Harpyn flattened himself against the cliff face, stepping sideways in tiny movements. More often than not, he held his breath, afraid that any tiny move might send him toppling over the edge and to his ultimate doom.

He worked his way inch by inch toward a spot that looked like it might be wide enough to be properly walked on, but even that was barely wide enough for him to plant two feet. Still, every step forward was a step closer to the bottom of the cliff, and he was already planning a celebration for when his feet his solid ground.

By the time he truly made it down, he was certain he’d spent hours on the face of the cliff. The sun was no longer hanging high in the sky, and he was getting a bit worried that it was going to dip below the opposite side of the ravine before he had found a proper meal. He was grateful, at least, that he’d managed to gather so much fruit in the woods, because he had at least a few bits left to nibble on while he looked around.

He’d also pulled out the sword to examine it more closely now that he was safe. Strangely, the thing didn’t resemble his old sword at all. The blade had started to rust and it was chipped in a few places. There was no signing of lightning bolts or anything else special about it. And he hadn’t heard or seen Osric at all.

“Just when things were starting to look up,” he lamented as he sheathed the sword again and started walking along the bottom of the ravine.

He didn’t really have a direction. From up on the face of the cliff, there had been nothing in particular to indicate where he was supposed to go. He just knew that he couldn’t stay where he was.

Once or twice, Harpyn tried to use his magic to move across the land, but it was no use. He never made it more than a few steps ahead, and his body felt weird afterward, like the magic didn’t settle well.

He was starting to feel a bit defeated when he came around a bend following the canyon wall, and noticed that something was off. For one thing, the path ahead of him had been completely cleared of trees and foliage. It was barren and rocky, and he even noticed that the walls of the canyon itself were covered in long dark marks scorch marks.

Curious, he left the widest part of the canyon behind and turned to follow this new path. Of course, he felt exposed without so much as a single tree to shade him, so he drew his sword and held it loosely in one hand as he walked. He hadn’t seen or heard anything move since he’d arrived, but that didn’t mean there weren’t dangerous beasts hiding nearby.

Harpyn walked for quite a long while, keeping an eye on the scorch marks as he went. Whatever it was that had made them was quite large and had left jagged scars in the rock. In some places, he found bits of the canyon wall that had fallen and he examined them for clues, but aside from a few bits of wood and debris, he didn’t find anything useful. It wasn’t until he clambered over a pile of fallen stones that he spotted something even stranger.

A wooden structure jutted out of the ground at an odd angle. It had a sharp point that curved up toward the sky. He eyed it from afar, trying to figure out exactly what kind of being would construct a building this way. It wasn’t quite a house, nor a tower like any he had seen before.

Remembering that he was in a strange land, and that his new sword was not nearly as spunky as the former one, he sat down on the stones for a good long while to observe the structure before he moved any closer. After all, he didn’t want to go sneaking up on someone and get himself killed.

Soon, the sun was falling and the sky turned a rusty red color, reflecting off the red and brown stones of the canyon. Harpyn didn’t want to be out here alone in the night any more than he wanted to surprise a stranger, but he saw few options open to him at this point.

With a sigh, he began picking his way down the rock pile, hopping the last few feet to the bottom and drawing his sword. He walked straight toward the wooden structure, moving out in an arc once he neared it so he could see if there was any movement around the side or back. Everything remained eerily still.

“Alright then. I’ll just take a quick look around and then I’ll knock on the door,” he said to himself.

But as he moved around toward the back of the structure, he quickly realized that this was no building, and it had certainly not been built this way at all. In fact, from the opposite side, he knew exactly what he was looking at, and the discovery was so startling, he felt his heart racing with excitement.

From this new angle, he followed the deck of the airship up at a sharp angle until the stern curved over and ended with a flourish. The ship itself appeared to have crashed a long time ago, leaving all of those dark marks in the canyon wall before coming to rest nose down in the dirt. Bits of the prow and the old deck still lay scattered all over the ground, obviously thrown a great distance during the impact.

Long ropes still hung, tangled between the ship’s deck and the old air bladder that must have kept it afloat.

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Sliding his sword back into his makeshift sheath, Harpyn grabbed hold of one of the ropes and began to climb, weaving his way up until he found a square opening cut into the deck where the old stairs had once led down to the cargo hold.

“Hello?” he called into the dark cavity, turning his head to listen for a response.

When no one answered, he heaved himself up over the edge and then dropped down over the other side, realizing a bit too late that he wasn’t sure how far he would fall before he hit something solid.

Fortunately, the drop wasn’t terribly far, but he landed hard on some kind of crate or chest that jabbed him in the side.

“Ow!” he cried, sitting up and rubbing at his ribs.

With the dim light from the opening above and a few cracks between the boards, Harpyn was able to see just enough to get a feel for the space. He tried to remember the spell Geor had used to create light. He hadn’t used it often, and Harpyn couldn’t exactly remember the words, but he brought his hands up just like he’d seen Geor do back in the tower.

“Lu-lumen?” he tried, blowing into his hands.

Nothing happened.

“Llumier?” he tried.

Then he remembered. Sitting up straight, he brought his hands up to his lips and said, “Lumiet!”

A tiny glowing orb appeared in his palms, floating just above his skin. It bobbed and weaved, and for a moment he thought it might blow itself out. He held his breath, focusing all of his energy on keeping it alive and it stilled.

“Thank you, friend,” he whispered to the little orb.

Then he lifted his hands and took a good look around for the first time.

He supposed he should’ve been prepared for what he found, but it still came as quite a shock to discover several bare skeletons buried beneath trunks of clothes. Apparently nobody had come looking for this ship when it went down.

Grimacing, Harpyn pulled some old bits of cloth over the exposed skeletons so he wouldn’t have to look at them, and then he did a bit more digging. There wasn’t much of interest in most of the trunks. Most of the clothes had been eaten through by bugs or critters, and there was no sign of any valuable cargo. It seemed that this ship had simply been transporting people when it went down, and while he felt a pang of remorse for the dead travelers, he was more intrigued by the ship itself.

Looking around, he set his sites on a cabin at the very end of the hold, the door hanging open directly above his head. If he could climb along the ship’s ribbed structure, he thought he might be able reach the doorway and pull himself up inside. Whoever had paid for the cabin must have been at least important enough to have something interesting in there.

He removed his makeshift scabbard and let his rusty old sword fall to the ground. Then he grabbed a couple of trunks and stacked them loosely along the side wall, testing his weight on them before he committed to climbing further.

Eventually, he found himself standing atop six wobbly crates and trunks, stretching himself to the farthest extent of his tip toes to grab hold of one wooden rib section. The first few were not so difficult to climb, but as the end of the ship tapered overhead, he found himself struggling more and more to find ways to keep his feet and hands from slipping.

Twice he thought he was going to fall all the way back down to the ground, or rather, the pile of bones and garments that he’d gathered below. At least he’d had the foresight to pile things up just in case.

But once he got closer to the bulkhead wall separating the cabin from the rest of the cargo space, he was relieved to find that he balance himself on a crossbeam and practically walk across to the top of the doorway, so long as he didn’t lose his balance.

Planting his hands flat against the wall above him, he moved in slow, even steps until the old wooden doorway was directly over his head. With one last look down, he bent his knees and hopped the short distance to hook his hands over the doorframe, and then he kicked his legs wildly until he managed to haul his body up and over the wall.

He sat inside, his legs dangling out the door for a minute while he caught his breath and looked around.

When the ship had crashed, the desk and chairs belonging to the cabin had slid forward, smashing themselves against the solid wall. There was also broken glass, presumably from old bottles of wine or perhaps ink. In the dim light, he could still see the blackened stains where the liquid had soaked into the wood beams.

Rolling over onto his hands and knees, he picked his way across to the desk, plucking bits of paper from between shattered slivers of wood.

“Lumiet,” he breathed into his hand, giving himself just enough light to read by.

The first several papers were difficult to read. The writing was small and loopy, and it too was blotted with whatever had spilled. But as he continued digging, he eventually discovered three pieces of paper that captured his interest.

One was a map. It was labeled Andrysfal, but it looked like no map he had ever seen before. He did not recognize the names of cities or landmarks. The boundary lines were all wrong. It even showed a huge section of the continent belonging to Sariza!

He studied the map for a long time, wondering who had drawn such a thing. But then his eyes landed on one thing he did recognize, and it sent a shudder of excitement all through him. Ashamsikunu. The magic well. It was there, on the map, labeled as plain as day. As if anyone and everyone knew just where to find it.

The second interesting paper was a journal entry from the cabin’s occupant. On the one hand, it was mostly just a list of complaints the traveller had with their journey to date. The food wasn’t good enough. The other passengers were rude. The ship was too slow and too noisy. But there, in the very last few lines, Harpyn found something vital to his investigations.

Alas, I should not fret so much. We are but three days’ flight from Olanyi. There, our real work will begin.

He pulled the map out, finding the ship’s destination and examining its surroundings. If this map was accurate, he could follow the craggy cavern almost straight into Olanyi.

And finally, just before he gave up his search to retire for the evening, Harpyn found one more piece of information that spurred his imagination. This was simply a diagram of this ship’s inner workings. There were detailed illustrations of every gear and rope, and eventually, Harpyn fell asleep right where he was, poring over the drawing until his eyes grew too heavy to keep open.