In the end, everything is simple.

Varsis looked from his camp, across the plains to the White Walls. The Walls, once vaunted for their beauty, were now filled with holes, scars.

But they still stood.

All Varsis had to do was take Asan Paril.

However, that was easier said than done. The flaming catapults had failed to intimidate the Paril into opening their gates, and so, new strategies had to be developed.

Varsis looked around his tent city, the recent construction that now arced around Asan Paril. What he saw here was in no danger, yet. All of the locals who lived outside the Walls had been subdued. Varsis knew the Paril could not save themselves. However, others could save them.

All Varsis had to do was take Asan Paril.

But he had to do it, soon. Already, spies reported that Ehajdon’s forces were marching to break the siege, marching en mass, and proclaiming that the battle for Asan Paril would be the deciding one of the war.

Ehajdon was putting every available resource into this, said the spies. The Minsu army coming to relive Asan Paril was forty thousand strong, twice the number of Varsis’ forces.

If the White Walls were not broken by the time the Minsu reached the city, Varsis’ tent city would be caught between an anvil and a hammer.

And even he, with all of his strategic genius, would not be able to come up with a way out.

Varsis turned to Marsen Tanelbane, leader of the dozen spellweavers in the tent city. Tanelbane had been considered a hero after his performance at the Battle of Phantoms, so many months ago. His mute brother had died recently in battle, but that had only hardened Tanelbane to the Makini cause.

“So,” said Varsis. “The flaming rocks failed to open the gates for us. Do you have any other ideas?”

“I think the reason the flaming rocks did not work was because the populace of Asan Paril was sheltered behind the walls, and could not see them clearly. We could readjust our catapults, to fling the ‘meteors’ over the walls, into the city proper. After an hour of that,” said Tanelbane, “the citizens of Asan Paril should be begging their lords to open the gates.”

“But the lords won’t listen to their common folk,” said Varsis. “I know that much well. If we did that, we would be doing nothing more than hurting innocents, for no gain.” He paused. “However, I authorize you to make the adjustments to the catapults, just in case I change my mind.”

Marsen Tanelbane turned, and left him.

Varsis looked out at Asan Paril. To his eyes, the city was so small it looked as if he could reach out with his metal left hand, and crush the life out of it.

But he could not.

Simple does not mean easy.

***

Broken could no longer gain legal access to the Palace. He had tried, of course, the day after he had finished with the circle, and the day after that. But the guards would not let him in.

Broken knew he could break it, but what was the point? Then he would have to get out, and that would be far more trouble that it was worth.

Ishad had the same problem. Over the last two days, as the siege stagnated, after the rain of red, the two had met quite often.

To some, it had been a great relief when news had come that the Minsu were marching to save them.

Not so for Broken.

Regardless of whether the Makini or the Minsu prevailed, Mai would still end up dead.

Dead.

What was the meaning of that word?

It was a question Broken often wondered. It was desirable only to few, the miserable, who wished for an end to suffering, but, conversely, in death it was said that in death there was a great paradise, Elysium.

Broken wondered why so many considered the passing of a person to that place was considered by so many a time to mourn.

Events had conspired to strip Broken of his faith a long time ago, but he had always thought that for those who believed to mourn at a funeral was a contradiction, of sorts.

But Broken, one who did not believe, was not about to let Mai die.

If she was killed, that would mean he failed at everything that still mattered to him.

Everything.

Unequivocally.

At that very moment, Broken was walking down a street, alone in a crowd of people. A sewer drain on the ground caught his eye, a sewer drain, that was the next part of his plan.

It was day now, and Broken heard distant screams, that made it clear the Makini had launched an offensive of sorts, at the wall.

Broken reached down, removed the sewer grate, and hopped within. He was noticed, of course, noticed by a great many people on the street.

However, as Broken carefully replaced the grate above him, he knew they all thought he had legal, approved, business in the sewers. After all, who would want to go down there unless they were forced to fix something?

The answer to that question, of course, was Broken.

But it was rather unlikely any of the goers on the street, who did not wish to give the sewers more than passing notice, would come near to grasping the answer to that question.

Pretend you have authority, and you’re halfway to having it.

The sewers were dark, with a ceiling approximately six feet high. Broken had four paths to choose from at his point of entry. Front, back, left, right.

But first, Broken glanced down to see what he was dealing with. His boots stood upon a foot of sludge. The smell was noxious.

Another man might have turned back at that moment, but Broken didn’t even consider doing so.

Excrement was just atmosphere, as far as he was concerned.

Broken did a brief check, lasting no more than a split second, to make sure he had all his necessary gear. He wore all black, as usual, black leather body armor. His sword was at his left hip, and a long coiled rope with a hook at the end was at his right.

That was all Broken needed.

He trudged forward.

It soon became quite dark, but Broken needed no candle. As long as there was the tiniest bit of light, from somewhere, he could see, even in situations that others would consider pitch black.

As Broken walked, he placed himself on a mental map he was now drawing. He had broken into an office, two days ago, to memorize the official sewer plans, but he was acutely aware there was a difference between what the plans said, and what actually was there.

In the near dankness, Broken walked though muck for quite some time. Left turn there, right turn there. And then, suddenly, he had reached the first of his objectives.

From where he stood, the left sewer wall was cracked, cracked just enough for a man to slip through. The sewer plans had said that the area needed to be fixed.

They, interestingly enough, also noted, that the reason the crack had grown, was one of the last things built onto the new sewer system, and had been built shoddily half a century ago, in an effort to get everything done as quickly as possible.

The reason the wall was one of the last things built, was because it covered a connection to the old sewer system, a system that needed to remain partly operational until the new sewer system was complete.

It was all rather technical, but Broken understood that by passing through the crack in the left wall, he would be entering a whole new maze.

One with exciting new destinations.

Broken squeezed through the crack.

Through some cobwebs, Broken emerged in the old sewer system, the one nearly as old as the city itself.

And the old sewer system was a whole different beast.

This system was nearly as old as the city itself. There were parts built as recently as a century ago, but there were also parts built a millennia ago.

And it was pitch black, completely and utterly. It was not just dim.

The truth was, Broken could no longer see.

Someone else would have turned back right then, gotten frightened, gotten lost, and set themselves on a path that would conclude with them dying, somewhere or another.

But Broken was no someone else.

Had he been someone else, someone else just as dedicated to his goals, Broken might have brought a lantern, in preparation for the pitch blackness he knew he would endure.

But Broken had studied things from a variety of sources.

And so he knew nature would provide a light to see by.

This was not an abstract hope. Broken knew he would have a light source, soon enough.

He feigned walking around in the darkness aimlessly for a while, being sure to make a lot of loud noises. He even screamed in horror. Twice.

For he needed to entice his light source to come. He was quite a distance from where what he was looking for was, at least according to maps and charts.

And then finally, it came. Broken could see the green light that heralded its arrival even before it turned the corner to where he stood, in the cave sewer.

Broken headed to the bright green light steadily growing in intensity. He needed to deal with the thing a bit away from the location where he stood.

Broken carefully walked perhaps two dozen feet, and looked around the corner.

And there it was.

In short, a twelve foot long, glowing green spider stared at Broken, through compound eyes.

It was so huge it took up the entire length and width of the sewer.

Broken had been hoping for one slightly smaller, but what he saw before him would do.

The glowing spider snapped its mandibles, in preparation for a feast, that would never come. Broken drew his sword. The thing’s story, the story of it, and all its brethren, was quite sad, really. It was just a spellweaver’s experiment gone horribly wrong.

For the truth of the matter was, nothing ever chose to be a giant, luminescent cave spider.

The new sewer system had been constructed because cordoning the things off was the only way the lords of Asan Paril knew how to get rid of the things. Now, they were nothing more then legend. And, Broken, was rather sure, deprived of prey, they were starving.

The culture, of sorts, that the spiders had was interesting. They would not eat a living fellow, by all accounts, though they would eat anything else. Also, they had an odd system of honor. If there was one prey, only one spider went after it. If there were two, there would be two, and so on.

The good thing about that was, all Broken had to deal with was one spider.

And so he refocused his attention to the task.

The spider lunged, with its lumbering bulk, but Broken did not have the option of retreating. If he did, the corpse would not be where he needed it.

And so, Broken charged.

Eight glowing eyes studied Broken for a moment, but before the spider had decided on a course of action, Broken was upon it. In a split second, Broken’s sword had found its way to his hand, and he chopped, severing the closest limb. Bright yellow fluid poured from the opening.

And the spider was now enraged. With all its might, it slammed its body against the ceiling, causing rubble to pour down, which Broken ignored.

As the spider set itself back down, Broken jumped upon its back, and cleaved off the thing’s head.

But the spider still moved, jerking, faster, and faster, as Broken carefully kept its balance on the thing’s back.

He had expected this. According to his sources, the spider’s mind was interspersed throughout the body. All Broken had done by cutting off its head was blinded it and deafened it, and started the slow process of the spider starving to death, having no way to eat.

But Broken wasn’t going to wait for the thing to starve to death. He struck again and again from his vantage point, slicing off one thick green hairy limb with each stroke. Seven cuts later, the spider collapsed onto the ground, still quivering, but with no more legs left.

Broken hopped off the spider, and straightened from his hunch to his full height. He then made several more cuts into the thing’s body, which poured forth more yellow goo.

And then, the thing stopped shuddering.

Broken wiped off his sword on the wall, and replaced it in his sheath.

He was safe now, after a fashion. According to his research, the cave spiders would not hunt one that killed one of their own.

Broken saw that the dead spider’s green light was now starting to fade, if slowly. He estimated it would be about three hours before the glow was gone.

More than enough time for Broken to do what he had to.

Broken picked up a long, glowing limb, and placed it around the back of his neck. Light shone from it, more than enough to see by.

Broken allowed himself an inward smile. Nature had provided.

He then turned back, and walked until he had reached again the crack in the wall. And then he walked in the other direction.

The sewer sloped down, and as it did so, it seemed ever more as a cave. Much of the walls floor, and ceiling had rusted away.

Then, as Broken passed another point, through another small gap, he knew he was out of the sewer system entirely, and instead, within an adjoining cave system.

It was not long after that point when he saw a pinprick of light in the distance.

Broken tossed the limb, nearly dull by this point, to the side, and headed to that light.

To reach it, Broken had to climb up a steep thin slope, far too small for the spiders to squeeze through, which explained why they had remained trapped.

And then he was out.

As he expected, Broken found himself on a hillside, overlooking the curled tent city of the Makini. If he told the Asan Paril commanders of the tunnel, forces could be maneuvered through the tunnels to attack the Makini from behind. But that was not what Broken’s plan entailed. Not at all.