Pääbo had spent all day working on an old forge near the edge of the island, and when the sun had set, it had been transformed. Where before there was a simple fire pit with a few metal racks, now there is a tall brick stack. When Pääbo turned a wheel, the flames lept up through a hole in the roof and into the night sky like a dragon's breath. Harper, the imp, lept into the heart of the enferno at the bottom and shot out of the top like a comet.

"It’ll need to stay nice and hot," Pääbo instructed, pulling on a leather apron and thick gloves.

The work was backbreaking, not helped by the elves crowding in to chatter excitedly. Wood had to be loaded into the furnace at the bottom at a constant rate, and the wheel that pumped air into the furnace grew so hot that Briarstone had to wrap his hands in strips of fabric, which quickly became soaked through with sweat.

"Hotter!" Pääbo would yell from his perch at the top, and the whole routine would begin again. At around midnight, Pääbo declared the forge ready, and Serena and Konrad produced their bars of precious Linium.

"Are you sure this is okay?" Konrad asked the witch. He still didn't know the details about why she needed the metal, but he remembered vividly what it had cost her friends to obtain it.

Serena held the bar close to her chest for a moment and let out a steadying breath. "It’s okay, Rolo promised that I could always get more. Besides, Jena and Hesp would be proud to know they helped these people. Especially something that stuck in the craw of the arcanists."

The Linium was passed reverently through the hands of each of the arcanists and finally to Pääbo who dropped it into a ceramic pot and pushed it through a hole in the side of the furnace. When he pulled it back, the molten metal had turned a pure golden color, and small sparks flew off of it. The arcanists crowded so close to it that many of them singed their eyebrows.

"Spool!" Pääbo cried, and Konrad started turning the handle of a wooden contraption.

"Now, everyone quiet," Pääbo yelled.

In the silence, the dwarf held his tongue between his teeth and used a pair of miniature pliers to pluck at the molten metal and draw out a thin thread no thicker than a strand of hair. The group around the furnace held their breath as Pääbo pulled the strand in a beautiful arc down onto the gently turning wheel.

"A little slower," Pääbo instructed, and Konrad carefully adjusted the speed of the wheel.

The delicate operation took several minutes, and when it was done, Pääbo slid down the wall, covered in a sheen of sweat. Everyone crowded close to marvel at the spool of Linium wire in his hands.

"Well done, Pääbo," Serena said, taking the spool in her shaking hands and examining it. The light of the moon seemed to be sucked into the metal.

The spool was passed through the small hands of all of the arcanists, and they made high pitched ooh and aaahh noises.

"Did it work?" Malan asked.

"We won’t know until we put it in the Hedrons," Pääbo replied.

"When that's done, Renau can place them back into the columns. Where is he anyway?" Serena asked.

"I'll go get him. Spirit, do you think you can track him down?" Briarstone said.

Spirit barked and led the old sailor into the darkness, while Konrad slipped away from the forge and made his way through the island alone. He had slept poorly last night; despite the congratulations from Serena and Briarstone for capturing Issie, he felt responsible for what was going to happen to her.

The conservatory was guarded by a handful of short arcanists, and they nodded their heads respectfully and let Konrad pass. Issie stood at the bars of the cage, and she somehow made it look like, far from being a prisoner, she was granting him an audience, slowly clapping as he approached.

"Come to gloat?" she asked.

"They took the manacles off," Konrad stated.

"The bars of this cage do something similar—some kind of blocking—and nothing gets out," Issie explained.

Konrad thought back to the trial the day before, realizing that Briarstone's planned escape attempt would have been useless.

"It doesn’t stop me from using my skills inside the cage, though," Issie said, easily transforming into Alice again.

"How do you do it?" Konrad asked.

"I told you, as a champion, you have to think about gifts creatively. It’s not all fireballs."

Konrad looked pointedly at the blackened wall next to them, where Issie had tried to eviscerate him with a fireball.

"It's not all about fireballs," she admitted, flashing a wicked smile.

Issie was gone, and in her place stood Briarstone, but he was wearing the full-length sweeping dress of Serena, and he had Renau’s long, wavy black hair.

Despite himself, Konrad laughed out loud as the fake Briarstone smiled and danced a merry little jig.

"Helgan's Rest, you knew all about me; is that another gift?" Konrad asked.

"No, Hespian told me all of that stuff: a girl called Alice, how you couldn’t read. That book I showed you was about shipping laws for the western coast."

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"What about the voice?"

"Clever of you to work that one out. How did your friend know when I was calling him if his ears were blocked?"

"Spirit pushed him forward when the time was right," Konrad admitted.

"Clever. The voice is more of a natural gift. Let me go and I’ll tell you more about it."

It was a good and fair suggestion. It was only reasonable that Issie should go free. He couldn’t quite say why, but he knew that it was what he had to do. He should just freeze the lock right off.

He reached for the door, and paused, noting again the strange off-note in her voice.

"You’re getting it now," Issie said with an impish smile. "It still takes you too long, though, but don’t feel bad; some people never hear it."

"Why did you do that to me at Helgan's Rest?"

"Because I wanted to win, Konrad, and you bumbled around being nice to everyone and made it so easy. I have a quest, which means I get rewards the same as you."

"We could have worked together and figured out a deal."

Issie laughed, and Konrad felt it was the first true sound he had heard from her. The sound was flat and empty and didn’t reach her eyes.

"Don’t be so naive. The gods don’t cooperate; they always want something for themselves, and if you fail them too many times." She drew a finger across her neck.

"They kill you?" Konrad whispered.

"No, they cut you off."

Konrad remained silent, and Issie came right up to the bars; her eyes like dull ice on a frozen lake under a cloudy sky. He knew that every movement from her was likely a trick, but he still took a step forward. Issie courted risk; she danced on the edge of a knife, and the temptation to join her was intoxicating.

"They cut you off from their power; apparently it’s awful. The higher ranked you are, the worse it is. They say the only thing worse is if your god dies while you’re still attached." Issie’s voice was a whisper, and Konrad felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold air outside. No one deserved that fate.

"I can speak to the arcanists. If you apologize and give back their idol, they might let you go."

"I can’t do that, and you know it."

"Just let this one go; go find another quest."

This time, Issie’s voice had a sharp edge to it. "You don’t understand Clod. I win. I am a winner. I don’t need you or anyone else to help me."

"But—"

Issie took the form of the Father. "Get out," she snarled.

Konrad spared a glance back as he left and saw only the back of a figure wearing a brown robe through the bars of the cell.

Outside, darkness had fallen, and the sounds of birds had been replaced by the orchestra of insects and the hoots of monkeys in the surrounding jungle. Malan sat on a bench outside the conservatory, his hairless Imp sitting on his lap. He had evidently been waiting for Konrad. "Will you want to go for a walk with me?" He asked with a bright smile.

"Do you already know if I will or not?" Konrad asked. He still didn't have much of an idea of the young seer's powers.

"He already told you he can't see you, dummy," Harper snapped.

Konrad followed the young elf around the back of the domed building, and they approached a battered looking tower made of roughly cut stones. The windowless structure was around forty feet high and had one small wooden door at its base that Malan unlocked with a heavy key.

A crude wooden staircase wound around the curving walls, and the inside of the tower was completely empty save for a wooden platform that had been constructed at the top.

On this cloudless night, with a full moon in the sky, the whole of the western ocean stretched out in front of them. Hundreds of small islands scattered through it were picked out with flickering fire lights.

Malan laid down his staff and sat on the edge of the tower, kicking his legs idly. He pulled out some of the dry grass growing out of the cracks in the stones and twisted it around, and Harper flapped through the air and settled into his lap.

"Odred is not happy that you spoke to our prisoner," Malan began as Konrad took a seat next to him.

"I’ve never met another champion; I was hoping for some information."

"Do you know what kind of magic she uses to tell lies that sound like the truth?"

"I think it’s some gift from her god, like how she can change her appearance."

Harper made a dismissive sound.

"Harper does not think so; he thinks it is a natural gift; it’s very rare," Malan explained, idly twisting more grass together in his hands. "You want us to let her go." It was not a question, and Konrad glanced at the small iris in Malan’s left eye.

"If you know what will happen, you could just save us both some time."

Malan rubbed his eyes, and Konrad was struck by how young he really was. He didn’t know how elves aged, but Malan seemed no more than ten years old.

"If you really want to let her go, you can, but she will cause more problems," Malan said.

"You saw that?"

Harper snorted. "Anyone with normal eyes can see that."

"What about getting the idol back?" Konrad asked, ignoring the imp.

"It's okay, there's always a solution," Malan replied.

"I might be able to convince her to give it back, but it would help if I knew why she wanted the idol in the first place," Konrad said.

Malan yawned and curled up on the platform. "Harper, can you tell him?"

The imp flapped his leathery wings, and jumped into the air, pulling the headdress from the boy and placing the woven grass reverently inside. Then he sat on top of the hat and crossed his legs, glaring at Konrad.

"What can you tell me about the idol?" Konrad asked.

"Piss off," Harper whispered.

"Harper, please," Malan murmured.

"Alright, alright. What do you want to know?" the imp grumbled.

"The idol—what is it, and why is it special?"

"The elves had a god who died."

"When? How?"

"Ooh, a long time ago now, say two hundred years or thereabouts."

"How did they die?"

"Can’t say."

Konrad paused and glanced at Malan, hoping for him to intercede.

"No good looking at him; he’s asleep, ain’t he? And don’t you go waking him up," Harper warned, reaching over and smoothing some stray hairs on the young elf's head.

"Why can’t you say what happened to their god?" Konrad asked.

"Now why would I, a middling demon, start running my mouth about something that can kill a god, hmm?"

"Okay, that’s fair; what does this have to do with the idol?"

"Weeell, the idol represents the lost god, you see, which is very important to the elves. Don’t know what your god wants with it; Malan can’t see either, but Rickan said they had to keep it secret."

"Rickan?"

The Imp sighed. "If I tell you, will you naff off?"

Konrad nodded, and the imp settled back into the headdress, crossing his spindly legs and placing his hands behind his head.

"Rickan was my master. Nice enough bloke for an arcanist; a bit bookish though, you know? Well, he’d always wanted to find this island, but when we got here, he couldn’t fix it because he didn’t have any Linium. We were going to go get some when the elves turned up. They were a sorry looking lot. They got burned out of their home and ran halfway across the mountains to escape. At the start, I think Rickan was glad for the company, to be honest. But he was always a bit sour about the big citadels, and so he taught any of the elves who could touch the laylines about magic. Well, fast forward, and now they think they are real arcanists." The imp snorted. "More like wilders, really, but they’ve got a heck of a knack for illusion, and stick them next to a layline, and you can bet they’ll light up like a bonfire on Haggling Eve." Harper spat expertly over the edge of the tower. "Like I said, Rickan was a nice bloke really; before he died, he turned up the last Hedron to stop the island from sinking, but it’s still going down, bit by bit."

"What about you? If Rickan’s dead, why are you still here?"

"Have you been to the abyssal plane? Terrible place. Nope, happy to be here, there’s been a couple of the elves with the small eye, so that keeps me busy."

Konrad opened his mouth to ask another question, but the Imp stopped him with a raised hand.

"I’ve told you a good bit there, mister champion of the small gods. Now, the boys sleeping, and the arcanists will be here soon on that flying city of theirs, so I reckon you might want to bog off and get done fixing this floating rock."