Greiz leaned on his spear, dozing slightly and trying to ignore the dull ache inside his skull. He and Greglash had been up quite late last night, enjoying Atma's brews and the arguments it brought forth. They never did resolve whether Sand Leapers were rodents or reptiles.

He wiped some sweat from his brow and coughed up a wad of phlegm, which he hawked casually on the cobblestones. The taste of alcohol was still ripe in his mouth, and his tongue felt dry as cotton.

A sudden scream took him from his personal qualms, and his head snapped around to look at the great stone arch of the city entrance. The guards usually posted there, bored and complacent, now lay dead under the arches shadow. Pools of blood seeped into the sand from their wounds, and dripped from the bony claws of the creature standing over them.

Greiz's first thought was one of disbelief.

'No,' he thought; 'it's daylight. No evil such as this ever comes during the day. They sneak and kill, cowardly, in the night. This is morning!'

But as the creature bent to the bodies lying beneath him, and ripped the right arm from one, reality was very quickly beginning to sink in. The beasts bulging face grinned as it placed the freshly torn arm to his own rotting shoulder, and Greiz watched as spidery tendons and ligaments crept out to bind the new flesh to old.

The creature gave a happy, gurgling moan, and raised its new arm, testing it. It was somewhat smaller then the other, but Greiz could see the dark magics holding the creature together were already beginning to alter it to suit. A small hoard of black beetles scurried from between its exposed ribs and burrow gleefully into the fresh meat. Greiz couldn't help but gag with repulsion.

A shout rang out down the street, as some patrolling guards spotted the monstrosity. It turned towards them, its hollow eyes scanning. Upon sight of its visage, the guards all but dropped their spears in horror, and an unearthly roar succeeded in sending them fleeing for cover.

Greiz, freed from his paralysis at last, knew this was not a fight he'd want to face alone. He took a last look at the slain guards at the gate, and bolted for the barracks. He could only hope the men were prepared for what they were about to face.

The over sized, toothy mouth of Radament grinned with pleasure as he left the corpses behind and began to amble down the street. Man flesh; oh how he'd feast today.

Mortis staggered in darkness. Blind. In pain. The dust of Radament was not like ordinary sand; it wriggled and burrowed, irritated and burned. He needed water, and fast, before his eyes fell to pieces in their sockets.

He'd heard a cry not long ago, and had used that alone to guide his steps. Flight while blind was impossible, and running in sand much the same. Yet, out of the darkness, images were beginning to form. Only mere flashes, and accompanied by no sound. But he saw them none the less.

The stone arch of Lut Gholein. A terrified, screaming face, filling his vision. Blood. Another, larger, man, running up a street, and many more fleeing. And most horribly, something he recognised well, something he'd feared the second he'd heard the Summoners commands to his newly revived minion.

The swinging sign of drinking tavern.

Finding his way to the gates was easier then expected; the screams had been more frequent and louder the past few times. Mortis lent against the weathered stone and listened. Feet, people crying, the sounds of guards and their shouted orders. And above all the, the sound of a woman wailing. It was chaos in the streets.

He staggered, groping his way along, searching for the town square by memory alone. An empty bucket dropped carelessly found the shin of his foot, and he stumbled to a painful halt upon the cobblestones. He knelt there, grinding his teeth against the throbbing, angry red in his knees and eyes. And then a voice spoke in his ears.

"… Dune Hunter? Dune Hunter, it is you! Thank the gods."

A strong arm gripped his shoulder and pulled him to his feet.

"Stand fast, we need your – " A pause. A gasp. "Your eyes, Dune Hunter what on Sanctuary happened to your eyes?"

Mortis could only choke out a reply.

"Water… please. I need it now!"

The strong arms obeyed, leading him so fast and steady Mortis felt as if he were being carried. And suddenly his face was under the cool water of the town well. He shook his head, rubbed frantically at his eyes, and drank all at the same time.

He pulled himself out and gave a long, gasping breath. Blinking, he saw light, then figures, then the world reappeared. Though his eyes felt sore, the dust of Radament and been thoroughly washed away. His sight had thankfully returned.

The strong arms spun him.

"Greiz!" he cried, seeing the face of his saviour.

"Snap out of it, lad!" the gruff, pale faced soldier cried. "You may be our only chance. There's a beast loose in the city, and it's the shit-ugliest thing you've ever seen."

Mortis straightened immediately; able-eyed and ready to tear.

"Where did it go?" he snarled.

"It came in through the gates, in broad daylight! I could barely believe me peepers. Killed two of me guards like that!" he snapped his fingers in front of the demons face. "Then it headed to the tavern –"

Greiz never got to finish his sentence. Mortis was gone.

He knew it was too late, even before he saw the blood trailing out of the tavern doorway. The woman's wail, so desperate and forlorn, rang out over the whole city. A drunk's body hung half way through a window, his head split and leaking onto the cobblestones. But it was the tiny leg, adorned with a child's sandal, that nearly broke Mortis's mind right there and then.

He wanted to kill, anyone or anything, but then grief hit him like a Wendigo's fist and all he wanted to do was sit and mourn his losses. The wail droned on endlessly, a cascading lament mimicking his own emotional turmoil. He found his eyes following the trail of blood, up the street where more of the slain lay. Many were dismembered, missing strips of flesh or appendages. Many he recognised. Many had been his friends.

At the far end, Greiz had mustered what remained of his guards and was urging them, one by one, through an open trap door.

"Get down there boys; teach that flesh eating bastard you can't chew on the Desert Mercenaries," he bellowed. He looked down the street and met Mortis's eye; "Come if you can, Dune Hunter, we'll need all the help we can get."

Greiz followed his men down into the sewers below, where the Undead murderer had fled, dragging the skins of his prey. Mortis stood alone in a city of the slain, their loved ones wails fading to mere sobs. He ground his teeth till they felt fit to crumble. He looked up at the morning sun and screamed.

"Voice! Summoner! What have you done? Why did you force me to unleash this horror? You promised I wouldn't be hurt. You couldn't have injured me more with a weapon!"

The silence the voice had maintained since its final orders to Radament persisted, infuriating Mortis all the more. He took a step towards the open trapdoor, resolving to utterly destroy at least one source of his pain.

A hum of electricity filled the air, making his senses prickle wildly. He hissed and peered around, expecting a sorcerer's spell to strike him at any second.

"EUREKA!" the voice boomed in his ears; "The gate to the Arcane Sanctuary is opening!"

"What are you doing, Summoner?" Mortis snarled, "What is this Arcane Sanctuary? Is it the reason why the city had to suffer?"

Now the voice was back, it seemed more then willing to dispense its usual teasing factoids.

"Oh, you poor deluded demon. You child of a deceitful, evil world. You've lived in Sanctuary more then two centuries, and still you know so little about human behaviour."

"I know enough to kill them more efficiently then any other creature. Come forth and I'll show you."

"I think not. But I'd like to thank you for your… invaluable services. Your current employer isn't paying you nearly enough. Without you, I never would have had the time to open the gate."

Dark realisation fell over Mortis's heart like crows on carrion.

"Radament… he wasn't your grand plan. He was a distraction."

"And the last camel crosses the Oasis. Well done, and you didn't even hurt yourself thinking it up." The voice paused to let out a laugh that was somewhere between a giggle and a snort; "Radament did his job well. Perhaps you've noticed by now that every available guard has chased him to the sewer. Nobody remains to protect the gates. Even the palace lies empty…"

Mortis didn't need the seconds he was given for that information to sink in. He was already marching towards the palace entrance with terrifying purpose. His arms lashed out as he went, tearing chunks from walls in his fury.

"Oh yes, please come and visit. I'm dying to meet you in person."

"You'll be dying alright."

"You're as pig-headed as the Sultan. I'm so glad you did me the favour of killing that bulbous lout. That bloated tick on the buttocks of society."

"Why didn't you do it yourself, with your damnable home-made demons?"

"Fool. You really think I'd bring my pets out to play in full sight of the Royal family? I'd be executed on the spot! A Sultans Vizier can never dapple in arts that could threaten his master's life."

Mortis had entered the palace, descending the spiral staircase as he'd done the night before. The rooms and corridors proved to be as luxurious as ever, but far more quiet now. He glided from doorway to doorway, ready to pounce, rend, tear the treacherous voice right from its owner's throat. The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall into place now, thanks to the Summoner's deliberate hint dropping.

"Why stop there? I'm enjoying this entourage of how stupidly I played into your hands, really I am."

"'Really, you am', ay? Well, if you insist, I will indulge. Did you perhaps ever think about the consequences of slaughtering a Sultan?"

Mortis didn't reply. In truth, he hadn't. Braca's contract, the opinions of the people, and the purity of the Sultan's son seemed justification enough to remove Abdullah permanently. There really seemed to be no other factors to consider.

"How about protection?" the Summoner replied, reading Mortis's thoughts. "Did it ever cross your confused little mind that the Sultan's son might not be more then a pampered child? His heart may be in the right place, true, but there's a big difference between one's desires to help, and one's abilities to do so."

Mortis was beginning to feel more and more uneasy with the Summoners words. He hadn't considered Jerhyn's abilities. The process of learning was different for all humans, this he knew, but he'd assumed that because Jerhyn was of age, he was ready to take the throne. Or down-filled King size bed, in this case.

"What vital skills could he be missing?" Mortis said curiously. This harem level did indeed seem deserted, but a static energy thrummed from the floor beneath his feet. "You're in the basement, aren't you?"

"Run, run, run, as fast as you can. You can't catch me, I'm the Summoning Man!"

The voice burst into a fit of laughter, mocking and cruel, that drove Mortis into a frenzy. He forgot about stealth, about scouting each room. He found the stairs leading to the next floor, and hurtled down them like a wild thing.

"What skills could he be missing?" the voice continued to muse. "Hmmm… let's see… how about; basic military procedures? The Sultan allowed his son to order the guards around, but the lad doesn't know the first thing about strategy. How do you think he'd handle an invading force? Send wave after wave of men into the fray?"

"A point I'm sure you plan to take advantage of."

"Despite the dimly lit interior of your skull, you do have moments of surprising perceptiveness. Yes, I'm counting on young Jerhyn's inexperience. My pets are very eager to meet him."

Mortis pelted through the cellars, barging over barrels and spilling wine darker then blood. The electric hum was closer, louder, buzzing inside his head.

"Where are you? Do you still hide like an urchin beneath stone?"

"You're still a level too high. I await you, my blue friend, but a stairwell away. And don't dwell too much on the future of the Hassani Empire. If it doesn't fall to me, it will fall to someone else. Without the Sultan, even a tightly organised band of desert thieves could overthrow the city. In fact, I believe I heard rumour of a Hell Lord coming this way…"

An image of the strange man at the Kanduras tavern, his head lolled and mouth opened wide, flashed into Mortis's mind. A shiver went down his spine.

"You're… you're in league with…?"

"Never! The Hell Lords condemn my actions as much as man or Angel, you know that. I am an outcast, an interloper, unwelcome in all worlds but the one I am about to ascend too. There I will be safe to continue my research, to follow in the footsteps of the greatest Summoner of all; Horazon."

The voice waited for Mortis's response, but the demon was too focused on working his way through the cellar to respond. Besides, Horazon was a name that meant nothing to him. The Summoner snorted in disgust.

"Never mind. You just hurry your way down here. But don't expect to stop me. I've spent far too many years, bowing to that odious Sultan, to be foiled now. It took nearly a decade alone to rebuild this portal, far beneath the palace floors."

Mortis found the stairs and flew down, sliding carelessly on dust covered steps. He guessed that the cellar this far down was rarely visited, and so perfect for a treacherous Vizier to conduct his experiments. The electric buzz had become a crackle of lightning, and an eerie blue light leaked around the door he now stood before.

He bared his teeth, gripped the handle, and then smashed the door from its hinges.

For a second he was blind again, not in darkness, but pure light. He shielded his eyes and tried to see through the glare. A glowing portal shimmered in the centre of the room, both beautiful and chilling to look at directly. A chuckle drew his attention from the wavering dimensional rift to a strangely dressed figure standing beside it.

"We meet at last, oh mighty Dune Hunter," the figure said. His flowing blue robe shimmered and swam in the light of the portal, creating a universe within a universe effect in the flawless cloth. Mortis stood in the doorway, his gold ringed eyes shining.

"Indeed," he snarled, "the pawn corners the King."

The Summoner laughed again, and Mortis saw the face that wasn't a face. A mask of metal covered the man's features completely. The wide grinning mouth and eyes were mere black holes, carved into a comically smiling visage. It reminded Mortis of the clown masks humans wore during certain annual festivities.

"Check, but not mate. No chessboard ever comes equipped with one of these," the man replied, gesturing to the portal.

Mortis blinked, and to his surprise he saw the mask had changed. It no longer grinned with smiling eyes. Now it leered at him with smug satisfaction.

"I'm glad we could meet before I leave. Face to face, human to demon."

"That's no face you wear," Mortis replied.

"Well, if we're going to get picky; you're not exactly wearing your true face either."

Mortis's eyes widened. The knowledge of this man was frightening to behold.

"Oh, don't act so surprised!" the mask said, changing to a look of sympathy, "I know all your secrets, like I said before. That basic glamour spell you wear to make your face appear more human; it isn't exactly hard to detect. Even for unskilled eyes."

Mortis spread his wings in reply, and took a step forward.

"You're going to pay for the guards Radament killed. For the innocent city dwellers that crossed his path. And... and for…" he choked on the a lump welling in his throat. "And for killing Atma's boy," he screamed at last. "He'd barely begun to live. Do you feel no remorse, you demon whoring sonovabitch?"

Mortis cradled his head in his hands, thick sobs escaping through his fingers. When he looked up at the now solemn mask, his eyes were burning with fury. Trickles of flame leapt from his fingers.

"You. Will. Burn!"

With one fluid motion, he thrust his hand forward, and suddenly the room was alive with orange light. A fireball streaked from his palm, destined for the now shocked metal mask, and the Summoner was only saved by throwing himself desperately to the floor. He covered his head as the ball exploded against the wall behind, showering him in cinders.

Mortis was staring at his hands, breathing heavy and disbelieving of the feat he'd just achieved. The Summoner looked up, an unsure expression on his mask, and for one brief moment they forgot their fight and shared something wholly unique.

"You haven't done that in years," the Summoner whispered.

"I know," Mortis whispered in reply.

Then the battle resumed. The Summoner was up, the mask grinning triumphantly once more.

"Impressive display, but I know tricks of my own."

With a gesture very similar to Mortis', he unleashed a ball of ice that flew so fast the demon was unable to move from its path. It struck him at the knees, freezing his legs to the floor. Mortis howled in protest and began to smash the ice apart with his fists. The Summoner merely continued to grin his horrible metallic grin, and slowly began to stride towards the portal.

"Don't you flee!" Mortis bellowed; "Don't you run from me! Our fight isn't finished; I will make you pay!"

The Summoner just continued to walk casually away, while Mortis managed to free one leg from the icy chunk. He'd almost freed the other, when the man reached the portal, and stopped inches from stepping through. The mask that turned to face the struggling demon was no longer mocking, only a resigned listlessness one might see on a city busker.

"Yes. I will pay. And I'm willing to bet ten fold. But not today, and hopefully not for a long time to come. This is the beginning of the end for me, the Sanctuary beyond is about to become my eternal home and prison. Farewell, Dune Hunter," the listless mask changed back to that happy, hollow smile, "I enjoyed our time together."

With that, the Summoner stepped into the portal. The rage, pain and hurt at seeing his manipulator getting way sent strength surging through Mortis's body, and he shattered out of the ice with one mighty heave.

"You BASTARD", he screamed, lunging towards the portal. His outstretched claws reached, slashed, mere centimetres from the man's flowing robe. Then the portal closed with a clap of lightning, and Mortis was left in darkness. Some fine blue fibres clinging to his nails were the only evidence of how close he had come.

He howled. He cried. He punched at the strange stone arch where the portal had been till his knuckles were raw and cracked. Nothing worked. Only some final, far away words drifted to him, like whispers on the breeze.

"It's no use doing that; it will not open for you. Humans only, I'm afraid. Perhaps, one day, a would-be hero will come through to entertain me; one pure of heart and honourable of intention may have what it takes to activate the portal. But, sadly for you, there aren't many people like that left in the world today…"

The voice faded away. Mortis's enemy had, well and truly, slipped from his grasp.

Mortis knelt underneath the portal arch for a long time, his mind blank and eyes the same. The room beneath the palace felt cold and empty now, despite the heated battle that had just taken place. He felt he could just sit there for eternity, test the 'body to stone' theory, but suddenly the concept of time seemed very important.

Time. It was well past dawn. And it suddenly hit him that the ship, Braca and his next assignment may also be slipping away.

Mortis dragged himself reluctantly to his feet and made his way slowly to the door. He hated being defeated, and even though the Summoners only real action was to flee, it felt like a defeat none the less. Unresolved matters, a fight for another day, and one he definitely intended to come back too.

His pace quickened as he worked his way back up through the dusty, spider webbed basement, and by the time he reached the harem he was at a full run. The idea of being left behind in this city, where he had inadvertently caused so much pain, was too much to handle. He was not going to miss that boat.

Mortis rounded the last corner and collided with something so hard, he was knocked backwards onto the marble floor. He was up in a second, thinking perhaps it was a guard, but the young man cowering below him was anything but. The man's turban had been knocked askew, and his eyes were wide with terror. He looked about to faint.

"D-d-demon!" he managed to stutter, "Stay back! Stay back!" He pushed and slipped backwards, moccasined feet squeaking on the polished floor. Mortis spoke fast, his palms raised high.

"Prince Jerhyn!" he said, "I mean you know harm."

Jerhyn only stared back at him for a long moment, eyeing the gleaming claws on the hands that were displayed. Eyeing the great wings, the blue skin and almost inhuman face. Mortis knelt so he was at the prince's level.

"Please, I haven't much time. I understand meeting a demon in the hallways of your home is an unexpected event, but you must listen."

Jerhyn's features began to soften, he blinked, and sudden recognition hit.

"You're… you're the Dune Hunter! I remember the descriptions of you from the stories my carers told me. I heard you were back… I always wanted to meet you, you know, but my father refused…"

Mortis could see the lad was still suffering from mild shock. He gripped Jerhyn's shoulders and shook him, gently, but firm.

"Be alert, and be quick! Aren't you aware of what's happening in your city? This is urgent."

Jerhyn blinked again, then a flush of colour filled his cheeks.

"I… I've been asleep. I just woke up and everyone was gone. The guards, the servants… even father."

Mortis rolled his eyes. Far off in the distance, on the fringes of his consciousness, he heard a mocking laugh.

"…there's a big difference between one's desires to help, and one's abilities to do so…" it echoed.

"No," Mortis said aloud to himself, "I won't let that happen."

Jerhyn looked confusedly up at him.

"Are you talking to me…?"

Mortis ignored him and pulled the young man to his feet.

"Listen, while you've been off in your palace of dreams, two great evils have invaded your city. One is an Undead mage, risen to take vengeance on the living and feed on their flesh. He's taken residence in the sewers, and that is where the guards have gone." He paused to take a breath. Jerhyn listened wide eyed.

"The second," Mortis continued, "was your father's Vizier. He –"

He paused again. Something was wrong.

"He –"

Nothing. He couldn't speak. The words were there, but they were lodged in his throat. Absorbed by his tongue. Mortis snarled in frustration.

"Damn you, Summoner!" he screamed in his mind, "What have you done? What spell have you placed over my tormented mind?"

There was no answer, but there didn't really need to be. Mortis would never speak of the Summoner's plans, no matter how hard he tried. Some enchantments were just too hard to break via will alone, and Mortis didn't have the time to try another way.

Jerhyn, meanwhile, was staring at the demon's alarmingly vicious face.

"…The Vizier? What about him?"

Mortis snorted and shook his head.

"Never mind. I'm afraid you'll find out in due time. Just heed my word: seek out your trainers and learn the ways of war. Earn the respect of the guards – the ones that remain – and talk long and hard with Greiz. It is imperative you gain the knowledge of battle, and gain it soon."

The young man, naïve as Summoner had predicted, only shook his head.

"I can't do that! My father forbids it! He will deal with whatever evil comes this way; he is the Sultan, after all."

Mortis smacked his forehead in frustration. He could feel the pain welling inside, it screwed up his face. It was as he feared. The Sultan's power over his son was to strong, and the boy would not defy him while he thought his father alive. Therefore, there was only one way to make Jerhyn step up to assume his duty. It was what Mortis had dreaded the second they'd collided, and now it had to be done.

Slowly, Mortis reached into the pocket of his shorts. He withdrew a clenched fist, held it in front of the Prince, and left it there. A brief struggle ensued within him; Mortis's hands shaking, his breathing heavy. The consequences of what was about to occur was going to tear him even further apart and he knew it. But finally, the fist opened.

Jerhyn's eyes widened as he gazed on the emblem, once stuck in his father's turban. Mortis didn't know fully what to expect. Would the man snap? Scream? Lash out? Simply stare in shock? Instead, the young Sultan simply nodded.

"So he is dead then," Jerhyn said sadly, "I knew the day was close."

"Oh yes?" Mortis queried, unable to hide his surprise at the prince's mild reaction.

"Yes. I've seen and heard of how the people in our city felt towards him. I thought they'd plot something… though I admit, hiring the Dune Hunter wasn't a path I thought they'd consider."

Mortis gazed down for a second, studying the emblem himself.

"I was hired by people – ones even I know nothing of - to do the deed, but what you say is true. I doubt your father will be greatly missed. You, however, will be welcomed to the throne. If," he took the princes gaze and held it, "If you abandon certain Hassani exploits."

This time, Jerhyn was the one to look down.

"You're speaking of the Human Zoo. I'm guessing that was the reason you were hired, and it was probably where you slew him last night, correct?"

Mortis nodded.

"I see."

He went silent, and Mortis saw the change almost immediately. It was what he had hoped. With his father gone, Jerhyn now fully accepted the role that had been thrust upon him. He was ready.

"I am the Sultan of Lut Gholein," the young man said, "and as of this moment I will sever all ties with abominable organisations such as the Human Zoo's. In fact, all slaves of the palace will be freed. They do not belong here, but in their homes."

He stopped, then smiled. The ability to make such decisions, freely and without the watchful gaze of his father, was obviously something he'd been waiting a long, long time to do. It pleased him greatly.

Mortis smiled too.

"I think you'll be alright," he said, giving Jerhyn a good natured slap on the shoulder, "Just don't go digging around in any maggot holes."

The new Sultan smirked curiously.

"Errr… sure… why?"

"Nevermind. Now I must leave. I have… many things to think about. Grief to flush from my heart, and doubt from my mind. Good luck… Sultan Jerhyn."

Jerhyn bowed, and as Mortis made to pass him, he gripped the demon's arm tightly.

"I will tell the people he was slain by the Human Zoo. Things will be ok."

The sudden image of a child's leg, the tiny sandal still on its foot, flashed in Mortis's mind and made him squint.

"No," he said softly, "I don't think things will be. This will be the last time I ever visit your desert city. I'm glad we met before the end."

Jerhyn let go of the demons arm, and Mortis strode towards the stairs.

The new Sultan stood on the steps of his palace, watching the figure of the Dune Hunter fly out to sea, chasing the speck of a ship far out on the horizon. He sighed.

His palace. His city. His people. In the hot morning sun, he could see completely the carnage caused by the beast the Dune Hunter had mentioned. The sounds of despair still hung in the air, the streets still awash with blood. Jerhyn grimaced.

Something dark and sinister was coming to his land, and if it wasn't here yet, it would be very soon. For a new ruler, there would be no better tests of skill. He gazed west, to the deserts horizon, where a storm that lived only in his heart seemed to be brewing.

And hoped he was prepared for the trials ahead.