As the crowd dispersed, voices faded into the evening air. The fake hero disappeared around the side of the wooden shack with his robes trailing in the dust.

  Anzu kept his position, watching.

  "Why aren't you doing anything?" Itani's voice carried an edge. "He's literally living in your house, pretending to be you."

  "Because we're not doing anything today."

  "What?"

  Anzu turned to face her.

  "The position of an Archsage is a complicated one. There's always many facets to consider. In this case, there are two reasons for waiting. First, cooler heads need to prevail. We wait until morning, and maybe the fake can be reasoned with." He paused. "Probably not, but I'm trying to be civilized about it."

  Itani crossed her arms. "And the second reason?"

  "It's the people, and that's the important one." Anzu gestured toward the dispersing crowd. "They need to believe he's a fraud. Whatever happens needs to happen in front of them. Otherwise, they'll resent me and think I'm the imposter who drove out their beloved protector." His mouth twisted. "The important thing is making sure everyone understands they've been played."

  Itani's expression softened slightly. "So you're considering a public confrontation."

  "Oh, yeah, definitely. Given how he's swayed the public, it has to be. Some time tomorrow, at daylight and with witnesses." Anzu started walking. "Tonight, we find a tavern. The Lion and the Spear used to be nearby. It overlooks the tower, which is convenient."

  "You think it's still there?"

  "There's only one way to find out."

  The Lion and the Spear occupied the same corner it always had. It was a building framed with timber, now a little weathered, and consisted of two storeys, with a painted sign showing a roaring lion holding a spear in its paw. Orange torchlight spilled from its windows, radiating warmth.

  Something loosened in Anzu's chest as he considered that at least one thing had stayed the same.

  Inside, the common room smelled of roasted meat and ale in an inviting way. The last thing Anzu had eaten was the butter bread in Girsu, so he was starving by now and greatly looking forward to the inn. A handful of patrons already occupied the scattered tables.

  The innkeeper was a balding, round-faced, and cheerful-looking Sumerian man, who looked up from wiping down the bar as soon as Anzu and Itani approached.

  "Evening! What can I do for you?"

  "We'd like to stay for the night. Two rooms," Anzu said.

  "Excellent, excellent." The innkeeper pulled out a ledger. "Lucky timing, really. We've been doing fantastic business since the Hero of Larsa returned. You picked the best-positioned inn in the city, only a few minutes away from the Grand Tower."

  Anzu leaned against the bar.

  "Doesn't anything about this Hero strike you as... off?"

  The innkeeper blinked.

  "Off? What do you mean?"

  "Uhm, strange, unusual, just plain wrong."

  "Can't say it does, mister." The innkeeper shrugged. "He's got the moon and stars on his robes, just like the legend says. He stays in the tower and sells blessings to help people. It fits perfectly, if you ask me."

  "Right." Anzu let it go. This was how the crowd had been won over. "The rooms?"

  "It'll be four silver each."

  A rasping voice cut in from nearby after coughing.

  "I agree with you."

  Anzu turned. An old dwarf sat at a corner table with a gnarled walking stick propped beside him. White hair and beard framed his weathered face, which was creased with age.

  "You do?" Anzu asked.

  "Aye. That fraud looks nothing like the original Hero." The dwarf tapped his stick on the floor. "I'm two hundred and thirty-five years old, Utu help me. I saw the real one in person, you see."

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Of course, that was entirely possible. Dwarves were notoriously long-lived, more so than any race except high elves. It made perfect sense this one had witnessed Anzu's original time here.

  The dwarf leaned forward.

  "The real Hero's robes were immaculate. Pristine, you could say. Those moon and stars looked like they'd been woven by the gods themselves." He pointed a finger toward the window, in the direction of the tower. "That charlatan's robes, on the other hand, look like he stitched the symbols on himself. The crooked stars, the lopsided moon. Embarrassing."

  Itani moved closer, listening.

  "And another thing," the dwarf continued, warming to his subject. "The original Hero had a thick, dark-red moustache and beard. He kept it neat. This one's got a scraggly black-grey mess."

  "Go on," Anzu said quietly.

  "The real Hero never performed for audiences. Never." The dwarf's voice hardened. "If admirers loitered around his tower, he sent them packing. If people needed help, and I mean actual help, he'd heal them on the spot. But he never asked for money. Not once."

  Anzu's hands curled into fists. The old dwarf was right. Down to a tee.

  "This one," the dwarf made a spitting sound, "fifty silver for drought protection? It's an insult and daylight robbery."

  "Thank you," Anzu said, meeting the dwarf's eyes. "For remembering. For noticing the details that matter."

  The dwarf waved a gnarled hand.

  "Someone needs to. Too many people see what they want to see."

  He was right. That's why the crowd was so easily swayed at the tower.

  Anzu turned back to the innkeeper, who'd been listening with an uncomfortable expression, clearly thinking Anzu and the dwarf were exaggerating.

  "The rooms?"

  "Ah." The innkeeper cleared his throat. "Actually, I've only got one left. Two single beds, though. But it's a nice one, facing the tower."

  "That works," Anzu said, then glanced at Itani. "If you're comfortable with it."

  Itani shrugged. "No problem at all. It sure beats sleeping in sand."

  "Yeah, fair point." Anzu counted out eight silver coins, adding two more. "And food? Whatever you've got ready."

  "Roasted lamb, barley bread, and vegetables." The innkeeper scooped up the coins. "I'll have it brought up. Room three, top of the stairs."

  "Oh, and a couple of ales, please."

  "Of course, mister."

  The room was modest but clean with two narrow beds separated by a small nightstand, a washbasin near the window, and an oil lamp that was burning a little low. Anzu dropped his staff against the wall behind the door and sat heavily on the nearest bed.

  Through the window, his tower loomed against the darkening sky. The shabby stage cluttered the entrance. At least there were torches that flickered around the perimeter, giving the structure some basic lighting at night.

  It was his home, though currently occupied by a parasite. Or at least a part of it was. The conman could never get into the tower itself. That wasn't possible. This had to be why he built that hut in front of the entrance.

  A knock on the door announced their food. The serving girl, a young dark elf, left quickly, and Itani set the tray on the nightstand between the beds. Steam rose from the lamb, making Anzu's stomach twist with hunger he'd been ignoring for a while now.

  They ate in silence for a few minutes and then went for the ales. Finally, Itani spoke.

  "How do people believe him?" She tore a piece of barley bread. "It's all so obviously fake."

  Anzu chewed, thinking.

  "Well, perhaps it's not so unusual. Desperate times breed desperate hope. The Mardukists are tightening their grip, the Gutians are everywhere, and people just need something to cling to." He gestured toward the window. "A hero who'll protect them fits perfectly. Even if he's a fraud.'

  "It still seems stupid."

  "It is." Anzu stabbed at a piece of lamb. "But people want easy answers and to be able to sleep at night. Besides, a protector who asks for fifty silver is still cheaper than hiring mercenaries."

  Itani frowned.

  "You think they'll turn on you when you expose him?"

  "No, I don't think so. Especially not if we do this right," Anzu sighed. "And the old dwarf proves not everyone's fooled. That helps. We just need to nudge the crowd in the right direction."

  They finished eating. Anzu pushed the empty plate aside and leaned back, staring at the ceiling beams.

  "I'm looking forward to this being over," he said quietly. "Reclaiming the tower, then getting my equipment back. And maybe having a week where nobody tries to kill us or throw us in prison."

  Itani smiled faintly.

  "Sounds nice."

  "More than nice. It's necessary.' Anzu rubbed his face. "I need time to research this Bounty Karma problem before it sends half of Sumeria's mercs on me. And even more importantly, figure out my build problems, to get my spell repertoire back to functional.'

  "You really think it'll settle down?"

  "Well, it has to eventually." But even as he said it, doubt gnawed at him. Would that be the case? Or would he keep stumbling from one disaster to the next?

  The weight of it pressed down, awaking his inner Anni, who worried a lot: the imposter at the tower, the karma, the Mardukists, the strange new rules governing magic and reality. All of it seemed to be piling higher.

  "We can get some sleep, at least," Itani said, reading his expression.

  "Right." Anzu extinguished the lamp. Darkness filled the room, broken only by moonlight through the window.

  Outside, the Grand Tower of Larsa awaited its creator.

  Dawn spilled through the window as Anzu blinked awake and was disoriented for a moment before his memory settled: right, Larsa, the inn, his stolen tower.

  He rose and crossed to the window as organized movement caught his eye. A column of figures marched down the street toward his tower with bronze armor gleaming on each of them.

  Damn.

  "Itani." His voice came out flat. "Wake up."

  She stirred, mumbling something.

  "Now."

  The urgency pulled her upright. "What?"

  Anzu pointed. "Look."

  A dozen Elamite mercenaries approached the tower in tight formation. Heavy bronze plate covered them head to foot with spikes jutting from their helmets, pauldrons, and even shields. Their faces were grim and locked in the kind of expression that was earned through violence and kept sharp through more of it. Hailing from the south-east, they were a fairly uncommon sight in Sumeria and were usually hired by rich merchants who needed protection.

  Anzu's eyes scanned them, attempting to discern their levels automatically. They ranged from [Level 90] to about [Level 100].

  Blast it.

  "The fake hero apparently hasn't cooled off," Anzu said quietly. "Elamite mercenaries heading to the tower is not good at all."

  Itani joined him at the window, her expression darkening. "Those are..."

  "Savage bastards. Yeah." Anzu exhaled slowly. "Trouble's brewing."

  The mercenaries reached the tower entrance and fanned out, taking positions around the crude stage and waiting.