For an hour, Pirin stood unmoving in the Featherflight’s gondola. He watched the endless forests shift along a five hundred feet below, watched the snow-dusted trees quiver in the wind. Every so often, he glanced back at Gray to make sure she still clung on.

This province of Aerdia was just as sparsely populated as Sirdia—the only sign of civilization was a village far away on the horizon, then some sandstone ruins to the west.

Finally, he eased the tension in his legs. He paced back and forth across the gondola, dodging a table covered in maps or the two small potted plants. The windows let in the starlight and the magenta moonslight, and candles (with anti-sparking and containment runes etched on their wax) lit the dark corners. Alyus had only lit them once the ship was moving, so the runes could activate.

Pirin’s hand jittered and his breathing hadn’t slowed down. He tried his best to calm himself. Only once they were in the air did he tell them about his escape, and how he did it. Both of the smugglers gazed at him, both looking curious and mistrusting at the same time.

“You saw the Red Hand of the Emperor, then,” Alyus said, and Brealtod hissed with concern.

Pirin stopped pacing. He stuffed his hand in his pockets. “Wh—who?”

“The Red Hand. He serves the Dominion and their Emperor.”

Pirin shook his head. “But he’s a man! Not an ostal…”

“The Dominion can ignore their laws when it serves them.” Alyus offered a sad smile, then tapped his horns. “The Red Hand is useful to the Emperor, so he remains in service.”

Brealtod let out a growl then a hiss, followed by a few clicks. He pointed ahead, then spun his sideways wheel fast and hard, the scaly muscles of his arms bulging. They called it the elevator wheel, for controlling the horizontal fins hanging off the stern of the airship and adjusting its pitch.

“Brealtod’s right,” Alyus said, motioning to Pirin. “I’ll need a hand, if we want to be at the right altitude by the time we reach the Senflow.”

Pirin tilted his head. “A hand?”

“We lost a sailor on our last expedition, elfy,” said Alyus. “We need more than a wheel to control the altitude. Samworth helped me tighten the ballonets if we needed to drop some height, but he’s not here anymore. So I’ll need a hand.”

“Alright, but you’ll have to show me what to do.”

“Guaranteed.”

Near the stern of the gondola, a ladder rested against the wall. Alyus climbed up the splintered wooden rungs first, and Pirin followed close behind. The gondola connected directly with the bottom of the airship’s white envelope, and the ladder pierced through it. At the top of the ladder was a cramped room. Its walls and floor curved with the envelope of the airship, and Pirin had to duck so he didn’t hit his head on the sagging fabric ceiling.

Along one wall was a galley with a stove, and along the other, a set of bunks. Tables ran along the center, surrounded by boxes and other clutter.

“This and the cargo hold are the only other proper rooms inside the Featherflight,” Alyus explained, spinning in a circle with his arm outstretched. “Once we get down to the Senflow, we’ll open the cargo hold for your bird. We’ve just gotta get down low enough to scoop some ballast.”

“The ballonets aren’t enough?” He could only vaguely recall how airships worked, and he wasn’t sure if he’d just never learned about them, or if he had forgotten. He winced.

Alyus led them to another ladder at the opposite side of the room. It led up into the rest of the airship’s hull, sandwiched between wooden spars and leathery sheets of fabric. As they climbed, Alyus said, “The ballonets inside the gasbag will tighten, compressing the liftgas a little. But it’s not a perfect measure—ballast is much easier.”

Pirin ran his hand along the wall of the odd substance beside him as he climbed.

“Careful,” Alyus snapped. “Wyvern intestines won’t hold vent-gas if you slice them open. And the last thing we need is a leak—it’s flammable, that liftgas.”

“Wyvern…intestines?” Pirin pulled his hand away, then wiped it on his pants. The wall wasn’t sticky or wet. It had been cured and treated just like leather.

“Amberbeater’s Skin, whatever you want to call it.”

When they were about halfway through the hull, they reached a walkway that ran through the center of the ship from stern to bow, passing through the gasbags. The walkway’s railings were varnished, but they were thin and fragile, and Pirin feared they might snap if he put even the slightest weight down on them. There were only two candles to light the entire hall.

“This is the axial corridor. It’ll be your best friend on the Featherflight.” Alyus ran down the walkway, unwinding coiled ropes from the railing. When he returned to Pirin, he said, “There are ten gasbags. Pull a rope to tighten the ballonet in that bag. You’ll have to pull quite hard.” After a pause, he added, “But a wizard like you should be able to manage.”

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Pirin sucked in a quick breath through his nose. His heart dropped. “A…wizard?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, elfy. There’s no way you escaped the Red Hand without magic of some kind, and that ‘snapper of yours? A Familiar. Why else would you bring it wherever you go?” Alyus took a brief pause, and he began to wind the rope around his forearm. “Though I haven’t heard of any wizard on the Path of the Gnatsnapper. It gives you a disorientation technique or something? That how you beat me in the Speakeasy?”

Pirin gulped. He didn’t know how to respond. He could explain all he wanted, but he doubted there was much he could say to convince the ostal. But he could show him, though.

It was risky. If Alyus sold him out…

But was already on the run. Besides, Alyus knew the Red Hand was after him. He knew Pirin was valuable, and he still hadn’t sold Pirin out.

Pirin pulled down his hood.

For a moment, Alyus stood motionless, watching. He looked Pirin from head to toe, then sighed. “The Embercore King, then. Didn’t know I was flying royalty. Then I’d really have had to make sure to serve cold stew.” After that, he gave a soft chuckle. “Kidding.”

Pirin raised his eyebrows. “You’re…you’re not afraid?”

“Afraid? Hell no. Figure if you’re the type to execute me for a little misstep, you’d’ve lopped my head off with that sword a while ago.” Alyus began hauling on the nearest rope, dragging it backwards. “Though, I can’t exactly be certain that I’m even helping you out of my own free will, can I?”

Pirin shut his eyes and sighed. This would always be a problem. “I wouldn’t be having this conversation with you if I’d turned you into a mindless…drone.” But that didn’t help. There were plenty of ways Pirin could have gotten around it. If he had been powerful enough, he could have added a thought to Alyus’s mind and make him want to help, and the ostal would have thought it was perfectly natural.

But that was if Pirin was powerful enough to overcome Alyus’s will, which he wasn’t.

“I can’t use any mind-bending techniques without a direct line to your eyes,” Pirin said. “Close your eyes, look away, whatever you need to do to trust me.”

Alyus shut his eyes, but he didn’t stop working. He began to haul the rope backwards, away from the wall of gasbags.

“Some people have stronger wills than others,” Pirin whispered slowly, trying to think of the best way to say it. “Some people have flexible minds and weak identities, and they are easy to pass thoughts and feelings into. The same goes for animals. But I wasn’t able to put a thought inside your mind to begin with. And if I had, I doubt it would have integrated seamlessly. You’d have noticed.”

“If you say so.”

“My arcane techniques aren’t best suited to messing with minds, anyways,” Pirin said. “Truly, I’m manipulating memory, just very, very recent memories. That’s the Bloodline Talent of the elven kings. Just…don’t know how to do the fancy part, yet.”

Alyus didn’t respond for a little while. He kept his eyes shut and his gaze down as he pulled on the rope. Pirin figured he’d make himself useful. He grabbed a rope, wound it around his arm, and pulled. It fed through a tight hole in the gasbag. A pulley creaked, then the ballonet crinkled and shrunk inside the gasbag, compressing the gas inside and making the airship less buoyant.

Once the rope was as tight as Pirin could make it, he wrapped it around the railing and tied it in a knot. The railing creaked, but it didn’t break.

For a few minutes, they continued in silence, hauling on the ropes and fastening them to the railing. Pirin’s arm began to ache after tightening only two ballonets—and he only had one arm to work with.

Finally, Alyus asked, “So why do you need to get to Tallas-Brannul?”

“I…I have no idea how to fix my Embercore,” Pirin said. “I won’t be a very good wizard-king if I’m stuck at the Kindling stage for the rest of my life. But someone at the library has to know something. They can set me on the right path. At least give me a place to start trying.”

“You can’t fix an Embercore, elfy. Anyone who’s ever tried has ended up even more broken. To the point that they’re less powerful than a normal man. Embercores with fire Talents burn themselves to ash. With ice, they freeze their blood. Et cetera, et cetera. You get the point.”

Pirin gulped. “I’ve already been damaged.”

“Excuse me?”

“My mind has been a little damaged, yes.”

“So you’re a little…not all there?” Alyus finished tying the last ballonet. The airship dipped down. Pirin couldn’t see what was happening, but it didn’t seem to bother the ostal captain.

“My memories are damaged, I should say.”

Alyus nodded slowly. “That’s…probably a mercy, seeing how bad it could have been.” He turned away, then led Pirin back through the airship towards the stern. “Now, for business. If we want to get across that lake, we’ll have to get around the cargo inspectors. We’ll need rune-codes to make it look legit. Which means we can’t go straight to the lake.”

Pirin kept close with Alyus, staying right on the man’s heels. “Do you know how to get them? Or should I read their minds and do the work myself?”

“Your techniques are too flakey. I’d rather rely on something that isn’t an Embercore’s magic.” He rapped his knuckles on the catwalk’s railing confidently. “There’s a city along the Senflow. It’s on the way, and I have an old acquaintance who might be able to help us.”

Alyus stopped. A different ladder led down towards the bottom of the airship’s envelope. “Come on, let’s get the cargo hold open for your ‘snapper. Brealtod will holler when we’re over the Senflow.”

As they descended, Pirin narrowed his eyes. “Why do you need the money that badly?”

“That badly?” Alyus chuckled. “We’re airshipmen, and the Featherflight wasn’t cheap. But it’s even harder to settle down and stay out of trouble in this business.” He dropped down the last bit of the ladder and landed in another dark, cramped room. “But the Dominion is here. Aerdia is theirs, and soon, Sirdia will be too. I don’t want any part in that. I want out.”

Pirin jumped down onto the cargo hold floor as well. He landed on a lightweight wooden lattice that ran along the edge of the room. In the center was a platform suspended only by ropes. Barrels and crates covered it—some with preservation runes.

“Your bird can fit in here and stay somewhat warm, aye?” Alyus asked.

Nodding, Pirin said, “It should do the trick.”

“Wonderful.” Alyus turned to the wall beside him and pulled a lever. A latch clicked. Two large sheets of the airship’s outer envelope fell open like a massive hatch. The cool night air rushed in.

The tops of the nearby trees were barely fifty feet below. Nothing but forest below…except in the distance, a line carved through the trees. A river! The Senflow river, which would lead him to the library.

Alyus clapped Pirin on the shoulder. “We’d better get your bird aboard, elfy.”