have needed the aid of a healer and possibly a Necromancer if she had been less-protected. Instead, all it did was rustle the strands of her dark hair and cause her to smile.
"I believe he has accepted my challenge." The Adder mused as she lifted her hand. Mozenrath saw her fingers moving rapidly in succession, as if drumming them on something. She was weaving a spell and Mozenrath did not know if he had the proper counter for whatever magic she planned to use. The magic in the air warbled with a tension thick enough to choke them all, so both Asp and Cobra stepped aside before the Adder released the spell. It dissipated before Mozenrath's eyes, and her laughter chased him back into the reality that was not controlled by her.
"I was speaking in jest, sorcerer," she said with a bow, "what would you have us do?" Mozenrath glanced between the three of them and noticed they all had smiles on their faces and mocking laughter in their eyes.