Pirin spent the rest of the night and the majority of the next day reading. His eyelids were heavy, and no matter how fast he read, he couldn’t stay focussed on the books. His pursuers were coming, and he needed to leave before they arrived.

He had almost made it through the stack. Entire chapters were useless to him, and there were others that, while they might have contained helpful knowledge, he didn’t have the time to do anything more than skim. He devoted his time to the sections about Reyad bonds and the connection between wizards and their Familiars.

“You are Lord of Minds and Memories, are you not?” Nalwen asked. “Can you not keep yourself awake and lucid, or absorb the information any better than this? You should not need my Path to manage half of what I can.”

Lord of Minds and Memories. Well, that was a new title he hadn’t heard of yet.

“Unless I can borrow some of your non-drowsy thoughts, no,” he told the librarian. “Not yet, at least. Though I don’t know the full extent of my arsenal.”

“That will depend on your Path.”

As soon as she finished, he flipped the last page of a book over. It was done. He snapped it shut, then exhaled and stood up. “I…I really should be going.”

“Do you mean to say you have a solution?”

“I’ve learned much about this—”

“That is not a solution, your majesty.”

Pirin glanced over his shoulder. The sun was starting to set again. Alyus and Brealtod had to be getting anxious and jumpy, and Gray? He hoped she had gone outside to scavenge for seeds in the snow, at least…

But, with Nalwen’s knowledge, he might be able to cement a plan. He could spare a few more minutes.

“Without Ichor in my body, my body will naturally reject all magic,” he said. “No matter how twisted and messed-up my Essence channels are. So I need to bind Ichor to my blood first.”

“That is not as easy as you make it sound. Even if you poured Ichor into your blood, your Embercore body would naturally filter it out.”

“I would need runes to keep it bound. A runebrand, or tattoo, that—”

“Etching the runes onto your body would not help, not even if you covered yourself in Khallz and Núm. Runes on bodies do not function unless you already have Ichor in your blood. Your Essence wants to take the path of least resistance—your channels.”

String and Together.

“No…” Pirin whispered. “You’re right.” He picked up a book from deep within the stack, then held it up to her. “But here, it said runes etched into certain treasures—Umberstone, mostly—that have direct contact with the skin would function the same as a rune scarred into flesh. Only, it’s not in the flesh. It’d be conducting it out of my body, like I can do with regular runes.”

“That would work, yes. You would need a piece of Umberstone, and its use in spirit alchemy makes it incredibly rare. Do you know what it looks like?”

“Not really.”

“It is dark brown, like tree bark, with the texture of glass. When you tap it with your finger, it will chime like a bell.”

Pirin waited to see if she would say anything else. She didn’t, so he continued: “Then, once I have my Ichor situation sorted, I need to get Gray a core. She won’t form one naturally, so I’ll have to find a way…and once I do, I’ll have a crutch. I can create a stable cycling loop between myself and Gray. I can break through into Spark and keep advancing from there.”

“I do not know how to grant an animal a core purposefully. Most Familiars’ cores begin forming when their wizard makes a bond with them. It is an automatic process that…I am not sure can be replicated.”

“I’ll find a way,” Pirin said. “Thanks for your help, Ms. Nalwen, ma’am.”

“You are welcome,” she said. “Before you go, I have one last book for you, but you don’t have to read it right away.” She held a small rectangle of rough parchment, bound in orange leather. After a second, she pressed it into Pirin’s hands. “A Path manual. You may find it helpful.”

He looked down at it. Small embossings littered the cover, depicting a sparrow in various stages of flight. In the center, in simple black letters, were the words Path of the Common Sparrow.

“Sparrows are the closest birds to gnatsnappers, in everything but size,” said Nalwen. “You may find it helpful. No one else who has visited this library has.”

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Pirin bowed his head. “Again, thank you.”

She waved her hand towards him like she was brushing dust off a counter. “Now, shoo. Before you get yourself caught. You’re no longer under my protection.”

“Will…will you come with me?” Pirin stepped closer to the old woman. “You’ve helped me. That’s treason in the eyes of the Aerdians, right?”

“I am too old for that, boy,” Nalwen said. “My service was to this land altogether. I will deal with the fallout as I always have. You are not the first ruffian that I have aided.”

“With your Familiar, will you live forever?”

“My magic may have extended my life for a decade, maybe two. Not enough to make me immortal. I am nearing the end of my days, no matter what happens.”

Pirin still wanted to try to convince her to come with them, but he couldn’t delay any longer. He gripped the Path manual tight in his hands and ran out of the hall. The cold night air did wonders for his tired eyes, but there wasn’t much that could unscramble his brain after nearly two whole days of nothing but reading. Maybe sleep could do the trick, but he had to get back to the Featherflight for that.

He crossed the open courtyard and ran back into the lower library. Down and down, he sprinted through the halls and corridors of the mountainous island, towards the foyer where he left Gray.

About halfway down to the shore, the librarians caught on. Two tried to block his path, brandishing spears. For protecting the library, he supposed, but they’d work well enough for enemies of the state. Hoods hid their faces, and Pirin couldn’t see their eyes, but even if he could have, he was too tired to use a magical technique.

Instead, he drew his sword. The silver blade gleamed in the candlelight.

These librarians weren’t wizards; they were old men and women without any sort of martial prowess. He hacked the spearheads off and pushed them aside, then kept running.

At the base of the island, he found Gray fending off a librarian on the docks. The gnatsnapper flapped, clawed, and pecked at a hooded man—until Pirin pushed him off the dock from behind. “Ready to fly?” he asked, sheathing his sword and setting a hand on Gray’s back.

She chirped, then knelt down to let him up onto the saddle. He climbed in and, fitting his feet into the stirrups, he tightened his knees. Gray ran along the dock. Once they were moving fast enough, she flapped her wings.

They shot up into the sky. Pirin guided her toward the Featherflight, towards the open cargo hold and hanging cargo platform. Gray slowed enough on the ascent that she could cling onto the platform without needing a runout.

The moment Pirin slipped out of Gray’s saddle, the platform rose up into the envelope—above, Brealtod was spinning the capstan. The dragonfolk hissed quickly and somewhat accusingly at Pirin. A moment later, Alyus ran to the dragonfolk’s side and called, “That took you a while, elfy! And…oh, Eane-forsake it, did you sleep at all? You look awful.”

“Not once,” Pirin grunted. As soon as the platform was high enough, he leapt off onto the lattice. “We need to get going. Now.”

“What’s the rush? Did you find what you were looking for?”

“I did, and Aerdia knows too. One of the librarians sent out a messenger. They’ll be coming for us—if not the bird patrols, then the rest of the Aerdians.”

“Doubt the patrols would know,” Alyus said. He set a hand on the ladder and began to climb back up through the airship. “They only reach a village once a week. And thank the Eane for that, ‘cause it’s a clear night, and they’d spot us right away.”

“Clear night means no mistfalcons or lightning wraiths, right?” Pirin asked, following Alyus up the ladder.

“Sure, but also nothing to hide in.”

The three made their way back to the gondola. They unhooked the airship, and set it free to drift. Pirin held his hand out, catching a wind from the northeast. It’d carry them to the southwest, deeper into the heart of Aerdia.

“Now, where are we going?” Alyus demanded, hauling a map off the wall and tapping his finger against it. “I got you where I said I would, so I’d best find a place to drop you off.”

“Let’s just get off this lake,” Pirin answered. But the ostal was right—the deal had been fulfilled—so Pirin reached into his haversack. He tucked his Path manual away into it, then retrieved the second half of Alyus’s payment.

Plopping the pouch of coins into Alyus’ hand, Pirin said, “Here. But if you’d be kind enough to bring us to safety—”

“ ‘Course. I’m not a savage.”

For the next two hours, they sailed to the southwest limit of the lake. The shoreline here was a steep, rocky cliff burnished with snow and topped with the copses of scraggly trees. They dumped ballast to rise higher, and they loosened the ballonets just a little.

Every minute, Pirin yawned, and he feared he’d fall asleep standing up. He stayed awake only by cycling his Essence as fast as he could, trying to convert his breathing techniques into a habit and focus his mind.

They drew closer to the shore, and here, a network of snowy roads and trails ran across the land from west to east.

A caravan of three riders galloped toward the lake.

Their arms were empty, and their horses had no saddlebags, only glinting ambersteel barding.

Pirin’s eyes widened. Two of the riders wore white cloaks, and their Familiars perched on their backs—a griffon and a boar. The other wore a black coat and a crimson glove. The Red Hand and his wizards.

“Snuff the candles,” Pirin whispered. “Lights out! Now!”

But it was too late. The Hand, riding at the front of the group, looked up. Up until now, the Hand couldn’t have known that Pirin was aboard an airship. Now, every large port in Aerdia would be on the lookout for a vessel like the Featherflight—once word spread.

Pirin ran to the rear of the gondola and leaned out into the open air, peering downward. The three riders saw them, and for a moment, they paused. They looked at each other, and Pirin wished he could have heard what they said. The gusting wind made it impossible.

For a moment, he thought they’d turn and chase the airship. Their horses could gallop nearly as fast for a short time, and the griffon could fly. Whether it could do any damage to the Featherflight was another question.

But the three riders stayed perfectly still, no matter how far away the airship sailed. After a few minutes, they passed out of sight entirely.

After another few minutes, Alyus whispered, “That can’t be good.”

Pirin didn’t disagree with the sentiment.