Fire & Bone — Chapter VI

Sebastian took his time. Apple had expected a decision before breakfast. Then during breakfast. Then after the first cup Sebastian drank while looking thoughtful enough to suggest he had invented thought. By the second cup, Apple had begun to consider violence. The Scarlet Wizard had given them a table near the back wall, away from most of the morning trade. Fishbrook moved around them in the slow, sore manner of a city that had survived itself. Carpenters crossed the common room carrying tool belts. Temple acolytes ate standing beside the door. Someone outside shouted for roof slate. The smell of porridge, fried onions, and damp wool gathered beneath the rafters.

Apple had been served pie. Ordinarily this would have improved any council of war. The slice was thick with spiced pear and topped with cream. The crust had been warmed. Under other circumstances, Apple might have asked whether a second disaster would earn him another.

He had eaten two bites. The rest waited untouched. Halen sat opposite Sebastian with the Emberkin egg cradled in the small black crucible between both hands. Heat rose from it in a faint shimmer. A folded cloth protected the table, although the wood beneath it had already darkened. Halen’s foot tapped against the floor.

Stone struck board. Once. Again. Each tap made the spoons tremble. Wyn had spread Myra’s map, her ritual instructions, and the four Glarus documents across his end of the table. He had read each twice since dawn without pretending he understood the old Emberkin script. Now he sat with his arms folded and sighed whenever Sebastian lifted his cup.

Sebastian noticed all of it. He enjoyed all of it. Apple pushed the pie away. “If your plan requires us to die of old age,” he said, “you should say so. Halen may be difficult, but I believe Wyn and I can manage it.” Sebastian finished his drink. Set down the cup. Looked at each of them. “Halen first.” Halen’s foot stopped. “The egg returns to my people,” he said. “That is not disputed.” “I will take it.” “That is.” The light in Halen’s seams deepened from dull amber to furnace orange. He placed one broad hand over the crucible as if Sebastian might attempt to claim it across the table. “There is a village east of the Blood Mountains,” Halen said. “They know the old tending.

They have Hearth-Bearers. They will understand what this is.” Apple looked at the egg. It pulsed once beneath Halen’s hand. Not a coal. A heartbeat. Halen drew the four sealed documents toward him. The sheets had survived Glarus inside heat-blackened wrappings, their close script preserved while the city above them burned. “The chest was sealed before the mountain fell,” he said. “Perhaps long before. If this egg was placed inside when the old city still stood, then the spirit waiting within it may be from before the destruction. Before the breach closed. Before my people lost the Forge Eternal.”

He touched the edge of the first document with one stone finger. “An Emberlin does not wake empty. Memory passes through the fire. Not every memory. Not perfectly. But songs. Names. Ways of making. Ways of tending the breach. Things taught so many times they became part of us.”

His voice had gone quieter. That drew more attention than anger would have. “This one may remember what we were before Glarus. It may carry knowledge no living Emberkin possesses. The truth of our beginning. The rites we lost. Perhaps the reason the mountain broke.”

Apple’s ears lowered. Halen looked down at the orange veins moving beneath the shell. “It is not treasure. It is not a tool. It is a child carrying the last unbroken part of my people. I will not hand it to strangers and walk away.” here because he is changing living things and using Emberkin children to do it.” Apple’s tail snapped once behind him. “Now we know where he is going, and you want to leave.”

“I want to protect this egg.” “We need you.” “So does it.” “We are here.” “It cannot speak.” “Neither can your plan. It is just leaving.” Halen crossed his arms. The egg remained sheltered between them. Apple crossed his arms too. His were less impressive, but his tail made up the difference. Sebastian turned. “Apple.” “We go to Ti Temple.” “Immediately?” “Before breakfast would have been better.” “The pie suggests otherwise.” Apple pushed it farther away. “Travis is marching toward a Simiah temple with soldiers. Myra told us he does not intend only to occupy it. I know what that means.” No one interrupted. Apple had smelled a temple burning before. He had heard the crash of roof platforms collapsing through living branches. He had watched sacred rooms become smoke while orcs dragged survivors toward ships and left the dead where they fell.

Memory narrowed the room. For one breath the Scarlet Wizard smelled of ash and wet leaves. “I will not let it happen again,” he said. “We know where the temple is. We know the route. If we leave now, we may reach it before Travis.” “May,” Wyn said. Apple looked at him. “We have not gained ground on Malrick since the Blacklands,” Wyn continued. “Travis left before the stampede. His soldiers were already prepared to travel.” “Then I go faster.” “Alone?” Sebastian asked. “If I have to.” Halen’s inner light brightened again. Apple pointed at him. “I would be faster alone. I would not have to wait for him to get between two trees.” “Trees move,” Halen said. “Not enough.” “You are not going alone.” “You are going east.” Halen crossed his arms more firmly. Apple did the same. Sebastian looked at Wyn. Wyn shook his head before being asked. “Venom Thicket Tower,” he said. Apple and Halen turned toward him. “Malrick needs components from the tower before he can complete the ritual. Myra was precise about that much. If he does not obtain them, the rest fails. Fishbrook becomes an atrocity instead of a beginning.”

“That does not save the temple,” Apple said. “It may save every temple. Every farm. Every stable. Every village that depends on trained animals.” Wyn tapped the route on Myra’s map. “We stop Malrick before he can begin. No components, no ritual.”

“And Travis?” “Becomes a soldier with nowhere to deliver what he steals.” “He can still kill everyone.” Wyn’s expression tightened. “Yes.” The admission sat between them. “But if Malrick reaches the tower and completes his preparations, all of Solfawn is in danger.

Everything we have done becomes delay. Nothing more.” Wyn crossed his arms. Apple, Halen, and Wyn scowled at one another across the table. Sebastian raised one finger toward a passing server. “Another.”

“The journey we crossed by going through the Blacklands.” “Yes.” “Because going around would take too long.” Halen said nothing. “If we turn east with the egg, how many days before Malrick reaches Venom Thicket?” “I do not know.” “How many days before Travis reaches the temple?” “I do not know.” “Then your plan protects one life by abandoning every life threatened here.” The floor creaked beneath Halen’s tapping foot. Sebastian turned to Apple. “Can you reach the temple before Travis?” “I can try.” “That was not the question.” “It is the only answer.” “You know the hidden route Lyric gave you. Travis has soldiers, guides, and perhaps Malrick’s maps. We have failed to overtake them on every road since Glarus. If you leave alone and arrive late, what happens?”

Apple imagined the answer. He hated Sebastian for making him. “I kill Travis.” “After he has done what you fear?” Apple’s tail curled tight against the bench. Sebastian did not soften. “The temple does not need you to arrive after the attack and take revenge. It needs warning before the attack begins.” He turned to Wyn. “And you believe the elves at Venom Thicket will help us?” “Myra said elven druids were helping Malrick.” “Exactly.” “Some are. That does not mean all.” “It means we arrive at an elven tower and ask permission to murder the man under elven protection.” Halen frowned. “Protection?” Wyn unfolded his arms. “A tower is not merely a building among my people. If Venom Thicket has accepted Malrick as a guest, client, scholar, or ally, then harming him inside its bounds could be treated as an attack on the tower itself.”

“Even if he intends to destroy Solfawn?” “Especially if they do not believe us.” “We have proof.” Wyn looked at Myra’s papers. “We have notes written by a woman who helped him. A field journal. A ritual theory. Evidence that cattle were trained to a song. Enough to convince people who saw Fishbrook. Perhaps not enough to convince people who believe humans have poisoned the island and Malrick offers a remedy.”

Sebastian leaned back. “So Halen proposes a journey too long to make. Apple proposes a race we have already lost.

Wyn proposes walking into the protection of people who may prevent us from stopping the man we came to kill.”

No one looked pleased. “You asked what each of us thought,” Wyn said. “I did.” “You appear disappointed that we did.” “I am disappointed that each of you has confused the thing you most need to do with the thing only you can do.” Silence followed. Sebastian drew the crucible slightly toward the center of the table. Halen’s hand stopped it. “The egg does not need Halen to carry it,” Sebastian said. “It needs to be carried safely to his people.” He looked at Apple. “Ti Temple does not need Apple to fight Travis after he arrives. It needs to know Travis is coming.” Then Wyn. “And Venom Thicket does not need Wyn to ask hostile elves for permission. Malrick needs to be denied whatever he expects to obtain there. We can decide how after we learn whether the tower will receive us.”

“That is still three directions,” Apple said. “No. It is three tasks.”

That did not make it wrong. “The Green Glass Society,” Sebastian said. “They work with caravans. They have field equipment, heat specialists, and a professional inability to leave an unknown creature unexamined. We ask them to carry the egg east.”

Halen’s jaw tightened. “They are not Emberkin.” “No. But Isca watched you save Fishbrook, and Mavren knows what Malrick did. The crucible can hold the proper heat. You can teach them the rest.” Sebastian turned to Apple. “How did Ru Temple communicate with nearby villages?” “The women went.” “All of them?” “Envoys. Traders. Record keepers. My mother knew the roads and the outside measures. She knew which villages lied about copper and which lied about grain.” “Messages?” Apple thought. “They carried them.” “Then we hire someone faster than a soldier.” “A wolf could run faster than I can through parts of Greenvale.” Wyn looked at him. “A druid does not have to become a wolf.” Apple’s ears lifted. “A hawk,” Wyn said. “Or something else with wings.” The forest opened in Apple’s mind. Rivers that bent roads. Hills that forced soldiers around them. The hidden path Lyric had sketched. Above all of it, open sky. “Two days,” Apple said. “Perhaps less,” Wyn replied. Halen watched Sebastian. “And Venom Thicket?” “We continue north and learn whether its protection can be broken, avoided, or made irrelevant.” Sebastian pushed his empty cup away. “The best way to stop the ritual is still to stop Malrick from obtaining what he needs. We simply do not announce ourselves at the tower gate until we understand whose gate it is.”

The room remained quiet while the three plans became one. Apple pulled the pie back toward him. It had gone cold. He ate it anyway. Sebastian stood. “Everything depends on the Green Glass Society.” “That is less comforting than you think,” Wyn said. “Most plans are.” They gathered the papers, the map, and the egg. Then Halen’s Heroes went to ask naturalists for the impossible at a professional rate.

– • • Mavren Tull was writing when they entered the Green Glass Society. She sat behind a long worktable with three ledgers open around her and sheets of fresh paper arranged into careful stacks. One recorded the injured animals recovered after the stampede. Another listed damaged pens, broken wards, missing livestock, and the households claiming ownership. The third had Berrit Sol’s name written at the top.

That ledger was almost empty. Mavren finished the line beneath her hand before looking up. “We still have another matter to discuss.” Sebastian glanced at the egg in Halen’s arms. “So do we.” “The carrion firebirds.” Zabba appeared from the inner rooms at the sound of the name. He still smelled faintly of smoke, feathers, and the meat he used to feed the nesting pair beyond Fishbrook. Relief crossed his face when he saw them.

“You came back.” “We said we would,” Halen replied. “Many people say things before a city begins falling down.” Mavren closed the first ledger. “Your original intention was to destroy the birds before their young could hatch. After what happened yesterday, I need to know whether that remains your position.” Sebastian looked at Wyn. Wyn looked at Halen. Halen looked toward Zabba. The naturalist had spent days watching creatures everyone else had named abominations.

Zabba exhaled. “Malrick is creating more altered creatures,” Wyn said. “He intends to use what happened here across the island. Whatever those birds are, they are not responsible for his purpose.” Mavren nodded once. “Then the Green Glass Society will place the nesting site under protection. No hunting. No collection of feathers, eggs, blood, or remains. Zabba will continue his watch and report any change in behavior.”

“I will,” Zabba said quickly. “At a greater distance.” His agreement came more slowly. “At a greater distance.” The first matter was settled. Halen stepped forward with the crucible. The room noticed the egg. Conversations ended. A young assistant carrying a tray of glass tubes stopped so abruptly that two struck together. Isca emerged from behind a hanging curtain, sleeves rolled to the elbows and her dark hair tied back.

“You opened the chest,” she said. “We did,” Halen replied. Orange light moved beneath the shell. Isca approached, but stopped before Halen had to tell her. “Living?” “Waiting.” “For what?” “Heat. Time. The right Hearth-Bearers.” Halen turned the crucible so she could see the dark shell and its slow veins of fire. “It must go to an Emberkin village east of the Blood Mountains. I need the Society to carry it.” Mavren’s gaze shifted from the egg to Halen. “That is not a short expedition.” “No.” “And it is not along any route we currently survey.” “Caravans travel around the Blacklands.” “Caravans travel near the Blacklands. They do not add a mountain crossing because a stranger arrives with a warm stone.” Halen’s fingers tightened around the crucible. Isca was still watching the egg. “It is not a stone,” she said. Mavren looked at her. “I understand.” She opened a clean page in the ledger. “One thousand gold.” Apple choked. “To carry it?” he asked. “To assign a qualified field member for a journey of uncertain length, purchase space with a caravan, obtain supplies, assume responsibility for a living being we do not understand, and return from the eastern side of the Blood Mountains.”

“You can say robbery in fewer words.” “Robbery does not usually provide an invoice.” Sebastian opened the party’s money pouch. The sound of the coins inside answered for him. Not enough. Halen held out one hand toward Apple. Apple stared at it. “The gems.” “No.” “Apple.” “Those are not yours.” “They belong to the group.” “That is what people say before spending the part I am carrying.” Halen did not lower his hand. Apple looked at the egg. Its light brightened, faded, and brightened again. He pulled the small pouch from inside his coat and slapped it into Halen’s palm. “You are still not allowed to call them yours.” Halen loosened the cord and poured the gems onto Mavren’s ledger. Two topazes. Three pearls. Two amethysts.

Apple reached toward the remaining gems. Halen’s hand covered them first. “All of them.” Mavren looked up. “That is unnecessary.” “Use the rest for the journey.” “They are not yours,” Apple said. Halen turned toward him. “If the Society will not take the egg, I will leave today and carry it myself.” The words struck harder than the gems. Apple’s tail lashed once. “You already said that.” “I am saying what the choice is.” “Your choice.” “Yes.” Apple wanted to take the pouch. He wanted to tell Halen that the group had earned those stones together, that the emerald alone could buy food, healing, rope, maps, information, and perhaps a better pie.

He looked at the egg again. He imagined Halen walking east alone. “Keep enough for the message,” Apple said. Mavren selected the agreed stones and pushed one amethyst and a pearl back across the ledger. “The Society does not take donations given during an argument.” “A surprising rule,” Sebastian said. “A recently developed one.” Isca stepped closer to the table. “I will go.” Mavren studied her. “You have work here.” “We all have work here. Zabba can continue the nesting observation. The livestock reports can be reassigned. I know heat behavior, field travel, and the caravan routes around the southern ash roads.”

She looked at Halen. “I do not know Emberkin.” “You can learn what the egg needs.” “Then teach me.” Halen’s shoulders lowered by a fraction. It was not agreement yet. It was the place agreement might be made. Mavren added Isca’s name to the page. “There is a caravan leaving at noon tomorrow. It will take the east road before turning south of the Blacklands. If we secure passage, Isca can begin with them.” “She must not let the egg cool,” Halen said. “Then perhaps you should spend the day explaining what that means.” Halen nodded. Apple placed both hands on the edge of Mavren’s table. “We need something else.” “Of course you do.” “A message has to reach Ti Temple before soldiers do.” Mavren’s expression did not change, but Isca looked at him more carefully. “Where?” Apple removed Lyric’s route sketch. He did not unfold all of it. Only enough to show the outer landmarks: the river bend, the broken ridge, the line of old crownwoods where the ordinary paths began to turn travelers away.

“Greenvale.” “That forest conceals its own roads,” Mavren said. “I know.” “A rider may never find it.” “Then not a rider.” Wyn said, “A druid.” Mavren looked from the route to Apple. “A bird might cross the changing paths, if it had enough direction to recognize the temple from above. I can ask.” “How long?” “To find someone willing? The rest of the morning.” “And the flight?” “Ask the druid.”

“We will come back in the early afternoon.” “Bring the message ready to travel. Small. Secure. Nothing a hawk cannot carry.” They turned to leave. “Halen,” Mavren said. He stopped. “You stay.” It sounded enough like an order that Sebastian smiled. “The caravan will not delay while you explain an entire people to Isca tomorrow morning.

Prepare the crucible. Draw the route. Write whatever the village needs to recognize your authority.”

Halen looked at the egg, then at his companions. “Go,” Sebastian said. “We have our own work.” Outside, the four stood together for the last time that morning. Sebastian adjusted his sword belt. “I am going to the market for provisions.” “I will come,” Apple said. “No.” “You need someone who knows what food is.” “You need to write the message.” Apple looked at Wyn. Wyn looked back with entirely too much calm. “It is your temple,” Sebastian said. “Your warning. Your words.” “I have words.” “Then put them on paper.” Sebastian left before Apple could explain the difference between having words and being persecuted by writing. Halen returned inside with Isca and the egg. Wyn folded Myra’s map beneath one arm. “Come.” “Where?” “Somewhere with ink.” Apple followed him with the gait of a prisoner who had not been given the dignity of chains.

– • • Wyn found a writing desk in the Scarlet Wizard’s private dining room. Apple found fault with it. The chair was too low. The desk was too high. The quill had been cut for human fingers. The ink smelled wrong. The paper was wastefully large. Morning light fell across the surface at an angle that made every empty space appear judgmental.

Wyn listened to the full inventory. Then he placed a cushion on the chair, cut the quill shorter, turned the desk, and drew guide lines across a scrap page. “Anything else?” Apple climbed onto the cushion. “The letters.” “We have not written them yet.” “Exactly.” Wyn sat beside him. “What must they know?” Apple looked at the clean page. Travis. Soldiers. Malrick. Heart Stone. Attack. Each word was simple when spoken. On paper, it became a shape that had to be made correctly or risk becoming another word. “An armed human company is coming from Fishbrook,” Apple said. “They seek the Heart Stone. They may know where the temple is. They will not leave people alive merely because they surrender.”

Wyn wrote the sentence on the scrap in large, separate letters. “Anything else?” “Hide the young. Close the lower paths. Wake the old wards. Send someone to the Elder Tree Monastery so they know the same people are part of Malrick’s ritual.” Wyn added each instruction. “Do you want to tell them who Malrick is?” “No. If they have time to ask, they have time to run.” Wyn turned the page toward him. “Now you.” Apple stared. “You already wrote it.” “I wrote the pattern. You write the message.”

“This is cruel.” “Yes.” “You admit it.” “It saves time.” Apple dipped the quill. His first letter leaned too far. The second was too large. Ink gathered at the foot of the third and spread into a shape resembling an insect killed on a wall. Wyn moved the paper aside. “Again.” They practiced until Apple could form every letter without looking at Wyn’s hand. Then they practiced making them smaller. The message had to fit inside a scroll light enough for a bird to carry, which Apple considered an unreasonable constraint imposed by wings.

At last he copied the warning onto the final sheet. An armed company comes from Fishbrook. They serve Malrick. They seek the Heart Stone.

Hide the young. Close the lower paths. Wake the old wards. Warn the Elder Tree Monastery. Do not trust surrender.

Apple held the quill above the last line. “How do I sign it?” “With your name.” “Which one?” Wyn did not answer immediately. Apple was Sa to those who had named his place within the nest. Saru within the temple.

Apple to pirates, sailors, soldiers, shopkeepers, heroes, friends, and nearly everyone who knew him now.

Apple had survived because Saru had learned to answer to it. But Ti Temple did not know Apple. “If I write Saru, they may think I am from their temple.” “Then tell them where you are from.” Apple looked down at the small, imperfect letters. He wrote: Saru of Ru Temple. The name did not fit easily in his hand. It fit. Wyn read the message twice. “They will need proof.” Apple already knew. He reached beneath his shirt and drew out the spare tail ring. He had taken it from the halfling who wore it on one finger as decoration. Before that, it had belonged to a Simiah. Apple did not know their name, their temple, or whether they had surrendered the ring willingly. He had kept it because no one else understood what it was.

Silver and green. Smaller than Koruma’s ring. Still sacred. Apple rolled the message tightly. The ring slid around the paper and held it closed. Wyn touched one finger to the metal. “Will they recognize it?” “They will know someone did.” Apple lifted the little scroll. It weighed almost nothing. The warning inside it weighed more than the Heart Stone.

– • • The druid arrived shortly after midday. She wore a brown traveling cloak fastened with a carved wooden pin and carried no pack.

Fine gray feathers had been braided into her hair behind one ear. Her boots were clean despite the mud outside, which Apple decided was either magic or deeply suspicious planning.

Mavren introduced her only as the druid who had agreed to make the flight. The woman studied Lyric’s map, then Apple’s face. “The temple is hidden.” “Yes.” “The paths change.” “On the ground.” “Forests have more ways to mislead than paths.” Apple had no argument for that. She traced the river with one finger. “This ridge?” “Broken down the center. White stone on the west side.” “And after the crownwoods?” “The canopy grows in three levels. The tallest trees lean inward. There may be bridges She held out her hand. “Two hundred gold.” Apple’s smile vanished. Sebastian counted the coins from the party’s recovered funds. He placed them in a leather pouch and passed it over. The druid weighed it once. Then she handed it to Mavren. “For the north grove.” Mavren accepted the pouch as if this happened often. Apple stared. “You charged us gold to give it to her?” “I charged you for the flight.” “But you gave it away.” “It was mine by then.” Apple looked at Sebastian. Sebastian looked unbearably pleased. “Professional rates,” he said. Apple gave the druid the scroll and ring. Her expression changed when the silver and green metal touched her palm. Whatever she knew of Simiah, she understood the object was not decoration. “Who receives this?” “Anyone inside Ti Temple. If they ask for a name, say Saru of Ru Temple sent it.” “And the soldiers?” “Look for them on the way. Red-bearded captain. Human. Armed company moving from Fishbrook toward Greenvale. If you see them, remember how far they have come and how quickly they move.”

“I will.” “If the temple attacks you—” “I will avoid being attacked.” “That was my plan too,” Apple said. “It did not always work.” The Society’s rear court stood open to the sky. Herb beds filled one side. Three young trees grew in square plots along the other, each protected by a low green-glass fence. Mavren led them to the center.

The druid removed her cloak and handed it to an assistant. Then she changed. Her body folded inward without violence. Arms narrowed. Fingers drew together. Clothing became feather and shadow. For one impossible instant woman and bird occupied the same outline.

Then a broad brown hawk stood where she had been. The message ring encircled one leg, secured beneath a thin leather tie. The hawk spread her wings. Apple stepped back. One downward stroke lifted dust from the court. A second carried her above the roof. She circled once, found north, and climbed into the pale afternoon sky. Apple watched until she became a dark mark against the clouds. Then until the mark disappeared. “Can you do that?” he asked Wyn. “No.” “Why not?” “Because I am not a druid.” “You are an elf.” “That is not the same profession.” Apple continued looking at the sky. “It should be.” Behind them, a door opened. Halen and Isca came from the Society’s inner workrooms. The crucible rested inside a travel frame lined with dark mineral wool and fitted with three small brass vents. A hood could be drawn over the top without closing the air. A bed of heated stones surrounded the egg, each marked with a line of orange chalk.

Halen had spent the morning making the impossible transportable. He had also acquired a ring. It was a plain band of green glass set into copper. An identical ring circled Isca’s right hand. Apple noticed because Apple noticed rings. “What are those?” Isca lifted her hand. “Witness rings.” “They match.” “That is generally how pairs work,” Wyn said.

“If we choose.” “Can you hear?” “Faintly.” “Can you move the other person?” “No.” “Can you see when the other person does not want you to?” “No.” “How many minutes?” Isca looked at Halen. “Three, perhaps four. Distance weakens the image. We will test it along the first day’s route.” Apple circled Halen and examined the ring from the other side. “Where did you get them?” “Mavren.” Apple looked toward the senior naturalist. “How much?” “They belong to the Society,” Mavren said. “They are field equipment.” “Nothing?” “They must be returned.” Apple remained suspicious. Halen did not. He was watching the travel crucible. “The lower stones must remain orange,” he told Isca. “Not yellow. If they darken to red, add heat slowly. Never place flame against the shell. Never let cold water touch it. If the light inside quickens, uncover the vents. If it stops—”

His voice failed. Isca waited. “If it stops,” Halen said, “warm the outer stones. Do not strike the shell. Do not shake it. Use the ring and show me.” “I understand.” “No. You remember the instructions. Understanding comes later.” Isca accepted the correction. On the table behind them lay Halen’s map. He had drawn the southern roads, the turn east, the passes to avoid, and the marks used by Emberkin travelers near the Blood Mountains. Beside it rested a short message in blocky letters.

Mavren held it up. “Your village will accept the egg from a human they have never seen?” “They will see my mark. They will know the words.” “And if they do not?” Halen looked at Isca. “Show them through the ring.” Isca nodded. The caravan would depart at noon the next day. She would travel with the egg as far as the eastern road allowed, then hire guides for the mountain route. The remaining gems would pay for food, heat fuel, passage, and whatever cost appeared after maps stopped being honest.

Halen placed one hand against the crucible. The egg’s light answered. For the first time since opening the chest, he stepped away from it. Only one pace. Enough. “It will be safe,” Isca said. Halen looked at her. “It will be guarded.” That was the promise he trusted.

– • • By evening, Fishbrook had decided Halen was a hero. The decision had not reached everyone. Some still watched the glow beneath his stone plates and remembered Glarus. Others crossed the room to touch his shoulder, thank him for silencing the bells, or tell him about someone who had survived because the cattle turned away.

Halen endured praise more poorly than injury. The Scarlet Wizard was crowded. Work crews had finished for the day. Families who still had homes fed those who did not. The injured occupied the quieter tables near the wall while the rest of the common room drank with the determined energy of people who had learned the city could break beneath them.

Pipren played near the hearth. He saw the party enter and stopped in the middle of a tune. “Halen’s Heroes!” The name carried. Several people turned. Someone raised a cup.

He stood beside the table with both hands at his sides, unable to decide whether sitting would draw more attention than remaining upright. Apple climbed onto the bench. “You should wave.” “No.” “Smile.” “No.” “Glow less.” Halen sat. The room laughed. Someone near the hearth shouted, “Quit talking, Pipren. Play!” That earned a louder laugh. Pipren placed one hand against his chest as if wounded. “Fishbrook survives one stampede and immediately turns against art.” “Music caused the stampede!” someone called. “Bad music,” Pipren replied. “I was robbed before I could improve it.” Apple drank very carefully and looked elsewhere. Pipren adjusted the instrument against his shoulder. “Then I will give you the first song I ever learned. It is older than Fishbrook, older than the northern roads, and old enough that every part of it is certainly true.” Wyn looked at Halen. Halen’s expression had already changed. Pipren drew the bow across the strings. The melody began low and warm, with a rhythm like a hammer striking far below the earth.

“When Glarus Mountain stood young beneath stars, Alone with the stone and the snow, It reached through the dark with a hand made of scars And stole where the sun used to glow.”

Voices near the hearth joined the final word. Pipren smiled and continued.

“It hid that bright coal in the roots of the land, Where rivers of red fire ran. Then shaped Ashen Mora with mountain and hand, First daughter of ember and flame.”

The song told of Ashen Mora, Queen Beneath the Mountain. Her laughter woke the rivers of magma. Her breath opened chambers in the stone. When she wept, her tears cooled into dark eggs veined with fire, and from every spark that fell from her hair another Emberkin rose.

The Mountain loved its daughter and feared losing her. Mora promised that her people would guard its heart, tend the hidden fire, and never reveal the secrets beneath Glarus to anyone born under the open sky. Then Marcus Vopiscus came down from the city. Pipren’s melody softened.

“He carried no hammer, he carried no spear, No hunger for silver or stone. He followed her singing where fire became clear, And taught the Ember Queen she was alone.”

Marcus loved Mora. Mora loved Marcus. For seven years they met at the edge of the Forge Eternal, where the fire between worlds burned white enough to erase every shadow.

At last Marcus asked to see the hidden flame. Mora refused him twice. The third time, love overcame the promise she had made to the Mountain. She opened the way. Pipren changed the key, and the common room quieted.

“But Tulla Greenward, with briar in bone, Had watched where the two lovers trod. She whispered that Marcus would carry flame home And make every mortal a god.”

Tulla poisoned Mora’s heart with suspicion. She told the Ember Queen that Marcus had never loved her, that Glarus waited above with chains and crucibles, and that the surface people would drain the Forge Eternal until the Mountain became cold.

Mora confronted Marcus beside the hidden fire. He denied the betrayal. She asked him to swear. He reached for her. Mora struck him down. The strings became thunder. Pipren stamped once, and half the room answered.

“The Queen cried murder, the Mountain cried war, Ashen Mora descended with the last glowing egg in her arms. There she remained. Sleeping beneath the broken mountain. Waiting for the surface world to become greedy enough to return. Pipren sang the warning alone.

“Take neither the egg nor the fire below, Speak softly where black mountains burn. For Mora remembers what mortals forget, And the Mountain remembers return.”

The final note faded into the beams. For a moment, even the cups were still. Then the Scarlet Wizard erupted in applause. Halen did not clap. He sat with one hand around his drink and watched the fire beneath the hearth logs. Apple leaned toward him. “Was any of that true?” Halen looked at the four Glarus documents Wyn had brought down for another night of impossible reading. “It is a song,” he said. That was not an answer. Apple recognized those. He let Halen keep it. The next song was faster. The drinks arrived more quickly. Someone produced a dartboard and hung it from a post near the kitchen door. Sebastian won the first game with the unbearable competence of a man who believed throwing sharpened objects was a lesser form of swordplay.

Wyn won the second by using no visible magic. Apple remained uncertain about the invisible kind. By the fourth game, Apple was drunk enough to decide that ordinary rules discriminated against anyone with a useful tail. “Three limbs,” he explained, standing on the table. “Three darts.” “You have two hands and a tail,” Sebastian said. “That is what three means.” “You have been using the hands.” “Now I improve.” Apple wrapped his tail around the first dart. The room gave him space. He aimed at the center of the board. His tail twitched. The dart flew sideways, struck a serving tray, and dropped into a bowl of onions. The common room roared. Apple lifted one finger. “Practice.” The second dart traveled upward, clipped a roof beam, and returned point-first toward Sebastian. Sebastian caught it. The room became louder. Apple narrowed his eyes. “You interfered.” “I preserved my face.” “Cowardice.” Halen laughed. Not politely. Not carefully. The sound came from deep inside him, like stone moving without breaking. Wyn bent over his drink. Sebastian placed the rescued dart on the table and moved his chair farther away. Apple prepared the third throw. Every person near the kitchen ducked. This time the dart reached the board. It struck the outer rim, trembled, and fell. Apple raised both arms and his tail. “Improvement!” The cheer he received was greater than the throw deserved. He accepted it anyway. Outside, the road to Greenvale waited. Venom Thicket Tower waited. A caravan waited to carry an Emberkin child toward the Blood Mountains. For one night, all three disasters could wait without them. Inside the Scarlet Wizard, Apple demanded another dart.