By the time the Red Hand arrived at the island, the sun had risen. He and his disciples stepped off their small rowboat onto the dock, where a party of three librarians awaited him. A cold morning breeze blew across the lake, and with it came a spattering of snowflakes.
“The heir was here,” said the Hand, facing the three librarians sternly. “He escaped from you. Why?”
“The heir?” The librarian in the center stepped forward. She was the only wizard among them—an elf with an owl Familiar. Such a rare commodity, and wasted in a library, with such a useless Path. “We’ve only had one visitor, and—”
“It was the heir and she knew it,” said one of the other librarians. “I request that Nalwen of Tallas-Brannul be put on trial for treason—for aiding an enemy noble.”
The Hand set his hand on the hilt of his sword. “What need is there for a trial?”
“Anyone is welcome to seek this library’s knowledge,” the lead librarian, Nalwen, stated. “Sirdian, Aerdian, emperor, lowborn. If they can cross the lake, they are worthy.”
The Hand chuckled, then said, “We crossed the lake, and we seek knowledge.”
A bank of mist had caught them halfway across the lake, and a wall of dark, bulbous clouds roiled away to the south. Misfalcons had swooped and clawed at the small rowboat, but they hadn’t been able to stop the Hand or his disciples.
“Your natural defences did little to weed out me and my unworthy disciples,” the Hand continued. “It allowed the heir, a broken, impotent child, to cross.”
Nalwen pulled her hood down, revealing an old but rigid face. Her gray hair had been tied up into a bun behind her head, and a scar ran across her forehead. “I didn’t ask for his name, because this library is open to—”
“Your underlings identified him, and they will be rewarded for their loyalty.”
Both of the other librarians stepped back and bowed. The Hand flicked his Hand, and on the signal, both of his disciples grabbed the arms of the two loyal librarians. They all marched up to the island’s first terrace, watching and waiting.
They would just get in the way.
“It’s improbable that you didn’t reach the same conclusion yourself,” the Hand rambled. “Tell me where he is heading, and I may spare you.”
“I will say it one last time: it was not my place to inquire.”
The Hand snorted softly. His breath condensed in front of him. He said, “I deem it traitorous that you did not stop him, and for that, I sentence you to death. Kneel and accept your fate.”
“Traitorous?” Nalwen spat, and her Familiar hooed angrily. “I am a wizard, not a slave to an empire across the sea.”
The Hand took a step forward. “You could not be more mistaken.” Nearly a decade ago, the Emperor of the Dominion decreed that Aerdia’s wizards were to be absorbed into the ranks of the Dominion’s own ranks of wizards.
If one of the Dominion’s wizards had failed the Emperor, they would’ve been killed. It was no different now.
The Hand ripped his sword from his sheath. In a single motion, he sliced towards Nalwen. She stepped back just in time, and the tip of his sword only left a tiny gash in her cloak.
Setting her foot down and clenching her fists, Nalwen took a fighting stance. Her foot struck the docks with such force that they rattled, and the air seemed to bend to her abrupt movements.
As a librarian, she would specialize in internal Fortification techniques—strengthening her mind. Her Assault and Manifestation techniques would be weak; unsuited for combat. But, chances were, she was a Flare, and she might have enhanced her body slightly.
He’d dealt with worse.
The Hand advanced, keeping the pressure with precise and fast swings. If he gave a wizard the chance to attack, they would always take it. Already, she had sped up her breathing technique—the Hand noted every rise and fall of her chest. She’d gather as much owl-aspect Essence as she could then put it into a deadly attack.
Two swipes later, the Hand landed a blow. His blade sliced sideways across Nalwen’s flank. A light cut; her enhanced body absorbed much of the blow. His blade barely cut through skin.
Before the Hand could attack again, Nalwen raised a hand. The wind thrummed with the beating of wings, and a gust of Essence-tinged air rushed out the palm of her hand. An Assault technique. If the Hand had not stepped aside, the attack would have ripped his flesh from his bones. As it was, it shredded a lock of his hair.
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He pushed her arm aside, redirecting her strength. It disrupted the technique.
Nalwen’s owl jumped off her arm and grasped onto the Hand’s shoulder with its talons. Its grip was tighter than an owl’s should have been. He grabbed it by the neck and threw it onto the docks, its talons scoring his flesh as it ripped free.
When its body thudded against the boards, Nalwen also grunted and clutched her back, though nothing had hit her. She felt the impact through the Reyad bond. She spun around, ready to deliver another technique, but the Hand ducked under the blast of wind and struck her in the gut with the hilt of his sword. She staggered back.
Now, the Hand loomed over her. In the early morning sun, he cast a long shadow over the librarian.
Unperturbed, she flung her sleeve outward. A feather of Manifested Essence flew out like a knife, like watercolour paint slathered onto the world. Its quill glinted, sharp and deadly, and it would’ve pierced his neck had he not shifted to the side. She launched another, but he cut it out of the air. It was pure Owl-aspect Essence, and it shattered into sparks.
“Are you finished?” the Hand demanded.
Nalwen reached out, air swirling around her knuckles, but she had exposed herself. Without even a heartbeat of hesitation, the Hand hacked off her exposed forearm. Her owl wailed, and she staggered back.
Her enhanced flesh resisted, but the Hand aimed his blows perfectly, and his sword always cut through. He had cut stone. A wizard’s body was easier.
Stunned, she clutched the bloody stump at the end of the arm. The Red Hand ducked away from the spurt of blood, keeping his coat clean, then drove his sword straight through her chest. Before she fell limp, he ripped the blade free and hacked off her head in a single stroke—after all, he had promised an execution.
Before her body hit the boards, he turned away and beckoned for his disciples to follow. “We have an heir to catch, and we’d better hurry.”
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Pirin woke up in the crew quarters, rising slowly from one of the bunks to the flicker of candlelight.
Last night, once the three riders had passed out of sight, Pirin had barely managed to make it back to the crew quarters and onto one of the bunks before he fell asleep. His mind might have been racing, but his body had been too exhausted to put up a fight.
Presently, he rubbed his eyes. It was impossible to tell what time it was in the dark crew quarters, but he felt somewhat rested. Rising to his feet, he plucked up his coat and descended back to the airship’s control gondola.
From what he could tell, they had no destination in mind, except to get as far from the Tallas-Brannul Lake as possible. But Pirin had to change that. They couldn’t drift aimlessly.
For a moment, he considered requesting that they drop him off immediately. He could travel on his own, without needing to pay an extra fee for anything, but where else would get an airship? Gray might be fast, but not for long distances. For a long journey, the Featherflight would get him where he needed to be faster.
“Mornin’,” Alyus greeted him. “Though it’s verging on afternoon.”
“Good morning,” Pirin said to both the smugglers. “Anything happen last night? Anything important?”
“Just drifting, elfy. Drifting at full canvas.”
They still sailed over the Fieldband, a wide strip of sparse prairie across the center of the Elven Continent. To the east, however, a set of hills interrupted the horizon. To the west, the beginnings of a forest crawled across the land in thin tendrils.
“I can keep paying you,” Pirin said.
Alyus looked back over his shoulder. At the moment, he held the rudder wheel, keeping the ship on-course. “That…that depends where you’re going. With what you’ve given us, we won’t be so strapped for cash, if you take my meaning.”
“But you could make more. I’ve got more to pay.”
“Destination?” the ostal pressed.
“I’m…not sure, not yet.” Pirin then explained the basics of his plan to fix his Embercore to Alyus. He spoke softly, as if there was a chance of being overheard, and ended on the explanation of the treasure catalyst etched with the proper runes.
“And umberstone trinkets are hard to come by these days, indeed,” Alyus stated. “But not impossible.”
Pirin’s eyes widened, and he was sure that any onlooker would have seen them light up. “You know a place where I can find something made out of umberstone?”
“Only nobles and Dominion soldiers are allowed to carry umberstone now—imperial decree,” said Alyus. “You could rob one of them and hope to grab some.”
Pirin’s head fell and he sighed. “So…either we piss off a noble, or we hunt Dominion soldiers and hope for the best?”
Alyus turned the wheel to the left slightly to compensate for a gust of wind. “Don’t make assumptions. Not everyone abides by the law, or the Dominion’s decrees. The Shadowlords keep treasure troves of ill-gotten goods.”
“Shadowlord?”
“Crime boss, undercity lord, whatever you want to call ‘em.”
“And you think stealing from them would be a good idea?” Pirin exclaimed. “I’ve already beaten up a shady smuggler’s sword school, but this? I’d be running around with a deathmark for the rest of my life.”
“No, not steal. Earn. Every year, there’s a race—a bird race—in the Bâllenmarch canyon. The reward is always a single treasure from the trove of Jasara the Low-Wight. She might have something crafted from umberstone for you—if you win.”
“Will you take me, then?” Pirin asked. “How much will it cost me?”
Looking over his shoulder, Alyus narrowed his eyes. For a few seconds, he said nothing. “Another thirty pieces. And we’ll have to stop halfway to resupply—it’ll be another few weeks south.”
“That’s fine, so long as we get there.”
“All up front.”
“Also fine.” Pirin dipped a hand into his haversack, fishing around for more silver coins. “But we’ll need to lie low and keep our heads down. The Hand will be after us.”
“And we’ve got a sizable lead—let’s not lose it.”