I hit him over the head as well. No reason to let on that there was a sleeping potion involved.

I’m surprisingly relieved that the fight ended the way it did, and that I didn’t have to kill men I’d seen around the training fields. I look for a place to hide the sleepers, and settle for some hedges off the path. Then I pick up the oil, grab a torch from a nearby pathway, and hurry into the building.

Inside, it smells like old, polished wood. Wheeled shadows loom in the light of my one torch. There must be at least two hundred chariots here, and an equal number of supply wagons. I put the torch in a wall sconce and run between the vehicles, pouring oil. I don’t have nearly enough to get at all of them, but hopefully the flames will spread on their own after a while. As I make my way farther in, I try not to think about what would happen if it all goes up in flames while I’m in here.

Finally, my jar is empty. I’m at the wall, taking down my torch, when the door opens and three men walk in.

I freeze. The torch flickers in my hand. The men array themselves between me and the door. I can’t make out their faces, but their shadows are disturbingly familiar, especially the large one that steps now to the front.

“Stop there.” Walgash steps into the light and looks at me—the torch in my hand, the shiny trail of lamp oil leading away from me. “What are you doing, Dineas?” His voice sounds more dangerous than I’ve ever heard it.

My stomach feels like it’s been weighed down with stones. Behind Walgash, I see Kosru and Masista. “I was sent to check on the chariots. There was a commotion by the gates….” I trail off. What’s the point of spinning stories when we’re practically drowning in lamp oil and I’m holding a torch?

Walgash shakes his head, bewildered. “I want to think I’ve misunderstood something, but I don’t see how.”

The flame wavers in my hand. I only have to lower the torch a bit to start the whole thing ablaze. “This whole place is going to burn,” I say. “I don’t want to hurt you. Save yourselves while you can.”

“Who sent you, Dineas?” Walgash asks, advancing toward me. “Who do you serve?” The disbelief in his voice makes me feel lower than a worm.

“Stay back!” I lower the torch just a bit. He stops. Images of my training sessions with Walgash flicker through my mind. Memories of lazy evenings relaxing over a skin of wine.

Walgash shakes his head. “I don’t pretend to understand this. But if you surrender now, you might still get a merciful death.”