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Chapter 4: A Warning [Volume 2]

By the time Pirin and Myraden arrived in the village, there was no daylight left. Torches ran along the path, and candles lit the collection of hovels. Most were simple, wattle and daub buildings with thatched roofs, but there were a few stone halls, too.

They approached the wooden stockade that ran around the village’s outskirts and stopped at a gate. A few minutes ago, Pirin had watched the city guards shut the gate from a distance, but they were hopefully still nearby and could let in a pair of travellers.

Pirin approached the gate. It was just a simple wooden door, and he could probably knock it down with a single Shattered Palm or a Winged Punch. Gray was with him, but he hadn’t activated his Reyad, and he didn’t have his mask on—it’d make him look too memorable.

It was probably better to knock.

He tapped his knuckles on the wooden door until finally, a shadow shifted behind the cracks. A soft voice whispered, “Who goes there? Who approaches the gates of Prie?”

“Just two travellers,” Pirin said. “We’re here to purchase supplies, and then we’ll be out of your hair.”

The door shifted open a crack, and in the flickering torchlight, a man appeared. He was dressed in plain, dirty clothing, and his hair was so dirt-smeared that Pirin couldn’t tell its colour. Behind him, resting against the walls of the makeshift wooden gatehouse, was a rusty halberd.

“You wouldn’t happen to be airshippers, would you?” the man asked. “Lots of them passing through here lately…”

“We are, and we need into your village,” Myraden said, lowering her head pushing forwards. “We—”

“Now, not so fast there, sprite filth,” the man spat. Kythen, Myraden’s bloodhorn, let out a low bleat that sounded more like a wolf’s growl. The gatekeeper flinched, then looked at Pirin. “She’s an employee, I take it?”

“I—” Pirin sighed, then crossed his arms. “Is something wrong? We’re here to buy…stuff. Airship stuff.” He folded his fingers, repeating in his mind what Alyus had told him. “We need more envelope-wrap and titanwood, and we have plenty of money.”

“And you’re not here to cause trouble?” said the gatekeeper. “No brawlin’ in the taverns, you hear? There’ve been plenty of mysterious folk arrivin’ here, lately. During the day, they’ve been scourin’ the mountain, looking for something. In the evenin’, they come drink and carouse and make all sorts of trouble!”

“We won’t cause any problems, sir,” Pirin said. “That’s a guarantee.”

The gatekeeper pulled the door open all the way. “Alright then. But if I find that you’ve stirred the pot”—he glanced at his halberd—“don’t say you weren’t warned.”

“Thank you, sir,” Pirin said. He and Myraden walked through the gate, and their Familiars followed close behind, barely fitting through the gate. But Pirin stopped a few steps later, and looked back. “These mysterious travellers…were any of them wizards?”

“Wizards?” The gatekeeper gave a soft laugh. “No Dominion Kaless-Ost, for sure. But the Saltspray Clan—from a few islands down the ‘pelago—sent over a few folks to join in the search, and they’ve got a few wizards unclaimed by country. Dominion don’t know about them, sure enough, and I ain’t about to cause problems by tellin’ the garrison.”

“Thank you again, sir,” Pirin said.

“Can we keep moving?” Myraden hissed. “Please?”

They set off down the village’s main street. It wasn’t paved, but the mud and gravel had been packed down so much that it could have been. Small buildings crowded the path, with walls caked in tropical mosses and mud, and their hay eaves overshadowed the road. Pirin kept his head down and made sure his hood was nice and high, just in case the light pouring out of the windows shone on him.

But there wasn’t much to be concerned about. His hair had grown long enough that it covered his pointy ears, and unless someone examined his eyes, he could pass as a man. A scrawny man, but still a man. Besides, there were only a few villagers out on the path, walking between the houses.

“What was that all about?” he asked Myraden.

“The Dominion is not fond of Northern Sprites,” she said quickly.

“Why?”

“You cannot recall?”

Pirin tilted his head to the side, as if it might help his thoughts filter through. He vaguely recalled the Sprite homeland, Ískan, but that was about it. “Sorry. Apologies. I—”

“Ískan was destroyed. Burnt to the ground, the entire country. There are no other lands in the North who will take us, now that the Dominion rules all but Sirdia.”

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“Are you—”

“We are here for supplies, yes?” Myraden said.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. You are a king.”

“Sor—”

She shook her head, then marched ahead faster. They passed a few more houses, which were mostly inns and taverns, or general harbour supply sheds—there was a small harbour here, with a few rowboats and fishing barges. Then, they turned down onto a side street. There was less light here, except for a single building that still had candles burning past its windows.

A simple sign hung above its door, reading Airman’s Supplies. It was the best they’d get at this hour. Myraden threw the door open, then delivered a soft command to Kythen in a language that Pirin couldn’t understand. The bloodhorn folded its legs beneath it and settled down. Pirin looked back at Gray, and pointed at the ground right beside Kythen. “Stay.”

Gray chirped a soft tune, then dropped herself down beside Kythen.

Myraden had already stepped into the small shop, and Pirin ran to catch up. Once he was inside, he let the door slam shut behind him.

The inside of the shop was gloomy. A few shadowy, man-like forms clung to the far wall, hidden behind a net. One of them played a melody on an enormous, quarterstaff-length flute while staring directly at Pirin. Pirin scrunched his eyebrows, then averted his gaze before he drew any unwanted attention.

Beams of pale brown wood had been rested along one wall, and they didn’t even slightly under their own weight. Titanwood. Spools of white fabric hid behind the counter, stood up in a line like soldiers, and barrels waited in every corner—lyftgas.

Airship supplies, sure enough.

Pirin approached the counter. A bell rested atop a logbook, and he rang it. The store's clerk rushed out of a back room, her arms heaped with large wooden bolts. She stepped up to the counter, panting, and said, “Good evening, sir and miss. What can I do for you? And, if it’s not too much of a bother, please be quick. We’re almost closed.”

Pirin ordered what Alyus had requested, while Myraden patrolled the edges of the shop, her hand hovering over her spear.

“I’ll cut you a half-roll of envelope wrap,” the clerk said. “Take your pick of the titanwood. We just got a new shipment yesterday.”

While the clerk prepared a smaller roll of fabric for them, Pirin and Myraden picked out a few beams—the longest, sturdiest ones they could find. Titanwood wasn’t light, but it was lighter than most other types of wood, while being nearly as strong as steel. If titanwood trees weren’t so common, he figured it’d be much more expensive.

Once they picked out the best beams—three each—they returned to the counter. Myraden paid the clerk with Aerdian silver that she had stolen back on the Elven Continent. It wouldn’t be valuable for much longer, and apparently, she “liked to travel light, anyways.”

“Good evening!” the clerk called, this time as a farewell. Then, she looked at the shadowy forms lingering in the corner of the store. “Right, you boys. We’re closing up. Buy what you want and get on with it.”

As soon as Pirin set his hand on the door, ready to push it open, a pressure landed on his right shoulder—gentle and controlled, but firm enough to stop him. He looked back, but Myraden was to his left side.

Immediately, Pirin spun around, cycling his Essence and preparing to launch a technique. He came face to face with one of the men.

“Good evening,” the man said—and he was a man; his ears were short and rounded and he was bulky. His face was covered in grime, his hair was greasy, and his face was handsome (though a thick beard hid most of it). He wore his long staff-length flute on his back, but a black cloak covered everything else.

Pirin stepped back. Myraden tightened one of her hands into a fist, and her other waited overtop of her spear. Placing his hand on the door, Pirin prepared to rip it open and run.

“No need to be alarmed,” the man said. “You must have an airship, correct?”

“That is none of your business,” Myraden snapped.

“Ah, that may be,” said the man. “But I have become aware of the Saltspray Clan’s misdeeds though…happenstance, you could say.”

“Get to the point!” Myraden hissed.

“Alright, miss.” The man gave a smug grin, which, even beneath his beard, made his cheeks puff up. “They’ve planted an alchemical bomb at the air harbour, set to detonate tonight. They’ve been rather possessive of their find, here, whatever it is, and they don’t want any travellers from far and wide to find it.”

“Their…find?” Pirin asked, his heart racing first at the mention of the Saltspray Clan, then at the mention of a bomb. “What find? Is it something—”

Before Pirin could finish, a hand wrapped around his wrist. Myraden tugged him away and pulled him outside. “We need to get back!” she said hurriedly. “The Featherflight!”

The door slammed shut. Pirin, holding three beams of titanwood across his shoulders, asked, “Wait, wait, we’re going to take a stranger’s word for it?”

“If he is lying, we lose nothing,” Myraden snapped. “If he is telling the truth, we lose everything.”

Pirin nodded quickly, then dropped the beams. “Carry these, then—Kythen can bear them all, right?”

“He can.”

“I’ll fly. I’ll warn them as soon as I get back.” Pirin ran over to Gray and slotted his feet into her stirrups, then swung up onto her saddle. “Right, time to fly.”

Even without the Reyad, Gray understood basic commands—like a well-trained horse. Pirin tapped her flanks with the stirrups, and she hopped out back onto the main street. There was a straight shot ahead. He tightened his legs, and she began to run.

When the wind began to tousle Pirin’s hair, he laid his elbows down on Gray’s back, and she began to flap. With a rush of wind, they took off, scattering dust and gravel in a wake behind them. Gray’s talons passed over the stockade around the city. When Pirin pulled back on her nape, she ascended steeper.

Pirin navigated back along the shore, making a straight line to the air harbour. As they flew, he pulled all his Essence back to his gut, preparing his body to form his temporary Reyad. Whatever was happening, he would need the most power he could muster.