A thousand competing thoughts raced through Tom's soul. Do I try to bribe them? Take a beating? Knock them out and run? Quickly, he tried to get a feel for the personalities and traits of the two guardsmen.

The one on the left had gear that was polished until it gleamed. If it had been just the sword, that might mean he was eager to use it. Since the armor was too, that meant the man took good care of his kit overall. Conscientious or fastidious? The man was roughly shaven. Tom knew that look—the sign of a man who didn't care about appearances. He only shaves because of rules, and thinks that it's a dumb rule. Conscientious, then. A guard who focuses more on doing the job than on looking good.

The guard on the right had a face that looked as if it were stuck in a perpetual scowl—frown lines marked his features. He had a sword on his belt, but carried a well-worn black club. A man who has liked to hit things for a long time.

He had only a heartbeat or two to choose, so he guessed, with a silent plea to Barsel.

He locked gazes with the guard on the right. "How much?"

"What?" The men stepped up and paused.

"How much for you to beat the crap out of him instead of me?" Tom tried, pointing at Biff's minion. "How much silver?"

"Hey!" the thug yelled, startled.

"I hate nobles," the guard on the left snarled.

"I bet you don't hate coin, though. Besides, I'm not a noble."

"I hate rich merchants, too. Always think you can buy your way out of trouble."

"I'm not the one making trouble. This pipsqueak's the thief. Why aren't you mad at him? Twenty silver," Tom offered. The men scoffed and Tom took a step back from the left guard to stall momentarily the attack he saw coming. "All right, half a gold. Come on, man, that's a lot of coin!"

"I hate smart guys," said the guard on the right.

"Well, I hate thieves," Tom shot back. "This weasel is using you, don't you hate that?"

"Hey!"

They're both saying things they hate. Looks like Eubexa's fear was well-founded. "One gold, final offer." Tom backpedaled, careful of his footing. "All right, one gold just to let me beat the crap out of the horse here, then you can beat me up. You lose nothing!"

"Hey!"

"See what I mean?"

"Hey!"

"Surrender your sword and come with us," Left Guard ordered. "Now."

"All right, all right, I wasn't planning on using it anyway." Tom started fumbling with his belt, but didn't take his eyes off his opponents. "You guys are just doing your job. No hard feelings."

"Shut your wise mouth, merchant."

"If my mouth is so wise, then listen to this." Tom paused for effect and got his stance just the way he wanted it. "You should have taken the gold."

His right fist shot forward and connected with the horse-weasel's jaw. Tom used enough force to knock Biff's buddy out with one punch. One down. He jumped a step back to evaluate.

Right Guard was swinging his club, but Left Guard was drawing steel. "Nope," Tom declared, tackling him before he could bring the blade to bear. He took the club strike on his shoulder, twisting so that it wouldn't break his collarbone. He wasn't able to bring him down, so they grappled. Tom swung Left Guard around to block Right Guard's next strike.

Right Guard blew his whistle.

That tears it.

Tom was now fighting to survive. He knew what awaited him if he got dragged before whoever Quazulin's host was.

I should have taken down Right Guard first, he realized too late. Left Guard was skilled enough that Tom couldn't beat him easily, nor, more to the point, quickly. Even breaking the grapple took him a more time than he would have wanted. Finally, he managed to push Left Guard back at Right Guard, and bolted, searching for concealment. I've got to break line-of-sight, I'm not fast enough to outrun them!

He was reluctant to draw steel against the guards, but he had to protect Diavla and the other elves. And the book said that anyone possessed had to die. The people weren't there anymore—they were just copies of Quazulin using their bodies, and providing escape routes for the true demon. His dagger was soon in his left hand, but he couldn't draw his sword while sprinting.

I've got to get back to the others. We'll have to fight our way out of town, or else to the Temple. Tom considered shouting to everyone on the street that there was a demon possessing the town guard. It might help him get lost in the panic, but it would ruin whatever plans the Temple was working on. They needed wards, and Grangus' rod, and—

Tom's legs were knocked out from under him. He tried to somersault and found that his feet were tangled up—he landed on his stomach. A moment later, multiple people landed on him, grabbing at his arms.

He stood up anyway, grunting with effort, two guards clinging to him. But he couldn't get an arm free fast enough before more guards arrived, tackling him back to the ground. With a roar, he tried to rise again.

He failed.

∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘

They put something in his mouth and a sack over his head. He was dragged through town to the guardhouse, bruising himself bloody bouncing on the cobblestones, not given any chance to escape or even to cry out. He heard the door of a cell opening, and at least four men kept him pinned. Then they waited.

Tom wanted the world to stop spinning, but before he could gather his wits, he heard more footsteps approaching. "Careful, he has an amulet," Left Guard said. "Sean, you're up."

"I am?" The voice was mild, but deep.

"Yes, Sean, you are," Left Guard said patiently, as if to a child. "Take the amulet off of him." Tom grunted and tried to shout through the gag, shaking his head so violently he felt sick.

"What's an amulet?" Sean asked slowly.

"The thing hanging on a cord around his neck, Sean. Take his necklace off."

"He has a necklace?"

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Yes, Sean, he does, and it's a bad thing. Get it off of him."

"Why don't you do it?"

"Because this is your special job, Sean. I wouldn't want to take away your job. Get it off of him, and the Captain will be proud of you."

"He will?"

"He will, if you hurry up and get it off of him," Left Guard said with strained patience in his tone.

The deep yet childlike voice was much closer. "I don't think he wants me to."

"I know, Sean, but he's a bad man." Tom strained to get free, trying to yell past the gag. No, Sean! Don't do it!

Hands fumbled at his neck, and finally found the string holding the amulet. "Is this it?"

"Yes, Sean, now take it off of him."

"All right." Tom felt the string as it was pulled over his head.

"Good job, Sean! Now get rid of it." The voice shifted to a more normal tone. "Go tell the Master we have one here for him. I want—Sean! What are you doing?"

"It's pretty," Sean said.

"I told you to get rid of it!"

"But it's pretty."

"Oh, let him have it. It's not as if he's ever going to be a host."

More footsteps, and then a large hand gripped his throat. Tom felt something press against his soul, and frantically thrashed, desperately trying to stop it. "My, you're an interesting one," a voice rasped. The hand did not withdraw for several moments. Tom felt sick as something finally slithered into his soul. Terror gripped him.

No.

"That's better," the voice said with a chuckle. "Let us know when you join us, brother, and we'll let you out." The hand released him, and a few moments later, he was shoved back, with the sound of the door slamming shut following.

Tom clawed the sack off of his head and the gag out of his mouth. He saw what he expected—a jail cell in the back of the guardhouse. He bent over and vomited ferociously on the floor, as if his body could eject the horrible seed from his soul if he only heaved hard enough.

What will happen to Diavla? And the others?

What will happen to me?

∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘

It was a while before he could stop panicking. He'd faced a lot of different situations, and some had been scary, but nothing like this. Fear of death was one thing. Fear of possession...no one knew for sure whether the old person was destroyed, or if they were still in there, a helpless passenger in their own body. The thought of Quazulin using his body to hurt the elves sickened him.

Eventually, the fire in his soul ebbed enough that he could think again. All right. Panicking doesn't help. Let's look at my options.

I've got anywhere from no time at all up to two weeks, supposedly, before I lose to the demon. Talk about "live each day as if it were your last!"

If I can escape, and get into the Temple by pushing past the wards, and I do it soon enough, I can get this horrible demon copy exorcized.

If I get my amulet back, I can halt the progress of the possession. I'll have to wear it for the rest of my life, but maybe I can hold it at bay, a curse that I'll be able to live with.

If I kill myself before the demon takes control...what happens to the elves? What happens to Diavla, and Varga, and all of them? But what happens if I don't kill myself, and the demon takes control of my body? What would Quazulin do with the elves? They don't have the collars on at the moment, so if they realize that they shouldn't put them on, not even if they go out, then they might have a chance to escape.

Tom felt a surge of hatred for the slavers who had done this, had put Diavla and the others in this horrible situation. He hated the Eastern Empire for allowing slavery and encouraging it, and attacking peaceful fishing villages and taking innocent people. He hated—

He took a deep breath. Quazulin is a demon of hate. If I let myself feel hate, or even anger, that's probably what would give the copy greater power over me. I have to keep control of my hate.

Maybe...

Maybe love can hold the hate at bay. Tom stopped. Gods, I sound like a sappy romance story. But there have been times when such things have actually happened.

Then again, maybe that's not the right approach. Love and hate aren't pure opposites. Both are strong passions about something. Maybe I should focus on not feeling either. The opposite of hate might be indifference.

Tom sat there in the jail cell, and fought for control of his own soul.

∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘

There was a single high slit of a window in the back wall of the cell, and Tom could see the progression of light and shadow outside. Hours passed. Sometimes there was a guard outside his cell, and they talked to him, trying to get him angry, trying to get him to feel hate. After a while, they gave up on that, at least for the moment. Bored, the copy of Quazulin wandered off, checking back in every so often.

Tom sat in despair and growing dread. My life has gotten so wonderful, and now I'm going to lose it? Lose everything? Diavla, the others, my new fortune? Even my body and soul? Gods, this is cruelty.

"Psst!"

At first Tom wasn't sure he'd actually heard anything. He roused himself from his maudlin mood and listened. For a minute there was nothing.

"Psst!"

It was coming from the window, the high slit not even a handspan wide. Tom stood and squinted, and made out a blue eye peering in at him. It couldn't be... "Piper?" he whispered.

"Yes." The girl's voice was very soft.

Tom had no idea how the child had gotten up that high, but he wasn't going to miss this chance. He felt a surge of wild hope. "Piper, do you think you could sneak from here to my house with a couple of things? Bring them to Diavla or one of the other elves?"

"Yes."

"It's really, really important. Life and death. Are you sure?"

"What is it?"

"My belt, and a wand. The belt is heavy. Can you do it?"

"Yes."

Tom checked that his guard wasn't stopping by, and quickly pulled off his belt, reaching up and feeding the end through the slit. In a moment, Piper had tugged it most of the way outside. He realized that the girl might be clinging to the wall and using the slit as a holder for the belt for the moment. He started to drop his pants, but footsteps alerted him, so he went to the bucket and took a piss, carefully holding his clothing. The belt slid out of view.

"Resisting is a waste of time, you know," the Quazulin copy told him.

"Yeah, well, I plan to waste as much time as possible," he shot back.

"Why? Nobody's coming to save you."

"Yeah, I know. Not too eager about dying, though." Tom sighed. "This is boring. Think I'll take a nap. Wake me up for dinner, would you? You don't want the body you're stealing to get weak from hunger."

"There's a lot to hate in the world," the copy said, renewing his argument.

"Yeah, and there's a lot to love in it, too. Go frolic, or whatever demons do. You bore me."

"I hate smug prisoners. Well, you won't be smug for long. You'll be joining the Quazulin Empire any moment now."

"Uh-huh," Tom scoffed. "Getting a little ahead of yourselves, aren't you?"

"You'll see."

"Yeah, I suppose I will."

"I'm going to enjoy hurting the elves, you know."

"Blah, blah, blah!" Tom talked over him. He's goading you. Don't fall for it.

"Maybe I'll give the ladies some special attention," Quazulin continued.

It would have infuriated Tom if he hadn't predicted that the demon would try saying something like that. He did his best to act unaffected. "Try it, and you'll be able to kiss your pecker goodbye." He gave the guard a disdainful look. You'd think a demon would have more skill at this.

It's just a different battlefield. You know how to fight. Now fight for Diavla, for the others, for your own pride. Don't let him win.

After a few more minutes of that, the copy of Quazulin wandered off again, and Tom quickly retrieved the control wand for Eubexa's necklace from its hiding place. "Psst!" he hissed. "Piper!" There was no answer. Shit. I hope she didn't get caught. He stuck the wand in his shirt while he waited.

"Psst!"

"Piper?" They both kept their voices barely audible.

"Yes. Quick, My Lord, I can't hang on up here..."

With a glance over his shoulder, Tom withdrew the control wand from his shirt and held it up, sticking it through the slit in the wall. He felt a tug and let go. The wand disappeared out the window.

His heart was breaking, and tears filled his eyes. "Tell her I love her, I'm sorry, and goodbye. Go!"

"Yes, M'...Lord..." There was a scrabbling sound, then a thump. Tom's heart leapt into his throat. Please, merciful gods, let Piper be all right, let her not be injured in the alley!

He listened, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Finally, he dared to hope that Piper was long gone, and that she would deliver the slave tokens hidden in the belt and the control wand for Eubexa's necklace. He tried to imagine the elves' reaction to his message.

I said goodbye, so she'll know that means I've been infected. She won't want to give up on me. But Eubexa's been reading the book, she'll know that once Quazulin takes me, I'm gone forever. She'll tell Diavla. And then—

Tom felt a chill. Can Quazulin read my thoughts already? He thought about that, hard, for several moments, then decided. Don't think about anything else. He settled himself on the cot, took a deep breath, and began to chant silently.

Barsel, hear my prayer. Grant me strength in this battle. I seek the opposite of Hate.

Barsel, hear my prayer. Grant me strength in this battle. I seek the opposite of Hate.

Barsel, hear my prayer. Grant me strength in this battle. I seek the opposite of Hate.

Barsel, hear my prayer. Grant me strength in this battle...

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