The city of Naraya’s Dell was too small to appear on most maps, but it still was large enough to boast a single airship mooring tower.

Alyus had guided the Featherflight right up to the mooring tower. It was a tall stone spire with wooden piers jutting out from its top, like an enormous mace looming over the rest of the city. In the evening light, all Pirin could see was the structure’s silhouette. There were no torches or lanterns; there could be no open flames so close to the flammable airships.

The Featherflight was the only true airship at the mooring tower. The only other vessels were small cargo balloons—each a single gasbag, only strong enough to carry a few packages between cities, but nothing more.

As Pirin, Alyus, and Brealtod stepped out of the Featherflight’s gondola, a squadron of gnatsnappers circled down to a pier on the opposite side. They were letter couriers—gnatsnappers with a rider couldn’t carry anything heavier than that. Pirin’s heart began to pound as soon as their riders dismounted. They all wore bright orange gambesons. Aerdian military couriers.

Pirin pulled up his hood. There was a garrison here.

“So we get the rune-codes, then get out?” Pirin whispered to Alyus and Brealtod. “Where are you getting the codes? And from who?”

“Just a short jaunt to the Riversedge,” Alyus said. “We’ll get our rune-codes, then get right back out of there.”

“The…Riversedge?”

“A tavern. A legit tavern, too, not a speakeasy. It’s the nicest place in the city. We’ll be outta here before moonsrise.”

Pirin nodded. He took a single glance at the stern of the Featherflight, where Gray roosted. But she would last a few hours without them.

“Watch the ship,” Alyus told Brealtod. “Elfy, you’re with me.” He marched off towards the central stone spire of the mooring tower. A single spiral staircase ran down to the ground, and they followed it.

“So…who is this rune-code keeper fellow?” Pirin asked.

“He’s a businessman. Or…business-elf,” Alyus said as soon as they reached the ground. They stepped out onto a stone street. “Owner of the Riversedge Tavern, benefactor of the local sword-schools. Married to the King’s Advisor of Riverways. Quite the list…”

“And you know someone like that?”

Alyus put on a clearly-exaggerated pout, then snorted. “I’m not just a ruffian.”

Pirin cast him a doubtful gaze.

“Alright, fine, but I have suave friends. Who…also happen to be ruffians, at times. And I can put on a fancy act. With me being an ostal, people tend to buy it.” Alyus straightened out his tunic’s collar and adjusted his quiver. “Pick up the pace. It’s not called the Riversedge because it’s all the way up the hill here.”

They paused at the corner of a street. The city was built in a traditional Aerdian style: walls of tightly-woven branches, roofs with dark shingles, and round windows. Few buildings were ever over two storeys tall, unless Pirin counted the reaching, smoke-belching chimneys. He didn’t.

They stood at the brink of a hill. Down the slope, a couple minutes’ walk away, was the Senflow River. Pirin and Alyus turned the corner and walked down towards the shore. A wave of shimmering lights rolled over the city as the residents slowly lit their candles and lanterns. There were even a few lumawhale oil signs, glowing in vibrant colours.

They kept to the edge of the road. Horses and wagons trotted down the center, and elves scurried about in their wake, sweeping the street and hauling their wares inside for the day.

Pirin made sure his hood was pulled tight over his hair and ears, but no one around even looked up at him. They were all too busy to scrutinize him—even the sparse patrols of Aerdian soldiers, who helped clear the roads for the wagons.

When Pirin and Alyus reached the shore, they turned and walked along a small stone retaining wall. A layer of packed snow and ice made the ground slippery. Pirin cycled his Essence to help himself concentrate on his footing.

“Here, elfy,” Alyus said, nudging Pirin’s shoulder. “We’re here. Look up.”

They had arrived at a large, three-story tall hall. Glowing windows covered its walls, and a pair of open doors on the front terrace beckoned them toward the warmth.

Alyus led the way. He jumped up onto the terrace, then motioned for Pirin to follow. At the front door, an elf in a simple brown robe greeted them. As Alyus approached, she bowed, then held out a piece of parchment and a quill. “Welcome to the Riversedge, honoured guests, and good evening. May I take your names?”

“I’m here to see Master Lafessir,” Alyus said, leaning casually against the doorframe.

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She nodded respectfully, then said, “I’m afraid—”

“Tell him that Alyus needs him.”

“He’s not in, sir.”

Pirin stepped forward, but he made sure that he stayed in the shade. “And when will he be back?”

“I’m not certain. I will have you seated, and I will let him know that you are here to see him when he returns.”

“Do you know where he went?” Pirin asked, tapping his foot inside his boot. The sun had nearly set all the way behind the opposite bank of the river, now.

“I’m just a server, sir,” the elf said. “Apologies.”

“Drop it, for now,” Alyus whispered to Pirin. “We’ll get a seat, then ask around.”

The elf led them inside the tavern. It was warm inside, but Pirin kept his coat on. He cringed—it was a dirty coat, and tattered on the outside. If this was supposed to be a respectable tavern, the coat wouldn’t fit in.

But elves of all sorts filled the tables. Most wore plain robes and coats, and some were even dirty like Pirin’s was. They chattered amongst themselves, eating off clay dishware and drinking from silver mugs.

“The prices at the Riversedge are notoriously low,” Alyus told Pirin. “A front for Lafessir’s smuggling operations, just like his sword school. I doubt he turns a profit on the food anymore, not with the grain prices shooting up for the past few years.” He shook his head. “Point is, we won’t look too out of place.”

The elven server led them to a table at the back of the room, near a large round window with a view of the river. “I’ll be right back with the menus.”

“Take your time,” Alyus said. “Looks busy tonight.”

“Thank you, sir.” She bowed once again and scampered away.

Alyus leaned back in his chair. As soon as she slipped out of sight, he raised his eyebrows. “Alright, alright, your majesty, let’s—”

“Please don’t call me that.” Even if it didn’t make Pirin feel weird, anyone could overhear them. But it did make Pirin feel weird.

“Elfy it is, then. As I was saying, we need to talk business.”

Pirin tapped his fingers on the table for a few seconds, then said, “This Lafessir has gotta be somewhere nearby. We should ask around; someone has to know where he is.

Alyus smirked. “I can shake someone down if you’re too squeamish—”

“We don’t need extra attention. This city is crawling with soldiers.”

“Not this place, and not his sword school. He pays everyone off, and his status with the Advisor of Riverways gives him clout.”

Pirin stopped tapping his fingers on the table and glanced over his shoulder. Outside, past the window, a pair of elves offloaded barrels from a large canoe and tucked them into a grate beneath the edge of the riverwalk. Smugglers.

Lafessir’s friends were definitely here.

“Is there no one else we can ask for the rune-codes?” Pirin asked. The lantern hanging above their table swayed, and he shifted to stay out of its light.

“Unless you know someone else who’s sleeping with the Advisor of Riverways.”

Pirin pressed his hands flat against the table. “Well, let’s get to asking around, then.” He pushed himself up and turned around. “Split up. I’ll meet you back here in a few minutes.”

Pirin took the left side of the main floor. He walked to every table, inquiring if any of them knew where Lafessir had gotten to. Most responded to him kindly, but a few didn’t meet his gaze at all. A table of elves in dirty and tattered cloaks muttered something about Lafessir’s men burning down a farmhouse and stealing grain.

Near the entrance, Pirin reached a table with three robed elves. They all wore pristine maroon cloaks and carried polished elven swords at their hips. One of them ate from a plate heaped with sausages and steamed groats.

The elf at the end of the table looked up as soon as Pirin arrived, then said, “Looking for Lafessir, huh?”

“I…” Pirin narrowed his eyes and tightened his hood. “Yes, I am.”

“He’s probably at the Silversword School,” the elf snapped.

“Just a minute. Do you know—”

“We probably do,” said another one of the elves. He flicked the clasp of his cloak, where a small metal sigil hung—a circle of leaves with a sword piercing through it. That must have been the sigil of the Silversword School. “Look, whatever you want, Lafessir isn’t here.”

“At the school, then,” Pirin repeated, nodding.

He was about to turn away from the elves when one muttered, “Hey. Be careful, stranger. Lafessir’s gone a little off since the Aerdian King went missing. This whole country has. Sour like rotten milk. The School’s disciples? Second to smugglers, now. Lafessir’s current prize duelist is a criminal mercenary.”

“He just uses the school to train his goons, now,” the second elf added. “Dragging the school’s honour straight through the gutter along with him. Stay away from the folks in black cloaks—that’s the rule around here.”

Pirin tilted his head, then glanced back. He hadn’t expected kindness from the other two elves, but now, he couldn’t resist bowing his head in thanks.

He walked back to his and Alyus’ table, and when Alyus returned, he told the ostal what he’d found.

Alyus grimaced. “It’s worth following up on. I didn’t get anything useful.” Folding his fingers together, he hung his head. “Shame. Silverswords used to do good work, even if it was another front for Lafessir’s smuggling. At least there are still some of the good ones around. Or it sure sounds like they were decent.”

“Give me directions to the school, and I’ll go,” Pirin said. “You stay here and keep an eye out for Lafessir, in case he comes back, and see if you can’t learn anything more.”

“He’d help me more willingly than he’d help you. You’d be better off staying here.”

“And if he doesn’t cooperate?” Pirin pressed his lips together for a moment. From the sounds of it, he wouldn’t be willing to help willingly. “Out of the two of us, only I can look into people’s minds. And it doesn’t sound like this Lafessir has too strong of a will. I can get what we need, and I can make sure he’s telling the truth.”

“You don’t want to make a scene, elfy.”

“You said it yourself: no one’s watching the school.” Pirin shrugged. “At least, not the soldiers. I’ll keep my hood up and head down.”

“Are you going to fight your way in?”

“If I have to. If I don’t get the rune-codes, I won’t get to the library, and then I can’t fix my core. This is the only way.”