"Here you go, sir - this is the Hungry Suckling." The boy's face brightened with delight as S̆ams̆ādur flipped a gold coin at him. It was well above the fee he'd asked, but the lad's sunken eyes and gaunt features were hard to miss.

"Thank you, sir-"

"Eh, just get yourself something good to eat. A growing lad like you shouldn't be all skin and bones," the durgu brushed the boy's gratitude off uncomfortably.

With another murmured thanks, the boy bolted down the street, leaving the two of them to examine their surroundings.

"You're sure this is the right place?"

S̆ams̆ādur understood the scout's skepticism. He'd thought the tavern they'd stayed in was rundown, but it looked downright luxurious compared to the sad hovel in front of them.

At one time, the inn must have been rather lovely, judging from the delicate wooden scrollwork that clung to the sagging porch and the row of paneled windows, which now had more cracked and missing panes than whole ones, but those days were a distant memory. The whole place looked like it was one strong storm from collapsing, and that didn't even count the left corner of the tavern, where charred wood and a poorly repaired roof told the tale of a recent fire.

"It's where they thought they were. Probably didn't want to attract attention," S̆ams̆ādur shrugged.

"But-" The scout's sentence went unfinished as the door to the tavern opened with a whine and a pair of satyrs stepped out. S̆ams̆ādur shrunk back, not wanting to grab their attention, but it was too late. For a brief moment, the pair locked eyes. Then, the satyrs turned and bolted.

"Stop them!" As Samsadur started running, the rickety wood of the inn's porch warped into a sudden wall that tried to bar the satyrs' flight, but the scout hadn't accounted for the men's goat-like dexterity. With a bounding leap, the two satyrs hit the wall perpendicularly and slid over the rapidly growing wall.

"Kruvas̆." S̆ams̆ādur hit the wall a moment later, and the aged timber splintered into the dust as he hammered his axe into it. The obstacle only delayed him a second, but as he pushed through the hole he'd made, he saw that the satyrs had gained a hundred feet on him. "Mahas."

The goatmen stumbled as he hammered his will into their mind, and Erin took advantage of the opportunity to strike again. A building further down the road groaned ominously as half of its wall disappeared in a flood of liquid wood that raced toward the two satyrs. The satyrs jumped, trying to clear the wave of wood, but this time they weren't fast enough. Thin tendrils of wood wrapped around their ankles and yanked them back to the street, where they were promptly pinned in place as the wood hardened around them.

I guess the scout's useful for something after all. Easing his pace, Samsadur reached them a few moments later. The wood buckled and cracked as the satyrs strained to wriggle free of their bounds, but S̆ams̆adur just raised his axe menacingly. "Unless you think you can break free faster than I can swing this axe, I suggest you stop."

The one on the left promptly froze, eyes wide and terrified, but the other ignored him until S̆ams̆ādur's axe hit him in the head with the blunt side, knocking him out. "I warned you."

"Pl-please, don't hurt me. I'll tell you anything," the other one babbled, as the faint smell of piss filled the air.

"Glad to see my father has such loyal servants," S̆ams̆ādur replied dryly, before glancing over his shoulder as the sound of huffing and puffing alerted him to the scout's arrival.

"Holy crap," Erin bent over wheezing, hands on his knees. "You failed to mention these guys were this world's equivalent of a cheetah."

"Don't know what that is, but everyone knows satyrs are fast."

"Not everyone."

"Well, most people," he shrugged. "We've got to get them off the street, though. There aren't many guards patrolling this area, but it's only a matter of time before somebody notifies them." The sound of creaking dragged his eyes in the other direction, and S̆ams̆ādur frowned as he realized the house Erin had stolen the wood from had developed a dramatic lean. "Might need you to fix that house before it collapses; rather not have to pay for it."

"Aye, aye, skipper." Erin rolled his eyes. "Anything else your highness needs, since it seems I'm the only one doing anything around here?"

"Well, if you could float our prisoners down that alley, that would be nice."

"I'm sorry I asked…" the scout mumbled to himself.

Despite his grumbling, it only took a few minutes for Erin to slough enough wood off the pile to stabilize the home and then, wrapping the prisoners in a form-fitting wooden straitjacket, the two dragged them into the alley the prince had pointed out. Reaching his mind out, S̆ams̆ādur led them down the street till he found an abandoned cottage. A few sturdy kicks bashed in the door, and they dragged their prisoners before barricading it behind them.

"So what now?"

S̆ams̆ādur smiled mirthlessly. "Now it's my turn."

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"When are you meeting the stoneflesh?"

"Tonight, in a farm outside the walls." The satyr who had offered to tell them everything started babbling freely, while the other one, now returned to consciousness, remained stubbornly silent.

"What farm?"

"An orchard, a sign with three trout."

Something about the words rang false to him, and the prince lowered his voice menacingly. "You're lying to me."

"No, I would never."

"Oh, but you are, Nādarī." S̆ams̆ādur suppressed his grin as the satyr's eyes widened at the use of his name.

"How did you know that?"

"I know many things." Though the lie slipped out of his mouth easily, in truth, the satyr was giving him very little. Unfortunately, Samsadur could only read surface-level thoughts. It was an annoying limitation, but the key, he'd found, was to make others think he knew far more than he did.

His bluff worked as the satyr whimpered, and an errant thought flitted through the goatman's mind about how much he wanted to go home.

"You know, Silākku is beautiful in the spring." He leaned forward, letting his eyes glaze over as if he were drawing on a memory. "The mountains, the river, and all those flowers," he added. Of course, he'd never even heard of Silākku, but it was a safe bet; pretty much all the satyr villages were in the mountains, and every settlement needed a water source.

"Last time I was there," he continued, "I met a doe. Looked a bit like you. Luscious eyes and an oh-so-sweet bosom. What was her name?" He stroked his mustache in pretend thoughtfulness and snagged the name that predictably bubbled to the surface of the satyr's mind. "Nārah, maybe?"

"You…slept with my sister?!" The satyr exploded in rage, struggling vainly to free himself from the wood restraining him.

"Like I said," S̆ams̆ādur smiled smugly, "I know many things. I know your secrets, your loves, your shame, so stop lying to me."

"I-." He suffocated a sigh as the satyr's mouth snapped shut. Pushed too hard, he thought glumly.

"We're supposed to meet them an hour south of the city. Look for a farm with a wagon out front filled with strawberries. Knock on the door and ask if they have any turnips." Surprisingly, it was the satyr whom Samsadur had knocked out who spoke up.

"Mār-yām, you shouldn't tell him-"

"Don't you get it? He's a kruvas̆-cursed mindworm. I don't know what sick satisfaction he's getting out of this, but he probably already knows everything he's asking. He's just playing with us, Nādarī," the satyr spat.

Nādarī's face lost all color, and his ears sagged. "A mindworm? Please," he turned beseeching eyes on S̆ams̆ādur. "We'll do anything."

"You already offered that before," the prince reminded him. "And you lied." He lifted the axe threateningly, and with a quick twist of his fingers, cast the spell Bēlet-Imtu had given him. Both men shrank back as the metal turned an unnatural shade, poison dripping down its blade. "But I'll give you one more chance."

He pulled a notebook out of his bag and tossed it in the laconic one's lap. "Write down everything you know about the meeting, my father's plans, the stoneflesh - all of it - and, if you don't lie, I'll let you go when we return."

"Let us go first," the satyr countered. "Or you'll just leave us here to die."

"And if I release you now, what's to stop you from tracking down the stoneflesh early and warning them?"

"We wouldn't-"

"No," S̆ams̆ādur shook his head decisively. "That's my offer; take it or leave it."

The satyr's face soured, but after a long pause, he finally bobbed his head. "Fine. But you better not leave us here to starve."

"I'm not planning on it," S̆ams̆ādur replied, as he gestured for Erin to loosen the wood enough for the man to write. "Now, spill."

After Mār-yām had written down everything he knew, they allowed both satyrs a long drink of water before Erin willed the cabin floor to swallow them up into two wooden cocoons.

"We'll be back," S̆ams̆ādur promised as they ducked back into the street.

"So, uh, just how much do you know about me?" Erin waited until they were out of earshot of the house to ask the question."

"Do you really want to know?" S̆ams̆ādur raised his brow.

"I…do I?" Erin asked nervously. "I thought you could only see what we're thinking at that very moment, but you seemed to know a hell of a lot about that guy."

"I can see a little deeper than that," the durgu admitted, "but most of that was trickery. The key is to prime your subject into thinking about what you want them to think about it and letting their mind betray them. Like if I ask you about your grandma, what are you going to think about?" Samsadur grinned. "By the way, was her name Lorena?"

"Yes…" Erin admitted begrudgingly. "Maybe let's not talk about personal stuff."

"Your loss," the durgu shrugged, "but for now we have bigger concerns."

"Aren't we just going to tell Ardûl when the meeting's happening?"

"We could, but I think I have a better plan."

"Which is?"

"We'll crash the party."

"Won't it be kind of obvious we're not the messengers your father sent?"

"You, maybe," the prince agreed, "but I think I can cover for you."

"And how are you going to do that? Isn't your exile pretty well known?"

"Precisely - and my father is well-known for being a cunning man. We just have to convince the messengers that my exile was a cover, a clever ruse we cooked up to allow me to spy on the Empire with no one being the wiser."

He chuckled as he caught a flash of discomfort on the scout's face. "See, you already half-believe it yourself."

"No…I don't think you're a spy - the thought had never even occurred to me, but…"

"But it's rather believable."

"Well, it would have been believable if I hadn't been there when those assassins wiped out a village just to get to you," Erin replied after a moment's thought. "If that was all a show, then you're one hell of a performer."

"Oh, I'm quite the performer," the durgu chuckled, "but that was not one of my performances." For a moment, Samsadur's good humor slipped, but he quickly covered up his anger. "But the point is that it's a believable lie. I do think we should tell Ardul what we've learned - it never hurts to have a little back-up, but I'll be attending that meeting tonight, with or without you."

"A pleasant conversation is almost always better than an interrogation, and once I've gleaned everything I can from their minds, well," the prince smiled savagely. "It would be truly tragic for my father's dreams of an alliance if his emissaries slaughter theirs. Such a tragedy might just provoke a conflict."

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