“Filthy politics and filthier politicians—thank the gods I’m an artist.”

Ishvari absorbed this flood of news—the pendulum was certainly hurtling back with all the vengeance of the gods. “And how does ordinary life go in the sacred city, my friend?” she asked.

“Oh, it gets worse every second,” Skanda groaned. “Thugs roam the city at night and the government’s gone to the dogs. A sick king might as well be a dead king. Our Council promulgates one edict after another regarding security, new taxes, and goddess knows what else. Folks flee the city in droves, heading for the foothills where land is cheap and fertile. Others are moving south, to where earth meets ocean; it is said peace reigns there and that the natives are cultured and easy going.” He grinne...

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