Xerxes reached toward his component pouch.

“Don’t be stupid,” the hooded figure said.

Meanwhile, the other people in the chairs were on their feet and backing away from Katayoun and Xerxes.

“We don’t want any trouble,” Xerxes said, keeping his hand resting right on top of the pouch. He shifted his stance so his right shoulder faced the masked figure, and his component pouch, and left hand, faced away. Next to him, he could see Katayoun also angling herself so her shoulders formed a triangle with his.

“You think two Seers are a match for an Archon?” the masked man said, pulling his cloak away from his hip and resting his hand on a pouch at his waist. “If so, you’ll soon find out how wrong you are.”

“They’re not spies,” Navraj said. “They saved my life. I know they’re from the Institute. We recruit from there all—”

“Whether saving your life was planned or not,” the hooded man said, “it had the intended effect. It won your trust.”

“B-but, but they—”

“Quiet.”

He’s an archon? Katayoun projected.

If he was, then his mage sight would pick up on our thought projections.

The masked man didn’t react in any way to their conversation. There was no way he was an Archon. He’s lying. He’s a High Mystic at most.

Seems a safe bet. Also, he thinks we’re Seers. He doesn’t know how strong we really are.

“You’re right, we’re spies,” Xerxes said.

Off to the side, Navraj sputtered.

“Unfortunately for us,” Xerxes continued, “we haven’t figured out anything worth knowing. So how about you just let us leave? You disappear. We go back with our tails between our legs. Everybody wins.” There was no way the cultists would take him up on his offer, but he needed to buy time. His eyes flitted back and forth as he reassessed the room.

“Besides,” Katayoun said, “if we go missing, all hell will break loose. We have a lot of connections at the Institute.”

The man laughed. “Sadly, I have no idea what confidential information Navraj might have revealed to you in his idiocy. And until I know for sure, you’re not going anywhere. Slowly untie your component pouches and drop them to the ground in front of you. Then submit to my guards. Men!” He snapped, and a thug clad in bits of random armor appeared.

“Get the others,” the hooded man said. “And bring steel manacles.”

“Manacles?” the thug said. “Er, do we have—”

“Of course we have them. In the fourth storage room. Hurry up.”

What kind of mage is he? Looking at the component pouch tied to his belt, it seemed possible to rule out Buhhu. Buhhu spells used Abhorrent blood as the primary base component, which led to Buhhu mages using distinctive types of pouches. In fact, as Xerxes had learned at the Institute, many Buhhu mages didn’t use pouches at all, but rather, cases or boxes. For example, Gandy now had a burnished copper case. Unfortunately, all other orders of magic relied on sand, powder, or dust as the base component.

Was there a smear of powder along the top, as was often seen on the pouches of Asgagu mages? No. Grains of sand in the folds of fabric that would hint at either Nasaru healer or Balatu defense expert? No. A tiny glitter of gold that would reveal the man to be a Sinitu shapeshifter? No.

There were no clues. No hints.

What was telling, though, was that the man only had a single pouch. Each unique spell required a different component, which meant that higher-level mages often carried more than one receptacle for components. It wasn’t a guarantee, but it indicated that the man either couldn’t or didn’t feel the need to be prepared to cast more than one spell.

The hooded man took a step forward. “Let me be clear. I don’t want to hurt you, much less kill you. But I do need you to tell me some things. For instance, who put you up to this? Who’s behind this investigation? Adonia? Shabadras? Kingallu himself?”

Now he's trying to buy time, Katayoun projected.

I know. I think we need to do something before the guards come back.

Agreed.

“You’re communicating mentally,” the man snarled. He took a step forward to the edge of the dais. He was at the edge of the dais. “Stop. Immediately.”

“Or what?” Xerxes said, sliding his lead foot forward a bit and shifting his weight slightly. “You want to fight? Because I’m an Asgagu mage. I love fighting.”

The man pulled his pouch’s drawstring, then stuck his finger in to loosen the opening. “This is your last warning. Don’t push me!”

When he pulled his fingers back out, Xerxes spotted a granular substance on the tip of his finger. Not gold dust. Not diamond powder. Not talcum powder. It was sand. And that meant this man was either a Balatu mage or Nasaru. If it was the latter, Nasaru, then the man could defend himself against any attack Xerxes threw. But his spells wouldn’t give him much of an advantage in offense. If it was the former, then he could conceivably cast spells like Slow Death, Rapid Death, or Instant Death, depending on his level.

But at least Xerxes had an idea of what he was up against.

He opened his component pouch.

The hooded man yelled, jumped off the dais, and lunged toward Xerxes.

Xerxes pulled out a handful of crabnickel powder and jabbed his finger into it.

“You’re dead!” the hooded man shouted, kicking aside a chair and pulling out a knife.

Katayoun’s foot caught him completely unprepared as she delivered a roundhouse kick to his abdomen.

He grunted and collapsed. As chairs clattered, his hood fell back to reveal a sallow face with a patchy beard.

“Kill them!” he shrieked, scrambling backward like a crab. But Katayoun had a handful of powder and was tracing a rune as she took a step toward him.

She’s casting a Death spell, Xerxes thought.

Others in the room took action. One person pulled out a component pouch, two others drew short bronze swords.