Pirin jumped to his feet, then retreated as far back across the cell as he could. His heel brushed against the cell door.

“Good evening.” The bearded man from the village, the man with the enormous flute, stepped into the light. He glanced over his shoulder—out the window. “Or, I should say good morning. Very early morning, but still morning…” His voice was low—just barely above a whisper—and Pirin doubted anyone right outside the cell would hear.

Which could be bad news for Pirin.

Pirin raised his hands, making fists. He might not have been able to use magic at the moment, nor did he have his sword, but he would make do with what he had available.

The man slouched forwards, supporting himself with his flute-staff. “I’m sorry. That was a poor way to introduce myself.” He sighed, then ran a hand through his hair. In the marginal light, Pirin thought he could see a few gray streaks. “And our other meetings haven’t been terribly wonderful, either.”

Pirin didn’t lower his fists. “Who are you?” he whispered in the softest tone he could muster. Then, he narrowed his eyes. “Are you working with the Saltsprays? Did you put the bomb at the air harbour?”

“Woah there,” the man said. “That was a lot of questions. Now, let me think for a second.” He dragged his hand down the side of his face and began to scratch his beard. “No and no. If I was working with one of these backwater, isolated sects, I would be in the cell over there”—he pointed his thumb at the wall between the prison cells—“helping him instead of you. And if I’d planted the bomb, it would have been quite the mistake to tell you about it.”

“You missed a question.”

“Oh, I didn’t miss anything.” The man put both his hands back on his staff. “In these lands, I’m known as Nomad. And I haven’t ventured far from here for a good long while, so I don’t suppose any of my other names would be relevant.”

Pirin raised his eyebrows. “Do you want something?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing, actually.”

“How did you get in here?” Pirin demanded.

“Ah, I see! Now you’re just changing the subject on purpose to keep me on my toes!” Nomad chuckled. “Fine. I walked in here. Through the keep’s front door, then up the halls, and straight into this cell. I was waiting for you.”

“If you’re trying to make me trust you, it’s not working.”

“I don’t need you to trust me,” said Nomad. “But I’d appreciate it if you listened, considering that you’re pretty much trapped in here with me. With that nasty cell door in the way, and the Umberstone disruption collar and such.” He lifted a finger. “That’s not a threat, if you were wondering.”

Pirin lowered his hands slightly. “I guess I…uh, I can spare a few minutes. But I need to be out of here by dawn.”

“A few minutes is all it will take.”

Pirin stared at Nomad for a few seconds, wondering when the man would continue. He brought his hands all the way down and tried to stuff them in his coat’s pockets, but he didn’t have his coat—it was back at the Featherflight. “So? What is it?”

“Ughh. I was hoping for a little more flair. A little more…interest!”

“Nomad, sir, I’d like to get out of here sooner than later.”

“Yes, yes,” Nomad shook his head. “So you’ve seen the frenzy that the Rustlers have gotten worked up into. First-hand, judging by the shape of your airship—”

“Sorry, but half of that was the bombing.”

“—and there’s a reason for their behaviour.”

Pirin’s foot began to tap restlessly inside his boot. He shifted his stance to stop it. “That’s not our business.”

“Are you so desperate to advance that you’ll overlook your own survival? With the sky beasts so agitated, you won’t make it to Half-Crossing, let alone the Mainland.”

Pirin’s mouth slipped open. “To advance?”

“Who was complaining about wasting time, again?” Nomad took a step forward, his staff thudding on the ground with a heavy—almost too heavy—thud. “I’ve gleaned a pretty good idea what you are. Did you know that wizards don’t notice their spirit being scanned if they’re asleep? You clearly couldn’t feel it.”

“You’re a wizard?” Pirin exclaimed.

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“Keep your voice down,” Nomad hissed. “Unless you want the whole of the keep after us, of course.”

Grimacing, Pirin lowered his voice again. “Are you?”

“...Perhaps.”

“If you didn’t want me to suspect you of being a wizard, you’re doing a poor job.”

Nomad smirked, which, in the dim light, gave him a sinister look. His beard shifted up, if only slightly. “Maybe I wanted you to know.”

Pirin’s hands began to jitter. He leaned forwards. “How strong are you?”

“Strong enough.”

Pirin bowed his head, then knelt down. “Honoured….uh, sir, would you teach me? Please?”

Maybe he hadn’t been polite enough when he had asked Myraden.

Nomad let out a soft laugh, and suddenly, Pirin was very thankful that it was dark—that way, Nomad wouldn’t see his cheeks reddening.

“No,” said Nomad.

“But—” Pirin cut himself off. He couldn’t help but feel a swell of indignance. “But I’ve come so far. An Embercore should never have made it as far as I did, but I’m here anyways. I just need a teacher, and—”

“And you don’t even know if I’m on your side.” Nomad’s arm snapped forwards, moving faster than Pirin’s eyes could track. He grabbed a lock of Pirin’s hair and lifted it away from his pointed ear. “Black-haired elf, huh? You’re lucky the Dominion soldiers didn’t rough you up any more, or they might have seen that. And it would’ve been quite the shame to lose someone like you, your majesty.”

Pirin’s heart began to pound. With that speed, obviously Nomad had an enhanced body—he was Flare or higher. Maybe he was a Kaless-Ost—a Dominion wizard—in disguise.

At any moment, Nomad could snuff him out.

His voice trembling, Pirin asked, “Are…are you on my side?”

“Count yourself lucky, cause I’m not big on ‘sides’. I only have one ladle, and it stays in my own pot.” Nomad released Pirin’s hair, then took a step back. He cleared his throat. “And you still haven’t listened to my proposition.”

“I’ll listen, sir.” Pirin rubbed the side of his head. Maybe Nomad hadn’t meant to grip him that hard, but enhanced bodies were apparently prone to underestimation.

Nomad reached into his coat, pushing aside one of the lapels and revealing a chainmail hauberk. It clinked as he sifted around. After a few seconds, he pulled a scroll of parchment from an inner pocket of his coat.

With a flick of his wrist, Nomad unravelled the scroll, then held it out to Pirin. A cross-section of the island had been drawn on it in ink. At least, Pirin assumed it was Dulfer’s Reach. It had the same general shape, with an air harbour on one side and the city and seaport on the other.

It even had the city of Dulfer sitting in an enormous stone hand.

But the cross-section of the island didn’t end at sea-level. A dotted line divided the top quarter of the page from the bottom three quarters, and Pirin’s stomach dropped. It was like he was looking at an iceberg in crystal-clear water, seeing how deep it truly went.

Starting at the top of the island, at the mountainous peak, a network of lines traced through the earth, splitting and forming a network of lines beneath the island and ocean. It reminded Pirin of cracked glass. Were these…tunnels?

On the city-side of the page, the enormous hand that held Dulfer connected to a wrist…and an arm, and a body. It was a statue, now almost entirely buried under the island’s soil and beaches. It took up an entire half of the page. No lines had been drawn through it.

The drawing ended before the last quarter of the page. No more ink lines had been sketched down.

“That’s what’s been causing the tremors,” Nomad said. “Before, only the hand was poking out of the surface, but a few weeks ago, other angular sandstone shapes began to rise higher up the mountain—coupled with the vibrations of this here hand, of course. Then the Rustlers kept getting agitated. They led me here too, if that means anything.”

“Is this…tunnel system what the Saltsprays are after?” Pirin asked.

“Sure seems that way, doesn’t it?” Nomad cleared his throat. “Yes, yes, they are.”

“What is it?”

“A temple of sorts.” Nomad rolled his eyes, and his face was the perfect description of annoyance. “I think you’ll find its architecture much like the Four Shrines of Khirdia, and I reckon it’s about the same age—that being ‘incredibly damn ancient’.”

“What’s inside it?”

“There’s the question I was hoping for. Now you’re thinking like a real wizard!” Nomad rolled his scroll up, then tucked it back into his coat. “Gold, silver. Some Umberstone trinkets. One of the Saltsprays found a sword with a near-perfect rune-line running down the fuller, though he can’t figure out what it does yet, and he’s not a wizard, so he won’t have much luck with it. But the real prize should be a little deeper. Reign Gems.”

Pirin tilted his head. “You…uh, you want me to go in and get you some gems?”

“No, no!” Nomad let out a soft laugh again. “I want you to use them. I reckon I could get them myself if I tried hard enough, but that’s hardly the point. Prove to me that you can start developing your Reign over a weapon this early, and I’ll take you as a disciple. Be warned: I have made the same offer to the wizards of the Saltspray sect, and the opportunity stands for Myraden as well—I’m sure you’ll tell her about it.”

“Reign? What’s—”

“That sounds like something you’ll need to figure out for yourself.” Nomad clicked his tongue. “So, are you in?”

Pirin couldn’t pass up the offer. And it wasn’t as though they could leave soon—the airship needed repairs, and Pirin had a chance to become Nomad’s disciple. There was just one more question.

“What’s…what’s your plan, sir?”

“It’s called my plan for a reason. Not our plan.”

Pirin sighed. But if Nomad had been working for the Dominion, Pirin would already be dead. He had to learn from a powerful wizard, and that meant he had to find—and use—these gems.

“I’ll do it,” Pirin said.

“Very good.” Nomad took a step back, pressing his back against the wall. Then, without warning, he swung his flute-staff. It moved too fast for Pirin to react, and it passed by his eyes with a whoosh and a low, airy note. The tip blasted just past his neck.

Pirin raised his hands up to his neck, just in time for the two halves of the disruption collar to fall into them.

He was free.

Now, it was time to leave.