The man behind Lafessir leapt onto the long table, drawing an elven sword as he pounced. He knocked a few silver dishes out of his way, then sprang to the next closest table, leaping into the light. He wore the same dark robes as the thugs with a maroon sash overtop.

He nearly toppled the second table when he pounced towards Pirin, snarling like a wolf.

Pirin stepped back just in time to avoid the blade’s tip, but the man followed up with a sharp kick. It knocked Pirin off his feet and sent him sliding across the hall’s stone floor on his back.

Pirin rolled over and stood up. Before he could think about the incoming blade, his arms reacted, lifting his still-sheathed sword and blocking the man’s strike.

For a moment, their blades locked together. The man’s elven sword made another notch into Pirin’s scabbard.

Pirin widened his stance, stopping himself from sliding back any further. He glared at his opponent.

A man, not an elf. He had no pointy ears, and his hair was dark and curly. With a sneer, he ripped his blade free and struck again with a brutalistic strike. Pirin blocked it, but the force sent him stumbling backwards.

Men had no homeland, not anymore. The Dominion had taken it all. They were mercenaries, scrounging for survival. This one had ended up as an enforcer for a glorified elven gang.

Pirin could deal with the dregs of a fallen sword school. But this?

He took a breath and locked eyes with the man. This was just an enforcer. He breathed a few quick cycles of Essence, charging a Shattered Palm. As soon as the channels in his hand began to burn, he leapt forwards.

He pushed the man’s sword aside with his sheathed blade, then drove the Shattered Palm into the man’s sternum. Blue sparks erupted from Pirin’s hand, followed by a flash of light and a boom that echoed through the entire longhouse.

The mercenary skidded back along the floor a few feet, his mouth gaping. Pirin shifted his grip down to the hilt of his sword, then flicked his wrist forwards. The scabbard flew off his blade and tumbled through the air. It struck the mercenary in his forehead. Again, the mercenary stumbled.

Everyone else in the hall shifted away with a gasp, clinging to the edges. “Embercore…” one of them breathed.

“Wizard,” the mercenary sneered, his voice dripping with a twangy accent. “But broken.”

“It’s a good thing I have this, then,” Pirin said, gripping his sword with both hands. His fingers neatly slotted into place.

Pirin couldn’t give the mercenary a chance to recover. He raised his sword and charged, forcing his arms to swipe downwards. It was stiff.

The mercenary kicked Pirin’s ankle and swiped upward, pushing him back.

Pirin inhaled slowly. “Let yourself fight,” he whispered to himself. “You know what to do…”

The mercenary attacked, unleashing a flurry of fast, uncontrolled swipes. Pirin’s legs carried him to the side. His opponent’s sword swished past his eyes. He stepped back to avoid the upwards slash that followed, then trapped the mercenary’s blade in the crook of his elbow.

Before the mercenary could rip his weapon free, Pirin twisted, wrenching the man’s wrist to the side. The man grunted in pain, but didn’t let go until Pirin smashed his sword’s pommel down into the man’s wrist. Bone cracked, and the man screamed.

The mercenary’s sword clattered to the ground. With an irritated flick, Pirin pushed the man down to the ground. Cradling his arm, the mercenary inched away.

Neat, Pirin thought. Once, h’d known how to do this all himself.

The words of the chancellor rolled through his head. Your greatest power is not to twist minds, but to control memory.

If this is what he could do when he could grasp his own memories…

But magical techniques that used memory were far off, as far as he was concerned. He had a core to fix.

“What is this?” Lafessir demanded, leaping to his feet. He pushed the table away from himself, sending the rest of the dishes tumbling across the floor. “You came all this way to beat my best duelist, yet you dishonour him by letting him live? You dishonour us all! We trained him!”

Pirin glanced down at the mercenary. “Sorry, but he’s beaten. And from what I’ve seen, I don’t think your school’s teachings were responsible for whatever skills he had—that would be his mercenary’s past showing through.”

Lafessir growled, but still set his hands back down on the table calmly. “You, a wizard, dishonour yourself by doing battle with mortals. Harmless mortals, at that.”

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Pirin shrugged. “Hardly harmless.” They were the ones who had attacked him with bare swords.

“What do you want, then? Showing off?”

“I told you. I want this year’s rune-codes. Specifically, for the riverways and lakes.” Pirin knelt down and picked up his scabbard, then tucked his sword back into it. He didn’t tie it back onto his belt. “What do the Aerdians use to prove the legitimacy of a cargo-hauler in restricted areas?”

“You did all this for rune-codes?” Lafessir exclaimed.

“I told everyone that I needed to talk with you. I even said I was a friend of Alyus. No one listened.”

Lafessir scoffed. He opened his mouth, lips quivering, as if he was about to let loose a string of curses. But his eyes drifted down to Pirin’s sword. He sighed, then said, “You know Alyus? What sort of trouble has he gotten into this time? I told him to stay away from wizards…he didn’t put you up to this, did he?”

“I’m paying him. He told me about you.”

“Oh…” Lafessir cleared his throat. “You’ll need five runes. The order has no power, except as a code. Doesn’t form an arcane chain, and the combination cancels each rune’s previous effect—so don’t get any funny ideas with it, Embercore.”

Pirin had no reason to think Lafessir was lying, but just in case, he stared into the elf’s eyes and cycled Essence faster. He held out his hand, keeping his palm outward. They knew he was a wizard, and they knew he was an Embercore. Hiding from these thugs was pointless.

After two tries, a misty gray orb formed in the palm of his hand.

“Don’t hurt yourself, Embercore,” the mercenary sneered. Pirin glared at the man, and he fell silent.

Pirin pushed his Essence to the palm of his hand and allowed Lafessir’s thoughts to seep into it. The elf wasn’t strong-willed enough to keep Pirin out, but he was strong-willed enough that Pirin only sensed glimpses of his emotions. Fear, nervousness, and shame.

But nowhere in there was any promise of truth.

“Be honest,” Pirin said, hoping to spur Lafessir’s mind into revealing its intentions.

His face firm, Lafessir said, “Varel, Tal, Mhesul, Opell, Khasdal.” Pirin caught a whiff of honesty among all of his thoughts. It wasn’t a lie.

“Thank you.” Pirin dipped his head.

“Just the rune-codes? That’s all?”

“Yes.”

“You’re insane.”

Pirin stuffed one of his hands back into his pocket, then turned around. He took a step towards the door, and the thugs inched back even further.

When he reached the longhouse’s doors, Lafessir called, “Embercore, I know what you are!”

Pirin raised his eyebrows. They had already established he was a wizard, albeit a broken one. “I’m leaving.” He pushed the door open a crack.

“Your majesty!”

Pirin stopped and let the door fall shut in front of him. He set his thumb on the crossguard of his sword and pushed it an inch from its scabbard, ready to draw it. Any of these thugs could attack at any moment. Maybe they would be hoping for a bounty. He looked over his shoulder warily.

No one advanced.

“An Embercore with techniques like that?” Lafessir snapped. “You’re Sirdia’s little failure.”

Pirin couldn’t linger any longer. He pushed open the door again and stepped outside. By now, the wind had picked up, and snow blasted across the longhouse’s pedestal. The thugs who had attacked him still lay strewn across the courtyard, and the disciples with wooden swords stared.

“If you’ve come to help us, you’re too late!” Lafessir shouted. Dishware clinked, followed by a short grunt. “Real king, false king, governor-king, whatever we have now…Aerdia is doomed! The Elven Continent will crumble!”

Pirin let the door slam behind him. He sprinted down the stairs, down to the Silversword School’s courtyard, then ran across to the outer gate. The disciples parted around him, and one of them even bowed his head. The rest muttered amongst themselves softly. Surely, they had seen the blue flash of the Shattered Palm through the longhouse’s windows.

Pirin pushed the School’s outer gate open. He walked as fast as he could, repeating the rune-code under his breath as he walked. “Varel, Tal, Mhesul, Opell, Khasdal.” He’d write it down as soon as he could, but for now, this was the best he had.

He walked back to the Riversedge tavern, keeping his head low. The sun had set entirely, leaving the sky a shade of deep blue, and when he looked up to the far side of the river, to the mooring tower, and laid eyes on the Featherflight, he noticed a thin layer of snow atop the airship.

He slipped back into the tavern without a fuss, and he found Alyus on the second story. He tapped the ostal on the shoulder, then, with a hushed voice, he hissed, “I have the code. Verified it as best as I can tell. Let’s go.”

“You…did?” Alyus turned around, then leaned against a wooden pillar. “That was faster than I thought.” He reached out and tapped Pirin’s scabbard. “Did things the hard way, I suppose?”

“Your friend wasn’t much of a friend.”

Alyus smirked, then spread his arms. “Aye, you shoulda sent me.”

“They didn’t even recognize your name. The place was looking a little worse for wear.”

“Damn. Even Lafessir?”

“Especially him,” Pirin said.

Alyus pushed away from the wall, then took a few steps past Pirin. “You know, I kinda thought that sword was for show.”

“Even after I held it to your throat?”

Alyus held up his finger, then opened his mouth and shook his head. “We don’t talk about that. I would’ve had you if you didn’t magic your way out of it.”

Pirin let out a soft chuckle. “Right. We…uh, we have what we need.”

They walked back through the town. A few patrols of Aerdian soldiers sprinted past, in the direction of the Silversword School. Pirin and Alyus made sure to keep to the edges of the road, in the shadows where the lanternlight couldn’t reach.

By the time they made it up to the top of the mooring tower, the sky was completely dark, save for the moons and stars.

They met Brealtod in the airship’s gondola. Pirin looked back and forth between the two smugglers, then said, “Alright, then. We got the codes. To the lake?”

“Aye, to the lake.”