“A health potion?” Finlay raised the bottle to the sun. Granules of brown impurities floated in the red liquid.

“If you’re wondering where most of it went,” Cogwyn said, “I poured it into the dying bullzard’s mouth before Trance got around to healing it. He prioritized the terror bird Beor knocked out. The bottle’s opening didn’t touch any part of the bullzard, I swear my soul to the Pillars of Truth.”

“Not a problem with me. I’m not squeamish.”

“You should also know that potion is bottom-of-the-shelf stuff—I mean low quality and cheap. I got that from the top shelf of the store. It won’t ruin your stomach, but it’ll surely spoil fast after opening—a couple of days and it’ll be rancid. I should’ve given it to you in the forest. Drink it if you’re still feeling pain.”

“After getting robbed by bandits, it’s nice to experience kindness.” Finlay thumped his chest with a fist. “Thank you.”

Cogwyn looked away, scratching his head. “Uh, I don’t know about kindness. I’m just treating others how I hope to be treated. Everything comes to a circle. It’s one of the Rokhonite’s Pillars of Congruence.”

“Speaking of Rokhonites—” Finlay pointed behind Cogwyn “—we passed a stall selling items slotted with Soulhearts. Rokhonites wield Adorned weapons, right? I apologize in advance if I say something offensive to your culture.”

“Yeah, we use them.” Cogwyn presented the hilt of the dagger by his hip. “Just ask away any curiosities you have about Rokhonites. I’m not going to be offended. The Pillar of Peace says, ‘Let your heart not burn with anger from those who wish you no ill,’ or that’s the gist of it. Most of our Pillars are just common sense, so I don’t need to memorize the exact words.”

“The auction hasn’t started yet. Maybe you can teach me something about Adorned weapons? After surviving a robbing and a stomping, I think I should learn to protect myself.” Protect myself in the tournament, I added in my head.

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The Adorned weapons merchant beamed as Cogwyn approached, his curly mustache dancing above his wide smile. A Rokhonite, a sure buyer, he must’ve thought. Flanking the merchant’s right was a muscular Dagalan, a reptilian humanoid with a blue and white Soulheart. Expensive items for sale needed guarding, and Dagalans made a name for themselves as loyal bodyguards. Odd to see one in Worwick though. The Principality of Gilders didn’t ban non-humans, but it was far deep into human-controlled lands that non-humans rarely traveled here or had any reason to do so.

“The Pillars that hold the world grant us a harmonious day, my favorite customer.” The merchant, speaking in Angloise with a local accent, used a formal Rokhonite greeting. He bowed as low as his expansive belly would allow.

Cogwyn chuckled. “This is the first time we’re talking and I’m already your favorite customer?”

“You most definitely are, fine Rokhonite sir. What can I, Baltazar, the most reliable merchant in all of Worwick, help you with?”

“I’m looking for a beginner’s Adorned weapon for my friend here.” Cogwyn tilted his head at Finlay. “He’s interested in learning how to use one. He feels that a man should be ready to defend himself and his woman.”

Finlay raised a brow. “I never said—”

“It’s easier to train using an Adorned weapon,” Cogwyn pressed on in a loud voice, “than to become a Warden and meld with a sternial. Maybe you have something affordable for us?”

“Those pesky and sacrilegious sternials. An affront to the world’s natural order, as taught by the Enlightened Rokhon.” Baltazar ran his chubby hand over the daggers on the right side of the table and chose the plainest-looking one. He held the blade with his fat fingers ornamented with extravagant rings that Finlay half-suspected could no longer be removed. Presenting the handle to Cogwyn, the merchant said, “I suggest a straight-edged dagger, dwarven-forged, simple and reliable—the best option for your beginner companion.”

“True. A dagger’s elderbone veins are simple and the surface area is narrow. Easy to infuse with anima.” Cogwyn peered at the orange crystal flecked with black at the base of the blade. “What’s the Soulheart on this? Fire newt?”

“A very discerning eye you have. That’s why you’re my favorite customer. With your eloquent guidance, Rokhonite sir, your friend can easily control a fire newt Soulheart, given that it’s a mere Tyro Grade. Heat the blade red, progress to coating it in flames. Simple and effective. Dwarven steel is also very resilient to heat. There’s no worry of the blade warping or breaking.”

“This does look like a quality product.” Cogwyn swished the dagger about, performing the beginning moves of the Blossom Drake Style. He wore such an out-of-character serious expression that Finlay was certain he was trying to hold in laughter.

“I assure you that the dagger’s Soulheart came from a reputable farm,” said Baltazar. “Have you heard of the Kirayas of South Jugin? No? They go above and beyond with their products, believe me! The fire newt where that Soulheart came from? It was fattened for a month more than necessary, they guaranteed. But I’m not adding any premium for that. We go with the regular price so you get more value for your coin.”

“How generous. Mind if I activate this?”

“Go ahead. It’s the dagger’s honor to be used by a reputable warrior.”

Cogwyn held the dagger sideways. Bright lines branched from the dagger’s hilt, like cracks spreading across a frozen lake but at a snail’s pace—the snails of Earth; some Ilayan snails can chase down a human. The lines of anima avoided the Soulheart. Cogwyn was demonstrating the finesse of his anima control. The ends of the merchant’s smile twitched higher.

“Are those slivers of elderbones?” Finlay asked, intent to show his interest in Adorned weapons.

Cogwyn nodded. “They allow me to infuse the Soulheart with my anima and spread its effect throughout the blade.”

“Is that the same elderbone used to make sternials?”

“Nope, sternials are different. They’re cut from the vertebrae of a Firstborn. Since the spine is only a fraction of the entire skeleton, sternials are way more valuable. Ossuary Cities don’t allow Firstborn spines to be used for anything other than sternials these days, isn’t that right, Baltazar?”

“Right you are, sir,” said the merchant with another bow. “None of my Adorned weapons have Firstborn vertebrae in them. I don’t want to risk the ire of the Ossuary Cities.”

Ossuary Cities… Finlay would need to travel to one to meld with a sternial.

Stolen story; please report.

They were cities nested inside the gigantic skeletons of Firstborns who had died thousands of years ago, at the close of the Age of Gods. These powerful cities dotted the continents of Ilaya and pledged no allegiance to any country, instead forming a powerful alliance amongst themselves. Many have tried to conquer an Ossuary City—a Firstborn skeleton was several times the value of a booming Speckle mine—but others would rush to defend it. No ruler wanted an Ossuary City to fall to their rival, and their rival would think the same. This was the dangerous balancing act Ossuary Cities have played for centuries.

The nearest Ossuary City was five days of travel on an avian-steed. Ten days round trip. Even if Finlay managed to steal a ride, ten days was too long. And he wouldn’t get a sternial right away once he arrived there. There were tests and assessments, annoying administrative crap. It’d take a huge chunk of his already limited time to prepare for the tournament.

Becoming a Soulheart Warden was out of the question.

Finlay thought of employing the martial art of the Core monks but doubted he’d reach a passable level for the qualifiers. Adorned weapons were the answer. Not sure how an Adorned weapon wielder’s strength would be gauged in comparison to a Warden, but they weren’t barred from the tournament. The problem was earning money to buy Adorned weapons.

“Just back up if it gets too hot,” Cogwyn said. The fire newt Soulheart glowed. The air around the blade shimmered.

“The steel isn’t changing color yet,” Finlay said, playing the part of a curious layman. “But I can already feel the heat.”

“Undeniable proof that it’s dwarven-steel, sir,” Baltazar said to Cogwyn. Not once did the merchant glance Finlay’s way. The cheap clothes probably acted as camouflage. The merchant only cared about his potential customer. “I may not be a Rokhonite, like your esteemed self, but I do abide by the Pillars of Truth. Somewhat. As much as I can, given my trade. Of course, this isn’t high-quality dwarven-steel. You can tell by its weight—it should be lighter. But authentic, just the same. And inexpensive.”

Finlay hadn’t trained to see anima yet, but he knew when Cogwyn poured more into the blade because sparks danced inside the Soulheart. The blade also began to glow from the heat. Finlay had to retreat a step or risk singed eyebrows.

Cogwyn raised the dagger like a torch. “Can I light it?”

“Of course,” said Baltazar. “Prove for yourself it’s a fire newt Soulheart.”

“I believe it’s what you say it is,” Cogwyn said. “There’s no fire Soulheart cheaper than a fire newt’s that looks remotely close to it. Why would anyone even try to fake this? I just want to show my friend here an activated Adorned weapon.” As he finished the sentence, the blade burst into flames.

“Amazing…” Finlay said with fake awe. Clapping would probably be too much. Not that Cogwyn’s skill wasn’t worth praising. Cogwyn controlled the blaze to be a neat teardrop shape and coaxed the flame into a blistering blue.

Cogwyn flicked his wrist and extinguished the flames. “What’s the price of this?”

“Six Russets and two Gli,” the merchant answered, quoting the coinage of the Solvi Empire, the biggest buyer of Gilder’s Speckle. Since their economies were deeply entwined, the Sol Emperor granted the Princeps authority to mint its coins. “I’ll round it off to six copper ones since it’s the first item you’ll buy from me. First of many, I hope.”

“Six Russets? Half a Slate for the dagger?” Cogwyn stroked his chin, pretending to consider the price. Of course, he wasn’t buying anything; he had told Finlay he didn’t have money after buying the clothes. “A fire newt is too basic. I trust my friend is a fast learner. What other choices do you have?”

Baltazar showed them a dagger boasting a wavy blade design that maximized the wound’s width when stabbing. The merchant explained that its Pahgi Soulheart gave it poisonous properties. Cogwyn then told Finlay that the Soulheart could also produce simple antidotes for the user. How nostalgic. Cogwyn of the original timeline also taught Finlay about Adorned weapons. But Finlay was already a Warden by then and had no intention of using them. Much more efficient to activate a Soulheart in a sternial than on an Adorned weapon, and the magical effects produced were stronger.

Should I share my secret with Cogwyn? At some point, Finlay would have to gather allies and reveal what was to come.

How to prove he was truthful? He could tell Cogwyn information he’d know only if he truly became Cogwyn’s trusted friend in the future. It’d prove Finlay’s claim of time travel… or make him out to be a powerful mind scryer with possibly nefarious intent. The second explanation would be likelier in Cogwyn’s mind.

Another option was predicting future events.

What event though? Finlay didn’t know much of Cogwyn’s life in Worwick. Predicting the winners of certain tournament matches wasn’t reliable because Finlay forgot minor events so long ago. Once he joined the tournament, he’d change how the fights would play out.

Can I just let the explosion at the end of the tournament happen? Okay, that’d be dumb. He should stop it no matter what.

There was a concern needling Finlay—people could change a lot over the years, with himself as proof. The Rokhonites had been wiped out by the Sporeal Tide when Cogwyn and Finlay became close friends. That Cogwyn was very different from the Cogwyn beside him. Perhaps Finlay should keep the World Tree and his time travel to himself for now.

“Here, fine Rokhonite sir.” Baltazar pulled out a rolled yellowing parchment tied with a red ribbon. “A Core monk Form scroll. I’ll toss this in for free if you purchase any three daggers from this row.”

Finlay leaned forward to take a closer look at the seal securing the ribbon. It had the symbol of a Core temple, but he wasn’t sure which one. Was this faked?

“It’s not free if I have to buy three daggers,” Cogwyn said. “Where did you get that?”

“From someone who left the Core temple after years of monkhood,” Baltazar replied, bowing.

“So, it’s a stolen scroll,” Cogwyn said. “I don’t want that on me when a Core monk comes around.”

Baltazar’s smile stiffened. “That’s the reason I’m throwing this in with your purchase,” he said, indirectly admitting the scroll really was stolen. “I have a few more—"

The powerful echoing notes of the auction house gong rolled over the entire marketplace. Cogwyn quickly told the merchant they’d have to leave and dragged Finlay away, murmuring about cons. Finlay took one last look at the scroll before the stream of people headed to the center of the building blocked his view.

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“Two big ten Russets for the terror bird!”

A loud bang of the heavy gavel on a wooden block preceded the clapping. Workers wheeled the caged terror off the stage. From the highest seating tier, Finlay spied Beor pull Cogwyn to the front of the stage and dance in celebration. Trance was harder to find in the crowd below because he hid behind his hands in embarrassment.

Two hundred Russets was less than Finlay’s guess of the winning bid. He should’ve thought of transportation costs; Worwick was far from the Soulheart farms of the Baccarat lands. There were no major wars going on near Gilders, hence, less demand for combat Soulhearts. It was a good price. Several month's salary of an average laborer.

Next on stage was the melloswine. A tide of gasps swept the tiers after the drapes over the cage were removed. The melloswine wriggled its nose at the audience.

Then it puffed out its pink smoke.

A hand shot up and a bid was called. The next doubled it. More hands and more shouting. The price of the melloswine barreled past two hundred Russets. Five hundred. A thousand. The auctioneer switched to prices in Slates, and it was possible it might reach an Argent. He heard there was no other melloswine for sale for the past two months and the maeroswine mating season was about to end. Many needed this melloswine.

The bidding ended at two Argents, way past Finlay’s prediction.

Finlay stood up and tried to catch Cogwyn’s eye to say goodbye. Beor, aggressively dancing, covered Cogwyn. Finlay had forgotten that Beor could get rowdy if hit with the high of winning big.

Oh, well. They wouldn’t miss him if he slipped out.

He had told Cogwyn he’d go to the constable after watching some of the beasts for sale. It was Trance who noticed Finlay descending the tiers. Finlay placed a turned fist on his chest and bowed. Trance returned the gesture. Turning around, Finlay followed the rickety stairs to the back of the stands and left the building.