As soon as Pirin and Nomad climbed aboard the Featherflight, Alyus spun the wheel hard and fast to the starboard. The ship wrenched to the side, hull straining against the wind. Brealtod spun the elevator wheel, and the ship tilted upwards, angling just right to catch a new blast of wind. It carried them around the side of the island.

Pirin knelt on the rear balcony of the gondola, holding on to the wooden deck as tight as he could. His grip shook, and his wounds stung, and worst of all, the warships in the harbour far below were still shooting ballista bolts at them.

He couldn’t rest yet.

His Shattered Palm was powerful enough now that the wave of power it created could deflect or detonate ballista bolts nearly fifty feet away, but only when he swept his arm to the side and launched the power in an arc.

But it worked.

The three wizards deflected ballista bolts for a few minutes. Nomad did the most work, but twice or thrice, he held back, allowing Pirin and Myraden to deflect the bolts. It was probably another test. He wanted to see what Myraden was capable of when her life depended on it.

Pirin realized that he hadn’t seen her full range of techniques or abilities yet, either. She had no reason to show him. She remembered everything between them, and if they had been friends before, she must have shown him some techniques.

Pirin was too exhausted to keep track of the time. He stared back at the island and harbour until the seabourn ships were little flecks at the edge of the island—and completely out of range.

They staggered back into the gondola, then shut the door to seal off the whipping and whistling winds.

“So who’s this friend you brought with you?” Alyus grumbled. “I won’t say no to an extra hand, but we’re running out of bunks.” He lowered his voice, and leaned closer to Pirin. “And to tell the truth, he looks like a vagabond and smells like he could use a dip in the ocean.”

Nomad could hear them—of that, Pirin was certain. But Pirin entertained Alyus. "I’m sure we all reek…”

“Him especially so.”

Nomad, however, delivered only a respectful bow. “I am Castte Aremir of Plainspar, but you may call me Nomad.”

Alyus’ eyes lit up with joy—Pirin had told him who Nomad was before—and immediately bowed back, keeping a hand on the ship’s wheel while he did. “The boy found you, eh? Good for him! I was thinking we might have to turn around and head back to that Eane-forsaken island.”

“That island is the furthest thing from Eane-forsaken you’ll ever find,” Nomad said softly.

“Now, Antlers and Elfy are leaking on my floor,” Alyus said, gesturing back at them. “I’d appreciate it if they’d go get themselves patched up. Then we can figure out where we’re headed next.”

“For now,” Nomad instructed, “maintain a westward course.”

Alyus didn’t respond immediately. He turned to Pirin, waiting for approval.

Pirin nodded, then said, “I’ll…just leave you with Nomad, then. Just in case there’s anything wrong.”

Alyus groaned and rubbed his head. “Oh, so we’ve gotta babysit the powerful wizard who can probably erase me from existence with a spare thought? I don’t even have a nickname for him yet…”

“This is your crew, huh?” Nomad said, his face souring. “I shouldn’t have expected much out of an airship in this condition, though I will admit, I was hoping for something slightly more…regal.”

Myraden had already started climbing the ladder up to the crew quarters, and Pirin followed close behind. As he climbed, he looked down and said, “Just…don’t kill Alyus, alright?”

“I hadn’t been planning on it,” Nomad said. He smirked. “But if the ostal irritates me enough…”

Alyus barely flinched. “Eh, if he was gonna kill me, he’d have done it already. I’ve just gotta think of something to call him, ‘cause Nomad or Aremir or whatever it is ain’t too fun to say. Something about that greasy hair? And ‘That Common Scudgy Fellow You’d Find in the Corner of a Tavern’ is a mouthful…”

Pirin finished the ladder, letting Alyus fade away. When he reached the crew quarters, he said, “They’ll get along fine.”

“I do not trust him,” Myraden said plainly. She was peeling blood-soaked bandages away from her midriff, wincing with each inch they lifted.

He ran a hand across his chest, across his own wounds. His might have been a little worse, and there were more of them, but his Reyad wasn’t active, and he didn’t have to worry about the dangers of thin wizard blood. She was at a greater risk than he was.

“This isn’t exactly the first time you met him,” Pirin said, sitting down on the floor beside her—there was no need to stain the cots. “Why bring this up now?”

“I did not know who he was.”

Pirin gulped. “He…he can hear us.”

“I do not care. He is an Aremir. The Unbound Lord at the head of their clan rules over Plainspar and Seisse—”

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

“He told me who he was,” Pirin said. “He’s not with them.”

“He could be lying.”

Pirin shrugged. “Maybe he is. I don’t have any way of checking—I’m sure if I tried to look into his mind, I wouldn’t be able to crack the shell. If he wanted me dead, though, he would have killed me at our first meeting.” He crossed his arms. “The Dominion wants me dead, and if he was working for them, why take his time?”

Myraden scowled, but she had no response.

“I don’t know what he wants, or why he’s doing this, but I need him,” Pirin said. “Now…we have some patching to do.”

“Look after yourself before me,” Myraden commanded. “You advanced?”

“Yep.” Pirin pulled open his haversack and retrieved a roll of bandages. It was the last roll of his supply, and he figured he could make do with just a single strip—no matter how bad it might have looked, and no matter the scar it would leave him with.

A bucket of freshwater waited beside the stove—originally for cooking, but staving off infection took precedence—and he used it to clean his wounds before bandaging. The process was simple, and without easy access to healing herbs, it was the best he could do.

Only moments after applying a bit of pressure, the wound stopped leaking, and it barely left a red smear on the bandage.

“Embercore,” Myraden muttered. “If anything, you have thicker blood.”

“I feel…” Pirin raised his hands, wiggling his fingers in front of him. “I dunno. Something’s different. Those foundation Timbers just feel stronger. Everything on top of it is better.”

Myraden snorted. “Of course it does. It would not be a noticeable difference to a normal wizard, but you have seven Timbers. You will feel stronger because you are stronger. You must accept that now.”

Pirin dipped his hands in the bucket to clean them off, then shook them off. He fixed his temporary bandage job on his fingers, too, making sure everything was tight. But Myraden was right. Just like pushing Essence out to the reaches of his body gave a slight, barely-noticeable push of strength, it felt like the powerful foundation had given everything just a slight boost—while also paving the way for more powerful magic.

“I've been weak for so long,” he said, picking up the bucket and carrying it over to Myraden. “I can’t shake the feeling that something is going to come along and just snap my frail form in half.”

“It will take a while to come to terms with yourself,” Myraden said. “But make no mistake: building that foundation was on you, and you alone.”

He nodded half-heartedly, kneeling beside her. “Now, I’ve patched myself up, so you can stop fighting me, because I’m not gonna leave you alone until you’ve been fixed, too. I’ve recovered most of my healer’s training, and my early memories with Mr. Regos.”

She sighed, then lifted her hands away from the wound. “Just like the old days…when I was the one getting sliced up.”

Pirin dipped a cloth into the bucket. “I can’t say I remember that. But I’ll have lots of time to go looking.”

“You had better.”

“Now, stop talking, before you bleed out. We might have to make a few stitches.”

image [https://static.wixstatic.com/media/f3a882_5e221995337243e6a7d4250b55d3aeea~mv2.png/v1/fill/w_280,h_232,al_c,lg_1,q_85,enc_auto/embercore%20sigil.png]

Pirin stood in the gondola of the Featherflight, watching the setting sun out the front windows of the ship.

With five people inside it, the gondola was crowded. At least, though, there were no Familiars. Pirin had flown Gray back to the cargo hold, where her old nest waited, and entrusted her with the care of the sleeping crystal fox pup. Nomad’s raccoon-cat had also taken to making a den there, and it wasn’t watching.

“Right,” Alyus said. “I’m gonna need a destination. We can drift all we want, but at some point, we’re going to run out of supplies—especially with an extra mouth to feed.”

“I’ve already told you,” Nomad grumbled, “that I will not need much food, nor any water.”

Alyus rammed a broom into the spokes of the ship’s wheel to hold it steady. “Aye, and I told you that I didn’t believe a wizard could ever be powerful enough for that.”

Pirin turned around—he had been standing at the very front of the gondola, beyond the ship’s wheel—to face everyone else in the gondola. “Uh, Castte, did—”

“Nomad is fine,” he said. “I’m not fond of my given name.”

“Nomad it is, then,” Pirin said. “Did you have a destination in mind?” Pirin folded his hands together. “With a teacher, I could return to the Elven Continent. By the Eane, Nomad, you’re strong enough! You could turn the tide on the front lines of the Elven war.”

“Indeed I could,” Nomad said. “Until they got wise, that is, and sent the four Unbound Lords after me, plus a whole host of minor wizards. I may be strong, but not enough to rival all of them.” He looked down at the deck, lament shading his face. “Besides, the elven continent is a land you want to save, not to turn into a wasteland. I reckon a duel between Wildflames would have collateral damage, no matter how you slice it.”

“But…” Pirin stuffed his hands in his coat’s pockets. “We don’t have to reveal ourselves right away.”

“No, we wouldn’t,” said Nomad. “But if your goal is to advance, you won’t find what you need there.” He leaned forward on his staff. “There is a curse on that land, and there has been for generations. It’s what took out the previous generation of elven wizard-kings, and it’s what has been making elven wizards so rare, and more often than not, churning out Embercores. Magic works fine, and once you’ve gotten started, you can accumulate Essence, but the Eane is weaker. Good luck finding the resources you need.”

Pirin scrunched his lips together. That would explain a great many things about his homeland. “Did…you have a suggestion?”

“Seisse, Plainspar—the Mainland.” He pointed his staff directly to the west. “I know of old Aremir strongholds that we can scour for advancement resources, and we can take you higher than you ever imagined. We can forge you into the wizard-king you were meant to be, and when you return home, you can prove your power to your nation. You can reunite it and build a power capable of resisting the Dominion.”

“I hate to say it,” Myraden said, “but I agree with Nomad. We must only return when you are strong enough.”

“Will you…train her, too?” Pirin asked.

Nomad chuckled. “I’m not cruel. If she needs it, of course I will. But…I reckon she seeks her own teacher, one with a more compatible Path and knowledge.”

Myraden glared at him suspiciously, as if he had said too much, and too much correct. “I am not leaving if Pirin is in danger..”

“Then we’re sticking together,” Alyus said, and Brealtod hissed in agreement. “To Seisse it is! I’ll find us a port to dock at, and we can go from there! It’ll still be a few weeks, but I imagine you’ll make good use of the time!”

“Be warned,” Nomad began, “the Mainland is not friendly to us, and least of all him.” He tilted his head towards Pirin. “But we will turn him into a force to be reckoned with, and that’s a promise.”