Savitre Lios screamed. ‘I answer! I answer!’

‘Oh, I know you do, but this will serve as adequate motivation for you not to waste my fucking time. Actually,’ he looked up at the hammer and tossed it aside, ‘…let’s try something different.’ His lips snarled as he unsheathed his dagger and dug it deep into the Daeva’s other hand, crucifying it to the chair’s left armrest.

The Daeva screamed.

‘Give me the other!’ The Mist swiftly pulled out his own knife from its sheath and handed it to Shakuni. ‘My apologies for the interruption,’ Shakuni said to the screaming Daeva as he crucified the other hand to the armrest. ‘I hope we understand each other now.’

The Daeva’s face was as white and limp as a banner of surrender. Shakuni really could not understand how these creatures had ever enslaved humanity. Yes, they healed. Yes, they were Immortals. They were rather tall. But they whimpered in pain like any Mortal.

‘You are a monster!’ the Daeva screamed at him.

‘Look at the crow calling the raven black,’ Shakuni cackled. He cracked his knuckles, hurting from holding the dagger handle so tight.

‘What happened to honour in Men?’ the Daeva rasped

‘Don’t know. I didn’t inherit it. Enough idle chatter. Why are you here?’ Shakuni twisted the dagger into the Daeva’s right arm, almost gently.

‘Muchuk Und! We’re here for Muchuk Und!’ the Daeva blabbered through a song of screams. ‘Danger. Still a danger.’

‘Muchuk Und? Who in seven hells is he? Or is it a thing or a place?’

The Daeva probably answered diligently but Shakuni never got to hear it. Someone whistled behind him. The Mist’s sword was out. Shakuni turned but the Mist came in protectively between Shakuni and the unknown assailant. The next instant the man fell limply backwards against Shakuni, who barely had the time to register the slash behind the Mist’s left ear, across the skin between his leather neck guard and cropped hair.

For fuck’s sake! He managed to toss the Mist’s body aside but was tackled and pinned face to the ground by the assailant. His body erupted in a volcano of pain from which death would have been sweet release, but he knew better than to expect that at this level of Narak. He felt a stabbing pain behind his right ear. Before he could ask any questions, he too, collapsed, limper than a wet robe in a storm. A wave of darkness crashed across his eyes but not before he heard the Daeva say, ‘Thorin was right. You all deserve what is coming for you.’

I

‘Caste?’

‘We are Forestfolk.’

‘Caste?’

‘Ksharja,’ he sighed. Valkas did not practice the caste system of the Vedan religion, but considering that all Valkas were supposed to be warriors, the realm considered them Ksharjans.