The Freesquare lingered in a state of anticipation. Each ear strained to hear more. But the chant had ended.

Stunned by the myth he now suspected to be an oral history, Gerard scrutinized their words. He grew more and more terrified, and realized the immensity of the thing that hounded them. He looked around at the young men and woman entrusted to his care. Any hope he’d been clinging to drained away like a tonic pouring from a bottle onto the stone ground.

Three giants?

Gerard struggled to comprehend how they could fight one. But three? And one invisible?

By the time the scrollsingers furled their scrolls and bowed to the assembly, Gerard had given up trying to plan. He merely imagined myth taking form from the words that had tickled his ears. He tried to piece this ancient struggle together in his mind and fill in the gaps.

Glim had most certainly encountered Algidon, the logical cornerstone of the Trine. And since he’d become mute, Gerard understood that somehow, Glim had spied the giant’s sorrow. According to legend—no, not legend, history—Glim should be dead. But he had not died. Why not? How had he withstood the father of essentiæ himself?

The giant’s power must be weak. It was the only explanation that made sense. But what had weakened it? The years were surely part of the answer. But not the whole answer. What specifically had weakened Algidon?

Another line pricked at Gerard’s memory. Glim could still hear, because he had not heard the giant cleave the ground with his hammer. Of course he hadn’t. Arrad had Clapping Hand. The witch had died to give it to Arrad, and Arrad alone.

Why? Why Arrad? Why now?

Gerard was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn't realize the elder mage had asked him a question. Glim touched his shoulder, and Gerard could sense the tremor that ran through the young man. Gerard looked at the Elder, who asked him again:

“Why do you ask us these questions?”

The silent crowd turned in their seats to listen. The rustling of robes filled the square. Gerard didn't know where to begin.

“How tall were these giants? How were they beaten? Where is this sling?”

“Who knows? This tale is thousands of years old! It is a myth!”

Arrad walked into the freesquare with the hammer. The beacons keened even louder, until the sound caused Gerard's chest to resonate, and those assembled clapped hands over their ears. The air crackled. One of the totems shattered in a violent eruption, ripped apart by the surge of energy coursing through it. The whining drone that had been pulsing through the air ceased immediately. Chunks of metal and stone arced high in the air and crashed into the rooftops of distant towers. Cascades of stone and dust rained into the streets with a clatter that rose above even the beacon's hum. Faint screams reached Gerard's ears.

Arrad spun around in a slow circle, hammer aloft, and a glower upon his face.

“A myth, perhaps… but here is Clapping Hand, which Algidon seeks as we speak. Shall I strike a blow with it now and put myth to the test?”

His words sparked a sudden panic. Thousands of sages cried out as one. They scrambled to their feet as one. They fled for the streets as one.

Or nearly as one.

A woman in a gray wool cloak calmly dodged the fleeing sages and walked down the ledges to meet them. Gerard guessed her to be about his age, with laugh lines starting to form at the corners of her eyes, and worry lines etched into her forehead. Dark hair with hints of gray curled into a cascade that framed her face. A red line of scar tissue marred her brow above her left eye. The skin around it shined, as though she'd only recently been wounded.

“Gasbags, the lot of them.”

Gerard shook his head ruefully. “May be. But we need their insight. And quickly.”

“These sages have been debating the origins of power for millennia. Now they are only interested in outdoing each other.” She shook her head and sighed. “Oh, don't get me wrong. Their societies do keep secrets, and have real power as a result. But a straight answer is beyond their capability.”

Gerard studied the woman. “Is it beyond yours?”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“Yes. I cannot tell you what I know. But if you come with me to the waters of the Dwimmerlaik, my tongue might loosen. The waters there are potent.”

“You are not committing with much certainty.”

“An elder god walks free. Certainty is a luxury from now on, wouldn't you say?”

Gerard laughed. “I would. And you are...?” He tilted his hand to inquire her name.

She only smiled in answer. “My boat is moored in the harbor. We should get moving. I expect the port to be crowded soon.”

She led them back through the town. Their flight towards the harbor was much different than their walk in. The first time, everyone had ignored them. This time, every eye searched them and the streets seethed with activity. Sages and messengers scurried about like a swarm of mice seeking the same bit of grain.

“It seems you've given them something to do,” the woman said to Gerard as they walked.

“Ruetessa, I think.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your name. I think I shall name you after Rueteus wort. Its leaves curl up whenever anyone gets close. It is used in love spells. And as a digestif.”

She laughed, but still did not tell Gerard her name.

Tomyko hissed ahead of them. He and Arrad took defensive postures, which confused Gerard until he saw a determined group headed towards them. Black capes swept the street behind their boots. They wore crimson mantles with a symbol of a torch in front of two crossed lines. Each bore a staff and a silver dagger.

“Knights Essentiæ of Incantus Troix,” the cloaked woman he’d nicknamed Ruetessa murmured into his ear.

One of the knights stepped in front of Arrad. He held his dagger casually, pointing at no one in particular. “Hold a moment! It is urgent we speak with you.”

“It is urgent that we not hold a moment,” Arrad retorted and pushed past.

A woman stepped sideways to block Arrad's path, fanning her black cape to take up as much of the path as possible. She held her dagger directly at Arrad. “That hammer is too great a burden for you to bear. We have thousands of years of experience investigating essentiæl artifacts. Should you not trust us to look into it?”

Arrad turned to Gerard and spoke low. “They have a point. I've no desire to dangle this lure under Algidon's nose any longer.”

Tomyko frowned at Arrad and sought Gerard's eyes. “Shall we leave Lhani mute?”

Gerard considered it. He suspected one thing above all: the hammer drove Algidon, and an army of Knights Essentiæ had a better chance of protecting it than they did. “Without Algidon dogging our tails, a cure for Lhani and Glim might be easier to find.”

Glim tugged at Gerard's sleeve. He touched his temple with his finger, then nodded. He touched his heart, then shook his head. Finally he touched his stomach and shook his head vehemently.

Arrad translated for him. “Glim knows the symbol they bear. His mind says yes, give these sages the hammer. His heart and gut say no. And may I say, Glim seems quite passionate on that last point.”

Ruetessa stiffened when Arrad spoke Glim's name. Glim saw it too, and watched her intently. She grew restless under Glim's accusatory, inquisitive stare. He put his hand on the butt of his sword and pointed at her chest, silently threatening her.

Confused, Gerard looked to Arrad for answers. Arrad shrugged.

“I have no idea what he is doing now.”

The cloaked woman sighed and reached to her breast. She pulled out a necklace with a peculiar curved triangle, set in a circle, surrounded by wavy lines. She kept it hidden from the knights, and replaced it as soon as she had shown them.

“Yes, Glim. My sister died to give you that hammer. Does her sacrifice not earn me some small measure of trust?”

Gerard faced the Knights Essentiæ. “Thank you for your offer. We trust our own counsel at this time.”

He tried to continue towards the harbor, but the knights fanned out to block the path. From the back of their group, a man with a neatly trimmed beard and a brown robe walked to the fore. On his shoulder perched a gray bird with piercing yellow eyes and a curved black beak. Three silver dots marked its head.

The bird ruffled its feathers and settled before opening its curved maw. Gerard could see a black tongue fluttering inside it.

“Perhaps you do nawt! Grasp how serious we are,” the bird squawked. The Knights Essentiæ gripped their staffs tighter, and some raised their daggers.

Lhani stumbled away from the man in horror. Gerard heard the ring of steel as Glim drew his sword from its sheath. Gerard laid a cautionary hand on Glim's arm and shook his head before turning to face the other man.

“Master Willow, I presume?”