Smoke as black as tar mingled with the clouds above, rising from the burning refugee encampments in great columns. Screams of desperation, rage and wicked glee filled the air.

The people and seasons come and go, but the sins? The sins stay the same.

Oak followed in Halit Dushaj's wake. The Ensi walked with purpose and poise down the main road, towards the flames and the pandemonium. People stuck their heads out of their windows, pointing at the fire, shouting and praying. In the midst of the growing chaos and fear, Halit was a singular point of calm. The mere sight of him walking towards the ongoing catastrophe, with his white robes billowing in the wind, sucked the panic right out of the onlookers.

Where Halit passed, fear retreated and determination took root.

Once more, Oak pondered the man's age. Not old, but not young either. But what you saw was not always the full story when it came to spellsingers. Who knew, with what secrets Halit might have extended his life? Who knew the true depths of his knowledge? There was a reason the common wisdom when dealing with an unknown spellsinger was to tread lightly.

I might get to see a demonstration of Halit's might soon enough.

Zef, Behar and three other men-at-arms carrying spears waited for them by the town's entrance.

"Shit's fucked, Sir. Baskim Kashari and his men set the encampments on fire," Zef said, fiddling with the strap of his helmet. The man had clearly just got out of bed and put on his brigandine in a hurry. "When the watchman brought word that you were coming, we thought it best to wait for your arrival."

Behar yawned so wide it was a miracle he did not dislocate his jaw.

"You did the right thing. This requires…a personal touch." Halit rolled his wrists and stretched his fingers. "I assume our culprits are still enjoying their fun?"

"Yes, Sir." Zef nodded.

"Then let us go and bring an end to this pathetic display of barbarism. Follow me," Halit said. "I wish to have words with Baskim."

Halit stormed out of the town and headed straight towards the inferno burning beyond the borders of Kesh.

Zef threw a giddy look at Oak, as if to say 'watch this', before the man ran after his Ensi. Oak put one foot in front of the other and followed suit. It was not everyday you got to see an angry spellsinger publicly put someone in his place.

There was a strangeness to the way Zef and his men flanked Halit, leaving a respectful distance between themselves and the spellsinger, and Oak unconsciously copied them. They were not here to protect Halit nor to be his gauntleted fist, smashing sense into the people who had broken his peace.

They were here to stand witness.

As they got closer, the screams got louder and a vision of cruelty came into focus. Koromites and Muttalites ran every which way among the burning tents, clutching what remained of their already meager possessions. Horrified parents carried their children or dragged them by the hand, fleeing the encampments as fast as their starved bodies allowed.

Falling ash covered the land with a blanket of black, like the first rain of snow at the beginning of winter. The smell of smoke was overwhelming. It sent the men-at-arms into coughing fits and made Oak's eyes water.

Feels all too familiar. A sacking like any other.

Men and women carrying torches and clubs chased the refugees towards the darkness of the open plains. The Kashari and their allies were laughing. An old Koromite woman fell down between two flaming tents and a group of torch-wielding boathands fell upon her like a pack of wolves.

Kicks and insults rained upon the old woman and she wailed in the Koromite tongue, voice breaking as she called out to the mob. Oak didn't know the language, but in this case, an interpreter was unnecessary. He would have gotten the woman's meaning even if she was mute.

One of the men kicking in the old crone's ribs noticed Halit and pointed the Ensi out to the others. The entire mob froze comically at the sight of the Ensi striding through the chaos in his pristine white robes, clearly unsure whether they should continue what they were doing or run for their lives.

The old woman used the momentary lapse in violence to her advantage. She crawled free from the middle of the mob and scurried away into the darkness, holding onto her ribs.

Halit marched past it all, to the no-man's-land between the two burning seas of tents. Without delay, he raised his arms high and stomped his feet. A pulse went out, barely noticeable to Oak's fledgling senses.

The Ensi of Kesh nodded to himself and went to work.

Flanked on both sides by an ongoing pogrom, Halit sang. It was a rhythmic, foreboding chant filled with frustration and disappointment. He emphasized the first syllable of every spiteful word and his fingers moved to the tempo of music only he could hear. The chant rolled forward like an oncoming storm. Power built upon itself, waiting to be unleashed. Voice darkening with fury and fingers dancing, Halit guided the invisible orchestra towards a crescendo.

Goosebumps formed on Oak's forearms, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He felt the need to take cover, but there was no cover to be found, so he planted his feet and watched the spectacle.

I really wouldn't mind if there was a wall between me and whatever is about to happen.

Halit clapped his hands together and every fire on the plain from the tallest inferno to the smallest lit torch left their fuel behind and raced towards him. Rivers of flame surged through the air and collapsed against each other, forming a fiery sphere of glowing doom. The sphere hung suspended in the air, ten feet above Halit's head and spun so fast Oak could barely look at it without feeling ill.

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Where a heartbeat ago the firelight had turned night into day, now the encampments plunged into shadow, only enlightened by the false sun willed into being by Halit Dushaj. Not a single ember glowed in the surrounding darkness.

Fucking hell.

Out of all Halit's men, Zef and Behar stood closest to Oak. He could hear the two of them cackling to each other like old hens.

"By Samael's balls, Zef," Behar whispered. "I don't think the bossman has ever been this angry."

"I know. Isn't it great?" Zef whispered back.

"BASKIM KASHARI!" Halit shouted. His voice boomed across the landscape with unnatural force, fluttering Oak's hair and sending gusts of ash flying. "I REQUIRE YOUR PRESENCE!"

You could say one thing about Baskim Kashari. The man was no coward.

Not everyone would have marched up to an angry spellsinger with a fiery sphere of glowing doom at their beck and call, but Baskim didn't flinch. He walked out of the darkness with his back straight to face Halit's ire. Soot covered his bald head and a bagful of ash clung to his impressive beard. The Kashari patriarch had a baton in hand and the sleeve of his robe had ripped, revealing a muscular arm.

I guess it's too late to hide the evidence, eh?

Baskim stopped ten feet from Halit, leaving a respectful distance between himself and the Ensi. The patriarch's expression betrayed no fear, but Oak could see a single bead of sweat traveling down his forehead. Oak did not blame him for that. If the acute threat of being burned to ash didn't cause you to sweat a little, you weren't human.

Groups of men and women with soot stained clothes carrying torches and clubs shuffled into view from the trashed encampments, coming to witness the confrontation between their patriarch and Halit. Others arrived in ones and twos. Before long, a circle had formed around the pair of men standing in the middle, staring at each other.

"Explain yourself," Halit demanded. He stood still like a statue of salt, pale green eyes shining with an inner light.

Baskim bowed at the waist and said, "What an unexpected pleasure, Halit. Me and my boys and girls took it upon ourselves to clear away the vermin sleeping on the doorstep of our fair town. If you would–"

"Silence."

Halit's angry words cut through Baskim's response like a knife and a tense silence fell on the field. Ash continued to fall upon the gathered mob, but not a speck of it touched the Ensi's white robes. Compared to the dirty and sweaty men surrounding him, Halit looked otherworldly. Like an avenging angel glowing with the light of judgement, ready to deliver his justice upon the unclean.

A sound from Oak's left caught his attention. He pulled out his knife. The noise came from a collapsed tent and it sounded like a struggle of some sort. A man's voice, hissing something, followed by a woman's pained yelp. Oak walked to the tent and pulled it aside, revealing a sad but unsurprising sight.

One of Baskim's men wrestled with a young Muttalib woman, trying to keep her on the ground. He had his trousers down to his ankles, ass bare for the world to see.

The man and his bruised victim both froze in place, surprised by the sudden attention of so many people.

"Shit." Baskim rubbed his forehead with a resigned look on his face. "Why Ismet? Why?"

Oak looked at Halit and lifted his eyebrow. Everyone's eyes were on the Ensi. Halit nodded.

"Now, hold on a–"

Quick as a snake, Oak snatched Ismet upright by his long hair and stabbed him through the back of the neck, silencing his objections. He dropped the wheezing would-be rapist onto the ash and wiped his blade onto Ismet's shirt. Blood gushed from both ends of the hole he had left in Ismet's neck and the man clawed at the ground, eyes bulging, spitting blood.

The young Muttalite woman wasted no time. She got up, gave Ismet a good kick to the ribs, and ran off like the armies of Hell were on her tail.

Wise choice, girl. Even got your licks in at the very end. I hope you find something better over the horizon.

Ismet's frantic twitching and wheezing slowed. Oak got down to one knee to watch as life left the man's glassy eyes. His infernal engine chimed, heralding Ismet's passing.

+ 1 Soul

+ 1 Fuel

By the Corpse-God, that never gets old. Oak wiped the smile from his face and stood back up.

"You know what, northerner?" Zef asked, eyeing him like he truly saw him for the first time. "You are one cold fucker, aren't you?"

If the silence before had been tense, now it was downright deafening. A wordless tone crept into Oak's awareness. He glanced up and swallowed. Halit's sphere of doom hummed as it spun faster and faster. The ball of death looked angry enough to roast everything in a ten-mile radius.

"You know, that was my cousin's kid." Baskim growled out the words, gritting his teeth.

"My condolences. Be sure to tell her what he was up to when he died." Halit replied. He stared at Baskim without blinking. "Who owns the smokehouses you use to preserve and prepare your fish, Kashari?"

"You do." Another bead of sweat rolled down Baskim's forehead.

"Who owns the sawmill that provides lumber for your ships?"

"You do."

"I did not give you permission to drive these people away." Halit pointed a single finger upwards. The sphere of fiery death spun so fast now that it emitted a barely audible keening sound, causing everyone present to cower in fear. "Your prices just went up fifteen percent and I will do all of my trade through the Ferhati for the next six months."

"But–"

Today was not Baskim's lucky day. A young Koromite boy, no more than ten summers at best, ran into view from the labyrinth of burned tents and supplies. He stumbled over a broken barrel and landed on his face at the outer edge of the circle. A fat boathand armed with a long-knife chased after the boy with a wild look in his eyes, foaming at the mouth.

"Hah! Finally caught you, you little cockroach!" the fat man shouted, stalking towards the boy with his knife raised.

Halit struck like a viper. A tongue of flame lashed out from the spinning sphere of doom at great speed and engulfed the man. A horrific scream pierced the air, followed by a flash of heat. Ash swirled in the wind, the old residue of burnt cloth and flesh mixing with the new.

Tsk. What a waste of a soul.

Baskim's mob of troublemakers shouted in fright and the man himself cowered at the sight, cursing up a storm.

"An ignominious end for Dardan of clan Halimi." Halit snapped his fingers and pointed at Baskim. The patriarch flinched, but no fire came his way. "Gather your troops and make way to my manor. The night is not over yet and you have a meeting to attend."

"Of course, Halit," Baskim said and swiped sweat from his brow. "At once."

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