Prince Vasheron fumed with frustration and anger. While it was true that his tasks thus far had been accomplished with efficiency and speed, he now found himself and the dozen Deev with him slogging through a seemingly endless swamp. He had hoped to take the landboat they sailed from Sapphire Mountain all the way to the edge of the Scythian Desert at the border of the Lands of Man, but that hope had been optimistic at best. Unfamiliar with the topography of southern Evyan, the swamplands, which only manifested themselves in full glory after the drenching spring rains, were proving themselves a formidable opponent.

Vasheron had manifested his anger against a group of unfortunate beasts the Deev encountered when their boat sank into the unforgiving mud, firmly stuck and unmovable. A small band of nomadic creatures, mainly beaver and nutria had unwittingly approached the warriors and offered their assistance in hopes of some small reward. The reward Vasheron provided was the murder of their leader and the enslavement of the remainder of the troupe for the purpose of carrying the Abitar across the punishing terrain.

It would take at least a week to reach the desert from their debarkation point. The ravenous insects and leeches that were ever present in the soggy environment, feasted on slave and Deev alike. While the slaves bore their discomfort in stoic silence, the Deev, unaccustomed to both mortality and pain, spent seemingly every moment complaining and moaning. Every few minutes each Deev would transmute to smoke in order to dislodge the parasites leeches and make themselves unassailable to the voracious mosquitoes, midges, deerflies, and assortment of bloodthirsty flying insects feasting on the traveling smorgasbord.

It was not only the insects, heat, and humidity which irritated the Prince. He was concerned that Arisha still lived, albeit powerless and paralyzed. He was equally disturbed that a Deev had died. It was nearly half a millennium since this had last occurred, not counting Deeb Shatus, who had been resurrected by Azmeritus as a Scarlet Brother.

The possibility of death was uncomfortable for Vasheron who had come to think of himself as something of a god. He resented mortality, resented being vulnerable to all the lesser forces of nature, but felt no fear or concern for himself, he knew nothing would ever happen to him. It was his troops that worried him, that by knowing they were now vulnerable, they would be less fierce, less disciplined. He would need to chastise them, to address this possibility before it became a problem.

He felt no bond to anything on this world, not even his fellow Deev, who were to him nothing more than his subordinates. Even after five hundred years of constant companionship he bore no affection for his troops, they were a tool and nothing more. Everything in Vasheron's mind told him that the world was here for him alone, that life, history, destiny, and glory existed only as they related to him. He was all that mattered.

He loved being a Deev, he exulted in it. The immortality he had had, he took for granted. Now that he was simply ageless and not invulnerable, it did not seem as important. He simply determined to become more cautious. He was a master warrior, undefeated in his long life and he was certain no man or beast could best him.

It was the power of transmutation, long gone, but now reborn, that he reveled in most. The feeling of transmuting his body to smoke was ecstasy, unparalleled in all his experience. That he could still move, see, feel, taste and smell while in his ethereal smoke-form amazed and delighted him still.

He looked down at his boots being sucked with every step into the odorous, muddy water of the swamp and spat in disgust. Even his favorite joy was being denied him, to turn to smoke here would mean being filled with the vile smells and tastes of the fetid black water through which he now traveled.

Prince Vasheron had mixed feelings about Azmeritus. He knew that he couldn't trust him. He had long ago learned that warlords, thieves, and priests would say or promise anything to achieve their goals. On the other hand, he could not help but admire the mongoose's combination of ruthlessness, power, and intelligence.

Azmeritus was a driven beast, completely dedicated to whatever his dark purpose might be. Vasheron doubted all the promises the priest had made, but he had doubted the albino's ability to release the Deev from Xenoth as well, and that he had accomplished with apparent ease. Still, the oath of restoring immortality to the Deev seemed an improbable promise to the Deev Prince. He could see no benefit to Azmeritus in fulfilling that particular trust even if it were possible. He knew that the alliance between the Deev and the Scarlet Brotherhood was one of convenience only and to grant that particular wish would threaten Azmeritus as much as Arisha had.

No, thought Vasheron, the mongoose would make excuses, bide for time and then betray the Deev. It was what he would do and he knew that Azmeritus would do the same. This didn't disturb the Prince, he liked intrigue against worthy foes. Before he had gone to Arisha, Vasheron had stopped in Minga to recruit a small army to deal with the Brotherhood. He would certainly emerge victorious, but he relished the competition.