Her staff came out in front and she raised a small hand again.

“Are you one of the Albowesti’s minions?”

“Alba Westie?”

A Scottish dog?

“To think that they would follow me even to hell. . . .”

I shook my head.

“Look, I’ll explain later. For now — my name’s Talbot, I’m nobody’s minion, and you’re not in hell. Welcome to Barbican.”

True bewilderment greeted me.

“I’ve never heard of Barbican, where is that in relation to the Fey Plains?”

// SYS : I assume that’s a land in Aricae’ëth. //

“Um — we’re a bit far from there.”

Her eyes narrowed in judgement.

“Forget I asked. Talking to you is giving me a headache.” She huffed and lowered her staff, then in slow, deliberate speech, as if talking to a child, said, “Just escort me to the nearest elven settlement.”

ELF. SHE’S AN ELF. SHE SAID THE ‘E’ WORD!

I did my best to hide my glee but clearly my childish giddiness showed on my face in a bad way, because she recoiled slightly and crossed her staff and arms across her body, then dramatically turned away.

“Are you having impure considerations?”

Impure considerations?

“You look insane — dark but not drear, if you understand, rough around the edges. Blood on your clothes, carrying that spear like it’s a toy, sandals falling apart —”

“Hey, these are new. . . .”

“We need to find you a bathhouse and an elven sartorialist pronto.”

Despite myself, my eyes lit up.

I’d definitely take the bathhouse!

Though I didn’t much enjoy the prospect of sharing a steamy evening with the briny coral-folk. . . . SYS, what are the people of Ith-Korr like?

Bzz. But before she could answer —

“You’re having impure considerations again.”

Okay, maybe that time. . . .

“No I’m not, I’m . . . asking SYS where the nearest elven settlement is.”

“Your sister? . . . No, you . . . You mean . . .”

For the first time since meeting her, she took a small step towards me, and almost smiled. A real warmth brightened the faint starlight in her grey eyes. Failing to keep her fiery hair from her face was a fine gold band, and a thin tear-shaped black and gold chalcedony trinket hung from it in the centre of her brow, which moved and tinkled whenever she turned her head. She also wore little honey bee pendants on her chest, tied onto both clasps of her tunic, and gold and carnelian earrings dangled from her ears.

“You have a Woretion as well? Are you a prince?” Then she flipped a plait back and burst out in a tinkle of breeze-bright, carefree laughter. “No, of course you aren’t. But how strange you have your own Woretion.”

SYS, what’s this woman’s problem?

// SYS: It seems you converse with royalty. By the way, there aren’t any elven settlements; elves aren’t native to Barbican. //

Oh, she’s going to take that well. I thought I saw one on my first day here?

// SYS : You might have seen one of the fennec-folk, they often shave their ears. //

. . . I see. Well, I’ve a real one in front of me now!

“My Woretion is pointedly reminding me of regal decorum.” With an exaggerated movement that looked like it physically pained her, she gave a quick curtsey. “Th-thank you for saving my life”

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

“Well, I —” I started, chest puffed, but she then pointed an accusing finger at me.

“I refuse to do anything impure —”

“I wasn’t going to —”

“Actually, considering it — be quiet for a moment, Woretio — it’s quite an honour to have the opportunity to save the life of one such as I, so perhaps — yes, you should be thanking me.”

I just blinked at her.

She’s even ruder to her SYS than I am to mine. . . .

// SYS : Well, I beg to differ. //

“Yes,” she continued, elevating herself. A gentle whip of wind picked up around me, which sent leaves rustling over the clearing. Took me a moment to realise they were all being pulled into Lenya as she reached for the same type of magic she had used earlier.

Despite everything, I gripped my spear and took a couple of steps backwards.

“I’m not out to hurt you, Talbot. You owe me answers, at least. How do you know my name? [Command : Truth].”

There was a rush of ozone and a stink like bleach filled my nose, then shocked pain through my mind like a spark. Instinctively, I reached inside myself for a Skill, but the agony grew sharp and I was shunted out of the stream of my inner power. In that moment, I knew that I had to answer to her satisfaction in order to end the pain. Caught off-guard, I did just that, but managed to twist the truth:

“My SYS gave me the ability to see into people’s souls,” I grunted through a clenched jaw. As soon as I’d finished the sentence, the pain lifted like a sudden stormcloud. The elf princess’s face went faint for a moment and her eyelids fluttered — all this magic was taking its toll.

“A prodigious boon . . . In the Fey Plains, only a handful of highborns have been visited by a Woretion, they call themselves Systems — I assume you call yours ‘Sis’. I am the youngest to ever be graced by one of their kind.”

“I think everyone who has one calls theirs SYS, for short — S-Y-S. Also, that hurt. Don’t do that again.”

She scoffed and put her hands back on her hips.

“I shall do it whenever I feel you are going to lie to me,” she said, lips pursed.

“Look, I’m not going to lie to you,” I lied.

“So what is Barbican?”

“Barbican is a New World,” I said. She scrunched up her brow. I pushed my hair out of my face, finding myself slick with sweat. “A while ago, on Earth — where I’m from — these portals called World Gates started to appear. When you step through, you are contacted by a System of your own, and transported to a New World.”

She absorbed the information effortlessly; certainly better than any human ever had. I was barely born at the time, but we all learnt about the absolute havoc and mayhem that followed their appearance on Earth.

“Incredible! The ability to shift across planes is normally limited to princes and princesses! So this is a new realm, I suppose? Barbican, you said? And what should I know about Barbican? My Woretion — my SYS, we address them as Woretio — hasn’t heard of it.” She shot a glance to the felled lizard-men at my feet and shuddered, “Surely it’s not all so ugly and savage?”

“Well. . . .”

“I suppose it makes sense that a man like you would choose this place. From the dramatic squirm earlier, I gather that there are no elven settlements on Barbican.”

Perceptive — could be that’s the 17 Mind working.

“I’m afraid not. And from what I can gather, there are no World Gates that connect to your World.”

Her eyes fell in a touch of melancholy and she swallowed, lost in thought a moment. Then she pulled herself upright again, arched her back so she literally looked down on me, and breathed deeply. She spoke in slow, deliberate words.

“How do World Gates form?”

SYS?

// SYS : It’s not a System ability, if that’s what you’re asking. Think of it more as a natural phenomenon. //

Well, that’s a non-answer.

I shrugged at her.

“Of course you don’t know.” She patted some of the golden sand off her deep red robes and set her staff in front of her like a walking stick. “Well, in that case, I command — I humbly request you to bring me to someone at least a mark less . . . cittern-headed.”

I got enough from the context to know that I should feel insulted, but waved it away.

“Me and my companion have hired a ship by way of passage to Ith-Korr, I’ve heard it’s one of the largest cities in Barbican — you’ll be able to start your search there. The ship is a few minutes’ walk to the shore. Follow me.”

Keeping eye contact, I reached down to the ground and picked up my Bronze Spear of Blinding. She flinched, but remained at ease, and followed. As we walked, she stumbled and had to catch herself a handful of times; her boots seemed more suited to stepping around a library than trudging through a forest.

Back at the ship, Alator was waiting aboard with a thoroughly drunken Raik at his feet.

“Looks like we’re setting off tomorrow. Alator, is there any reason we shouldn’t sleep here for the night?”

Understanding my meaning, with not a care given to the newcomer, he leapt off the ship a good ten yards and landed softly on the earth, then knelt and put an ear to the sand and soil. Behind his closed eyes, I saw a yellow glow and gentle lines of golden smoke drifted out, before he stood again.

“There are many fiends prowling the area, but we’ve another day or two of travel and the coastline is now bruised by the Ribs as far up as Ith-Korr, so Raik told me before he drowned his woe. It’s best we set watches.”

I nodded and dragged the sloop further ashore, scraping its hull along the blue sand onto the golden soil.

Lenya cleared her throat.

“Excuse me, do you not have the sense to introduce yourself in the presence of a princess? I have never experienced so much boorish behaviour in —”

“Impetuous chattering,” Alator dismissed her. “You’ve picked up an imperious stray, Talbot, I hope she makes good company for you tonight.”

Lenya’s face turned bright red and a vein bulged in her forehead. She immediately rose her staff and shot out a hand, but managed to refrain for another few moments. Alator turned fully to face her, his face darkening. Panicked, seeing the next few moments play out in utter devastating tragedy, I jumped between them, took her wrist and lowered her arm.

“He’d kill you,” I whispered. “Without a second thought, without a moment’s hesitation, he’d kill you.”

Even over the distance, the sounds of the wind through the forest and the lapping of waves, I knew Alator had overheard my warning. In a rare manifestation of good judgement, he removed himself from the situation and began to walk down the coast, raising a hand.

“I’m going on patrol, I’ll be back in ten minutes. Control your woman,” he said. I swear I saw a wry smirk out the corner of his mouth.

Another fit of rage overcame Lenya and she tore her hand from my grip and tried to push past me.

“You’re not helping, Alator!” I called after him.