Honking geese scattered in all directions as a cloaked figure on a sturdy grey horse cantered through the herds and flocks on an open country road of south western Iya Khil. The watchboy shouted out behind the rider, a pointless protest considering the horse was already past the geese before the boy had really noticed anything. In the morning mists, there was no way to even make out the rider.

The rider was an elven woman, not much more than a girl, really. She was a messenger with an important letter and was hopefully getting close to delivering it. But that was not the only reason why she was in a hurry. Mornings were a wonderful time for her to be on the road, with the sun just coming up and the early birds starting their songs. This early in the day, the spring sun was not yet strong enough to drive the hoarfrost from the grass and leaves along the uneven road to Riverround village. The air was fresh and of this special kind of cold the people of this area associated with good fortune and new beginnings. Somewhere a flock of riverblues screeched their songs towards the rising sun, and from the village behind the next rise, the messenger could hear the excited sounds of cattle and poultry awaiting their morning feed. One of the roosters was crowing so loud it was doubtful that anyone would still be asleep in Riverround when the rider would pass through the new part of the village. That was unfortunate, but could not be changed.

The journey down to this gods-abandoned place had proven to be a lot more difficult than the Council of Six could have anticipated, and the messenger was young and inexperienced enough to let herself be distracted by events seasoned messengers would have ignored. It was easy to excuse this behavior, especially as the Council had not urged her, or any of the other messengers it had sent forward. to make great haste, and so the girl on the grey gelding had used the opportunity to see more of a part of the land she had not seen much of before. But by now, the elf was tired of the journey and just wished to put her duty behind her.

Reining her mount in on the rise, the girl in the green cloak viewed the village below. The new part of Riverround consisted of only ten larger buildings, among those an inn, and a few smaller barns. Behind the new part was a short stretch of road through fields not yet ploughed, and then travelers would come to a bridge across the river the village had gotten its name from. The other side of the river was hidden behind a mostly wooden palisade, but the messenger believed that the old part of the village was not much more than what she could see on this side of the water. She would not have to ask for entrance there, though. There were two buildings on this side of the river, just left of the road where the bridge was, which interested her. Taking the scroll with the road description from her pockets, she confirmed that this was where she had been sent to.

The scroll was made from deerskin and magic. Currently, it showed the south west parts of Iya Khil, specifically enlarging the area around Riverround. But it would show any place the messenger had to go to, a very handy item to have, especially for apprentice messengers like herself.

The secret part of her mission was why the rider would have preferred to pass the village while it was still night, but an unforeseen sheep encounter a few miles past had slowed her down significantly. The memory of being stuck in masses of woolies, as sheep were usually called down here, still made her angry, especially because the herder had not seen the need to rise from his sleep and free the road for her. In this rural area, no one ever seemed to be concerned with doing anything quickly.

There was, of course, the option to ask for the master smith she was trying to deliver the message to. No one would think anything of her getting the hooves of her mount checked. The elvish face under the hood brightened as the rider thought of this possibility. The best way to be secretive, as her mother had always said, was to be as open as possible.

In the village, a young male voice started to sing one of the many wake up songs so popular among dwarfs and humans of this area. A moment later, a woman joined in, and in no time half of the small village, including some children, seemed to be singing. Despite a few who could not sing well, it was a joy to hear. The song made the messenger ride on with less worries, and together with the rising sun it pushed the last remnants of an uneasy night in the woods out of her mind. As her horse was neighing a greeting towards the horses of the village, the folks going on about their morning business looked up and waved, not at all hostile towards a stranger. The elf relaxed even more, hopeful of a good ending to her long journey. The morning mists slowly dissolved, and she found herself next to the large well in front of the inn.

The dwarf-chrone mixling running from the inn with an empty bucket noticed her immediately and put on a wide smile. “Hello there, young lady. My guess is you are not looking for a place to stay for the night, seeing how you arrive here early.” He chuckled and fastened the bucket to the well ropes to get his water. “Unless you have been up all night and now need a place to crash, but you do not look like a nocturnal creature, and appear to be risen from a waterflower just now.” The man blinked and let down the bucket.

“Indeed, good man. I was unaware that a settlement was close by, and thus made camp in the woods.” She pointed vaguely back towards where she had come from. “On my way back I will not make this mistake again, if I happen to pass the same road.” Her voice sounded genuinely sorry, but that was just because she had to lie to the man. She had of course avoided to stay the night on purpose.

“Ah, yes, yes, we are not very well known anywhere outside the county, and you seem to come from far, rather, if you don’t mind me noticing. Well, then, maybe there is anything else we can do for you? Fresh provisions, maybe?”

The elf smiled back at the mixling, but didn’t get off the horse. “Fresh bread would be nice. I have enough meat from hunting, and some forest fruits, too, but even us elves cannot well bake bread out in the woods overnight.”

Laughing, the small innkeeper nodded. “I’ll have my daughter out with the two leftover loafs from this morning’s baking, young lady.” With quick moves, the mixling pulled the filled bucket back up and carried it towards the inn in a waddling gait. “It’ll be no time, lady, no time at all.”

A bunch of children in a rainbow of clothes had gathered around her by now, not being overly curious but obviously not planning to miss any possible news either. All of them wore garbs suitable for farm work, but despite the dirt they were likely to get on their clothes, a lot of the shirts and blouses were in light colors. It was typical for this part of Iya Khil to celebrate life whenever possible, and boring clothes would just not fit into that.

When the daughter of the inn’s owner emerged from the front door, most of the kids were getting bored already and were also being called back to work by their parents. The mixling child handed the loafs up and asked for a few copper coins. Food was cheap down here. “Anything else, lady?” she squeaked.

“Well, my horse’s hooves could use a check up. Do you happen to have a smith in the village?”

Bouncing up and down to be able to see, the girl pointed over a cart with straw blocking the road. “Where the village road goes over the river into the old part. Next to the bridge there's a dwarf blacksmith, Master Olafun. You cannot miss him, lady.” She smirked. “He is very good with horses. Even the wild ones”

“Is that so? Well my horse is very calm so the master smith will not have any problems with him. But thank you for your information.” The messenger handed the girl another copper penny and waved at her before she turned the horse around. A few farmers watched her as she continued past the large house of a local merchant, trying to judge her by her horse as it seemed. But no one was overly interested, and the messenger was confident that while they would remember her later, they wouldn’t think much of her passing through.

A slight wind had picked up, and grey clouds outlined against the sun promised rainfall later. All for the better, as the winter had seen little snowfall, and the spring had been dry as well up to now. Farmers were already worried about their first harvests. The soil in this area was of a type permitting the ground to keep water for months, but because summers were generally dry; vegetation depended on rain in the other seasons.

The messenger did not know much about farming, but she knew about weather. The clouds indicated light drizzle, possibly with a little thunderstorm in between, but not nearly enough water to satisfy the land. It might delay her departure from this place though. The people around here were very hospitable, so much in fact that denying their offers of shelter without a good reason would be seen as an insult. The smith she was delivering the message to would probably not let her go until the rain had stopped, which would probably not happen until nightfall. And then, of course, she would be invited to stay the night. Any other time, she would have welcomed the invitation and the chance to rest. However, she had spent way too long in this endeavor already, and if she was to return to the capital in time for the Academy Spring Games, she would have to hurry. Maybe even find a mage along the way who could speed her up a little. Until now, she had never missed the games in her life. In her line of work, she would probably miss out on them in the future, but she had no intention to let her first year in the guild stop her from attending already. Plus she had been told she could take the time off for the festival after she was done with this special delivery. Usually, messages were delivered in shorter times or changed hands here and there so no guild member had to travel too far. Except for the guild rangers, of course, who would usually have been called on to do what she was doing now. Despite her love for travel, the whole journey had been not only exciting but exhausting. She could most definitely use a break.

As soon as she had left the village, she found herself among growing fields or corn and grain, with patches of barley in between. Strange pipes could be seen running through the fields at regular intervals, pipes the elf soon identified as a watering system. She had seen versions of those elsewhere, but this one seemed to be an inventive method of bringing water directly to the plants instead of just spreading it over a large area. Almost compelled to stop and have a closer look, the woman made a mental note to mention this to the engineer’s guild back home.

The smith’s hold was to the left of the road just a few minutes from the part of the village she had just left. The messenger took the horse off the road and approached the buildings. Smoke was coming from both chimneys of the smithy, and a young Chrone was standing in the front at an outside forge, happily hammering away at something that looked like a metal ring of some sorts. He was singing to the rhythm of his work, and although he was not a good singer, he clearly put his soul into it. When the apprentice saw her coming, he briefly halted his work and smiled up at her. “Welcome to the smithy of all things,” he exclaimed. “What can we do for you?”

“Smithy of all things?” The elf smiled back. “Well, I need my horse’s irons checked, and I need to talk to the master smith. Master Olafun, is it not?”

“Yes, yes. Master Olafun is in the smithy. If you would put your horse up over there, I will check out the irons as soon as I’m done with this.” The young man held up the ring he was working on and pointed over to a small paddock at the same time.

Getting off the horse, the young woman stretched and barely stopped herself from yawning. She should have requested another coffee at the inn. Her right hand touched the envelope in the right pocket of her riding pants. Her horse neighed in protest. After all they had only gone a few miles today. “I know you want to run, but we will have plenty of running to do once we are done here. Need to be home in time, I do.”

The Chrone put his tools away before she had closed the paddock again and came over, wiping the sweat off his brows. He proceeded to dive under the fence and then crawled under the horse, picking the hooves up one after the other. "Looks fine to me, lady, just need a little tightening. Mightily fine irons you have there, if I might say so. You seem to have come a long way, and they are still shiny and do not show many marks."

"I am on the road a lot, so I do not go cheap on irons or spare on horse care," the woman said. "I hope you do not take too long, I intend to be on the road again as quickly as possible." With that, the elf went towards the smithy.

The building did not look all that promising, and she hoped that this really was where a worthy receipient of the message was this time. On this journey, the girl had had to contact a mage twice about a destination change. The first time, the man she had been sent to give the message to had changed his place of living, and her magic apprentice map unfortunately did not target living beings, just places. The second time she had found the person, but even to her untrained eye it had been obvious that the drunken dwarf sleeping on the steps of his home in the pouring rain while talking in his sleep was not someone anyone would give a secret message to. It had taken the Council two days after that to give her a new destination. If this Olafun would be anything like his brother, her journey might be far from over.

As soon as she stepped inside, she heard a deep voice humming softly, again to the rhythm of a hammer. The smithy had small rooms occupying parts of the side walls in the hall, likely for storing supplies, while the hall itself held two anvils next to a large fire. A table with lots of disorderly looking tools was right in front of the anvils. The elf noticed that the dwarf master must be using the iron chair behind the table to get up and pick out tools. So the smithy had once been owned by someone from a taller race. But the benches next to the anvil were of a size fitting for small people, and the two additional rooms, which had likely been added to the smithy as an afterthought, had dwarf-sized doors as well. As the woman came closer, she could see a bed and personal belongings in one of them and an office in the other. This explained the chrone apprentice. Pure chrones weren’t common in this area, but then, neither were dwarfs. Likely, Olafun had been the former occupant of the apprentice quarters and didn’t want to put up another room for a larger person.

Shaking her head to stop herself from contemplating these things, the elf coughed to make herself known. The dwarf lifted his head and nodded, then pointed to the one bench that was the right size for an elf. The messenger moved over and pushed aside rugs and tools to find a clean spot. Then she watched the man finish what he was working on – the lid for some machinery, it seemed. In not too long, the dwarf was done and put his work away. Cheerfully, he came over, wiping his hands. “And what brings such a beautiful woman to my smithy? I hope it is a little more than just getting a horse’s irons checked or needing a barrel repaired.”

The bright laugh of the messenger echoed from the walls. “Master Vilthian was right, you are trying to charm every woman.” Then, before the dwarf could contemplate who this Master Vilthian might be, she pulled the envelope she had carried all this way out of her pocket. “This is for you, Master Olafun. The Council has sent me to find you several moths ago, but it was very hard to get a hold of you.”

“The Council?” There were many councils in Iya Khil, and then there was the Council of Six, what people commonly called The One Council, and it was easy to hear in the messenger’s voice that this council was what she was referring to. Olafun scratched his head as he took the envelope and turned it in his hands a few times. There was not even a name on it, just a strange looking sigil vaguely depicting an hourglass on which a large bird carrying something in his beak was sitting. It was hard to make out the details. The smith was aware that the council used different sigils for different things, but he had never seen or heard about this one. “Now what could the Council probably want from me, of all dwarfs?”

“Truth to be told,” the messenger informed him, “you are not the original target of the message. It was supposed to go to your brother Wenzel. But when I found him he was... incapacitated.”

“He was drunk,” Olafun said it more directly. “No need to talk around the forge here. My older brother has had problems with the heavenly liquids since his accidents in the western mines. It is very understandable that no one wants to give him much more to do but simple handiwork.” With a sigh, the dwarf broke the seal and pulled the message from it. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the messenger stepping away a good distance. She was obviously not supposed to know anything about the contents. “Curioser and curioser,” Olafun mumbled to himself. Unfolding the small sheet of paper, he was prepared for a lot. Reparations for damage his thieving nephew had done, maybe, or a wizarding relative who had died and left dangerous artifacts behind for him to inherit. But when he read the paper, again and again, he could not comprehend what was written there. It could not be true.

The Search has begun. Assemble your fellowship and come to the Isle. Time is of the essence.

Vilthian, Council of the Heart

While the dwarf was turning the simple message in his hands a few times, wrinkles appeared on his forehead. He didn’t know who this Vilthian was, but Council of the Heart was not a name heard often. The Council had many names, depending on its current function. Heart of the Council was one widely used term for the Councils inner circle, the core six. Council of the Heart was a very ancient term, though. It was only used in context of things of great importance spanning at least decades, if not centuries. Such as the creation of the chrones. And The Search? He knew his brother had been among a group of people calling themselves The Seekers, and that they were somehow involved with the council. Sometimes, when a member of such a group was not able to fulfill their duties, the next of kin would be called upon. But this rarely happened, and it always meant serious business. It was just not possible for Olafun to imagine Wenzel to be involved in something serious.

The messenger noticed the smith's confusion. It often happened when important but unexpected messages were delivered. She expected the usual questions often following delivery, and prepared her usual answers about not knowing anything about the message or the people who sent it. But to her surprise, the Dwarf just snapped into action without paying her any attention. "Welcun," he called out while running to the door. "Welcun, get my things ready, I need to travel. Hurry up!"

The Chrone put his head through the door just when Olafun was ready to run out, and they barely avoided bumping heads with each other. "What is it? Who died?" The Chrone exclaimed. Olafun took a step back and blinked. "Who said anything about anyone dying?" He went past Welcun, who followed him. "What other reason could there be for someone as important as you to just get up and leave, Master, if not for death or illness of someone important? Or maybe..." The rest of the conversation drifted off as the two of them moved away.

The woman got up and stretched. Time for her to go home, before one of them remembered her and found the need to ask questions she could not answer. Moving out of the smithy, she noticed the sky was all clouded now and the air smelled of rain. Riding in the rain was fun as long as it was not too heavy, but this would likely just be a drizzle and not bother anyone of her heritage. With a smirk at the commotion she noticed on the other side of the yard, the messenger went to pick up her horse. The gelding was already trotting up and down the fence impatiently. "It's alright, dear," she said, massaging his ears. "Now you can run all you want. I bet we will be home in no time."

Olafun Ironmind Smashit, Master Smith and Conqueror of the 7 Paths, stared down at his apprentice and wondered once again why it was that he could deal with lords and ladies, with farmers and their beasts and with wayward children, but not with this young chrone who seemed to argue anything one could possibly be arguing about. In this case, it was about him following his Master to wherever Olafun was going. While this had worked out in the past, mostly because they had never been away for long, this time was different. Watching Welcun getting bread, dried fruits and meat from the cellar, the dwarf waited for the right moment to get a word in. He needed the chrone to stay here. No telling what the Council would say when he showed up with someone in tow. A summon like the one he had gotten usually meant to come alone or with companions - a fellowship – who could help with whatever task the council had for them. Not only was Welcun of not much use for anything but technical tasks or smithy work in the dwarf's eyes, he was also a major nuisance when he was not concentrating on his work. Since Olafun had little knowledge about what task would be given to him, he could not really look for suitable people to accompany him. It was best to go alone.

"...and I'm sure, Master Olafun, Master Regulun will be happy to take care of the smithy until our return. He has been eager to work here with you, as you know, and asides, I'm your apprentice, not his, and he does not like me, and he only has to ride across the bridge each morning and..."

Eventually, the food was all stacked at Olafun's feet and the chrone climbed back up the small ladder, the strange skin of his kind reflecting the sun in several colors. Welcun needed a moment to take a deep breath, giving the dwarf the needed opening. "You are not going with me, Welcun," he said is as calm a tone as he could muster. "I'm not going in family matters, nor am I conducting business. This is more of an official nature. A private official nature."

The contradiction in his last sentence was not apparent to the smith, but it was for his apprentice. "Master, I think you are confused," he stated, looking at Olafun with a tilted head. "Let me pack our stuff and then we will talk about it."

Noticing that the chrone had no intention on giving up, Olafun sighed and scratched his beard. "I would have to leave you behind somewhere, I'm sure of it. And I need you to keep an eye on Master Regulun, you know how he is with materials. Always losing something and then he needs someone to find it for him."

Welcun laughed, a sound like a bunch of chickens panicking. "He has his own apprentice, these days. He will not need me." With that, he scrambled away to finish the travel preparations. Shaking his head and wondering how to leave him behind, Olafun went over to the small hut at the edge of the smithy's grounds. He had never been a man of many things, so this hut held all his needed possessions.

Although he was, unknown to most, quite wealthy and had an estate somewhere in the southern mountains, he preferred to live a simple life. The one room hut with a cooking place, bed and some drawers for clothes and cutlery reflected on that. Stumbling over the rug and catching himself on the small stool as so often, Olafun decided that this might be a case where the true nature of the hut would need to be revealed. He had no intention to leave it behind, not with not knowing how long he might be away, where he might be going, or if he would ever return. As quickly as he could, he stuffed everything lose into the drawers after changing into sturdy green and blue traveling clothes. Then he went outside again, carefully looking around to make sure no one, not even his apprentice, saw him. Uttering a dwarven word not even all of his race would know, he commanded the hut to shrink to walnut size and weight and picked it up. With a swift move, he stowed the magical building away in the bags he had put around his hip and put on the green hat he had been holding. Now he was ready for travel, as soon as Welcun would bring him his mule, the food and the basic tools of a smith on the road.

Welcun's lament about uncooperative mounts could be heard long before Olafun entered the stables. As usual, the chrone was trying to keep up with the speed of Olafun's rotating mule, trying to slap the saddle onto it. The grey mule obviously had fun doing this; the eyes of the small jenny moving back and forth happily. Olafun stepped in, grabbing her reins and massaging her ears. "You can handle the wildest stallions, but you are just out of your league with my Zarah, as it seems." Welcun snorted, put the saddle on and then proceeded to drag his dun donkey mare out of it's stall. She was already fully tacked up. "We're all ready to go, Master. I locked all the doors, too. No, I'm not staying behind. If you really don't want me to go where you are going, you can just drop me off at the road, as I am going to visit relatives."

Amused, the smith took his bundle from a bench and checked if Welcun had remembered his pipe and tobacco. Of course he had. "Which relatives?" he wanted to know.

"Oh, any of them who happen to be on the road," Welcun replied lightly. "I have so many of them, it is hardly possible to avoid them even if I tried." He led his mount out of the stable, and Olafun and Zarah followed. Chrones always had many relatives; it was indeed possible that they were all related to each other somehow. It dawned on the dwarf that he would have to take the chrone along, at least for a short part of the road.

"So, where are we going, Master?" The excitement of a young man wanting adventures was in Welcun's voice as he got onto his donkey.

"Dovarath," the dwarf replied, climbing into the saddle as well. As usual, this took him several tries because the jenny was going in circles for him, too. "And if we are very lucky, we get to see some of the Academy Spring Games."

"Oooh the games!" Welcun's face lit up even more. "I've only seen them once when I was very little. Didn't understand much about what was going on. But the illusionists were amazing." The two of them led their mounts onto the road and towards the bridge to the old hold part of the village while still talking about the games. Olafun figured that, as long as the lad was busy thinking about the games, he would not question his destination, which was a good thing. A slight drizzle was coming from the clouds as the hooves of the animals pounded on the stone bridge leading to the waterfront of Riverround-Main. The gate was already open because another rider Olafun identified as the elven messenger was just vanishing down the road, likely also taking the shorter road back. Waving to the guards, Olafun made his mule trot on faster. "I'll talk to Master Regulun, could you get some of Mistress Makey's special cookies while I do?" Welcun smile almost split his face into half. "With glee, Master!" he shouted and forced his jenny into a canter, which made the donkey buck twice, almost knocking him off in the process.

Master Regulun's small shop was located in the lower part of one of the guard towers. The mixling had not had much luck in life, and if he would not have been so difficult to work with due to his many strange behaviors, Olafun would have gladly taken him on as a second smith. As Olafun approached, the small man was already waiting for him. "I saw you packing," he announced, waving with his telescope. "Does this mean I get to fill in for you?" The man was, asides from being the local tinker, also one of three watchmen for long distance observation, a position the mayor had invented after a set of raids that could have been prevented with earlier warning. Of course, he spent more time watching the locals than checking the horizon. Which meant he had also seen the elf and there would now likely be rumors.

"Yes, and it can be a while. I am going to the capital. Here's the key." Olafun smiled. "Agreement as usual, you keep the pay and just restock the materials."

"Going to the games, I take it?" The other master took the key from the dwarf and grinned. "I never saw what all the jazeeb is about. Cities are trouble to begin with."

Olafun laughed and turned his jenny. "True true, but I need a bit of excitement once in a while. And that woman who needed her horse checked out reminded me how fun the games can be. Take care." With that, Olafun laughed and rode on, giving a good impression of someone happy to go to a fun event. With any luck, everyone would believe his reason for traveling.

This part of the village was not bigger than the other half, only about 50 families in half as many houses, with water from the river being routed into it, some fields, gardens and a grove and a few single trees for the pure elf inhabitants who wanted to have their houses in a traditional way. Welcun was just leaving Mistress Makey's bakery, a small house close to the city gate, holding two large leather bags full of cookies. Nothing could compare to those cookies in Olafun's view, and most villagers agreed with him. Plus, something reminding them of home was what they would need, lest they felt compelled to settle down somewhere else, as it had happened to Olafun a few times in the past. He liked it around here, and he had hoped to overcome his almost deadly desire for adventure in this place. Now, he feared, his past would catch up with him again, but he had no option but to follow the summons. He might as well make the best of it.

From Dovarath's highest tower, one had a wide and beautiful view of all the surrounding area and of the lively capital itself. In good weather, one could see as far as the Ghebrant forest and far across the Fakon river. Even in bad weather you could see further than you would have expected. This was due to the magic viewing screen around the tower.

The giant eagle perching on the tower top did not need the viewing screen to get a good view of the festival preparations in the city. To him, the people running around on the ground were more than just ants. With his sharp eyes, he could even see what the different species were eating, or if the nails they used to build market stands and tribunes on the several market places were driven in correctly. He could also clearly make out what type of goods were brought in from outside the city walls. It was all going well, and the celebrations would open in time, as every year. And as every year, magic would make sure the weather would be just fine for the many planned events.

The capital itself was build on a hill, with the council's castle on top. From up here, the streets created a spider web pattern on the hill, with no less that eight roads leading out of the sides of the octagon shaped city walls. There were fields within the walls, and many more outside, as well as more buildings. The place had grown so much in the last decades, it had not been practical to build another wall around it. Especially as there were no wars in Iya Khil anymore, and the threat from lawless folks was minimum.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

The large bird's eyes were focusing on a young couple coming from the grounds of the southern fair. He had a special interest in those two, especially as they would soon be called to the Council to receive their own mission. The young man of the two was a mixling and she was a mrrengar; a most unusual set up even in the capital. It was only recently they had gotten the blessing of the mrrengar girl's family to be together. The feline members of Iya Khil's societies were always strict with family matters, especially unions with non-felines. This was not because they were especially arrogant or xenophobic. A lot of races in this splinter of the world could breed together, but mrrengar could not breed with just any other species. They needed magical help to do so. And even then, it was not easily achieved. It was worse when the other half was a mixling already; in this case of an elf father and a human mother. There had been lots of tests to make sure a union could be fertile and the offspring would not necessarily be sterile or worse, deformed. Althar'Saq suspected that in a few centuries, there would be only three races on Iya Khil. A new race bred from all the others, the avians and the lizardfolk, who could not, to anyone's knowledge, breed with any other race.

"Master Althar'Saq?" the worried voice coming from somewhere under him made the eagle look down into the opening to the tower's stairway. A young chrone girl was looking back at him, slightly nervous about being so high up it seemed. "You are wanted on the Council Island. The first of those you expected has arrived."

The eagle nodded to the messenger in a mock of the gesture he had seen humans, dwarfs and elves use. Then he took off from his perch and lurched himself up into the sky of the city with a wild cry. He could not help it; he did this anytime he started a flight, however short, from a high point. Althar'Saq new very well some citizens made fun of him about it, but he was good natured and did not mind, as long as it did not turn out to be outright insulting.

The Council Island was not located in any river. It was a piece of land placed in the obscuring mists of a permanent cloud over the city. Only on very hot and dry days could the population see this marvelous feat of magic through a dissipating cloud, as the magic to keep the cloud up could not always be expended. The dwarf and lizardfolk representatives were often making attempts to return the council to the ground, where it had been before the cataclysm shattering the world. But to most others, the floating council reminded them of the past and what they were trying to rebuild or at least keep what they had left. Additionally, the Council Island could be moved if needed. The same was not true for most ground based meeting places.

Asides from the podium of the council leader in the middle and the five podiums for the other members arranged around it in a pentagram shape, there was not much to see. The rest of the island was made of bare ground with little grass growing on it, just as much as the water from the cloud could sustain. The weather was always the same – comfortable spring day temperature and never any rain, even when storms tore the world – and sometimes the cloud – apart.

Althar'Saq flew higher than he would have needed to take a peak at the already assembled councilors. The dwarf princess Subiae was already there, of course, sitting on the podium in the southwest arm of the pentagram. Next to her in the southeast arm Guglurion, the old lizard lord, was waiting. Above him in the eastern arm Andso Dadrin' Auwelia Ja'Watnun (and a few more names no one could remember) was seated. She appeared to be bored judging by the way the elf woman supported her head.

Althar'Saq knew the impression could not be more wrong. And-so-on, as the woman with many names was commonly called, had her senses everywhere when she appeared to be most passive, especially her magical ones. No doubt she had already felt him coming. And there was the human Archmage Vilthian on the seat in the western arm. No sign of the mrrengar archmage yet, but that was not too surprising. Qwanda was the oldest of them all and would need her time. Her fur was grey, but the original color was unknown to any of them. Rumors claimed she was older than the breaking of the worlds.

The middle of the seat arrangements and thus the middle of the pentagram was Althar'Saq's place. He swept in as graceful as ever, planning on making an impressive, elegant landing. As he came down, the familiar swoosh of escaping air announcing a teleport could be heard from the north, and all of a sudden the eagle lost his bearing and balance. His talons missed the back of the council leader seat, and his momentum made it impossible for him to avoid slamming into the soft ground. Upon contact with the grass slippery from the everlasting mist, his heavy body was quickly sliding towards the edge of the island. Once more, Althar'Saq tried to get a grip, but all his attempt caused was for him to flip over in a whirl of lost feathers and vanish over the edge. Back first, he fell towards the ground. Despite his utter irritation about what had just happened, he managed to right himself up more on instinct than anything else. Gliding back up on a warm drift, he tried to make sense of what had just occurred. It seemed inexplainable, and yet, among his ruffled feathers he could feel the familiar stir of luck magic. It must have been the new arrivals.

A lot less elegant as he would have liked, he landed on his place in the middle of them all. The worried and also amused murmurs of the other councilors ceased. Qwanda, who had arrived by gateway just in time to see the accident, was the only one who chuckled openly. "Did no one mention Master Khadubar was coming with his apprentice, a luck bender? She is not quite able to control the effects yet."

An apprentice had been mentioned, yes, but no details had been given. The eagle's view fell on a young woman who could only be a mixling of elven and dwarven blood. Not much taller than a dwarf, she was slim as a stick, and the signature round nose of most dwarves did not go well at all with the very pointed ears and the long slim brows. Her upper torso seemed fragile, while her legs appeared sturdy. One eye was dwarf black, the other elven green. Additionally, the apprentice was just starting to sprout a beard. Althar'Saq almost considered this appearance to be a deformation and wondered if the parents were among those avoiding genetic counseling and magical help when conceiving. Looking like that, it was extremely fortunate the girl was able to wield luck magic, although she could have used the luck before she had been born. Maybe a gift from the gods of fertility as a way of apologizing to her.

A cough made him aware everyone was looking at him and the girl. The apprentice had the guts not to blush as Altar'Saq flapped his wings and settled, looking at her sternly. Maybe she thought it was his fault for not noticing the tides of luck given his own magical abilities. Or she thought birds all looked the same all of the time. "The burdens of not having facial expressions," the eagle mumbled to himself. Then something dawned on him and his head whirled around towards And-so-on. The elf was openly grinning at him, if just for a second. She would have known of the apprentice, and she was well able to prevent him from sensing any sort of magic as long as he was distracted.

"Can we get to the matter at hand?" Master Khadubar asked merrily. "I have been on the council for a while and know very well that it tends to take hours before anything meaningful is said. Could we just skip all the prophetic talks, power plays and warnings and so on? Oh and pardon Leara, she really has little control yet."

"Of course," Subiae readily agreed. She of course revered Master Khadubar as the dwarf who had been on the council the longest. Almost for 140 years he had had the council leader position for the dwarfs. He was a legend, more or less, depending on who you asked. By the Rules of the Mages, the law they all had to adhere to, he was still a member of this council, if just in an advisory position he did not act upon much. It was not that he was uninterested in the matters of the world, he simply trusted the council to do well without him. Additionally, after he had decided to give up his position, he went on to train many apprentices. He was one of the few generalist mages who was also considered a specialist in most branches.

Althar'Saq realized he needed to take control of the situation or the rest of the council would step right over him after this little mishap. The last thing he needed in this specific, crucial situation was a power struggle among the best mages of the land. He was sure any such idea was far from And-so-on's mind, but the elf was not known for thinking ahead in such matters, despite being very wise in other things. Politics went right above – or rather behind – her, as it was the case with many elves.

"Right," he said in a voice like fingernails on glass. "To the matter at hand. The signs have all been seen several times and it is time to send the seekers. No doubt about that."

The dwarf's apprentice grimaced at the sound of the eagle speaking, and so did several others. But the lizard lord was, thanks to a magical accident last week, unable to hear mind speak, so it was not as if Althar'Saq had any choice. Speaking like this tired him but he need not let it show.

"I do not doubt you," Khadubar said, getting his short pipe out and beginning to fill it with tobacco as if nothing important was going on. Then he sat down on the lower part of the eagle's seat lightning his special mixture. "I believe you would not even have been able to open Box of the Seekers if it had not been the case. Are all of them going to show, do you reckon?"

The council leader flapped his wings to get rid of the smoke around him and noticed more amused grins. "It has been a long time since the last Search was attempted. And the numbers had already dwindled then. Heritages tend to get lost by many races. Including my own, as I have already heard that there are no more suitable offspring to the Windwing line of the owls or the Rainfeather kin of the eastern eagles. But if prophecy is right, all six Seeker lines will be able to send someone, and of those you seem to be the first." Althar'Saq felt a headache coming on after so many words.

"If I may make a suggestion," Khadubar said lightly, "get an interpreter for your thoughts. Otherwise you and the rest of the assembly will suffer from damaged nerves." The apprentice, who had lowered herself into the sparse grass, looked shocked at her master's words. The council only nodded at Khadubar's off topic comment, which might have been against all protocol but true.

"As to the matter at hand, yes, you will hopefully get all six Seekers, one for each council member. Otherwise, we are doomed." The mage still spoke as if they were discussing the latest gossip from the west.

"There were a few issues with some of the candidates, so they may be a bit late" 'Vilthian explained, thinking of the one who would conduct the Search for him. "As the Seekers need to imprint some unknown magic on the children, it would not do good to lose one of the lines." His eyes fell on the large bird, remembering what their coordinator of the Seeker mission had just said about two avian lineages with Seeker destinies having been lost. "But the good thing is that Seeker families cross racial boundaries, so the mark once held by the Windwings and the Rainfeathers does not need to be held by an avian, right?"

"No," Althar'Saq stated. "In fact many holders of the Seeker mark are not even pure blood." He lowered his voice as the elf and the dwarf covered their ears. "But we do know the Children of Prophecy are going to replace us one day, so each of the prophesized children will be of one of the main races." Althar'Saq did not know who it was that would act for him as a Seeker, divinations had only revealed a name and a place, and as some of the others, he had had to change the destination of the message several times. Once because the intended recipient had gotten herself killed in a fight, once because the person in question was missing an arm and a leg, and recently because the woman was way too old to be sent anywhere. When he had opened the Box of the Seekers, he had anticipated no such problems.

"Sounds somewhat racist to me," the young dwarf princess said, sparkling in all colors as she said this, as so often when she was excited. "Mixlings are as valuable as any pure blood." She had great potential and ideals useful to the land, but the way she had come to the council had been unusual, and she needed to learn a lot more control. And gain more wisdom, too.

"Next you are going to say it is racist how we treat the chromes and what not," And-so-on chuckled. "Things are as they are for a reason and magic works in mysterious ways." One of her favorite sayings, which meant all and nothing.

"Back to the issue," Althar'Saq snapped. "Khadubar of the 1000 names, Archmage of Iya Khil, do you accept the mission bestowed on you by prophecy and act as a Seeker for the Mage Council, to find one of the children of Prophecy, to make our worlds whole again?"

Khadubar looked amused, and close to interrupting the long string of screeched words. When an eagle said those ancient phrases physically, there really was no great moment in it. "Sure, I do," he said simply. "Otherwise I would not have let that brat have my council spot and stayed on, but a Seeker can't be a main council member, you know." He blinked at the eagle and stepped back, emptying the still glowing ashes of his pipe on the grass. "So which one is my child to find?" He lifted his left hand.

It had gone all silent around him. Everyone was staring from him to Subiae and back, and the princess had a decidedly red face. She looked ready to throw some flashes or the like at him. Althar'Saq almost hoped she would make that mistake, to get the master to put her in place even more. "Brat?" she finally squeaked. "I am a princess and an archmage and..."

"You are to find The Vision," Althar'Saq interrupted the girl. Now was the best time to make clear once and for all who had control and to stop the girlish scheming behind his back. At least he hoped so. "The prophecy says this: Vision and Wealth, Song and Stealth, the mind of the six he has to be. Actually, there is a lot more but you know the texts."

"Yes, indeed, my young friend. I own all the books. I will search by day, by night," he assured. Around his left hand, a faint light was glowing. Then the symbol of an eye appeared, like a crude tattoo. It was the old symbol for vision. No one knew what made the Seekers get the marks, but they knew it only worked up here. Althar'Saq suspected it had to do with the Box of the Seekers, which was hidden in a compartment under the eagle's seat, but no one had ever bothered to find out. Not that he knew, that was.

"Then it is done," the whole council intoned, the eagle in thoughts this time. Even the dwarf girl had gotten herself together, although from the looks she threw at her elder, she might as well wish him to die on the mission.

"See you all, then." Khadubar reached down as if to help his apprentice up from her kneeling position, but they already teleported out as he touched her. A swoosh of air a moment later was all that remained of them.

Leara wished Khadubar would stop doing that. And she wished that, for once in a while, he would not always end up in water when he was teleporting blindly. Her master had explained it to her, of course. When he only knew what he called the justabouts when teleporting, he imagined water in a general area and would come out in or above the nearest body of water. It might be a very small amount of water, or the sea itself, but it was at least always water and not any other liquid of less favorable nature. With the exception of beer, of course. Beer was closer to a dwarf's mind than water, and so when there was beer in a sufficient quantity, Khadubar and anyone he took along would end up in beer.

The water they fell into now was stale, warm swamp water. The girl coughed up some she accidentally swallowed, climbed onto saggy ground and had a quick look around. That was one of the first things she had learned from several weird and sometimes dangerous situations. 'Always reorient' was the motto. This time it seemed harmless enough. A large swamp area in a humid hot environment, which meant they were somewhere in the southeast of the land, which was Lizardfolk area. The half drowned ruins looked human, though. Probably from a War of Dominion or the other, when both the humans and the dwarfs had tried to be the superior species, settling all over Iya Khil and pushing the other races back in the process. The gnomes and rha'oun had died out in the wake of those wars, and the elves had been pushed to the brink of extinction as well.

Leara concentrated, and a dim light surrounded her. All dirt and water was repelled from her, and she appeared fresh and dandy again, as her mother used to call it. The disadvantage was that a spell like that also repelled all make up. When you traveled with someone like Khadubar, you needed to be natural. The mixling found this to be detrimental to her already weird appearance but she had given up trying to change the spell so that it would keep her facial paint. "Master, where are we, and more importantly, why are we where we are?"

"Ah, good questions, apprentice, good questions." The old dwarf grinned and stepped onto some stones which seemed to have been a well at one time and looked around. Seeing him like this, he did not look like a mage at all. A forest worker, maybe, or a smith, or even a traveling tinker. The sturdy leather clothes barely had any color. It was hard to believe that at home, in his famous mage tower, Khadubar almost always wore colorful cloaks and shirts, just like the mages in the old stories. Most people believed he was doing this on purpose to make fun of his profession's old habits.

"You don't know yourself, do you, Master?" Leara climbed up behind him, trying not to look to worried. Swamps in the lizard lands were usually quite large. More correctly, most of their land was one big swamp. While they could not truly get lost because Khadubar could teleport them out and back to their island, he would likely refuse. now that a spell was used to get here. "Never waste magic," he often told her. And on top of it, the dwarf loved adventure much more than someone of his age should, in Leara's opinion.

"Oh I know why we are here. I teleported us," he chuckled. "And I brought us here because I am looking for some advice for our search. But you might have a point in that I do not know where exactly we came out." Shrugging, he pointed at the swamp trees and the ruins. "There are several old cities, it would help to look for a clue in the ruins regarding the name it used to have. I'm sure I will know it then."

"Of course." Leara sighed and scratched her head. "This looks like a really big, really old and really, really ruined city though."

"Really?" he snorted, reminding her of her tendency to overuse certain words. A bad habit for any kind of wizard in his eyes. Anyone wielding magic needed to also wield their minds, and it was not a sign of intelligence to have a narrow base of vocabulary.

"It looks like a distinctively big city, which seems to be of advanced age and completely in shambles," she rephrased.

"Yes," her master beamed. "In shambles it is. Unfortunately, asides from trying to teleport again and likely getting nowhere nearer our destination, we will not get around searching the place for a clue. Think of it as an adventure."

"Master, where are we going?" Leara was sure the old man just played the part of the confused teacher in forgetting her other question, but she would play along if it would get her anywhere.

"Patience, young one, patience. You'll see when we get there, no?" He winked at her, knowing perfectly well she was already patient enough. It was hard to be with someone like Khadubar and not learn patience.

"What I mean is, are there any settlements close by? Are there even settlements around here not consisting of lizardfolk villages? Because if there are, you could probably make your teleport more specific." While she was talking, Leara searched the remains of the well for inscriptions, but nothing was to be found.

"More specific? How so?" Khadubar's eyes began to unfocus, a clear sign that he was trying to remember a story or the other, or to reconfigure a spell for their current situation.

"You end up in beer often enough," the girl came out with her idea before she lost the courage to do so. "I know it is embarrassing, but beer is where civilization is. We would at least be able to get directions if we'd appear on a table filled with humps of beer instead of yet another body of water in who-knows-where."

For a moment, Khadubar showed no reaction. Then his face split into a wide smile. "Now that's my apprentice!" he exclaimed. "Desperate situations require desperate measures, even if it means a few humps of beer will be knocked over. We must all make some sacrifices for the greater good. But what was I about to...? Ah, yes!"

Raising both of his arms in a dramatic gesture the girl was sure was not really needed, the old man whispered a word Leara had never heard before. The air above the ruins started to oscillate as if in great heat. Then transparent structures of light rose from the ruins. A vision of buildings and archways, wells and markets and obelisks started to form. Leara found herself standing in the middle of one of the illusions of the past as she was still on the top of the old well. Khadubar was barely standing outside of it, admiring the scenery of a long time ago. "Urcharya," he exclaimed, pointing to a high tower formed like an arrow pointing upwards. "The city of wards, build to last against lizardfolk forever. Forever only lasted a few decades for them, though."

Leara was taken in by the image which was now slowly fading. She should have known her master would have a way to find out where they were, but every now and then she was still fooled by him. In a few years, she was sure, she would know him so well he could stop with the games and just tell her outright. But then she remembered the Mage Council. Maybe he would never stop and mischief was just in his nature.

"Now what was that about beer?" Khadubar waved for her to come down. "I could use a few humps, not only as a focus for our target destination." As Leara climbed down, he was imagining their arrival at one inn or another and the resulting commotion. His apprentice was right, he was a dwarf made for mischief. Almost as an afterthought, he remembered to cast himself clean again before the two of them disappeared once more.

Am'ot had always wanted to be a hero. Back from when the elf first heard the stories told in the nursery he was taken by the prospect of becoming someone special. Stories of old, ages past and legends long forgotten, tales of glory and achievement, he never got out of his head again. Real life had not been so kind to him to allow him even the slightest bit of glory and recognition. Until now, the only time he had done something that gained him some approving words from the village council was when he had stopped a young girl from drinking to much at the annual harvest festival some years ago. What a great and important thing to do indeed!

Looking around, his eyes met the same green grassed low hills they had seen for the past six days, here and there draped with clusters of bushes and a few trees in full blossom. Only a single road led through, winding through the low hills as if they were dangerous mountains which were to be avoided at all costs. Standing on an insignificant hill just beside the road, facing it, the young man imagined himself a leader in a glorious battle. Imaginary armies under his command were pushing imaginary enemies back, and everyone would know his name. Giving a start at realizing what he was doing, once again, he moved towards the road in a faster speed than he normally considered necessary, glad that no one was here to have observed him daydreaming. Daydreaming was, according to his grandmother, the reason of the downfall of many a man.

The elf turned to his left and followed the road at his usual pace. There was no real need to hurry, he would not reach Levendur today, walking as he was, and if his map was right, there would be an unnamed village some miles from here. He intended to stay there for the night. Five nights of sleeping on the ground was more than he would have believed he could take. But there had been the danger of someone recognizing him in the villages close to his own place and possibly trying to talk him out of his foolishness, and after those there had been no more settlements but a farm whose owner had chased him away for a thief. He was still mad about that incident. Where he came from, there were no crimes, and the elders always claimed that was only because they lived so secluded, without any influence of strangers or other races. There was certainly some truth in their claim, but it was also a boring, stagnating place. No place to ever be a hero, not even a place to have fun in life. At least not for him.

It was late afternoon already, and the day's heat slowly faded, making the cold breeze even colder. It was early spring. To someone not used to sleeping under the sky, staying out at night had not been a very pleasant experience, even given the fact that it had not rained. The young man's steps quickened again. The thought of an inn to sleep in and some real food to fill his stomach made him whistle a strange tune, one he had heard from a Midaner merchant a few years ago. It had always been his way, to make a connection with the bigger world out there, to listen to the merchants. Now he was finally about to see at least a bit of it.

Naive as he was, he had never thought of what a journey to Levendur would actually mean. He had had no idea how many days he needed to walk all the distance, nor did he worry too much about food or bandits. Now his feet were hurting, his provisions had been used up the day before and he had not been able to find much else but some mushrooms for breakfast. In the first two nights he had almost died of fear, despite knowing the sounds the animals of the forests and grasslands made. He had called himself an idiot and childish, but it didn't change much. The third night he had forced himself to sleep, and after that it had gotten better. Still, even walking in unknown area had made him scared sometimes, being that he had never so much as left his village except to visit the neighboring settlements for trade. He was indeed happy to be on a bigger road.

A bit south from here he had had to cross a small river without a bridge and had slipped on a pebble, and hadn't it been for his good sense of balance, he would be wet all over instead of just having wet breeches. His shoes and stockings, of course, were dry, he had carried them while crossing. Due to the astonishingly hot spring sun, the front of him was as good as dry already, while his back was still so wet that he had actually considered walking backwards for a while. Calling himself a fool not to have thought of a second set of clothes either, he touched his bottom for another time to see if it would not be dry soon.

After a while he could still not see the village that was supposed to be close, and he began to wonder if he was heading in the wrong direction. He had absolutely no idea how far he had been walking since stepping on the road, but judging from the sun, he must have walked for at least an hour.

His final destination was the capital, but he was still weeks, if not months away from Dovarath. Iya Khil was not a very large piece of the broken world, yet for someone walking at a slow pace, it seemed to be endless. It was a foolish undertaking, but this was his one chance to be a hero, he reckoned. His right hand patted the waxed leather bag around his shoulder where a tattered and now hardly readable message was hidden in a side pocket. A summons to the capital to see the council. It was indeed addressed to him, a fact his mind could not wrap itself around yet. When the avian ranger had found him, Am'ot had been busy hanging the freshly washed clothes of his aunt Carmy on a line he had just recently put up. His grandmother, who had raised him, had been sitting close to him, chatting him all up with details about how to handle girls. She had seen him with the miller's daughter and now thought Am'ot would finally be of a mind to find someone to share his life with. Am'ot thought he was way too young for an elf to think about such things, but there was no way stopping his grandmother once she had her ideas planted firmly in her head.

Am'ot was more than surprised that the avian ranger had left the message with him. For a long moment it had seemed as if the large bird was about to turn round and find someone else to take the summons. It was often the case with calls by the council. That was weird, in Am'ot's eyes, as mages should probably be able to find out who they needed to give whatever message to. In any case, the ranger had decided to hand, or rather beak, the envelope over. Maybe he had been trying to deliver it for a while and just found people less worthy of whatever this was about. Am'ot was happy enough to get mail - the first in his life not counting calls for help from his uncle in harvest time. His curious grandmother was almost blind, and when the avian indicated that the news were for his eyes only, he had found the guts to lie to her. The young elf had claimed it was all about writing a story about simple village life for a reporter from the capital, and that the ranger would be back to pick it up in a few weeks. Everyone was always laughing at his diaries about village life, although they did let him help with the news bulletins. It was the most believable thing Am'ot could think of. There were always ways for what the villagers called the high-and-mighties to divine who they needed for what job.

Based on his more or less brilliant cover story, he had retreated to a forest hut usually used by hunters, supposedly to write. But he had spent only one night there, and now he was here, walking an unknown road. In a few days, the villagers would miss him but it was unlikely for them to be able to find out where he went. Maybe they would not even care. But despite his initial success in running away, it became more and more clear that he was not prepared well enough. He would need a mount of some sort, maybe a cart to drive in as he was not a good rider. Given the circumstances of his leave-taking, he had little money, so he would likely have to work along the road. The thought of that made him nervous, as the summons from the council seemed urgent. Heroes were never late, and asides from that, they might bring a replacement for whatever they wanted him for.

At least he could see the village as he came around the next bend in the road. It was not a village anymore though. The elf's maps were some decades old, and what had once been an unnamed village had turned into a good sized town right next to where the swamps began. He could see many sheep on the greens between him and the walled settlement, fields bordered by hedges and earth walls and boats with trading goods on the small river passing by the town. From his heightened point of view he could see gardens, granaries, temples, towers, a large patch for caravan merchants and smaller ones for two separate markets. Where the road came down on his side, there were also barracks. He could hear the call of someone ordering the guards from here. In the distance, several farm buildings were circling the place.

After a short moment of awe the elf started walking down the slope towards the nearest gate. He passed several small farms, waving happily to the workers in fields showing the first signs of growth. Barley, he though, and several grains, cabbage, carrots and more.

He had of course never seen a place like this. What would the capital be like if this was a small village not so long ago? In a daze he entered the town through a tall archway labeled Farmer's Gate. No one stopped him. The guards even nodded to him, and he automatically waved back at them. Never forget your manners, he had that beaten into him from a young age.

The town's name, as he could read on the welcoming signs, was Swampside. Fitting, if a bit uninspiring. It was full of life, sounds and colors everywhere, just like a major market week at home. Most buildings were two story homes, but there were also taverns three and more floors high, and some of the buildings had more than five landings. Not knowing where to go or what to do, Am'ot stepped out of the way of the masses to the right of the road and next to the barracks. The shouting from the guards had died down, but now a loud hissing voice could be heard from the building he was leaning against. The door flew open, and a young human female came flying out. "...not seen such incompetence in a while. Do not bother to come back. Go back to the farms where you belong to!" someone shouted after her.

Am'ot took a step sideways and was tempted to just disappear into the masses. But the origin of the voice was now stepping out, hands on her hips. A lizardfolk woman was staring after the girl, twitching her tail and shaking her head. When she turned to go back into her workshop, she saw Am'ot standing there. "You look lost and hungry. New to the town, I take it. You would not, by chance, know how to work a turntable properly, would you?" The way she emphasized properly made it clear what the mistake of the unfortunate girl had been.

Am'ot had already recognized the familiar earthen scent of a pottery workshop. "Sure I do. My uncle is a potter..." He did not get any further as the woman was grabbing him by the arms, pulling him into the building and over to a large, belt driven turntable.

For Am'ot, who had been volunteered by his grandmother to help in the pottery every year when there was no harvest to help with, it was clear the human had not managed to keep a steady pace. The leather belt was off the wheels and the large vase the lizard had worked on was all ruined. She would have to start anew. Without thinking about it, Am'ot put the belt back on and got into position. This was something he knew how to do. A minute later he was turning the table, watching as the craftswoman worked with the clay. He had tried to do that as well, but he had no talent in the shaping of clay whatsoever, so his grandmother's hopes of him one day becoming the potter of the village had evaporated quickly. Much to Am'ot's glee, as he did not like others to pick his occupations for him. In the warmth of the workshop, his clothes were drying quickly and his feet stopped their tingling from walking too much.

It was already dark outside when they finally stopped. After they had cleaned up, the woman introduced herself as Mirana and brought him to the back of the workshop for tea and stew. Am'ot ate like a wolf. It was the first hot meal in a while. The lizard watched with amusement. "I could use you permanently, you know. If you look for a life in town, then you found the right place."

"Can't stay. I have to go to the capital. A... relative summoned me." Just in time he remembered he was supposed to keep the real purpose of the journey a secret.

"All on your two feet? You should ask the caravan drivers if they could use a hand. If you are as good with mules and oxes as you are with the turntable, you could make a nice coin traveling and you would get there much faster."

"Everyone where I grew up can handle wagons," he said, exaggerating a bit. The largest cart he had ever driven was the delivery cart of the grocery store. "Thanks for the tip. I do not know much of the world yet." He was admitting it freely, because he was sure everyone with more experience could easily see it.

"Tomorrow you ask, then, but if you can't find an opening immediately, please come back and help me again, will you? I'll pay and feed you, of course. It will take a few days to get a new permanent hire. But for now, off to bed with you."

The bed proved to be a layer of straw with a blanket and a bag of hay for a pillow, but the small side room was warm and there were walls around him. Finally, Am'ot could sleep without fear again. For the next few days, the room became his residence. The caravan drivers were ready enough to help someone follow a family summons. In most of Iya Khil, family bonds had to be honored. But the next caravan going north only left at the weekend. This gave the young elf time to earn some money and buy himself some desperately needed supplies. Including additional clothes. Mirana taught him how to decorate pottery, and to his surprise Am'ot found he was quite talented. Additionally, he found out that there were different was of forming clay, and he was not bad in all of them. Under the eye of the master, he could probably go far in the craft. This made the lizard even more sad to see him leave.

The day he was moving on, Mirana gave him a small bag with all the tools of the trade. "This makes you an apprentice," she said. "Should you decide to stay anywhere where you find a potter from the guild, you will be able to find employment with another master. You did better than some apprentices staying with me for over a year. Make something out of it."

Am'ot stuttered his thanks and ran to the north of the town where the caravans were. He was early, but he did not want to miss it. His thoughts tried to wrap around him being talented at something else than household chores and cutting harvest. Maybe his grandmother had known, but in the village pottery, the results of hard work were never decorated or painted. Everything was simple and boring back home. Pottery was not the work of a hero, he thought. Maybe a weapon smith could be a hero, and mages and warriors of course. But at least it was honest work, and always needed. His outlook on the future had become a lot brighter.