The wizard held a hand out towards both Pirin and Myraden, Essence swirling around her fists. Her beaver nattered at them angrily, until she whispered something to it.

In a matter of seconds, more Saltspray warriors had sprinted up to the map tent, armed with salt-crystal knuckles or spears with white crystalline spearheads.

“Should we search them, my lady?” one of the warriors asked.

The wizard shook her head. “They don’t carry anything capable of harming me, or they would have used it. They have made their weapons obvious—and their weapons’ current limitations.” She reached up and scratched her beaver’s head, then delivered a confident smirk. “And I can see quite clearly that they didn’t get anything useful out of our maps.”

I’m still thinking of a way we can make a run for it, Gray said. You know, I’ll start flapping, or something. And hope you don’t get annihilated by a beaver wizard. Ah, when I put it like that, it doesn’t sound as cool. Beaver wizard? Not very majestic. Bird wizard, or bloodhorn wizard? It has a certain level of—

“Stay calm, Gray,” Pirin whispered. “She just wants to talk with us.” He raised his voice a little, then added, “Right?”

“Letting you go after we speak has not crossed my mind,” said the wizard. “However, I will not kill you immediately.”

Pirin pushed a spearhead away from his back, then glanced at Myraden. She looked ready to rip someone’s head off. “We’ll go with you, then. Willingly. No need for spears…or threats.” Silently, he was thankful they hadn’t tried to take his mask. He would keep his Reyad with Gray as long as he could.

“The same goes for your friend?” the wizard asked.

Panting, Myraden nodded.

“Put your spear away, then. And we will talk in peace.”

Myraden let her spear fall limp, then tied it around her shoulder. Pirin sheather his sword.

“To the tent. They will bring food.” The wizard motioned with her hand, beckoning them down the walkway. She didn’t dispel the half-formed techniques from her hands yet. “We can keep up pretenses of civilization, and of civilized discussion, even out in the wilds.”

They headed down the wooden walkway, then back along the thoroughfare. Already, workers had started to dutifully clean up the camp. The warriors followed without question, forming a crescent behind Myraden, Pirin, and the Familiars.

When they arrived at the largest tent, the wizard said, “Your Familiars will have to wait outside. No harm will come to them, so long as they do not misbehave.”

Pirin dipped his head, trying to be a little more respectful. With a glance at Gray, he told the gnatsnapper, “Please listen, Gray. Don’t get yourself hurt.”

Listen? I can try, but none of these people are you. I couldn’t understand them if I wanted to. At least, not yet. I’ve picked up some words, but you need to start teaching me your language better.

“Do your best, alright?”

Alright.

The warriors surrounded Kythen and Gray, then dragged them off to the side of the path, where they wouldn’t be in the way.

Pirin and Myraden followed the wizard through the flap of the tent. They stepped into a small candle-lit room. The inside fabric of the tent had been embroidered with complex patterns that made Pirin’s mind swirl if he looked at them for too long. A table ran down the center, with a single bowl of soup at the end. There were plenty of chairs, no matter how scattered and disorganized they were.

The wizard motioned towards the table, and only then did Pirin take a seat—at one of the chairs on the side. Myraden sat right beside him.

“There are few who would know what you are out here, king,” said the wizard, not yet sitting. “But I forget my manners, especially before royalty.” She swept her arm out to the side and gave a short bow. “I am Lady Clase, matriarch of the Saltspray sect.”

Pirin turned his head towards Myraden for a second, then shrugged. “I’m Pirin. I suppose my proper title is Pirin of Kerstel.” He lifted up his mask as much as he could while maintaining contact with his face—so Lady Clase could see his face.

“It is a pleasure to meet a black-haired elf,” said Lady Clase. “Though likewise, there are few who know what it means—even among the Dominion soldiers. The politics of a far off land are, understandably, foreign to us.”

“The Elven Continent is not that far away,” Myraden snapped. “It is closer to you than the Dominion’s homelands.”

Lady Clase snorted. Her beaver crawled down off her back and scampered over to the pedestal. “For most of us, we’ve never left this little island, let alone been to Half-Crossing. If you expect them to have been to the Elven Continent, you’re sorely mistaken.” She picked up the spoon beside her bowl of soup and dipped it in. “Who are you?”

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“Myraden Leursyn.”

“I’ve never met a sprite before,” Lady Clase said. “In all the stories we were told about your kind, you were shapeshifters—reindeer spirits, and other things of the sort.”

“What do you want?” Myraden demanded.

“To find out why the king of Sirdia is trying to steal maps from us,” she said. “That, first and foremost. Secondly, to prevent you from interfering with the workings of my sect. We are moving up in the world, and short of killing me—which, at your stages, is impossible—you won’t be able to stop us.”

“I told you why we were here,” Pirin said, trying to keep his voice calm. “We aren’t here for any of your other treasures, and truly, I don’t need all of the Reign gems.” He glanced at Myraden. “How many will it take?”

She shrugged. “I do not know.”

Pirin swallowed nervously. “We’ll only take what we need. You aren’t competing for the favour of Nomad, are you?”

“That old vagrant?” Lady Clase shook her head. “Not at all. He presented the offer to me, indeed, and I could feel the strength of his core, but I think not. With the riches in the halls here, I’ll have more than enough to fund my continued advancement.”

“Then…we’re the only ones after his favour?” Pirin asked. A weight lifted off his shoulders. They would have plenty of time to fulfill Nomad’s demands.

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Lady Clase. “Another of our sect’s wizards is on his way—my nephew—and he is only a Catch. Nomad would be a wonderful teacher to him. As well, the Trawlers will surely be sending people over from Jullren.”

When Pirin and Myraden both provided her blank stares, she said, “Jullren. An island further south, where the Trawler sect does their business. Unluckily for you, they’re in favour with the Dominion—and if they figure out who you are, they might try to capture and turn you in.”

“Do they have wizards?” Pirin asked.

“Two. I’d bet Nomad has extended his offer to them, and any of the other sects from Reach to Half-Crossing.”

Pirin let out a slow exhale. “How long until the Trawlers arrive?”

“Don’t mistake me for an ally, nor your advisor,” Lady Clase said. A hint of venom clung to her words. But, finally, she provided, “Two weeks.”

“What do you want from us?” Myraden asked. “You could have killed us, but you have not.”

Lady Clase rolled her eyes. “Observant. I will let you into the tunnels—without a map. If you are caught stealing any other treasures, we will kill you. If you get trapped, we will not help you. And you must bring me any excess Reign gems. There’s only one way out, so don’t think about backstabbing us.”

“We’re not going in there without a map,” Pirin asserted. “Uh, ma’am, if that’s a suitable level of respect.”

“I’d prefer ‘my lady’ or ‘Saviour of the Saltsprays’, but ma’am will do.”

“A map. If you won’t let us have one, let us copy one.”

Lady Clase spun her spoon between her fingers, then caught it with a pinch. “So you can snatch up all our stores? You’ll need to bargain harder, your majesty.”

“When these islands are liberated, Sirdia will not hunt the Saltsprays into oblivion.”

“Pirin!” Myraden hissed. “These sects are no better than crime rings, no matter how fancy their clothes are. You cannot negotiate peace with them!”

“I’ll do what I need to.” Pirin didn’t need to list off his priorities aloud. Improving himself meant finding a teacher.

“You’re awfully confident about your abilities,” said Lady Clase. “Or your army’s. Say, Sirdia hasn’t found any more wizards lately?”

Pirin didn’t let himself rise to her taunt. “What will it be, my lady? Map, or nothing?”

“Let me sleep on it,” she said. She picked up her bowl, then turned to her beaver and commanded it, “Watch over them, please. Food will be coming for them momentarily.” She walked to the tent’s flap, then delivered a polite bow and backed out.

Myraden glanced at Pirin, raising her eyebrows. “There will be more teachers. More chances to learn.”

“We have time and a chance. We need to take it.” He glanced nervously at the beaver. Whether it could understand Low Speech yet or not, he didn’t know, but he didn’t want to take any risks and say anything important aloud.

“They could kill us,” Myraden stated. “We should run a—”

The tent’s flap rustled open and a pair of Saltspray warriors walked in, each carrying a wooden bowl full of stew. They set a bowl before Pirin and Myraden each, then produced cutlery. One of the warriors said, “Courtesy of Lady Clase. She insists that even rivals are treated well.” With an angry scowl, he spun away and marched out of the tent. The other warrior followed close behind.

Once they had both left, Pirin focussed on the faint tug of Gray’s core and whispered with intent, “Gray, if you see anything, please let us—well, me—know.”

See anything? I see lots of things…

“Anything that looks like trouble,” Pirin clarified.

Alright! Like those guards leaving the tent?

“Coming towards us, Gray.”

Oh…

Myraden snickered, and Pirin could only imagine how it sounded, only being able to hear half the conversation.

“Can you make Kythen keep watch, too?” Pirin asked. He had to admit, he wasn’t incredibly confident in Gray’s ability to keep watch.

“I could try.” She looked down, running her hand along the unwound haft of her spear. “I have never had…the greatest connection with Kythen.”

Pirin nodded slowly, then picked up his spoon and dipped it into the bowl. Myraden grabbed his wrist before he could lift the spoon up to his mouth. “It could be poisoned,” she snapped.

“If she wanted to kill us right now, there’d be easier ways to do it,” he said. Slowly, she released her grip. “You’re free to go back, you know. You don’t have to follow me wherever I go, or anything like that.”

“You know exactly why I am following you.”

“Actually, not really. You want to save Sirdia? You could be fighting the Aerdians in No Man’s Land. You could go back to Ískan and fight the Dominion there, couldn’t you?”

“Ískan is nothing but ash and tundra. Ískan rebelled, and Ískan suffered. I cannot allow the same to happen to Sirdia. You are the key to everything, and do not forget it.”