“A—army?” the company wizard asked.

Göttrur yipped. Pirin shut his eyes and focussed on the ostal’s thoughts flowing through the Whisper Hitch. He was trying to pretend he knew nothing.

The wizard flinched and rubbed the side of his head, as if sensing something wrong or feeling another presence. Pirin didn’t care whether the wizard knew. Images flashed through the link, and Pirin was getting what he needed, whether the wizard wanted it or not.

A storm-shrouded structure perched above the ocean on massive stilts. It was a round plate, entirely titanwood up to the conical roof. That was the only material that could weather the winds and hail of the storm.

Inside, reams of sail-fabric passed through machines. Workers rolled it out, and company wizards poured Essence into it. They’d known nothing else their whole lives—they provided Essence for Lady Neria’s machinations. They didn’t know what was being made of it. They poured it into fabric, or they permanently manifested it in shapes and moulds.

Pirin wanted to make sense of it, but he didn’t have enough. With the help of Göttrur, he parcelled them and pushed them aside.

“Last warning,” he said to the wizard. “Speak truthfully. I will know if you lie.” He took a step closer, but maintained his sword, keeping it pointed right at the wizard’s throat. “You feel the presence in your mind? That’s me.”

“Yes!” the wizard said hurriedly. “She’s making an army, yes! Very few people know about it, even among the wizards who serve her! They’re just conscripts from Greatsaad, and she whisks them away before the Dominion can get their hands on them. She doesn’t train them to be martial warriors, but only to manifest Essence or imbue certain fabrics with it!”

“Do these wizards do anything else for her?” Pirin asked.

“We manifest Essence pellets for her—permanent manifestation! Sometimes, we provide alchemical services for her.”

Pirin raised his eyebrows uncertainly, but as best he could tell, the man was telling the truth. “What do you do?”

“I’m just a shift manager,” the wizard said. “I have no business with the martial wizards!”

“Why would you travel with her on a mission like this?”

“My core frequency is unique, so steppehawks can track it and send letters to the airship.”

Pirin pulled his sword away a half inch. He needed to know more about the army. He asked, “How is she making an army out of thin air?”

“Cloth constructs,” said the wizard. “Weavelings. Fabric wraiths with high intelligence and a set shape. She has endless supplies of fabric from crafting ships’ sails, and an endless wealth of titanwood for their bones.”

At that, an image flashed through the man’s mind. Pirin locked onto it and drew it out, taking it for himself.

An enormous atrium sprawled through the center of the rain-shrouded facility. All across the floor, workers sewed, cut, and formed shapes from Essence-imbued fabric. Wizards with umberstone suppression necklaces carried pails of glowing manifested Essence pebbles. If Pirin hadn’t known any better, he’d have assumed they were gemstones. They took every colour imaginable, but together, they blended into a soft shade of brown.

“...And Essence to fill their systems and power them,” the wizard said. “They last ten years before their Essence stores run out, their runes fade, and they die.”

Pirin pulled back a little more. Still, the man spoke the truth. “How does she control her army?”

“The wraiths have very weak souls,” the man said. “Put a rune-code in the fabric surrounding the soul. If it resonates, it causes them immense spiritual pain. It’s like whipping a slave. They act under threat of punishment.”

“How does she make it resonate?”

“The Control Dagger, she calls it. She feeds a rune-code on the blade with a store of previously manifested Essence—like a Smoke—and it resonates with the correct tune to cause the Weavelings pain.”

Pirin exhaled. Still telling the truth, but this time, he couldn’t even sense a flash of this so-called Control Dagger in the man’s memory. He hadn’t seen it before, ever.

“Where is the Control Dagger?”

“She keeps it constantly mobile on company-owned seaborne warships.”

He wasn’t telling Pirin everything he knew. Pirin narrowed his eyes and brought his sword closer. “Where?”

The wizard raised his hands. “The warship should be in transit between the coast of Esybia and the facility!”

Pirin was about to ask where the facility was, but before he could, someone tapped gently on the small room’s door. A voice seeped through the thin wood and fabric walls. “Is everything alright in there, Mr. Besseau? We’re coming in!”

Pirin was out of time. He leapt over the table and spun around the back of the wizard, then slammed the pommel of his sword down atop the wizard’s head. The wizard collapsed. He didn’t have an enhanced body yet, and he hadn’t had any practice with techniques—it didn’t take much effort to knock him unconscious.

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The door swung open, and two guards marched in, wearing white coats and light armour. At the sight of Pirin, they both drew short swords. “Thief!” one shouted. “Thief!”

They were both mortals. Pirin unleashed a Winged Fist and launched them backwards. One flew crashed through the thin doorframe and another ripped through the fabric wall.

Someone had to have heard that. The time for stealth was over. Pirin sheathed his sword, then said, “Gray, we’re coming back, and we’ve got people behind us.” He pushed it through their Reyad with intent.

What did you do? Gray exclaimed. Where’s the fancy big burny guy?

“Lord Three?”

Yeah, him!

Pirin blinked. Lord Three wasn’t a fire wizard, but the stage was called Wildflame. “I don’t know where he is. Where’s Nomad?”

He’s still down on the axial catwalk! He’s sitting cross-legged and kinda just…I dunno, is he sleeping?

“He’s veiling Lord Three’s senses, but that won’t do us any good now. Make noise! Get his attention!”

That, I can do!

Pirin pulled his mask off and activated the Fracturenet. If anyone ambushed him, he’d need the strength of the fortification technique. Then he sprinted out of the wizard’s chamber and into the hallway. This had to be the ship’s crew quarters. Already, three more mortal guards ran out into the hallway.

Pirin flung one up through the roof with a close-ranged Shattered Palm, then launched an arc of splintering pure energy down the hallway behind him. It smashed into the two other guards.

He sprinted to the end of the hallway and arrived at the stairs. Two guards with longbows waited for him, arrows nocked and bowstrings drawn. They fired as soon as Pirin stepped into sight, and he raised his arms to shield his face and chest—their prime targets.

The arrows glanced off his Fracturenet-enhanced forearms, leaving only light scratches. He sprinted past them. As he passed, he grabbed one by the collar, and with the strength of the fortification technique, threw the man through the thin wood of the stairs. They shattered, and both archers fell through the hole.

He sprinted up the stairs, winding back and forth until he reached the axial catwalk. Another pair of guards sprinted toward him, but Pirin ducked under their sword swipes, navigated to the other side, then blasted a Shattered Palm into their backs and flung them down the opposite direction.

He sprinted toward the bow of the airship, where the ladder to the upper platform was. Nomad was already standing, and he held his staff at the ready. “What did you do? Your ‘snapper is squawking and nattering up there!”

Pirin skittered to a stop at the base of the ladder and looked up. “Gray! Are you alright?”

Just getting Nomad’s attention! she replied

“I told her to get your attention,” Pirin explained. “I’ve been spotted, and I made a bit of noise. No amount of veiling can stop the guy from hearing guards shouting, right?”

Nomad shook his head. “We need to leave. Did you get what you needed?”

“I can work with it, as long as Myra gets the flight plans or figures out where we’re going. Have you seen her?”

Nomad stepped back and tilted his head to the side. Myraden sprinted down the axial catwalk from the opposite direction, from the bow, and she carried a scroll of parchment in her hands. A trio of guards chased after her, waving swords and shouting. She launched a blast of crimson bloodhorn Essence back at them.

“Yep,” Pirin said. “Time to go.”

Pirin! Gray exclaimed through the Reyad. Wait! Don’t come up!

“Huh? No, Gray, we’re coming! Are you in trouble?”

A little!

“I’m coming, I promise!”

He climbed up the ladder, taking the rungs two at a time. The Fracturenet helped him climb faster, but halfway up, the fortification technique bled his pure-aspect Essence dry. He slipped his mask back on and manipulated the air to help himself climb faster.

When he reached the upper platform, he spun around, looking for Gray.

She stood on the opposite side of the platform, but someone stood beside her. Pirin blinked, adjusting to the bright outside light. It was an aging ostal woman—a mortal—in a white coat. She held a dagger up to Gray’s throat.

“Don’t move another step, or I’ll slit the beast’s throat,” the woman said. “You’re the bird’s wizard, hm? You’ll die too.”

Nomad and Myraden both surfaced beside Pirin, and they shared a glance. Pirin raised his hands.

“Ah, Nomad,” she said. “I’ve heard many things about you. Wasn’t expecting to see you here, on my airship.”

Nomad sighed. “Lady Neria. It’s a displeasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Quite rude,” Neria said. “Are you three working with the Red Hand? Did he send you to stop me?”

It’d make enough sense. After all, if she was opposing the Emperor, surely the Hand would stand in her way.

But they weren’t working with the Hand.

Pirin, Gray said in his mind, she’s stalling you. She’s waiting for Lord Three.

Pirin took a step forward. “We aren’t—”

Lady Neria clicked her tongue and pressed her dagger closer to Gray’s neck feathers. “Ah, ah. No closer.” Pirin scrutinized the weapon, searching for runes. If it really was the Control Dagger, he’d see runes.

But there was nothing. It was just a plain dagger.

“I wouldn’t put such treachery past the Hand’s old teacher,” said Lady Neria. She stared intently at Nomad. “But perhaps not. Perhaps the teacher has his own reasons. We will get every morsel of information we need out of you in due time…” She smirked and ran her finger down the blade of her dagger. “Is that…a black-haired elf, hm? Oh, Nomad, which rebel have you decided to train this time? A rebel king?”

“Have we met before?” Nomad demanded.

“Not once,” said Neria confidently. “But I’ve done my research. If this is the last wizard-king, then—”

Nomad stretched out a hand and clenched his fingers. Wind whistled around Lady Neria’s arm, pulling it away from Gray’s neck. Then he wrenched his arm to the side, and with a powerful pull of air, threw Lady Neria off the ship. “Myraden. Now!”

She twirled her spear, then threw it like a javelin downward. It ripped through the envelope beside the upper observation platform and pierced through the gasbags below. She held her hand out, and in a few seconds, it rushed back into her grip.

“Give Lord Three a few problems to deal with!” Nomad said. “Let’s hope that keeps him off us while we escape.”