Pirin and Myraden had stopped at midnight. They couldn’t go on without resting. Pirin had taken the first watch—he had still been too excited to sleep—and Myraden took the second watch.
When the sun rose over the ocean and shone down on the little gully they sheltered in (veiling their spirits, of course), they continued on their way.
Since it was morning, Pirin and Gray couldn’t fly—someone would see them immediately. They just had to keep low and shelter in the tall grass, creeping across the estate to the northeast corner. They passed the tent-city and the airship in a matter of minutes, and it faded behind the estate’s grassy hills. They couldn’t see the outer walls anymore, and if Pirin hadn’t known better, he’d have assumed they were just walking across the Plainsparan countryside.
Halfway to noon, they passed the palace. It stood atop a rocky mound in the distance—a lonely butte with a backdrop of grassy hills. It lingered at the edge of Pirin’s sight, a misty behemoth with thatched roofs and golden filigree ornamentation. Different wings clung to different sides of the butte, and an enormous stable overlooked a cobblestone causeway.
Pirin swallowed. That was the home of an Unbound Lord.
He’d probably have to fight one of those sometime soon, knowing what they were about to get themselves into.
But not yet. He was going to be a Wildflame first, and he would be strong enough to fight them.
Myraden held the map out ahead of herself, tapping it with her finger as if trying to trace their path across the estate.
“So,” Pirin began, “we’re looking for wild-treasures?”
“Yes.”
“If they’re wild…shouldn’t we find them in the wild?” At least, that was how Nomad had explained it to him—they were treasures that formed in areas of high Eane flow, an object blessed by the energies and auras of the world and turned into something more important, by the power of nature itself.
A twig could become a wild treasure, and a wizard could draw on its energies if they wanted. Most natural treasures were only useful to a select few wizards, though.
“The powerful families harvest them and either sell them or hoard them,” Myraden said. “Even if few of their wizards can actually use them.”
Pirin should’ve expected as much. He was starting to realize that this system of Unbound Lords and wizards was all about maintaining a very loose balance of power and keeping a few wizards at the top.
“Now…you’re not ready to actually use them, right?” He didn’t exactly know how her advancement was going, and he didn’t want to pry too hard, but it was somewhat important. “Neither am I.”
Not very convincing, Gray provided through their bond. He didn’t have his Reyad active, but that couldn’t stop Gray from reaching him anymore.
But Pirin didn’t want to push too hard. He tried to force that thought back through the Reyad without speaking aloud.
Yeah. Guess you don’t want to piss her off.
The Flare stage had two halves. The first half was to integrate the user’s Essence into their muscles and prepare the body for advancement. Halfway through the stage, their body would reforge itself. The second half was where the wild-treasures came in.
“You would know if I was ready,” Myraden said. “My body is not ready to reforge itself yet.”
As they walked, Pirin attempted yet another new cycling pattern. It was the pattern that Nomad had taught Myraden, best suited for pushing Essence out of his channels and into the muscles around them. With each exhale, he imagined the Essence bleeding out of his channels.
If Myraden hadn’t reached the halfway point of Flare, then…that meant Pirin was catching up.
When he’d found her in Greanewash, she seemed so far ahead. But maybe he could even overtake her, now…
They passed a copse of trees and skirted around a cluster of young members of the Aremir family swinging training swords in the field. They weren’t old enough to have a Familiar yet.
Pirin glanced curiously at Myraden, then back at the cluster of in-training wizards. All of the Aremir wizards-in-training were boys. He hadn’t seen a single female guard in the family attire.
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Myraden sighed, probably guessing what he was thinking. “It is how things are over here,” she said. “The important families often mimic the ways of the mortals, and the Aremir family is notorious for it. In theory, when you advance through Flare, the differences between men and women should be smoothed by our sheer strength. But there are some who do not see it that way.”
“Was it like that for you?”
“The Aremirs are the most notorious for it,” she said. “They blame tradition, but like all aspects of the Dominion, it is another branch of control. They demonstrate their strength by determining who is and who isn’t to be trained.”
“Were…you, though?” he asked.
“I was the only child of my family. In Ískan, they had no choice but to train me. In Sirdia…they were desperate enough.”
Pirin grimaced. He knew the world had its ways, and some of those were set. It didn’t make it sting any less when he heard it from Myraden’s mouth. She was a product of desperation, not respect.
Maybe one day, he’d have the power to help. Right now, though, he had bigger concerns.
Another cluster of buildings brimmed atop a distant hill. He squinted and held a hand up to the sun to block the light out. All the smaller buildings were exactly like the ones on the shore village, but at the center, a single stone-block keep peered out above the rest. It was five storeys tall, and only slightly taller than it was wide. Window slits looked down on the rest of the village.
They’d practically put up a shiny sign saying ‘treasures here’. It was absolutely trapped, and there were certainly guards. But…there had to be a way of getting in there, and they didn’t have much of a choice.
Pirin and Myraden skirted around the outside of the village as far as they could, surveying the keep. There were no guards outside, but people packed the streets. None of them had Familiars—they must have been mortal servants and workers that the family employed. They swept the streets and led around animals, heads down. Even beneath the wind of the plains, Pirin expected to hear some chatter from them, but they were completely silent.
They’d probably been taught from a young age to never slight a wizard. That meant they wouldn’t lift a finger against Pirin and Myraden.
The four turned abruptly and marched into the village. They passed through an alley between two hovels, then snaked up the street toward the keep. Its main entrance—a wooden gate—faced the street, and a single Flare-stage Aremir wizard stood in front of it.
When no one was looking too closely, Myraden approached from one side, catching the guard’s attention. Pirin swooped in from the other side, using the Fracturenet to boost his speed. He swatted the guard on the back of the head with the pommel of his sword, and enhanced body or not, the guard and his Familiar still crumpled. The man would wake up sooner than a mortal would, but they had time.
Pirin pushed open the gates of the keep with the Fracturenet still active, then dispelled the technique a few moments later. He had to conserve as much Essence as he could; he wasn’t cycling with a technique meant for Eane purification.
He squinted as soon as the gate opened, pushing with his faint spiritual sight. A thin wall of manifested Essence waited in front of them. It wasn’t visible to a naked eye—it was Essence from the Path of the Prairie Gap, and it was pale when spread so thin. If he passed through it, he could guarantee it would activate a trap.
But they had no other choice.
“You see it?” Pirin asked softly.
“I see it,” Myraden confirmed.
“We’re walking into a trap, and I’ve got no clue what it does,” he said. “We don’t have time to disable it, even if we knew how.”
“Then we deal with it,” Myraden said. She tucked her head and pushed through the wall antlers-first, and Pirin pushed through a second later. The gate was large enough for both of the Familiars to fit through behind them.
The wall of Essence shattered when Myraden passed through, flooding into rune lines along the floor. Pirin braced for the floor to drop out from beneath their feet or for spikes to shoot out from the walls. For a few seconds, nothing happened.
Then a low growl seeped out of the walls.
Pirin glanced around. The keep had a wooden floor, and this bottom level was as wide as the entire structure. The ceiling was low, and that meant there had to be plenty of loot up above.
But first, they had to deal with the trap.
A portcullis slid open in the far wall, and a wraith of coal-black shadow slithered out, taking the shape of a panther with a fluffy fox’s tail.
“A…shadow wraith?” Pirin tilted his head. He held his sword out in front of him. The Aremirs must have captured a wraith and bent it to their will. But instead of stone or scrap, wisps of shadow formed its body and purple dew filled its eyes.
It opened its mouth, revealing a maw of glistening black teeth. Wisps of purple escaped its mouth, and when Pirin inhaled them, they made him light-headed. He should’ve held his breath, but his instinct had been to engage a combat-focussed cycling pattern. He stopped after he inhaled a single wisp.
“A Nightmare,” Myraden said. She was holding her breath too, but wisps of purple gas fluttered around her mouth. She’d probably inhaled a bit too. “An advanced wraith of pure darkness. Physically weak…but that’s not how it kills you.”
That’s a lovely name for it! Gray chimed. She spread her wings and squawked.
“Poison?” Pirin asked. He rubbed his head. The lightheadedness didn’t fade.
“Illusion.”
Again, the Nightmare growled. Pirin raised his sword and charged. He formed a Shattered Palm in one of his hands.
He took five steps. With each step, the ground felt further and further away. The shadows grew longer, and the walls constricted.
Before he knew it, he was on the ground. Gray fluttered over, holding her wings out and fluttering.
“Face…” Myraden gasped, on her knees as well. “Face the illusion. Resist…”
They collapsed at the same time, and shadows overtook Pirin’s vision.