The Just Rewards

by Aldea Donder

UPDATED AT LAST! The clock ticks steadily down to doomsday as Jafar and the Serpentine Legion close in on the capital. The Seven Deserts face enemies from without and within while Iago continues wrangle with his own personal demons.

4. Of Blood and Battles

The Just Rewards by Aldea Donder

Disclaimer: I do not own or take credit for any of the characters or places expressed hereafter in this writing with the exception of Jazel and Leon. The city of D'jel belongs to Dragonessa and is used with her permission. Everything else is the property of the Walt Disney Company.

Summary: This story takes place approximately eight years after Aladdin and the King of Thieves. Jafar has returned and won control of Agrabah. Iago has been taken prisoner, and he survives only at the whimsy of his greatest enemy. This story borrows some of its ideas from Catie Graham's The Truth About Iago. Read it as soon as you can; it's fantastic.

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Chapter Four: Of Blood and Battles

The following days passed for Iago just as they had for the last three months: painfully slowly. He never would have believed the Land of the Black Sand was so far away had it not been for this trip. Whenever he had traveled there before, he had arrived quickly, rarely in more than a half-day's time. But he had had the luxury of Carpet's incredible speed then; being able to shoot across the sky and circumvent the unpleasant terrain below tended to make things go faster, even if he did have to put up with Genie's antics along the way. Not until now did it occur to him just how distant Mozenrath's domain really was - it was on the farthest fringes of the Seven Deserts in a place nobody would ever have reason to go in the span of ten lifetimes. It was no wonder it had been treated as a fairytale in Agrabah for so long. It was so elusive, anyone with an ounce of sense would dismiss it as a myth.

"We have a genie, don't we?" Iago asked Cassim one day.

Cassim gave him an odd look. "Yes," he answered hesitantly.

"Then why can't we use him to zap us there? We could be there in a puff of smoke!" he complained.

On cue, Genie chimed in. "Because, Iago, Mozenrath set up a magical dampening field all around the Land of the Black Sand. As long as it's there, I can't teleport us past it. I hear it's all the rage with evil sorcerers these days," he added sarcastically.

"What about the rug? Couldn't we at least have taken it?"

"Carpet stays with Jasmine when we're gone. End of story," Genie said simply.

Iago wanted to press for more information, but he let the subject drop.

The sun hung in the sky like a heavy medallion, draping everyone with its golden cashmere. It was hard to think that just days ago, Iago had so cherished the sight of it; now, he just wanted it to disappear. Genie could keep the group supplied with water forever, of course, but that did nothing to relieve the heat. Every day topped the last in degree of temperature, and no man went more than a few minutes without wiping the sweat from his brow. For the most part, everyone tried to ignore it, though Iago and Abu had asked if there was anything Genie could do about it at one point. He had suggested creating a new breed of horses with on-board air conditioning. What that meant, Iago wasn't sure, but Aladdin had hastily put a stop to it when he reminded Genie of something called an electric bill. Nobody had spoken of the matter since.

Iago had a particularly difficult time adjusting to the heat. He had lived the last several months as a prisoner of the cavernous indoors and had grown unaccustomed to the scorching desert weather. To make matters worse, his body was still weak from his imprisonment at the palace. His muscles had atrophied, his bones had grown stiff, and he could only guess how much blood he had lost. He couldn't fly for more than a few minutes without becoming light-headed and falling out of the sky. As such, he was relegated to Cassim's shoulder for the length of the journey, which made time pass even slower than usual.

But neither his constricted environment nor his sweaty discomfort were foremost on Iago's mind. The subject that was central to all his thoughts and the force that was slowly consuming him from the inside-out was Mozenrath. There was something about him that made his blood run cold and his muscles shiver, even in the heat of the desert. Iago had never been fond of the sorcerer before, that was true enough. But this time, something was different. There was a primal urge buried deep within him that begged him with every fiber of his being to turn around and fly as fast as he could back to the headquarters of the Order. With every step the companions took forward, his mind screamed with more and more urgency that it was imperative for him to stop.

It was ironic. He had volunteered to travel with his friends because he was afraid to abandon them as he had abandoned Cassim at D'jel. He had wanted to go to the Land of the Black Sand. Now, the very thought of that dark place repelled him.

Too afraid to help your friends? How predictable of a traitor like you! a voice spat inside his head.

Then, he remembered Jasmine's words to him. "You can't let him win, Iago," she had said. "You can't let him win."

He told the voice to shut up.

The sun had nearly completed its graceful arc across the sapphire sky. Very soon, they would make camp. Iago relished the thought of it. He was tired, hungry, and dying to hear someone else's voice after a long day of quiet travel, even if it was Genie's he had to put up with. He could just picture the campfire now...

"Marauders!"

Iago snapped to attention long enough to catch a snatch of what was going on - the flourish of a crimson cape, the sight of an ebony mask, the ruby glimmer of a sword as it whisked through the air in the setting sunlight. Then, the horse beneath him buckled, and he was thrown off balance as it rose up onto its haunches. Before he knew it, he was falling. Before he could react, he was on the ground. He shook his head blankly and wondered what was going on, then looked up - just in time to see the horse's hoof falling, aimed straight for his head. With eyes of fear, he rolled to his right, and the hoof missed him by a millimeter. It left a deathly imprint in the sand where he had just been.

"What the hell is going on - hey!" he cried as a hand grabbed him and lifted him into the air. The next thing he knew, he was back atop the horse, back atop Cassim's shoulder. His partner glared at him.

"Iago, try to be more careful. We're already in a dangerous situation here, and there's no need for you to go making it more so."

"Blame the horse, not me! That animal nearly killed me!"

"The only animals here," Cassim said quietly, "are the ones surrounding us."

He whipped his head about, then dropped his jaw as he stared in the face of their adversaries. Seven - no, eight men sat astride nightmarish horses before them. One, whom Iago assumed to be the ringleader based upon his regal style of dress and many decorations of gold and silver, was separated from his cohorts. The rest of the pack had surrounded the members of the Order and were grinning maliciously at them in a way that was fitting for a band of thieves such as them. They wore robes of scarlet and obsidian battle armor, a color that matched that of their steeds. Half of them had even adorned themselves with facial paint that bore a suspicious resemblance to blood, and one or two wore devilish masks that obscured half of their faces. All of them had their hands on the hilts of their swords, with the exception of their commander, who merely stabbed at them with a smug look and a smile.

"They came out of nowhere," Cassim hissed. "I should have seen them coming from a mile away!"

Iago said nothing, but inched closer to Cassim, seeking to distance himself from the Marauders as possible. And for a moment, the desert was silent, save for the braying of the horses and the drumbeat of his own heart.

The hush was broken by the ringleader of the Marauders, who flashed Aladdin a cocky grin - a grin that was not unwarranted with the safety of fifteen yards between himself and the battlefield - then called out with unwary confidence, "Your gold and silver, noble travelers! I beg you to deliver it to me now. I would not want any blood spilled upon all this lovely sand."

"The only blood spilled this day shall be your own!" dinned Rasoul, reaching for his sword.

"Wait, Rasoul," Aladdin muttered. The elder man looked incredulous, but let his arm fall at ease.

Cassim tightened his legs on the horse, and it trotted forward to Aladdin's side. Iago noticed the Marauders that had been behind them advanced to close the distance. They were scoundrels, there was no doubt about that. But they were trained scoundrels. Scoundrels with experience. And that made Iago all the more nervous.

"This is folly!" Cassim whispered to Aladdin. "Fighting them would mean needless bloodshed and a pointless risk. Genie, create some gold for us to give them. That way, they can go right on thinking they've robbed us, and we can go on our merry way."

Aladdin furrowed his brow in consideration.

"What's the matter, Cassim? Do you still hold some love for thieves deep down in that bloated heart of yours?" Rasoul mocked.

Cassim shot daggers at Rasoul, but held his tongue. "Why fight when there are easier solutions?" he said simply. "Why take life when we don't have to?"

"Because they deserve it!" the other man snarled.

"Then it's a good thing your own shallow opinions don't count for much around here, Rasoul," Cassim answered coldly.

With that remark, Aladdin scowled and addressed his father, "If I want a shallow opinion, Dad, I'll ask you." Then, he turned his back entirely on Cassim, gave a curt nod to Rasoul, and asked, "How many can you take out?"

Not for the first time that day, Iago was speechless. How could Aladdin show such disrespect to his own father? Furthermore, how could he so graciously put all their lives in jeopardy over nothing? He was not the only one to have such a reaction; Genie looked disappointed, and Cassim was just plain furious as he turned away to square off with the nearest Marauder, a hearty man twice his size and half his age with muscles rivaling those of Rasoul.

But Aladdin had neither regard nor conscience for his predicament as he waited intently for his general's input.

"Four," Rasoul surmised as he peered begrudgingly at his nearest opponent. "Three if one of them gets lucky, but I doubt any will. These desert brigands look like bears and fight like shrews. Besides, we have the King of Thieves on our side! If they manage to get the upper hand, he can always get down on hands and knees and beg for our lives as a coward would," he finished snidely.

Aladdin brushed his bangs out of his face. Iago noticed his eyes were coal black, seeming to suck all the darkness out of the air around him as he stared into the face of the enemy. For a moment, the parrot was unnerved.

"Attack on my signal."

Iago felt his heart lurch. Aladdin had never been one to shirk from a fight, but he had never seized on the chance of a confrontation purely for the sake of confronting someone before, either. Distantly, he wondered whether his long battle with Jafar had made him so dour and hostile - or was something else to blame?

Thinking badly about your benefactor, Iago? Thinking badly about the one you betrayed over and over again? If it weren't for him, you'd still be back in that laboratory, nailed to that wall - exactly where you deserve to be!

He shuddered.

The ringleader stirred atop his horse, his brash smile having turned into an impatient scowl some time ago. Impatient, he hollered, and the wind carried his voice across the dunes, "This is your last chance, migrants! Will it be your valuables or your heads?"

Aladdin decried as a magistrate would in condemning a felon, "You demand we turn over our valuables? It would give me no greater pleasure! I'd be happy to give you a dole of silver - right through the heart!" He unsheathed his silver scimitar and raised it high into the air for all his comrades to see, then within the confines of a warrior's voice, let pierce the air a thunderous war cry as he galloped forth to meet his nemeses. All around, the other members of the Order were doing the same.

But Iago was unaware of it.

His eyes remained transfixed on the silver blade. His soul was utterly captivated by it - by its fiery glimmer as the light reflected off the garish metal; by its movement as it cleaved through the air like a buzzard, diving faster and faster to feast upon its prey; by the whistle that it made as it swept toward its target, whose eyes were filled with the utmost horror because he knew he was absolutely powerless to stop it. But more than that, he was captivated by the expression on Aladdin's face. Those baneful eyes, that threatening smirk, that expression so twisted and misshapen by vengeance that it turned his otherwise handsome face into that of a monster...

He had seen them all before.

And they chilled him to the bone.

He noticed a harrowing light out of the corner of his eye, and with difficulty, craned his neck to catch a glimpse of it was. What he saw caused him to yelp in fright: there was Jafar treading wickedly to his side, a satisfied and vengeful expression on his face, a malevolent and saw-like dagger in his fist. The blade shone silver through the darkness and seemed to radiate evil. It illuminated all of Jafar's most sinister features and instilled a fear neither of earth or heaven in Iago's heart. Overcome with terror, the parrot tried to back away, but his fright kept him rooted in place. Besides, when he took in the scope of the laboratory, it was obvious there was nowhere to run.

Jafar was going to claim the revenge he was entitled to, and Iago was going to receive the end he rightfully deserved.

"It's time you were served your just rewards, Iago," he intoned as he smirked down at him. "You have earned what you have coming to you, you pitiful, worthless traitor!"

And then, with a madman's face, he raised the dagger high into the air -

Iago squeezed his eyes shut and shielded himself with his wings. He knew all to well what was about to happen. He had lived it once before, and living it again made him want to throw up. The agony, the despair, and the imperishable regret he had felt that day would never be erased from his memory, but now, it seemed, he was in for a second serving of it.

He wasn't convinced whether or not he deserved it anymore. He wasn't sure whether he deserved to die for serving Jafar, for betraying Aladdin, Jasmine, and the rest of his friends, for abandoning Cassim at D'jel, and for all the other traitorous deeds he'd done in his life. It was a question he chose not to think about. But since his conversation with Jasmine, he was certain that he didn't want it. And so, as he lied there, awaiting the inevitable, the only thing he wished for was that he could go on living. Part of him cried out that such self-perservance was selfish, but then, he remembered what Jasmine had said to him. He would not let Jafar win.

But the dagger never fell. The pain never came.

Cautiously, he opened one eye, then the other.

Infinite blackness encompassed him. The very sight of it made him tremble. He had only experienced such an absence of light once before in his lifetime, that occasion having been when he had been struck by Jazel's lightning ball and found himself isolated, alone, the solitary occupant of a dead world devoid of kindness, compassion, and joy. Momentarily, Iago wondered whether Jafar had killed him. But he did not recall having been struck by the dagger, and the beating of his heart was still very loud in his head. He had not died. But if that was true, then how did he get here? And just where was here?

It was a trick. It had to be. There was no other explanation. Jafar was probably just beyond the veil of darkness, waiting for Iago to call out. And when he did, he would appear before him, dagger in hand, and finish him off. Jafar took delight in taking Iago by surprise. It wouldn't be unlike him to lead his prisoner to think he was safe, then appear out of nowhere and riddle him with pain. Iago tensed as this occurred to him, and he tried to shield himself with his wings again, only to realize they were chained down.

Then, he discerned a shape amid all the black. A man was trudging slowly toward him through the darkness - a man draped with a heavy black cloak. His movements were slow and he walked at a leisurely pace, and there was a mannerism about him that showed that he knew the world would wait for him no matter how much he took his time. As he came nearer, Iago felt his trepidation grow more and more. There was a primal urge buried deep within him that begged him to turn around and fly away as fast as he could. With every step he took forward, his mind screamed with more and more urgency that it was imperative for him to stop. There was something evil about the man - something that filled the parrot with terrible loathing. The shadows themselves seemed to leap out of his path as he walked closer.

But much more horrible than the man was the object he grasped in his hand: a knife, silver, curved and serrated, gleaming with radiance through the gloom.

The moment Iago's eyes fell upon the dagger, he snapped. He thrashed and he writhed and he twisted and he scuffled, but despite his best efforts to free himself, the shackles that bound him held firm. He screamed with all his zeal and begged with all his passion that someone might come to his rescue, but there was no one to save him. And despite it all, the cloaked figure drew ever nearer; now, he was a mere twenty feet away. Iago continued to struggle, but his energy was wasted. There was no way out, and he knew it. He languished in despair as all hope within him was snuffed out like a candle. His heart in his chest was as heavy as the chains that weighed him down. Ten feet. Just ten feet away. He prayed to the Almighty that this torture might end and simultaneously cursed Him for allowing him to be put through it in the first place. He knew he wasn't thinking with logic, but logic took back seat to the fear flowing through his veins and crashing like brutal waves against his senses. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to die.

The man came to a stop before him. He stopped so close that every inhale, every exhale, every twitch he made was plainly and painfully observed by Iago with baited breath. So close that Iago could behold his own reflection in the dagger and distinguish his own terrified expression amidst the luster of the silvery blade.

Then, he held the dagger to the parrot's trembling neck.

And that was when Iago knew he was going to die.

The vaguest part of him had expected the pain would not come - that like Jafar, the cloaked figure would vanish into thin air, leaving him alive, if a little mortified. As the dagger cut into the crest of his throat, bringing tears to his eyes and sending shockwaves of unendurable pain to each corner of his body, it dawned on him how inexorably wrong he had been. Fire raced down every nerve and set every pain sensor ablaze with hot, burning agony. Iago hissed and arched his back, which only served to drive the blade deeper into his throat. He tried to call for help, but was too overcome with anguish to form a coherent sentence. He wanted to howl in pain, but despite the magnitude of what he was feeling, his vocal cords refused to work. Before, he had been unable to see much of anything in the lightless void, but now he felt his vision go blacker still as a familiar darkness enclosed upon him...

"Get 'im, Smaug! He wanted gold, so give it to him! And don't stop until you've chased him all the way back to the Lonely Mountain! Haha!"

And then, just as quickly, he found himself back in the middle of the desert.

Iago blinked several times as the sudden light laid waste to his retinas, and at long last, he found he could move his wings and raised them to protect himself. When his vision returned to him, he swiveled his head back and forth to figure out where he was, and more importantly, where the cloaked man had gone. Only one of these things was evident to him, that being that he was lying on his back on the sand at least fifty feet away from Aladdin and the rest of the group... or was he? Briefly, he wondered whether what he was seeing was real or whether it was just another hallucination as the last two illusions he had been smacked with had been. After thinking about it, he dismissed the thought. This certainly didn't feel like an illusion. But then, neither had it felt like an illusion when the dagger's razor teeth cut into his throat. He paled as he remembered what had just happened to him and mortally rubbed his neck; needless to say, he was relieved to find it intact. But that didn't answer any questions.

He spied a black shape in the distance out of the corner of his eye. He worried at first that it might be the cloaked man, but when he squinted and looked at it properly, he realized it was none other than the ringleader of the Marauders perched daintily upon his midnight stallion, fleeing the site of the battle. Just then, he was overwhelmed by the booming sound of a colossal earth-rattling roar, and he looked up - only to be overwhelmed again when an enormous red dragon appeared above him out of thin air. It flapped its powerful wings up and down, nearly picking Iago up and blowing him away in the gusts of wind it generated. Then, puffing smoke from its nostrils and bursting flame from its jaws, it bore down upon the retreating Marauder, snatched him up off his horse in its massive claws, and carried him off into the distance. Iago watched in awe as the two of them faded into the horizon.

"You okay, Iago?" Genie asked.

Iago was caught off-guard by the question, having been too sidetracked by the spectacle before him to hear Genie approach from behind. He snapped his head around to face him, and in doing so realized he must have been quite a sight to see himself, staring up into the sky as he cowered on the ground with his wings raised over him for no apparent reason.

"I - yes. No. Yes," he said with uncertainty. Then, he decided to take the cynical approach: "Don't I look alright to you, clown? I just like the shade from my wings, and the battle was too noisy, so I came over here! What's your excuse for looking like an idiot?"

"The battle's been over for five minutes," Genie snapped back. "But if you'd like, I can take you back to where the battle was fought and reunite you with the group. You must be aching to spend some time with them. I mean, you seemed put as much distance between them and yourself as you could the moment those Marauders showed up, but I'm sure that didn't mean anything. I mean, shade is just a heck of a lot more pressing an issue than fighting to save your friends' lives, right?"

Iago goggled at what Genie was saying. Then, he found himself stewing with sudden contempt for himself. First and foremost, he was furious at himself for lashing out so violently at Genie, whom it was obvious had only wanted to help before the parrot verbally attacked him. However, not far behind that, his anger was derived from exactly what he had been accused of. It was true he had not been seeking shade, as he had so pathetically made up to hide his own fear and confusion. But that was no excuse for not being there to protect those he loved. What if something had gone wrong? What if the Marauders had won the battle and all his friends had been killed? What would his excuse have been? That he had been so overcome with fright and anxiety that he let himself be conquered by flashbacks and hallucinations while everyone he cared about died around him? That was no excuse at all. He would have been responsible for having let them be killed...

...just like the traitor you are!

"It's okay. I think... I think I can fly," he mustered.

Genie must have seen the sadness in his eyes, because he looked apologetic and even regretful the moment the words came out of Iago's mouth. But Iago was in the air before Genie could say a thing. He kicked off from the ground and took flight, the air tearing beneath his wings at the same time his own bitter emotions were tearing through his mind, leaving his blue companion quite literally in the dust.

However, self-hatred was not Iago's foremost concern. As he flew across the dunes to rejoin Aladdin and the rest of the group, his mind drifted back to that lightless veil of fear and pain, back to the man in the black cloak. It had seemed so real, so vivid, so insufferably there when the dagger had... He stopped at that thought, the imagery of what had befallen him compelling him to think to further, the pain still echoing throughout him sealing the matter at once. It chilled him to picture what had happened, so he chose not to picture it. But had it indeed happened?

Iago had seen the man in the black cloak before. That much, he was certain of. He had seen him in a dream when he was still a prisoner in Jafar's laboratory, just after the bout of torture that took away his talon. It had slipped from his mind soon afterward, himself having been far more preoccupied fighting the horrors that enclosed upon him when he was awake to ponder those that haunted his sleep. But having just relived it firsthand, the previous confrontation hit him like a slap in the face. Yes, he had seen the man in the black cloak before in a dream.

But what had just happened had been much more than a dream.

Was it magic? Iago wasn't sure, and that much scared him. He had practiced dark magic for years under Jafar, taking in the various poisons and remedies, absorbing the curses and the counter-curses - in more ways than one. More than a decade of his life had been spent trying to understand the principles and eccentricities of the arcane under the vizier's watchful eye, until at last he had accepted him as a willing partner. In many ways, he was just as learned a sorcerer as Jafar. The appearance of the man and the black cloak and... and what had come afterward... bore all the hallmarks of the dark arts. Yet Iago could not identify it. Part of him chose to believe he was simply not thinking clearly enough to pinpoint the answer. But more than a fraction of him grasped and held onto the unspoken truth, even if that truth did scare him half to death: this was something far beyond Iago, something much older and much more powerful than any of the black magic he was familiar with.

He circled in the sky for more than a minute, collecting his thoughts and trying to piece back together his sanity. Then, he tucked back his wings and began a sharp descent to where the group was gathered far below. As his friends grew larger in his field of vision, he concluded that he really had no idea what had happened to him. He probably had more questions now than he had before. He certainly had more questions than answers.

But as he came in for a landing on Cassim's shoulder, he realized there was one fact he had learned from the experience. Unfortunately, it was the one thing he had put off the most and wanted to acknowledge the least, for it simultaneously complicated the mystery and compounded his dread. However much he wanted to ignore it, though, it was impossible to deny forever.

He had seen under the hood of the black cloak, and what he had seen worried and perplexed him more than anything.

The man under the hood was Mozenrath.

---

"Damn it, Genie, for the last time, I'm fine. Now leave me alone."

"There's nothing to be afraid of, Cassim! Nurse Genie will patch you up in a jiffy! Now show me your arm so I can make it all better."

Genie hovered over Cassim with gleaming eyes and a toothy grin, his expression radiating warmth like heat from a furnace on a chilly day. He had taken on the nimble frame of a young woman dressed in a white skirt, white blouse, and white cap with a red cross imprinted in the center. From the dialogue Genie and Cassim were sharing, Iago guessed they were the garments of a nurse, though he couldn't recall ever seeing anyone wear something so outlandish. They definitely weren't the sort of clothes his nurse had worn when the Order had nurtured him back to health. But then again, his nurse had been a crazy old bat.

Cassim backed away from Genie, the long, bloody gash running down his right arm concealed behind his back, his eyes trained on the brownish-greenish bottle clutched in Genie's hand that bore the ominous label, Iodine. His stubbornness served as a spectacle for the rest of the companions, who watched the scene in amusement from their seats around the smoking campfire. A faint smile graced Aladdin's normally cross face, Rasoul guffawed at Cassim's plight in-between bites of roast mutton, and Abu had even bet Iago over which one would give up before the other; Iago, of course, had put his money on Cassim. His friend looked willing to fight to the death to prevent Genie from treating his wound. But then again, Genie's advance matched Cassim's retreat, and he wasn't taking no for an answer.

"You don't have to be scared, Cassim. It won't hurt a bit! I promise!"

"I said no, Genie. You'd have to lock me up before I let you touch me with that... that... whatever it is. Now go away," Cassim defiantly announced.

Genie stopped in his tracks and scratched his head, considering what Cassim had said. Then, he shrugged, smiled, and snapped his fingers. Suddenly, a sinister metal chair not unlike one of the contraptions Iago had seen in Jafar's laboratory burst out of the sand underneath Cassim, and he fell back into it with a cry. Heavy shackles automatically reached out and bound his ankles and wrists in place. He lurched forward, but got nowhere, and all of his struggles to break the constraints were met with similar frustration.

"Let me go, Genie," demanded Cassim.

"I'm sorry Cassim, but I had to do this! Now relax and it will all be over quickly..."

"Genie, I'm not in the mood for your jokes. Now let me - argh"

He was taken by surprise when Genie suddenly wet a cotton swab with the Iodine and began furiously scrubbing the wound back and forth, making sure not to miss a spot. Cassim hissed and arched his back in pain, his entire body in an apparent state of agony as the mysterious chemical worked its way into his skin. Genie paid this no heed, however, and continued to apply the Iodine until the wound was cleansed of blood. He then set the bottle and cotton swabs aside, pulled a roll of gauze out of thin air, and proceeded to bandage Cassim's arm until the gash was completely concealed. Only then did he release his patient from his shackles.

Cassim looked from his bandaged right arm to the throng of people laughing at him back at the campfire, then cast a murderous glare toward Genie. Wincing out of pain, fury or both, he yelled, "Genie, I'm going to kill you!"

At that moment, Genie thrust a green sucker into Cassim's mouth, cutting him off before he could make good on his threat. The King of Thieves promptly spit the candy out and wiped his lips on his sleeve, but the severity of his face was unwavering.

Abu turned haughtily to Iago and held out his hand in acceptance of his winnings.

"What? I thought it was a gentleman's bet!" Iago said in feigned disbelief.

The monkey scoffed and beckoned to his hand, still awaiting the money he had won.

Iago folded his wings across his chest and indignantly responded, "Well, you don't have to be so impatient about it! I'll wager ten dinari you think I'm too cheap to pay up."

At this remark, Abu's kind face turned as sour as Cassim's. He chattered irately and began to throw a fit, his clenched fists flailing in the air like maddened hornets searching for soft flesh to bury themselves in. At one point, he even took off his hat and began jumping up and down on it. He spat out words barely intelligible in his enraged state, words like cheat and fraud and swindle. Indeed, he possessed all the distemper of a child throwing a tantrum. And like a child, he also bore the hallmark of gullibility, for in his frenzy over Iago's apparent disinterest in paying him, he was also lured effortlessly into Iago's trap.

"See? You do think I'm too cheap to pay up. And now you owe me ten dinari," the parrot smiled smugly.

It took a few seconds for Abu to realize what Iago was talking about. He sank to his knees and let out a long moan when he finally did, then covered his eyes, too upset at himself for making such a stupid mistake to face the world.

Meanwhile, Genie and Cassim seemed to have reconciled, as they were sitting next to one another instead of reaching for one another's throats. Although still visibly annoyed, Cassim sheltered his bandaged limb in his lap and said to Genie in a low voice, "This thing hurts. How long will it take to heal?"

"Give it five days. A week tops," Genie shrugged. "The sword he hit you with went though the muscle like a knife through butter. You're lucky it didn't reach the bone. I treated the cut to guard against infection and speed the healing process, but I still don't recommend you use your arm before it's healthy again, unless being in a constant state of pain really strikes your fancy. There's only so much magic can do, you know."

"I can't believe you even let one of them take a swing at you," Rasoul chided. "If I'd been in your shoes, I would've run him through before he got within ten feet of me."

"Not difficult for a gorilla like you to accomplish. Apes have longer arms than humans, after all," Cassim volleyed back.

"If humanity includes swine as crooked as yourself, Cassim, then I'm glad to call myself an ape!" Rasoul snapped through gritted teeth.

Genie took the form of a decrepit old lady with silvery hair done up in a bun atop his head and thick black-rimmed spectacles perched on his gargantuan nose. His drab, conservative style of dress only served to divert attention to his face, which, aside from being as wrinkled as a prune, also seemed to hang off his skull with age. Menacingly, he bared the few teeth he had left at Rasoul and Cassim, then stepped between them, exposing them both to the well-ingrained smell of chalk that lingered about her like perfume.

"Boys, if I hear another peep out of either of you, it's going to mean big trouble. Trust me, you wouldn't want me to have to introduce you to... the paddle."

A carved wooden cudgel appeared magically in his hands, and he held it up in the air threateningly as though he were going to bring it down on someone's head.

"Yes, yes, Genie. We get the point," Cassim said.

"Good!" Genie shouted, and the paddle disappeared. "Just remember, boys, fighting is not allowed in school! It sets a bad example for the other children. Now go run around and set off firecrackers or something while I have a smoke."

He pulled a lighter out of his vest pocket and used it to light a cigarette in his mouth, then fanned the smoke until it enveloped him completely. When it dispersed, he had returned to his regular body.

"Even if Cassim doesn't think so, it was a good fight," Rasoul proclaimed for everyone to hear. "I only wish I'd been able to take one more of them down before the genie started turning them all into jack-in-the-boxes and putting them in - what did he call it? The cornfield?"

Again, Genie disappeared behind a veil of smoke and re-emerged as a six-year-old blonde-haired boy in a cotton shirt and slacks. "Happy thoughts. You must think only happy thoughts," he ordered, the words dripping off his tongue like the surname of wickedness. He then reassumed his regular form, leaving everyone oblivious as to the true meaning of the joke.

Rasoul coughed abruptly to regain everyone's attention before he carried on, "Just the same, I still wish I'd killed one more of those vermin. Five is a much more round number than four, after all. Besides, the more blood I spill today, the more ready I'll be to spill blood tomorrow when we're in real danger."

"There shouldn't have been any blood spilled today at all. It was an unnecessary risk," a commanding voice asserted from behind Iago. At first, he was certain Cassim had said it. But when he glanced over his shoulder, he was taken by surprise to find the words of empathy had been spoken by none other than Aladdin.

If Iago was caught off guard, Rasoul was equally as astounded. "But you thought the risk didn't matter! You agreed with me!" he huffed, almost choking on a bite of his dinner.

Aladdin's eyes met Cassim's, and for an instant, the parrot thought he saw a glint of genuine regret there in place of all the hostility and resentment that usually characterized them. But his gaze shifted to head off Rasoul's disbelieving stare, and whatever remorse Aladdin had felt was replaced by the same harshness Iago had come to know him so well for.

Wordlessly, he headed into a nearby tent and zipped up the entrance.

Rasoul gaped at the sealed tent with astonishment. A flake of mutton tumbled from his open-mouth and settled in the net of his beard. Iago watched him with equal puzzlement as to the nature of Aladdin' motives. He had sided with Rasoul earlier that day. He had leapt at the chance to slay the Marauders. Iago wondered what could be behind such a change of heart.

As the bird pondered, Rasoul's eyes traveled across the faces of the remaining companions until he met Iago's stare. His lip curled and he snarled pugnaciously, "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing," Iago snidely retorted. "I am looking at nothing at all."

Rasoul obviously didn't grasp the true meaning of what Iago had said, because he seemed satisfied with the answer. He pitched what was left of his roast mutton into the fire, cracked his knuckles, and marched into his own tent without another word, forcefully zipping the crevice shut behind him.

Iago glowered at the door of Rasoul's tent. "He's still the same ray of sunshine he always was, isn't he?"

Genie laughed. "Some of us have changed. Some of us haven't," he smiled.

"So I've noticed," Iago said, thinking again of Aladdin and his enthusiasm for gambling their lives on the outcome of a pointless battle. The choice to fight was baffling to him. But then again, maybe he was just being a coward. It was no mystery the trip was wearing on him; since the day he had set out with Cassim, a tiredness like molten lead had begun to settle in his veins, in his limbs, in his heart. And with every mile the companions covered on their unrelenting journey ever-forward across the desert, the dam of anxiety within Iago felt more and more ready to burst.

"How far are we from Mozenrath's place, anyway?" he asked casually.

At once, Genie snapped into action. He began a series of transformations, appearing first as a hardened explorer in khaki pants, shirt, and hat with an elephant gun propped up on his shoulder and a compass grasped prominently in his hand, then as a swarthy man in the ragged garb of a sailor with a spyglass pressed to his eye, then as a silver-haired fellow with thick spectacles and a long, white coat charting out a course on a map.

"By mein calculashuns, ve should arrive vithin zix-decimal-zeven earth dayz," he announced in a mock German accent, working out the complex math on a chalkboard and circling the answer several times over. "Any other questionz?"

Iago frowned and tilted his head to one side. "Yeah, actually, there is one," he mentioned.

"Shoot!"

"I've seen the kind of power that Jafar has and I've seen the tango you and your little order have been dancing with him all these years. What I can't figure out is how it ever came to be this way. When did Jafar come back? How did he take over Agrabah? How did this even start?"

Genie let out a long breath of air and shifted back to his original body. His jovial attitude spent, he sunk back into his chair, wrapped his arms around the back of his neck, and stared off into space as if contemplating some deep riddle of the universe. "Y'know, I knew you were bound to ask that question one of these days, Iago. I just wish I wasn't the one you asked," he said half-jokingly.

"I'm sure you've told the story plenty of times to new members of the Order," Iago breathed with the slightest hint of mockery.

"Not really. Our member count tends to go down a lot more often than it goes up," explained Genie with matching sarcasm. "But I suppose it is a tale that deserves to be told."

"And so it must," Cassim asserted.

The wrinkles in Genie's forehead deepened as his head bobbed up and down in accord. "Indeed," he responded with uncharacteristic sincerity. And for a long time after that, he said nothing else. The air around the encampment was permeated with a euphonic silence whose symphony none of the three friends desired to interrupt, a silence that persisted in their ears over the crackling of the dying campfire, the hum of the hot breeze that swept across the dunes from the West and wove tangles in Cassim's hair, and even the obnoxious string of snores that emanated from Rasoul's exaggerated tent. Finally, when Iago was on the verge of reminding him of the question he had posed, Genie regained his voice, though he didn't have much to say:

"Hmm. What's a good place to start?" he thought out loud.

Iago rolled his eyes and suggested with his usual cynicism, "Where I left would be helpful."

Genie smiled, "I guess it would. Okay, I'll start there."

And so he did.

"When Aladdin and Jasmine were joined in holy matrimony, all of Agrabah was united in celebration. The peasants and the paupers were elated that finally, there was someone they could depend on to fight for their well-being in the Palace, someone who wouldn't judge them based on their poverty-stricken backgrounds or how little they contributed to the city taxman each year. And the nobles, too, felt safe with Jasmine at Aladdin's side to look out for them, to protect their interests and ensure they kept their wealth and status. The most unlikely pair turned out to be the most likable couple to lead Agrabah. Their union united much more than two people. It united the upper and lower classes in a way nobody ever thought possible. You don't remember, Iago, because you and Cassim took off right after the ceremony, but people were partying in the streets for ages afterward. The festivities lasted a whole year. And they only became that much louder when, in the ninth month, it was learned that Jasmine was going to give birth to a child."

Genie exhaled, "But... it wasn't to last."

"A child!" Iago exclaimed. "What happened?"

"It was the evening of their daughter's first birthday," Genie continued. "Aladdin had been sultan for almost two years at that time, and he made the decision to throw a grand banquet in celebration of his baby girl. All of Agrabah was invited to the Palace to attend the young princess' birthday party. Not one guest was turned away. I've never seen Aladdin and Jasmine happier than when they were together that night. They never seemed more in love."

"And then?"

Genie took a big breath and sighed. "And then, I made the discovery that their daughter had been kidnapped."

Iago's eyes widened. He looked from Genie to Cassim and back again, willing himself to find some trace of deception in their eyes, that what he had just been told might turn out to be some kind of a joke. He found none. Indeed, Genie had never looked more grave than he did now, nor more defeated. His visage appeared tired and worn out, as though recanting the story had somehow sapped him of his vigor, and his features hung low on his face. Cassim, similarly, sat lifeless in front of the campfire and stared into its depths without movement, without expression, his soul lost somewhere in its dancing red flames. Iago wondered what thoughts inhabited his mind now - or more fittingly, what he had felt when this story was told to him for the first time. How crushing must it have been for him to discover that he was a grandfather, only to learn a short while later that his granddaughter had been kidnapped without a trace? Iago bore no relation to Aladdin and Jasmine's child, and news of her disappearance was still enough to floor him - six years after the fact, no less.

"Aladdin and Jasmine were devastated," Genie said somberly, "as was the entire kingdom. The jubilance that had thrived since the wedding withered and died like a flower robbed of sunshine, and a heavy depression fell over all of Agrabah. Aladdin took the loss of his daughter particularly hard. Not that anyone else took it easy, mind you, but I think he blamed himself more than anyone for what happened. He was the one who decided to open the doors of the Palace to everyone and anyone that night, whether they were rich, poor, old, young, able-bodied, handicapped, or a kidnapper in disguise. It's incredible how the happiest day of his life also turned out to be the saddest."

"I should have been there," Cassim interrupted. "I should have been there to defend her from that monster, or at least to hold her once! Instead, I was off chasing fame and fortune while my entire family was being torn apart a thousand miles away -"

Genie sighed again and shook his head. "There was no way you could have known, Cassim. You were, as you said, a thousand miles away. Besides, if anyone's to blame for what happened, it's me. I was the only one there with the power to truly protect her, and I let him snatch her away right under my nose."

"It's more than that," Cassim hissed as he met Genie's eyes. "I neglected my family for years while I was off gallivanting around with the Forty Thieves and searching for the Hand of Midas. In that time, I lost my wife and I almost lost my son. When I found Aladdin, he showed me that my family was more precious than any metal, and I was angry at myself because I realized what I had lost and how much time I had wasted! I swore never to repeat my past mistakes, never to put my family last again. And then, I turned my back on him, and my family was destroyed for the second time in my life - again, without my even being there!"

"You were a wanted man in Agrabah, Cassim. You couldn't go back."

"I was wanted everywhere, Genie. And as Iago will tell you, we didn't exactly spend our days hiding under rocks. I was just a fool." With that, he folded his arms and returned his gaze to the campfire. "I could've gone back anytime," he mumbled, "and I didn't."

Silence hung in the air as thick as the smoke from the campfire. For an eternity, nobody said a thing. Genie and Cassim were dead to the world, and Iago had been stripped of his ability to speak by the staggering tale he had just been told. Eventually he did regain it, though he could scarcely manage a whisper. "What happened then?" he asked quietly.

Genie's voice was equally soft as he continued the story. "Aladdin wasn't content to languish in grief. He turned Agrabah upside-down looking for his daughter, and when he didn't find her, he scoured the rest of the Seven Deserts. Carpet, Abu, and myself went with him on his journeys, and Jasmine took responsibility for governing the kingdom while the four of us were away. We traveled near and far and left no stone unturned searching for her. But it wasn't enough.

"Three years to the day after the kidnapping, Aladdin made the heavy-hearted decision to return to Agrabah early so he could be there to comfort his wife. The rest of us agreed, and with Carpet's help, the journey back only lasted a few short hours."

Genie hesitated for a moment, and a dark look crossed his face. Iago listened attentively as his story reached its climax: "We arrived to find Agrabah in shambles. As we flew in from the south, we found the city gates reduced to mere splinters and every single wall demolished. The marketplace had been completely destroyed by the time we passed by it. There wasn't a trace of it left, save for one charred, black crater where it and the surrounding buildings had once stood. Smoke rose from every structure and turned the sky as black. But the bodies were visible, plain as day. Old and young, man, woman, and child - they littered the streets and alleyways, each and every one of them slaughtered unmercifully and with no regard for human life. The few still living roamed the fields of the dead searching for husbands, wives, sons, and daughters, none of whom would ever come home to them again. In all my years as a genie, I've never seen anything more gruesome.

"We made haste toward the Palace. Aladdin was frantic. He needed to find Jasmine to make sure she was still alive, not to mention find out what had befallen the kingdom while we were away. As one, we entered the throne room, and as one, we were speechless at what we saw: Jasmine lay facedown in a pool of her own blood, lifeless and comatose. Over her, as you may have guessed by now, stood Jafar. And at his side, the four-year old girl Aladdin had dedicated his life to searching for, her hands coated with her own mother's blood."

"Wait, wait - what?" Iago choked.

"You know who she is, Iago," Genie told him. "You've met her."

Iago stared out across the distant dunes, his eyes glazed over sullenly. After a long pause, he nodded knowingly and replied, "Jazel."

"It wasn't enough for Jafar to come back from the dead and kill everyone. That isn't his style. Jafar likes to cause his enemies to suffer before he murders them, to turn their nightmares into cold-blooded reality and bring their world crashing down around them. Once, that meant appearing to Aladdin as his true love, Jasmine, and personally handing him a death sentence. This time, his wrath was much more horrific. Stealing Jazel from her cradle in the middle of the night was devastating to Aladdin and Jasmine. Training her to be a subservient little sorceress and a pawn in taking over Agrabah was twisted in its own right. But for Aladdin to be confronted with his daughter after three years of guilt and loss only for her to be a follower of his greatest enemy and the assassin of his own wife... That was too much to bear. I think something inside Aladdin died that day, and he hasn't been quite the same since."

"But Jasmine is still alive," Iago pointed out.

Genie cracked a smile. "We all thought she was dead. She came darn close, I'll tell you that. But with Nurse Genie on the job, you can bet you're in good hands. Besides, Jazel may have been trained by an inhuman monster, but I don't think she could bring herself to kill her own mother. No more than she could bring herself to kill you, Iago. There is good buried in her soul; she just doesn't have the hope to dig it up. Who would after being raised in the midst of so much evil?"

"Yeah. I know," Iago murmured, recalling the horrors of Jafar's laboratory. He had only been subjected to that sort pain for three months. Jazel had faced it every day for three years by the time Jafar conquered Agrabah, and she had faced them for another three years since then. Iago couldn't imagine how she was able to show him kindness after being exposed to such cruelty in her life. Was the kind-hearted girl that slipped him breadcrumbs when he was starving and shared her dreams of glorious dragons really the one that had nearly murdered Jasmine three years ago? It didn't seem possible.

Then again, hadn't he been in the same position at one time? Like Jazel, he had been torn away from his parents at a tender age and been raised by Jafar as his surrogate father. He had grown up in the confines of Jafar's malice and distemper, lived amidst the same unquenchable hostility and insatiable despair. He had been manipulated as well in order to carry out dark deeds and further the vizier's heinous machinations, the bearer of misfortune to Aladdin, the Royal Family, and the rest of Jafar's many enemies. And over time, he had also taken over Jafar's own ambitions and goals. Genie's story may have proved a shocking tale on its own, but the parallels Iago discerned between himself and Aladdin's daughter were equally as staggering.

"It's almost eerie how alike we are," Iago noted, frowning.

"That's the promise of history," Cassim said darkly, startling Iago with the suddenness of his voice. "It always repeats itself."

Genie forged ahead with the narrative, not bothering to wait for Iago to ask for further explanation. "Jafar's plan was meticulous, but not foolproof. There were several things he hadn't counted on. First, he hadn't anticipated Aladdin to return to Agrabah early. We weren't due to show up in town for another day at least, by which time Jafar would have had all of Agrabah in chains and squashed any resistance before it had the chance to take shape. As much sick pleasure as he got out of seeing Aladdin walk in on what looked to be his wife's murder scene, it didn't do him any good, because he wasn't prepared for it. Second of all, he hadn't expected Rasoul to stand up to him. The attack made cowards out of most of the Royal Guard, and the few who didn't make tracks away from the city were either bribed or threatened to Jafar's side. But Rasoul opposed him and held the remaining defenses together until shortly before we arrived, which delayed Jafar considerably. On top of that, he hadn't expected for you to be gone, Iago."

"For me to be gone?" Iago parroted back. "Just what do you mean by that?"

"As soon as Jafar captured the Palace and established himself as the dominant power in the land, he went bonkers trying to find you. He firmly believed you were still in Agrabah, and he was obsessed with capturing you and taking you prisoner. In fact, he was so obsessed that he turned the Palace upside-down in search of you. When he didn't find you there, he ordered the city ransacked until you turned up. He entrusted your description to every spy that was committed to him, along with the order that they were to report to him if they ever came across you. Of course, you weren't anywhere near Agrabah at the time. You were traveling the Seven Deserts with Cassim. Because of that, all of Jafar's efforts to locate you were wasted. He was furious - not only because he couldn't pay you back for what you did to him, but because all of the manpower it took to mount his enormous search was diverted from the battle against Rasoul. He could have crushed the resistance before it ever had the chance to thrive and blossom into the Order of the Lamp, but because most of the forces that had deserted to his side were off on some wild goose chase, he missed his chance. Guess that would make it a parrot chase in your case, wouldn't it?"

"Spare me the bad jokes," Iago winced.

"Suit yourself," Genie said, a thin smile crossing his dour features. He then went on, "There was one more thing Jafar hadn't planned on, though. Other than not capturing us when we showed up on his doorstep and surprised him, that is. I think Jafar truly believed Aladdin would give up when all was said and done. He thought taking away everything Aladdin had to his name - his family, his reputation, his people, his kingdom, and his throne - would leave him a broken man.

"Needless to say, it was a pretty big shock at first, but he rebounded from it, just as he rebounds from all things. It's not in Aladdin's nature to leave the guilty in power while the innocent are being terrorized, after all. Aladdin is nobler than that, and stronger. And it was that strength that led he and I to seek out Rasoul and create the Order of the Lamp, made up of what remained of the resistance and anyone else who could be counted on to lift a sword to fight the war against Jafar. And the rest is history."

"History," Iago muttered.

Iago had seen with his own eyes just how diabolical Jafar could be. As wretched as Jafar's first plot for revenge had been, this one bore the mark of the devil incarnate.

At last, Iago thought he understood why Aladdin sneered at him. He had grown up a street rat deprived of wealth, status, kin, and companionship. When he met Jasmine, all four were simultaneously handed to him on a silver platter, and for the first time in his life, he found happiness. But Jafar had stolen it all away, leaving Aladdin with only a shard of his newfound family to support him: Jasmine. What parts of himself had been left hollow by Jafar's nefarious scheme, Aladdin had filled in with his own unquenchable thirst for revenge.

Having suffered as he had, how could he not think less of Iago? Despite Jasmine's assurances of his own good nature, Aladdin probably viewed the parrot as a symbol of Jafar's evil, an extension of Jafar's power, and a painful reminder of what Jafar had done to his wife and daughter - in short, nearly everything Iago hated himself for. How could he have been so blind? How could he have not seen it before?

The guilt in Cassim's eyes - had it been there a day ago, or had Iago simply not cared enough to notice it then? The sadness in Jasmine's voice - had he even bothered to ask what was wrong? Jazel's absolute, desperate hopelessness - aside from telling her a few paltry stories, had he done anything at all to help her, to give her a reason to go on living? He cursed himself in anger. All this time, he had been living as though he had been the only one who had been hurt by Jafar, and they had given him their sympathy. If he had opened his eyes the teensiest bit and not been so damn inconsiderate, he would have seen that they had all suffered as well, and that they had all suffered far worse than he had. He vowed never to be so indifferent again.

"Anything else?" Genie asked, his gentle voice penetrating Iago's surly thoughts.

"Yeah. There's one thing I don't understand," Iago said. "You've told me how Jafar took over Agrabah and all that, but you didn't bother to mention how he came back in the first place."

Cassim's determined face flickered in the waning light of the campfire, the orange flames casting a fierce glow over his hell-bent expression. He shifted slightly, folded his arms across his chest, and while looking Iago straight in the eye, responded darkly, "If I ever find out who is responsible, I swear by what honor I have left that I will not rest until I see him dead at my feet."

---

It nearly dusk six days later when the packed yellow sand beneath their feet turned to ash and the azure sky above became cloudy and unforgiving. The high peaks and sloping dunes that the travelers had grown accustomed to gradually leveled out into a flat, steady plane that extended to the horizon. That would have made the journey easier for Iago but for the dread that had wormed its way into his heart and was steadily gnawing away at every fiber of courage still alive in him. He had realized long ago that some unknown force was causing him to be afraid as the closer he came to the Land of the Black Sand. Now that he had arrived at last, that tension had reached a boiling point, and he felt the familiar sensation of white-hot fear licking his insides. As the few remaining rays of sunlight were blotted out by an unnatural night and a heavy blanket of darkness was cast the group, Iago felt a chill run down his spine that was owed to more than the sharp drop in temperature that accompanied the change in scenery.

Nervously, he twisted his head to get a better look at what was around him. His attempts were met with frustration. He could hardly see his wing in front of his face, let alone anything that might pose a danger to him down the road. Just the same, he almost preferred it that way. If Mozenrath were to materialize in front of him dressed in a black cloak and holding a silver blade, he thought he would outright faint.

"Aladdin!" Cassim called out into the darkness, and Iago jumped a mile at the sound of his voice. His heart pounding, his lungs panting, he grabbed ahold of the collar of his friend's shirt and berated him, "Are you trying to scare me to death? Don't do that!"

Moments later, Aladdin's voice called back from somewhere to Iago's left, "Dad? Where are you?"

"I can't see a damn thing in this darkness!" Rasoul shouted. "How are we going to find our way when we can't even see each other?"

"Er, I might be able to fix that," said Genie. Then, there was an audible click, and the eyes of Cassim's horse began to glow. Twin beams of light streaked from the animal's pupils into the all-encompassing darkness and lit up the area. Suddenly able to see again, Iago blinked twice and looked around, noticing that Aladdin's and Rasoul's horses had begun to do the same as Cassim's.

The companions slowly tore their eyes away from their horses and stared at Genie, who smiled sheepishly and toed the ground. When it dawned on him that being nonchalant wasn't going to work, he threw his arms up in the air and said, "Look I know you didn't agree with me on air-conditioned horses, Al, but I just had to install these nifty headlights. They were dirt cheap, and look, they even come with high beams!"

Aladdin almost cracked a smile. Almost.

"Look!" Rasoul yelled, causing Iago to jump again before looking his way. His arm was raised, his mouth the picture of a perfect circle, his finger pointing at some unknown thing in the distance obscured by the ebony night. Iago followed the finger and tried to ascertain just what had caught Rasoul's eye. He almost gave up, but then he saw it: a terrifying, looming monster roosted upon a jagged plateau a good distance away. The Citadel. It was only visible for the fact that it was inherently blacker than everything else around it. Iago felt his heart sink to somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach.

"Well, we're here," Cassim whispered ominously.

"Yeah. We're here. Great. Now what do we do?" Iago muttered.

The sand in front of Iago exploded into his face, and he was blinded, sent sputtering and coughing from the sheer volume of dust that showered him. The last thing he saw before he shielded his eyes was the sight of a scarlet hand protruding upward from the pallid ground. The horse was spooked, and it buckled and raised up on its haunches, tossing Iago and Cassim off as though they were mere rag dolls. Iago landed on his head, but managed to catch a cushion of air under his wings at the last second to lessen the blow. Half an instant later, he heard Cassim fall down beside him and cry out. Briefly, he wondered whether his friend was alright, but he was much more preoccupied with figuring out what was going on. Then, with a start, he realized the obvious culprit: Mozenrath.

His hacking cough subsided to the point where he could piece together snatches of the conversation going on above him -

"Do you see it? It's coming up from underneath -"

"Damn it, we should have expected -"

"Swords at ready! We don't know what -"

"Look! There's another!"

"Go get Dad - I think he fell off his horse too -"

"What in the hell is going on?"

Then, Iago felt a horrible coldness enclose upon him. The next thing he knew, he was being lifted against his will into the air. He struggled and squirmed, but couldn't dislodge himself, couldn't escape from whatever had captured him. And then -

"Iago!" shouted Cassim.

He pried his eyes open and looked around frantically. The first thing that caught his eye was Cassim, who was picking himself up off the ground with Genie's help. He was clutching his shoulder and looked to be in a lot of pain, but that did nothing to replace the anger and concern that defined his features when he looked into Iago's eyes. Rasoul, who had drawn his scimitar, wore a much more condescending expression as he surveyed Iago; he almost seemed to be laughing to himself, which entrenched Iago's fear all the more. He didn't have time to see where Aladdin was, because at that moment, he heard a hideous hissing noise above him and tilted his head back to look up - and nearly fainted.

Iago had hoped - nay, he had prayed he had been taken captive by a mere Mamluck. Holding with tradition, his prayers went unanswered. Standing above him was the most petrifying menace of the undead he had ever laid eyes on, a fearful construction of bones and ligaments that made Iago spasm in shocked horror. The skeleton was the thickest blood red he had ever seen, though by what means and for what purpose it had attained such a color Iago neither knew nor wished to know. Its fleshless, meatless body moved unnaturally, though unmistakably with life; Iago watched its ribcage raise and lower as if it were breathing, though it lacked any visible lungs behind its chest to collect the air, a sight that sent shivers down his spine. Much worse were the eyes, bleak and empty, which looked disparagingly down at Iago and bored into the cavity of his soul, turning him into a prisoner of his own fear; Iago followed the skeleton's bony arm to the hand that curtailed his movement and realized he was a prisoner in many more ways than that.

His mind was foggy, but he considered his options. He was able to narrow them down to two: he could do nothing and wait for the skeleton to squeeze the life out of him, or he could act to save himself. With his life on the line, it was clear that the preferable choice was the latter one. However, the monster holding him hostage physically outmatched him, and there was nothing he could do to break free.

He could imitate Mozenrath's voice and command the skeleton to release him. It had worked when he had escaped from the palace. But as a prisoner, he had had the advantage of being able to listen to Jafar's unceasing threats day after day for three months. It had been easy to reproduce what he had heard then, but he hadn't heard Mozenrath's voice in years. The memory of what he had sounded like had begun to slip from Iago's mind. He wasn't sure he could pull it off.

But it was better than nothing. Resolute beyond the face of death, though not necessarily beyond the fear of it, he shoved his whimpers aside and spoke his best impression of the sorcerer, "Let me go, worthless undead! Don't you recognize your master when you see him? Release me this instant, or I swear by Khartoum you'll be dust by morning!"

Iago's voice was scratchy from all the sand he had breathed in, another complication he hadn't counted on. The skeleton raised him to eye level and scrutinized him, deciding whether or not he was who he said he was. Staring into those ancient eye sockets, long since having rotted out and turned black as midnight, brought Iago's fright to new limits; he even swore he could see a maggot crawling out of one of them, though it was likely only a product of his imagination. Whatever the monster's decision would be, he prayed he would reach it quickly.

For once, his prayers were answered, albeit not in the way he had hoped. The skeleton hissed a second time, overwhelming Iago's nostrils with the putrid stench of death that emanated from its mouth. Then, it did something the parrot had not anticipated. It grinned. Iago swallowed hard, realizing the monster had not bought his act and did not intend to let him go. It was going to kill him. He was going to die.

A glimpse of motion out of the corner of his eye - Cassim lurched forward from where he had been standing, putting one foot in front of the other in a sprint that appeared to be excruciating for him, judging by the torment etched into his face. In a matter of seconds, he closed the distance between himself and the skeleton, unsheathed his sword, and with a roar of anger, brought it down upon the bony arm that restrained Iago, tearing it out of its socket. The skeleton hissed again and backed away, and Cassim fell into a kneeling rest where he had stopped, huffing and puffing and holding his own arm as though it were the one that had just been cut. The skeleton's detached arm fell into the ground nearby, and Iago was able to wriggle himself free from it.

Cassim looked at him with amiable distress. "Are you alright?" he asked in-between breaths.

"Am I alright? Am I alright? Do I look alright? That thing almost killed me! Are you alright?" he added as an afterthought, unwilling to put concern for Cassim on display.

Genie rushed to the skeleton's side, dressed once again in his nurse outfit. "Tut, tut, a broken arm! Oh, this is positively dreadful!" he chastised, picking up the detached arm from the ground and dangling it in front of him. "Don't worry, honey, Nurse Genie will fix you right up!" With that, he tossed the arm over his shoulder, pushed the skeleton back into an armchair, and pulled a small hammer from his pocket. He tapped it lightly on his patient's knee, waiting for a reflex. When the skeleton's leg didn't budge, he shrugged, discarded the mallet, turned around, and reappeared with an enormous sledgehammer, which he swung mightily into the skeleton's torso. A shower of bones rained down upon the area, and Iago and Cassim had to dodge to avoid them.

When all was said and done, Cassim grinned and said, "Good job, Genie."

"No problem!" Genie answered, sweeping all the bones into a pile with a heavy broom.

"Genie?"

"Yeah?"

"Never, ever administer medical care for me again," Cassim firmly stated.

Genie's grin widened. "No problem," he beamed.

Cassim picked himself up from the ground once again, rubbing his injured arm profusely. Iago flew to him and landed on his shoulder. He was about to inquire further about his friend's health when Rasoul's enraged voice resounded unpleasantly in his head:

"Thief! Genie! Bird! If you'd stop fooling around, you might notice we're under attack!"

Iago jerked his head around to catch a glimpse of what Rasoul was talking about and was taken aback by what he saw. Two dozen crimson skeletons identical to the one that had captured Iago were lined up in rows ahead of them, blocking the path to the Citadel. Each one eyed the travelers with the same gaunt expression, the same fiendish stare.

"We must defend ourselves!" roared Rasoul, holding his scimitar so close to his face that Iago could see his ill reflection in the metal.

"Must we? They're not attacking," observed Aladdin.

Cassim took a few steps forward to his son's side and rested an aged hand on his tanned shoulder. "They're waiting for something," he said.

"They're waiting for us," Aladdin mused. "It's an escort."

"An escort!" Rasoul snarled. His face was redder than a tomato as he glared at Cassim, blistering with rage. "It's obvious these - these - things - are looking for a fight! Shooting out of the ground like sandworms, ambushing us, throwing us all of our horses and sending them galloping away in fear without us on their backs... that one over there even tried to kill the bird! We will destroy them!"

"In all fairness, Rasoul, it isn't out of place for skeletons to be underground. And as for Iago, he isn't dead yet, is he? We didn't come all the way across the desert in pursuit of mindless bloodshed," Aladdin scoffed. Iago noticed him glance remorsefully at Cassim as he said the words, though it only lasted half a second.

"But -"

"And may I remind you, Rasoul, that you are not the leader of this party. That title belongs to me, and I would appreciate it if you would kindly shut up and let me make the decisions, if it's not too much trouble," Aladdin sharply cut him off.

Rasoul's face flushed red again. This time, Iago was certain the change in color was driven not only by anger, but also from embarrassment. He smiled, and although he couldn't see Cassim's face, he knew his friend was smiling too.

"We'll go with them," reaffirmed Aladdin. "We'll see where they take us. But be on guard! These skeletons are Mozenrath's handiwork, and I don't trust Mozenrath as far as I can throw him. I'm keeping my eye on them. Dad, Rasoul, Abu, you guys be ready to do the same. And Genie, be prepared to act fast if they do decide to attack. Up against superior numbers this deep enemy territory, we'll definitely need your magic on our side. Let's go."

They went. The companions formed a tight-knit pack without their horses, with Aladdin, Cassim, and Rasoul walking side-by-side in front and Genie vigilantly guarding the back. Mozenrath's minions mimicked them, some of them leading the travelers ahead, some of them following them to the rear. The members of the Order were sandwiched between two clusters of skeletons who could launch an attack anytime they chose. It was a daunting formation; if the uneasy peace between the living and the undead evaporated, the companions would be facing a war on two fronts, a war they would probably lose. Iago realized this and broke into a cold sweat. Aladdin seemed to know it too. But unlike Iago, Aladdin was unphased by it, focused more on the road beneath his feet than the impending doom that loomed over them all. He was putting his faith in luck. And as luck would have it, the skeletons did not attack them yet.

And so, the odd consortium marched onward, drawing ever-closer to the Citadel. Iago looked from one decomposed face to another, nervously pondering their situation and consumed with wonder over just what other rocks fate could possibly pelt them with. It must have been a strange sight to see, he decided - the dead leading the living farther and farther into the darkness. It was almost metaphorical in a way, and Iago was sure he would have laughed at the insanity of it all if he weren't so racked with fear. As the hard-packed dirt turned to stone beneath him, he was dominated by the desire to turn back. As the group entered the shadowy ghost town and passed beneath the magic-detecting towers that turned sapphire whenever they strayed too near, Iago wanted nothing more than to be the coward he knew he was and fly away, leaving that land of despair in the dust behind him. But he wouldn't. He couldn't. To do so would let Jasmine down and prove himself to be the same despicable traitor he thought he was. Whether he was a traitor or not, he couldn't bring himself to let Jasmine down. He couldn't.

Then came the moment of truth. The companions crossed the land bridge and stopped at the tall, black gate of the Citadel. Here, the vast majority of the skeletons split off into a second group, which stood together to the side of the path and, to Iago's rapt revulsion, sank down into the ground as if they were standing on quicksand. Only five remained: two ahead and three behind. The members of the Order could easily take them, which annulled some of the parrot's anxiety. But they were on the enemy's doorstep now, and if the skeletons could come and go as quickly and as easily as Iago had just seen them, they could be in serious trouble if it ever came to a fight. And the dilemma extended further than that: if they were assaulted, they would have not only legions of undead to combat, but Mozenrath himself to deal with on top of them.

The lead skeleton hissed to the lone Mamluck standing guard in front of the Citadel, an action that still caused Iago's feathers to stand on end. He smiled faintly despite himself; the Mamluck was Destane, and to see the former sorcerer still occupying the same boring post after all these years had some comedic value, though not nearly enough to relieve the burden on Iago's shoulders. The zombie hobbled outward ten paces and signaled to someone in the sentry tower high above. Without ado, the grand raven doors groaned and swung open, revealing the equally grand azure hallway beyond. After having become so accustomed to the night outside, the fleeting torchlight within molested their eyes. But they didn't stop. With the somberness of a funeral procession, they trudged onward. That's all they really were, Iago realized with a start: mere bodies being brought into the morgue.

They reached a second gateway at the end of the hall. The skeletons in leading the group broke away and circled around to the back, where they stood with their comrades, blocking the route to the exit. They were cornered in the lion's den, and Iago was sure it was that specific moment that the skeletons had chosen to strike. But instead, the elaborate door disappeared before them, and the companions were pushed through into the throne room.

Iago looked up to the brooding throne ahead on the dais, whereupon sat the figure that had haunted his nightmares days. Mozenrath hadn't changed much in eight years; he still bore the same blue and gold ensemble, the same handsome young face, the same murderous leather Gauntlet. He propped up his head with one hand; the other was concealed in a pocket. His legs were crossed. His eyes were wide open. With a face roughly the same color and hardness of polished marble, he looked at each of the six members of the Order standing before him in turn: he raised an eyebrow at Aladdin; he ignored Abu; he shook his head at Genie; he snorted at Rasoul; he looked passively at Cassim. But when he came to Iago, he stopped.

Mozenrath continued to study him for well over a minute, until he could feel the eyes of the rest of the group on him as well. Iago was worried and bewildered at the same time. Perhaps there was more substance to his apprehensions than he had wanted to believe? Perhaps Mozenrath knew something he didn't? He was not allowed the chance to find out, because a familiar grotesque slug flew into Mozenrath's line of sight before he was able to address the bird.

"Kneel!" Xerxes ordered slovenly. Aladdin looked at him with a blank expression, and the rest of the group did the same.

In a swift movement, Mozenrath stood, swatted Xerxes out of the way, and took his place on the throne again. "Be calm, Xerxes. Our guests have traveled a long way, although I'm not quite sure why," he said.

The voice whose tenor Iago had all but forgotten about came rushing back to him all too clearly.

"I think you know why I'm here, Mozenrath," Aladdin stated. "We need your help."

The sorcerer's dull lips widened into cold smirk. He stared haughtily down at Aladdin. "How long I've waited to hear you say those words! But why cut to the chase? Pleasure comes before business, after all. Please tell me, Aladdin, how's the family? Is running a kingdom all that you hoped it would be?"

"Shut up, Mozenrath," Aladdin blasted back.

"I hope my bonewalkers didn't give you too much trouble," Mozenrath yawned. "They're fragile, but they can pack quite a punch. Especially the more dominant variety that I've bolstered my ranks with. At any rate, they're a lot more efficient than Mamlucks. A lot smarter, too. You'd never guess the success I've -"

"How many do you have?" interjected Aladdin. Iago gave him an edgy glance before turning his eyes nervously back to Mozenrath again. After having traveled hundreds of miles to the Land of the Black Sand, did Aladdin really intend to indulge Mozenrath's ego? There must have been some ulterior motive that Iago was not catching onto.

There was, and Mozenrath seemed to be aware of it, because he smirked and almost seemed to leer over Aladdin. His charcoal eyes glowed with atramentous radiance as he leaned forward in his chair and addressed his rival, "Well, well. I thought I'd never live to see the day. The stout-hearted Aladdin comes crawling to his enemy's doorstep on bended knee, does he? I'd ask you to kiss my ring, but I've grown beyond trivial vanity."

Aladdin stared him down. "You overestimate yourself."

Mozenrath smiled. "What do you want, Aladdin?"

"An equal partnership."

"Ha! The Land of the Black Sand form an alliance with a ragtag collection of peasants and mercenaries? Now who's overestimating himself?"

Aladdin chose his words carefully. "Still you," he retaliated, "if you believe you are safe here. The kingdoms are falling one-by-one, Mozenrath. They've already turned against me. If we don't do something to reclaim them now, they will fall under his control, and I guarantee they will turn against you. You may have an impressive army of bonewalkers, Mozenrath, but there's no way they can stand up to an empire that stretches across the Seven Deserts. You'll be outnumbered and outmatched. And as you pointed out, your skeletons are fragile."

At last, Iago thought he understood what was going on. His head swam with the newfound knowledge. A partnership between Aladdin and Mozenrath? It didn't seem possible. But then again, nothing seemed possible anymore.

Mozenrath didn't look too certain of his footing anymore. The sorcerer stared hard at Aladdin, visibly annoyed that he had been challenged, but also realizing the obvious logic in what his aged nemesis had said. His head seemed to tip from side to side as he was weighed his options, and Iago watched it with baited breath, wondering on which side the scale would finally settle. Eventually, Mozenrath did make up his mind: he shook his head, made a sweeping gesture with his hand, and avowed in a very matter-of-fact way, "No, Aladdin. You were always meant to be subservient to me, and you will be subservient to me. If you have a problem with my terms, then by all means, leave. Go back and sulk in your dark, dank cave and ponder your own pathetic existence until the stars themselves grow old. You are nothing to me anymore."

"You idiot!" Rasoul raged, taking a threatening step forward toward the young sorcerer. "Your bitterness will be the death of us all! I should run you through with my sword and then we'll see how you feel about the matter!"

He looked at Rasoul with jaded amusement. "I'm an idiot, am I? Do yourself a favor, fool. Never insult anyone's intelligence ever again; it only accentuates how profoundly stupid you are. Now leave! Your ineptitude bores me, and I don't want to have to look at your rancid face anymore!"

Rasoul quickly backed away, but Aladdin took up the reins again in his silence. "There isn't anything I could say to convince you to agree to an alliance?" he asked.

"Nothing," Mozenrath spat.

"Then listen to this: Jafar has organized three armies, one from each of the lands he's conquered. Each one is at least ten thousand strong and equipped with the best weapons and armor that Getzistani gold can buy. He's massing his armies on the northern border of D'jel. From there, his options are limitless - he can invade practically any of the remaining kingdoms of the Seven Deserts. But I've heard word from a reliable source that Jafar means to strike at the capital, and that can mean only one thing: he wants Cryngaine as his prize, and he's going for the Sentinel."

Aladdin paused, but Mozenrath's face had rapidly taken on the same bitter complexion of sour grapes, and he refused to comment. Aladdin continued.

"You know as well as I that Cryngaine is the closest thing to a capital that the Seven Deserts have. It's where the pact between the seven kingdoms was first hammered out, and it's where the sultans and sultanas of each of the member states of the alliance meet to talk diplomacy. If Jafar occupies Cryngaine, he'll have each and every last one of them at his mercy. The pact will be dead, and the kingdoms that survive the fall of the capital won't be able to maintain a coordinated defense like they have up until now. If Cryngaine falls, then the Seven Deserts are doomed. Just like he took Agrabah, just like he took D'jel, just like he took Getzistan, so will he dominate everyone else who stands in his way. And once he has the Seven Deserts under his thumb, he'll be able to focus his ambitions elsewhere. He'll come after you, Mozenrath. And there won't be a damn thing you'll be able to do to stop him."

"How do you know all this? I haven't heard a word about any attack on Cryngaine," Mozenrath said heatedly, tapping a finger on the arm of his throne.

A smug smile flashed across Aladdin's lips. "I guess you overestimated yourself."

Mozenrath was on his feet in an instant, his face the perfect picture of madness. "How dare you come into my Citadel and insult me! This is blackmail!" he sneered, each word emerging from his dry and dusty throat an oily epithet of rage. He looked lividly from one face to the next and seemed genuinely on the verge of having them all executed, but behind his frenzied eyes, Iago could tell he was thinking, strategizing, planning his next move. If any piece of the cool intellect Mozenrath was known for had survived this short outburst - and it certainly had - then the sorcerer had no choice but the let them live for the sake of his own survival, and Iago tried to reassure himself of that fact as he strove to soothe his pounding heart and keep his breathing in check.

Aladdin didn't concentrate on the outburst at all. He continued, "The only way into Cryngaine is through the Sentinel. There is no other way. The Sentinel is, of course, the most perfect fortress ever conceived and constructed by man. But the Seven Deserts don't have enough troops to defend it. Their forces have been squandered fighting for lost causes at D'jel and Getzistan and split in half twice to guard against the possibility of a western offensive. In short, they're out of manpower, they're out of money, and they're out of time. Mozenrath, if you don't side with us, the Sentinel stands no chance. Jafar's armies are more than numerous enough to overwhelm Cryngaine's defenses in their present state, not to mention the difficulty of having to deal with an all-powerful genie."

"He isn't all-powerful," Mozenrath mumbled.

"Come again?" frowned Aladdin.

Mozenrath took a step back and sunk down into his throne, where he rested his chin wearily in his hand. "Forget it," he said abruptly.

Aladdin squinted, obviously puzzled by what Mozenrath had said and wanting to press for more. But shrugged off the comment as nothing and continued with the negotiations at hand, the imperativeness of swaying Mozenrath to his side more important than anything else. "You understand the logic in what I'm telling you," he said, taking a bold step forward toward the sorcerer on the throne. "There is no way we'll be able to stand alone against Jafar, and likewise, there is no way you'll be able to oppose him all by yourself."

"Are you sure about that, Aladdin?" whispered Mozenrath dangerously. "What makes you think I won't stand by and watch as these three armies you speak of utterly tear you apart? What makes you think I won't let them kill you at the first opportunity?"

"Because allowing Jafar to finish me off would mean all the less glory for you, Mozenrath. You've already reserved the job of killing me for yourself," Aladdin answered in good humor.

Mozenrath leaned forward in his chair until he was nearly face-to-face with Aladdin. "And what makes you think I give a damn about glory anymore? How do you know I won't let your enemies cut you down, Aladdin? Hell, how do you know I'll send my undead soldiers intervene in your paltry little war at all? You won't win. You can't win against armies of that caliber. It is predestined."

"Fate is not like the cut of a blade, Mozenrath, but rather like the myriad of paths formed when a hammer cracks ice. There's a very good possibility that -"

"Wrong!" Mozenrath shouted. "Fate is very much like the cut of the blade. Moreso than you can ever possibly know."

Aladdin's jaw dropped. "Mozenrath, what are you -"

"It was me," the sorcerer boldly proclaimed. "I was the one who brought Jafar back from the dead."

The room was very still.

Iago had to repeat what Mozenrath had said three times in his head for it to make any sense to him, and when it finally did click, he was too taken aback to notice the flurry of activity going on around him. In one swift motion, Aladdin drew his sword from its scabbard without delay and took a running leap onto the dais, where he held the weapon very close to Mozenrath's throat. Genie bounded after him and tried to hold him down, but Aladdin tossed him off like a weakling child and glowered dangerously down at Mozenrath, his tense eyes burning, his lower lip trembling.

"Snake!" he bellowed, the insult reverberating again and again in the confines of the throne room, but his voice was wobbly and lacked the command that had been distinctive of it a minute ago. He didn't bother to hide his anger; he embraced it full on, steaming with an exuberance Iago hadn't seen in him since before the dark times of Jafar's reign. It was the first tangible sign of emotion he had seen in Aladdin in eight years. But as reminiscent as the passionate man before him was, Iago couldn't imagine the old Aladdin stooping so low as to slit another man's throat - even if that other man was Mozenrath. It also brought back painful recollections of his vision in the midst of the Marauders' attack, of being on the receiving end of the blade and having his own throat cut open. In any case, it wasn't something to be honored and it wasn't something to be proud of.

He was about to speak when Cassim piped up beside him, "Aladdin put your sword down."

If Aladdin's voice was wavering, then Cassim was downright unsure of himself. From where he was mounted on his shoulder, Iago was able to catch a glimpse of his face, and he could see that his friend was locked in deep battle with himself or some demon of his heart. The muscles in his face were twitching through his lopsided frown and he chewed on his lower lip constantly. Furthermore, he couldn't meet his son's eyes, picking a spot on the dais to focus his attention on instead. Iago couldn't ever remember seeing him so torn.

"Shut up, Dad," Aladdin retaliated. But his voice was less strong, if that was possible.

Iago picked that second to burst in, "Stop it, Al. This... this just isn't right."

"You should listen to your pet, Aladdin," Mozenrath sneered. "I am the most powerful being on Earth! I can't be struck down by any material weapon! And even if you were able to kill me, you would still be caught in the middle of my throne room, in the middle of my kingdom. You and all your friends would never escape this place. My bonewalkers would destroy you. And trust me, I have many, many bonewalkers."

Mozenrath was exceptionally believable in delivering the lines. But for all his words, Iago noticed that with Aladdin's sword pressed to his neck, he was sitting very, very still.

Gradually, Aladdin pulled away, leaving a thin line of blood where metal had touched Mozenrath's flesh. His breathing was erratic, but was able to control himself again. Iago felt subconsciously guilty for having challenged him, but he was too engrossed by what the sorcerer had just admitted to care.

"You bleed like anyone else," Aladdin remarked with disgust, letting the sword slip from his hands, which were white-knuckled and tight-fisted, squeezing an imaginary neck. "Explain yourself!"

Mozenrath wiped the blood off his neck with his fingers and held it up to his eyes for inspection. Its violent redness stood in stark contrast with Mozenrath's gaunt face, which had lost what little color it had possessed when the contents of his jugular were almost put on display on the dark tile floor.

"It would be a humorous story if all that came of it had happened to you and you alone," Mozenrath said spitefully. "Now that my secret is out, I suppose there's no harm in telling it... but where to begin?"

"Tablets!" Xerxes urged, swimming around his master's head like a planet in orbit. Iago was confused at first at the sound of his voice. He had been so unsympathetically quiet when Aladdin was about to run Mozenrath through that Iago had forgotten the slug was even there.

Mozenrath snapped his fingers. "Of course, the tablets. As good a place as any,"

He drew a petite circle in the air with his finger, and upon the completion of the shape, two stone tablets materialized where his hand had been. They hovered in midair, shedding centuries of dust and dirt on the marble floor, tempting Iago to read them. He had to lean forward on Cassim's shoulder to be able to see the tiny text, but he managed. The tablets' meaning, however, left him more clueless than ever before. Breathlessly, he read:

---

When bandit's cured and heiress' mourned,
From 'neath earth, there comes a foe,
From hellish nether, far below.
'Twixt devil's jaw, he comes reborn,
Given life by traitor's blood,
Bestowing strength in magic flood,
As kingdoms crumble 'neath his scorn.

In darkest hour, in darkened halls,
Where lives are lost and fates are wrought,
Where battle once again is fought,
The Betrayer transpires through it all,
And gives to the Betrayed in stress,
That which neither doth possess,
To spare the world from evil's thrall.

---

Genie spoke up tersely, "What does any of it mean?"

"These," Mozenrath gestured to the stone slabs, "Are two tablets of an ancient prophecy, predicted by seers, chronicled by sages, and entombed by earth for the past millennia. They foretell the coming of a great evil. They once belonged to Destane, but I claimed them as my prize when I inherited his estate, and I used them to resurrect Jafar."

"Why? And how?" Aladdin growled.

"Do we really have to delve into specifics?"

"Yes!"

Mozenrath's face was acid. "I did it for power. Isn't that obvious? Aladdin, I tried to steal your genie's magic time and time again before I stumbled across these tablets. Once I put ample time into translating them and understanding their meaning, I came to believe the fates had coalesced to recognize me as the rightful ruler of the Seven Deserts. I realized that if I could fulfill the prophecy, I would be able to tap the energy of Jafar, an all-powerful genie. With such a beast at my beck and call, I could've been unstoppable. I could've been able to conquer the world like he's doing now! If only things had gone as planned, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Aladdin didn't press him for answers anymore. His head was bowed and his back was turned, but Iago could guess what emotions were tilling his features.

"You idiot!" Cassim howled. "You're the one to blame for this tragedy! Do you have any idea the kind of evil you've unleashed upon the world! Jafar has ruined three kingdoms and taken hundreds of innocent lives! He stole my granddaughter away from me -"

"I know exactly what evil I've unleashed upon the world! I thought I could control him. I thought he was supposed to bestow me with strength in a magic flood! Instead, he gave his power to Aladdin's pitiful daughter, and I was only able to catch a snatch of it for myself before he escaped from here! Do you think I haven't suffered at all because of my mistake? I gave my right hand to be able to wear the Gauntlet, to be able to call its power my own. And in my attempts to subdue him and capture his magic for myself, I lost my left one!"

Mozenrath tore his left hand out of the pocket where it had been concealed and held it up for all to see. All that could be said about the limb was that it wasn't there; the entire hand was missing, the arm ending in a mere stub at the wrist. Iago gasped at the sight of it, and Aladdin and Genie both took a step backward in surprise.

"Does this please you, Aladdin?" Mozenrath raged. "The day I resurrected him, he retaliated and did this to me! My only hand was stolen away by a cursed blade! Does that make you happy, Aladdin? Does it? The same knife I used to bring him back was turned against me! And I've lived with that mistake for eight years, Aladdin!"

Iago's heart skipped a beat. "The silver dagger," he ventured, pleading to shadows that Mozenrath wouldn't know what he was referencing, that he wouldn't know what he was talking about. If Mozenrath was clueless about the dagger, then Iago's fears had no basis in fact, and he would be able to rest easily... wouldn't he?

He suddenly felt several pairs of eyes on him.

Mozenrath scowled. "That's right. The silver dagger."

The image of Mozenrath slitting his throat had been at the heart of his revulsion toward going to the Land of the Black Sand. He had made due by discounting it as a dream, even though he knew in his heart of hearts that there was more to it than that. Now, Mozenrath had all but admitted to knowing what Iago had seen in the vision, which could only mean that the vision was somehow true. It was all on the table now. And soon, Iago feared, would also be his lunch. The terrible sense of fear he had suffered when he had first seen the vision a few days ago came floating back to him now. The same sickness he had felt in the pit of his stomach when Mozenrath's gaze had sojourned on him when he'd first entered the throne room dwindled nauseatingly in his mind. But more than anything, he was filled with loathing, despair, and an awful guilt he could not account for, but which burrowed its way inside him nonetheless.

Cassim turned his head to the side and penetrated the bird's soul. "Iago, what do you know that you aren't telling me!" he demanded, his jaw quivering.

Genie looked from Mozenrath to Iago to Mozenrath again, his arms locked, his blue face burning. "How about letting us in on the little secret, Mozy?"

"Blood of the Betrayer," spoke Mozenrath. He sounded parched and worn out, two qualities Iago didn't especially associate with the sorcerer. Not that he was in any fit state to care. He was only half-listening to the discussion now; the other half was still lost over the confirmation of his greatest fear. Like Aladdin, he had become remote and withdrawn. Mozenrath's affirmation that the vision had its basis in reality was charged with the potency of a lightning bolt, and like a dry tree in the midst of a raging thunderstorm, it struck him, and he snapped in two and collapsed.

"It's an ancient riddle. An ancient riddle that I was able to solve, however poor the rewards have been." Some small fragment of his mind that had managed to remain unravaged listened to Mozenrath's speech. "How can I phrase this so your limited minds can comprehend it? The tablets go beyond making a blind prediction of evil. They present the very formula for bringing that evil to life. 'Given life by traitor's blood' - that one line is responsible for this entire catastrophe."

The members of the Order looked back at him with searching eyes.

"Oh, how much more obvious could it be!" Mozenrath lamented. "The magic for bringing your old enemy back resides in the blood of the one who betrayed him, leading to his death. With the power of the Gauntlet, I divined that the Betrayed the prophecy refers to was none other than Agrabah's former vizier. A surprise, to say the least, but a welcome one, because thanks to my less-than-pleasant past encounters with you wretches, I had the benefit of knowing where to start looking for the one who stabbed him in the back. What followed was an investigation that put even my advanced mind to the test. I almost gave up at one point, but I have the will of a titan, and I carried on. In the end, my investigations paid off. I discovered the Betrayer was none other than that stupid parrot."

Mozenrath lifted a finger to point at Iago, who quickly dived behind Cassim's tunic, panicked that he was about to be shocked or zapped. Mozenrath grinned maliciously. "Kicking a genie's lamp into a pit of boiling lava - quite commendable. I don't blame him for hating you," he teased.

"Locating the bird was more difficult. I was almost deterred when I learned he had left Agrabah, but I knew I would find him eventually. And I did. I stole from the camp where he slept one night and brought him here to the Citadel. Once I had him in my grasp, I used a cursed silver dagger to drain the blood I needed to fulfill the prophecy. And when I had enough, I patched him up, returned him to the camp, and dampened his memory of the event so no one would be able to follow my tracks. I'm actually astounded you were able to break through the memory blocks I put up, parrot. You must be very strong-willed. That, or you have a history with dark magic."

"Iago," Cassim said disbelievingly. "You had a part in this? And you knew it? And you didn't tell me?"

"I - I -"

But Cassim refused to give him the chance to lie and quickly looked away from him, pained and disappointed. Iago surmised there were more levels to how much his friend had been hurt than he knew.

"The knife I used to take away the parrot's blood was the same knife he used to take away my hand," Mozenrath dragged on. "Irony is cruel, isn't it?"

"Forget about Iago. How does this prophecy of yours even end?" stormed Cassim.

"Why don't you try reading it?" Mozenrath snapped, his words as sharp as cutlery.

"'The Betrayer gives to the Betrayed in stress that which neither doth possess'... What's that even supposed to mean?"

Mozenrath frowned. "In all truth, I'm not entirely sure. I didn't pay much attention to the second verse. I only gave thought to the first one."

"You idiot! You took the first part at face value and thought the second one was negotiable!"

The sorcerer's piercing stare was unbreakable. In a low voice, he said, "It is said that there's no keeping the prophecy from being fulfilled. Once the ball is set and pulled, there's not way to make it stop swinging until it loses its momentum on its own."

"So you're giving up already, Mozenrath?" Genie replied hotly. "Doesn't seem like your style. Just admit it: Jafar has you boxed into a corner, and now you're too weak to get back at him. You're trapped. Like a rat. In a cage."

Mozenrath reviled, his voice a sibilation of the coming darkness whose way no one could stand in, "The blood of a traitorous bird runs in his veins. The blood of the Master of the Black Sand and the rightful ruler of the Seven Deserts runs through mine. I'll cut the thread that holds the ball in midair before it ever swings my way. I don't believe in destiny." The corners of his lips turned ghastily upward. "I already know what the future holds in store for me. The future had just better know what I hold for it."

He stood, walked across the dais, and opening his Gauntleted hand to Aladdin, addressed him properly. "I never thought it would come to this, that I would ever be shaking hands with you. But I can sacrifice my dignity once in my life. For what it's worth, Aladdin, we have an alliance... temporarily."

Aladdin looked up, the dabs of wetness beneath his eyes shimmering as he moved. He stared at Mozenrath sullenly, his potent visage deflated before their very eyes. Genie had been wrong. Aladdin really had been broken. But no one could complain about his lack of spirit as he pulled back his arm, well conditioned by eight year's hatred, and walloped Mozenrath painfully across the cheek.

---

Wearily, they trudged back through the lofty, carved doorways and immense, running corridors, so dark that they could easily be mistaken for those of a sepulcher. The pale orange torches disfigured them as they walked, burning hideous deformities into their crestfallen faces. In the pit of his heart, Iago knew he must have seemed most hideous of all. He had been right. What he had seen in his visions had really happened to him. The fact that it happened eight years ago didn't change a thing; he was still responsible for this second holocaust, this second Return of Jafar. He had been right. As his form was twisted and misshapen by sinister forces, all he wanted was to turn away from the light.

At length, they emerged from the tomb, though to Iago the air outside smelled just as stale as the air within the Citadel's bowels. He was just as much a prisoner here, he decided, as he was back there. There wasn't anything else he deserved more than to pay for what he'd done.

He tilted his head back and sought comfort among the silent guardians of the night, yet they seemed to glare back at him, billions upon billions of vengeful eyes spiting him from an eternity away, judging him, isolating him, condemning him. He had never felt more alone in the universe.

"Cassim?" he begged of his friend, praying he would be there to help him through this night. But his friend had left him. His friend was not there.

Aladdin turned to him, and Iago would never forget the look of pure disgust that adorned his star-crossed face.