1

The two travelers found shelter in the house of an elderly couple, a bit further down the slope. The Kihrvals they were called, and they’d once had a prosperous ranch on the south side of the strath, where their family had raised highland cattle for several generations, employing a number of locals in their service. Cows, lambs, horses, pigs, and more they’d had. They were also blessed with four children, three sons and a daughter, and life had looked fair for them.

Then came the war.

All three sons had joined the army without hesitation, determined to bring glory to their country and the ancestors, and all three had perished in battle, one in taking over Fort Virossa in the eastern Melgier, the other two in the decisive confrontation with the Empire. Instead of the much-anticipated news of victory then came the imperials and burned down the Kihrvals’ ranch. The invaders wouldn’t even butcher the cattle properly but left the animals to burn in the stables, and killed the servants who resisted. No meat did they take, due to the hassle of preserving it, and having already collected more than they needed from the other ranches in the region. It was only a horrid crime and waste.

Still, the Kihrvals were fortunate on the whole. Even after losing their livelihood, they had enough money left to have a modest house built near Utenvik, where to spend the remainder of their time in relative comfort and safety. Their surviving daughter continued to work and live in the city, now wedded and mother to a family of three, and she would frequently come to check up on her parents and bring whatever they needed.

Mrs Kihrval remained a lively spirit in spite of her high age and the grievous past. She was quite smitten with Waramoti’s music, and kept bombarding the youth with questions nonstop, while busily preparing them a generous dinner.

Mr Kihrval was different. He never got over their loss. A dried-up, gray, withered shadow of a man, he sat apart from the others, by the wall of the living room, saying nothing, asking nothing, staring off into space, a look of utter bitterness and spite perpetually frozen on his coarse visage.

How could a man be so broken? How much could one’s mind and heart endure before being reduced to the point of no return? In that shriveled, decrepit senior Izumi thought she saw her own future, and it terrified her stiff. To escape the anxiety, she helped Mrs Kihrval with the dinner preparations, listening patiently to the older woman’s incessant chatter, and doing her best to answer the numerous questions.

How could the wife be so different from the husband?

They had both gone through the same tragedies, the same losses and hardships, yet there was a distinct glimmer of vitality and vigor left in the frail lady’s gaze, completely absent from the man’s. Though should she not have been the more delicate of the two by nature, more susceptible to the emotional damage? Should not the loss of their sons have hurt the mother more so than the father, seeing as falling in battle was the greatest known honor to man in these parts?

With a start, Izumi suddenly realized the reason.

Ah. She endured for him.

Who would look after the old man, if his wife were to succumb to despair in kind? In that event, they would only both be equally doomed. It was doubtless love that kept Mrs Kihrval going through the years, the persistent will to carry her husband’s burden together with him, to the end, though no reward awaited either. Was not in the silent commitment of that aged lady the true face of love, more so than in the whimsical, volatile affairs of the young and inexperienced? Recognizing this, Izumi was forced to again examine closer her own heart, which she had ignored for too long, and the sense of remorse began to overpower the grief.

What am I acting all depressed for? I’m not the only one who was hurt.

They had pork stew for dinner, with thick slices of fat, and potatoes, onions, carrots. Though vegetables were difficult to get and short on supply, their host had spared no expense in treating the unexpected guests. The food was greasy and flavorful, seasoned with a generous hand, as was common in the colder regions. Modern health experts would have been shocked by the local diet, but Izumi and Waramoti enjoyed the meal with gratitude, doing their best to answer the matron’s curiosity in exchange.

After the dinner, savoring cups of dessert tea, Waramoti recited some of his select poems to their hosts’ pleasure, and such a lively picture of foreign lands he painted before them, that even the old man appeared to be paying attention for a time. The bard’s verses moved Mrs Kihrval inadvertently to tears, bringing to her mind the time when their sons had come of age, earning their names, and were celebrated in the bountiful midsummer festival, at the time when Dharva knew no strife.

Then, with the coming dark, came the time for rest.

Mrs Kihrval escorted her husband to the bedroom by arm, while Izumi and Waramoti laid their camping mattresses and sleeping bags on the small living room floor, before the fireplace.

Left alone, they took the chance to quietly review their plans.

“As far as I can tell, there are three main gates in the outer wall,” Waramoti explained, sitting down. “They’ll likely open at sunrise and close at dusk. We should try them all tomorrow, and see if the other watchers are any more willing to allow us in, before we move on to more drastic measures.”

“Mm.” Izumi made a faint sound in answer, adjusting the oil lamp on the floor. The wick had nearly gone out.

“If nothing else works out,” he continued, “I suppose we could wait here for when the Kirhvals’ daughter next comes by. With luck, she’ll have the necessary contacts to get us lawfully inside. Although, I doubt she’ll be as trustful of strangers as her mother is.”

“Suppose so,” Izumi mumbled.

“Don’t lose heart, my friend,” the bard tapped Izumi’s shoulder with his knuckles. “One way or the other, we’re getting in there.”

“Oh?” Izumi looked back at the youth, surprised.

Friend. She had never thought to use that word to describe the ambiguous relationship between her and the bard before, yet it was probably the one most fitting.

As casually as Izumi labeled people as friends on the outside, there had been precious few she ever genuinely considered as such. On Earth, just as well as on Ortho, she had been a loner at heart, and assumed all expressions of camaraderie more or less ironic in nature. Surely no one would associate with someone like her unless they could somehow benefit from it? And as soon as it ceased to be beneficial for them, they would cut ties with her and go their own way. She was used to this, and thought nothing of it.

But there was no sarcasm or mischief in Waramoti’s gaze now.

Naturally. Ever taking his words for granted and assuming he only followed her around the world, from one deadly inferno to another, due to his lofty artist’s calling was too dense of her. Perhaps Izumi had always recognized this, on some subconscious level, but at the same time she had actively denied the idea, unable to believe there could be anyone who actually cared for her as a person.

How could she have been so blind? So ungrateful?

Then, recovering from her astonishment, Izumi quickly reached out her arm, grabbed the boy by the neck, and pulled him into a firm chokehold, ruffling his hair. “Why am I getting cheered up by a kid, at my age! How annoying! Just who are you trying to impress, young man! Huh!? Why, you’re ten thousand years too early to play the role of the hero, oi!”

“I’m not a kid!” Waramoti retorted, struggling to get free. “And they’re touching! Touching! My face is touching places! Unhand me!”

2

Izumi slept poorly that night. She had always been a light sleeper, but tonight was particularly difficult. Her mind kept racing through the dark hours, not allowing her a moment’s rest. She thought about everything they had seen on the way to Utenvik, and before, about her mission, the Kihrvals, and the frustrating feelings the journey had stirred in her. But by the time the day began to lighten up again, she had made up her mind, got up, and shook Waramoti awake.

“Hey, master bard, get ready. It’s time we checked out.”

“Huh?” As usual, the ex-warrior was slow to wake. “What is it? Did the Kihrvals’ daughter come already…?”

“Nope,” Izumi shook her head. “And we’re not going to wait for her either. I’ve got a better plan.”

“Ehh…? Can’t it wait?”

“Time waits for no one. And neither do I.”

Still drowsy and confused, Waramoti nevertheless got up. They packed their few belongings, and got ready to head out. However, Mrs Kihrval was also early to rise, and made sure the guests didn’t leave without proper breakfast, a hearty helping of rye porridge, all the while lamenting their haste. She wouldn’t have minded keeping them for a week or two. Thanking the old lady once more for the hospitality, promising to come visit again, the two adventurers stealthily left two pieces of silver for payment—she firmly refused any when offered—and departed into the frosty morning.

The cold air outside and the eastern wind soon shook off any lingering sleepiness. It had to have been a few degrees below zero centigrade, with the sun’s fiery disc still but a faint promise behind the mountains. Led by Izumi, the two followed the road back uphill to the city’s main gate, taking their horses by hand.

The gates had been opened again, and a new set of guards stood in watch. In spite of the change in personnel, their instructions remained unchanged, it seemed. At the visitor’s approach, the watchmen moved to block the path, presenting a demand identical to yesterday’s.

“Ten silver to enter the city, by the headsman’s orders.”

Waramoti was already about to turn away, not knowing what the earthling was thinking, but Izumi had other ideas. She had already prepared the necessary sum in advance and went on to hand it over to the guard.

“There you go, lad!” she said with a wide smile, dropping the pillar of coins on his mitt. “Have one extra for your troubles. Don’t spend it all in one place.”

“Ha…?” The watchman looked first at the woman, then at the coins, then back and forth again, dumbfounded, apparently having assumed the sketchy travelers wouldn’t ever be able to produce such a high sum.

“Are we good?” Izumi asked, already stepping on, taking Masamune past the watchers.

“Ah, eh, yes...” the soldier mumbled. “That is...fair, I suppose.”

“Cheers!” Izumi waved, before calling to Waramoti. “Come on, boss! We’re good to go!”

Without a word, his brows heavily twisted, Waramoti hurried after Izumi, and they passed under the guards’ alarmed gazes through the gate, into the city proper.

“What are you doing?” the bard whispered to the woman, as soon as they were outside the hearing distance. “You practically outed us as snoops back there! After we first claimed to have no money too! It’s too unnatural!”

“Yeah,” Izumi nodded. “It’s fishy. But you’re forgetting something here, pop star.”

“What?”

“You’re not a brawny warrior anymore. They’ll suspect us, but they have no real proof. We don’t look one bit like imperials, let alone spies. No sane, working adult is going to arrest and torture kids and women, just because of a mild suspicion. That’s nonsense. They’ll report us, probably. Maybe they’ll have us followed, even. But before they do anything too dramatic, they’ll want to make sure. So they’ll send someone to check up on us, someone who knows imperials and their tricks.”

The bard stopped, astonished.

“You can’t mean...Faalan?”

“Bingo!” Izumi replied with a smile. “Instead of wasting our time looking for the guy, we’ll have him come to us instead!”

But as confident as Izumi was in her idea, Waramoti failed to share her optimism.

“And what if they send twenty archers instead?” he asked, chasing after her.

“Then we’ll chop them up and wait for the main course,” the woman replied. “Come now. After the elf land, do you honestly think these guys are a challenge?”

“...As I thought, you’re being too reckless,” the bard shook his head. “Really, what’s the matter with you? Even if you’ve lost all care for the future, I do wish you didn’t drag me to an untimely death together with you. I have yet to reach my rightful rank as the greatest storyteller of our time. And it’s not posthumous glory I seek!”

“I’m not going to die,” Izumi replied, growing more serious. “But I don’t have the time for these games either. I’ve made up my mind now.”

“Meaning?”

“I’m going back,” she declared. “I have to go back and apologize.”

“What...?” The bard blinked, confused.

“I may not deserve forgiveness,” Izumi continued, tightening her grip on Masamune’s reins. “I have no right to ask for any either. I know that. But my head’s cooled enough by now, and as I thought about it more, I realized something else. It’s not for my own sake that I have to do it. I can’t let another person fall into despair because of what I’ve done, and spend the rest of her days wallowing in regret, bitterness, and misery. I need to make this right. I have to take responsibility and save what’s left to save. I’ll bow my head and grovel, if I have to. I’ll do whatever it takes, so that girl can face the future with hope in her eyes again. And I can only pray I won’t be too late! So hurry! Let’s get this mission done and over with, and go back!”

Waramoti stared at the woman’s back, looking earnestly surprised.

“Could it be, you’ve grown up a little?” he pondered.

3

A closer look at the city reminded Izumi vaguely of the 19th century London with its grim brick houses, square windows, and thin pipe chimneys. The roads were cleanly paved with dark, even-sized cobblestones, with separate sidewalks for lighter traffic. The sight of streetlights and telephone wiring wouldn’t have seemed too out of place in here. But considering the lack of forests and the difficulty of importing, what exactly did the Dharves burn to keep their houses warm?

“Cheruleum,” Waramoti answered Izumi. “An element unique to the northern mountains. The Dharves process cheruleum into small ingots, and when lit with magic or enchanted tools, it burns with a steady flame, giving off ample heat for several hours.”

“Oh, that’s handy,” Izumi remarked. “Should earn them a load of money too. I’m surprised the Empire didn’t demand a share.”

“Well, it’s got its downsides,” he replied. “Cheruleum smoke is toxic, more so than the regular variety, and requires a custom-made stove to burn safely. Hence the long chimneys, see? The ore is also rather chemically unbalanced. Unless it’s sufficiently pure and lit with care, it can explode without a warning. And when it explodes, it tends to take the whole house with it. The Dharves have learned to handle the material over the years, but it’s not a terribly popular product abroad.”

“I see...”

“Cheruleum is also a scarce resource and found only deep underground,” Waramoti continued. “The city uses close to all they unearth for their own needs, and what little is left they store for worse times. Very little is sold. Wood remains, for the rest of the world, by far the more economic and safer fuel source.”

“Right.”

Far up ahead, Izumi could see the inner district’s wall cut across the streetscape. Beyond, past the grand estate rooftops, she saw the edifice of a titanic, rectangular building hacked into the steep-walled mountainside. The lightless windows of that foreboding keep watched over all of Utenvik, like eyes in the face of an ancient giant.

“The City Hall,” Waramoti remarked, following the woman’s line of sight. “That is where the King used to reign. Now, the peace terms prohibit the Dharves from ever crowning a new king. The land is managed by a Steward, and all legislation and major decision-making must pass imperial approval.”

“So that’s where Faalan is,” Izumi noted, gazing at the building in the mountain’s shadow. It looked depressingly far out of reach, still.

“The current Steward, Hiyrland, is the Axhand’s cousin,” the bard explained. “The hastier elements among the clans consider him something of a black sheep, for being patient and sensible enough for diplomatic discourse. But Hiyrland is still a Dharvic lord and not another sycophant, no mistake about it. No matter how he wears the face of a pacifist, he doesn’t like the imperials any more than the rest of them. Would he turn against us, if given the chance and the power to? In a heartbeat. Which means, he would only have welcomed Faalan if he saw that he could profit off his compliance.”

“And our friend Mr Castle Owner believes they’re up to something foul.”

“Dharva shouldn’t have the military strength to rise against the Empire again, or any other nearby nation for that matter,” Waramoti said. “But ridding Utenvik of our agents was a bold stunt, no matter how you slice it. Either their grudge has overwhelmed their common sense altogether, or else they are indeed plotting something of major significance. And I dare say it’s the latter. You can say many things about the Dharves, but they are not self-destructively stupid...In general.”

“Oh well,” Izumi yawned. “We remove Faalan from the picture, and it should throw a wrench into their plans. Our missing person can reveal what the baddies are cooking and bring the imperials up to date. Willingly, or not. And then we’re out of here.”

“That’s the spirit,” Waramoti nodded. “Speaking of which, how exactly do you mean to lure him to us? We’ll need to secure ourselves a place where we can prepare for whatever our hosts decide to throw at us. I should also remind you that though I yet possess the know-how for war, my combat strength is considerably lower than it used to be. You will likely have to deal with any opposition on your own.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know,” she replied without care. “I never thought to depend on a kid in the first place.”

“That is not a very friendly way to put it…” The irritated bard narrowed his gaze. “Moreover, as the better informed of us, I feel I owe you another word of warning.”

“What’s that?”

Looking unusually grim, Waramoti told the woman,

“If it ever comes down to a fight between you and the Silver Saber, you may very well meet your better. Yes, even you, Izumi. They don’t call him a champion for nothing. You should avoid a direct confrontation with the man, if you plan for your legend to continue. Use whatever underhanded tricks you’ve got in your sleeve, and take him down before he ever sees it coming, like you did with the other Guild members. Now is definitely not the time to be a gentleman. No matter how you are a woman.”

“Are you calling me a cheater now?” Izumi replied with an insulted pout. “Oh well, I’ll worry about that when the time comes.”

“No, do worry about it right here and now!”

Their order of business was clear. First, to find a place to stay, a place that could be comfortably defended with small numbers, ideally sporting a good view. The pair of travelers strolled the streets of Utenvik with their horses, looking around, getting familiar with the street map. This sightseeing tour carried on for the better part of the morning, until they stopped at a little bistro for early lunch.

Refreshed, they sought out a place to leave their horses, before resuming the search. No guards had yet come to harass them, and there were no obvious followers either. Both the adventurer and the bard alike soon lost their sense of urgency amid the urban sights, spending their time chatting and window-shopping.

While about it, advancing along the central avenue westward, the travelers eventually came across a rather unusual person.

“—Work for bodyguards! Decent pay! Any strong hands, please step up! Bodyguards wanted! Come, come, all brave souls accepted! Do ask for details, I’ll be happy to tell you more! Work for bodyguards…!”

An older man stood on the curb, a large sign in hand, yelling loudly at the passers-by. He was not a local by the looks of him, never mind a warrior. A thin, pale little man, shorter than Izumi herself, likely in his fifties, with round glasses on his reddened nose. He was clad in a dark green overcoat or a cloak; a giant muffler with stripes of red, green, and blue was wrapped around is neck in multiple layers, and he had a peculiar black hat like a kippah on his head.

“Looking for bodyguards!” the man continued to yell without rest. “Adventurous souls from all walks of life accepted! Good wages, good working conditions, minimum requirements…!”

No one paid him any attention, in spite of his attractive advertisement. Carefully avoiding eye contact, the pedestrians hurried past the man in an uninterrupted stream. Save for just one. Izumi abruptly stopped in her tracks, staring at that odd character, like a dog that’s spotted something interesting. Waramoti immediately elbowed her arm, predicting what the woman had on her mind.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned her in a low tone.

“No, this is a quest,” Izumi said. “It’s clearly a quest meant for me. I have to pick it up.”

“No, no, no, you don’t. Remember what we’re here for. To avoid attention like this! Do as the others do and just keep walking.”

“It’s practically free money!” Izumi argued. “Paying the guards really hurt my finances, you know? I’m no Scrooge, but better some than none!”

“This is nothing but trouble, clearly,” he insisted. “And not worth any money.”

“We’re already expecting trouble,” she retorted. “It’ll be two birds with one stone. You’ll never keep up with the level requirements if you skip all the side quests.”

“This is not your otherworldly games,” the bard told the woman. “And that is not how you hire a bodyguard! This man has no idea what he’s doing, and you don’t want to deal with his sort of employers. Because they tend to die before they pay you. Trust me, I know this. I’ve seen it!”

“Why, he’s clearly in need of our services then!”

“Izumi, stop.”

Ignoring his warnings, Izumi strode past the bard and went on to approach the unsuccessful recruiter. With a helpless sigh, Waramoti hurried along, hoping that he might still prevent greater tragedies from coming to pass.

“Hello there!” Izumi greeted the older man with a wave. “You appear to be having trouble?”

“Oh thank Lords,” the man with the odd hat sighed immediately in relief, dropping his arms and letting down his sign board. “Finally someone talks to me! I’ve been at this for two days with no luck, I swore to myself I would go along with the first person who should dare speak to me, and there you are. Thank you!”

“Ehh...right,” Izumi’s smile turned a little crooked.

“That is quite the sword you have there,” the man pointed at the handle of the weapon sticking up past Izumi’s shoulder. “Rather…unusual, for such a young woman. I take it you know how to use it too?”

“More or less, I guess,” Izumi answered.

“I’d expect a good deal of more, and not so much of less,” he said. “This quite the dangerous job we’re talking about. These are risky areas, very unpredictable! And, is the lad there with you...?”

“No, no, I’m not,” Waramoti denied, waving his arms dismissively, but was much too late in coming to his senses.

“Why, yes, he is,” Izumi said, hopping over to grab the fleeing musician by the collar. “He’s my dear attendant and bearer of arms. I happen to be something of a knight, you see.”

“Why, that’s bloody brilliant!” the man beamed. “A knight, even! So you’re interested in helping me out then? I doubt not your credentials, my fair lady, but this is indeed something of a serious pickle, as I mentioned, and I ought to make sure you know what you’re in for, before fully committing...”

“Relax, uncle, I eat danger for breakfast,” Izumi said, extending her hand for a shake.

With slight hesitation, the bespectacled man took her hand, and Izumi proceeded to give him a solid squeeze that nearly made his eye fall out of their sockets.

“…!” The strange man quite admirably contained his voice, opening and closing his mouth, while shaking his pained hand. Then, his expression turned into that of excitement instead. “Well! I’ll be! I see now you’re not all talk! Oh my! Never judge a book by the cover—have truer words ever been spoken? I should’ve been wiser myself. Very well then, if you insist! Let us step somewhere more private to discuss the details of the job. Follow me, if you would be so kind!”

The man turned to show the way, while Izumi flashed the bard a triumphant grin.

Meanwhile, Waramoti could only heave an exhausted sigh.

4

Izumi and the bard followed the older gentleman into an apartment building one block down the street. There they ascended narrow stairs to a spacious penthouse apartment, which the scholar had rented as his study. It was a singular, long room, spanning the entire length of the building, kept well alight during the day by a number of skylights in the ceiling.

In the far right end was a space for resting, walled off by a shoji screen, with a large bed, and a sturdy, wide chest for private belongings. In the far right end was an elevated platform, half of which served as a kitchen, equipped with a regular wood stove. In the other corner was set up an office, with work desks covered in numerous documents, candles, and oil lamps.

The floor space between these two ends of the room was taken by bookshelves and displays, lined up like domino pieces, save for a clearing in the very middle, opposite the door, where cozy couches, armchairs, and a low table had been placed, fit for meeting visitors, or just relaxing.

“My name is Acquiescas Van Hortz, and I am a scholar from the University of Cotlann,” the old man introduced himself, showing them in. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, milady. Young sir.”

“I’m Izumi,” Izumi said, while taking off her coat and gazing around. “I’m...a freelance adventurer of sorts, I suppose.”

“An adventurer!” Acquiescas exclaimed, hurrying over to the kitchen to retrieve a tea pot. “How thrilling! A wandering knight—like good Etrimantes, eh? Divines rest his gentle soul!”

“And I am Wa—Wallander!” the young artist introduced himself with another made-up name, though with no less pride than usual. “While not bearing anybody’s arms, I occupy myself as a bard of great talent and renown!”

“A bard...” Acquiescas’s face turned visibly less thrilled.

The lukewarm reception certainly didn’t help Waramoti develop new sympathy for their potential employer. The old scholar meanwhile forgot about the youth, and resumed with a smile, a bright glimmer in his eyes,

“Tell me, friends, what do you know of archaeology?”

“It’s the study of history, yes?” Izumi answered, while examining closer the various shelves dividing Acquiescas’s study. Besides books and documents, there were also peculiar things like rocks samples, fossilized arrowheads, pieces of pottery, ancient amulets, pendants, rings, wristbands, and even stranger items, relics of obvious antiquity.

“Precisely!” Acquiescas replied, finding a copper-coated pot, and started to fill it from a barrel of water. “It is the study of our history, and regrettably neglected as such, even in the lands that consider themselves ‘civilized’ these days. Without the past, there can be no future! I wish more people recognized this simple fact—the young, in particular! Instead of chasing all sorts of empty frivolities, and careers in mindless, short-lived entertainment—as so many regrettably do!—they should be more mindful of where we come from, as people. It is up to the young to pick up our work after we senior generations depart from this world, and quite frankly, I fear leaving such a heavy responsibility in their unattuned hands!”

Waramoti received the blatant criticism looking like someone had cracked a raw egg on top of his head, and made no sound. Not like the scholar had intended to insult him. Ignorant of the bard’s past, Acquiescas only considering him as another misguided young adult. And, as such, the fault ultimately lay with the boy’s parents, surely.

The filled tea pot in his hands, the scholar paused and turned to the guests.

“I am an archaeologist,” he proudly told them. “And I have come to Dharva to conduct research on a topic of very special cultural-historical significance. My study of this subject is something of a life’s work for me, and I’ve planned and prepared for over twenty-five years for the opportunity to come and conduct my research on-site. Then, very recently, beginning to feel my age, I saw that the time to follow through with the dream had come. It had to be now or never! Thus, I overcame great risks and personal costs to travel here to Utenvik, in the land so close to the core of my study.”

“...And what is this subject?” Izumi asked, as Waramoti neglected his usual duty to keep the dialogue going. “The thing you’re researching?”

With a radiant smile full of child-like excitement, Acquiescas answered,

“The Precursors.”

Even Waramoti turned his head at the mention of that enigmatic term.

“Who were the Precursors? Where did they come from, and where did they go?” the scholar continued, placing the filled pot on the stove, and lit up the stove with a candle. “These questions have haunted scientists for a good thousand years, and we’re not much closer to tangible answers now than we were centuries back. We have various clues, we have ruins of old outposts, tools and objects they traded, but these few bread crumbs can only tell us so much. Who else could better answer our questions then, but the people once closest to these mythical entities, their slaves of yore, the present day citizens of Dharva? Of course, I’m not the first one to think so. Many scholars have come and gone over the ages, inquiring the very same things. Nikoleus, Bassimus, Pretoranos, Cholenchima, to name a few—and it is quite safe to say we’ve extracted all available information on the Precursors from the modern Dharvic populace. Which is to say—nothing, basically.”

“Nothing?” Izumi echoed, tilting her head.

“Indeed! Finding themselves abruptly freed approximately one thousand years back, the Dharves left the halls of their vanished masters in Eylia, and migrated to Dharva, the land after which they were since named. And they never once thought of going back. These are the only facts we have. Generations followed one another and the Dharves’ past roots among the Precursor civilization faded altogether from living memory, surviving only in oral tradition, as a limited collection of heavily distorted, embellished legends, which have next to no scientific value today. That is obviously not what I came here for. No, I have my sights set beyond local folklore, much, much further than that.”

Acquiescas walked down the steps from the kitchen area, faced his guests, and clasped his hands excitedly together.

“My friends, for the first time in a thousand years, man will go back to Eylia!” he announced. “That has been my dream ever since I was but a student myself. So I came to Utenvik for the express purpose of petitioning Steward Hiyrland for his permit and aid in equipping an expedition to the ancient sites of his people, to learn more of the Precursors’ life. What were they like, how did they live, how they treated their servants, what sorts of things they created—even after all this time, there should still be various things left, preserved in the arctic ice.”

“And the Steward actually said yes to such a plan?” Waramoti asked, unable to believe his ears.

“Well, the negotiations weren’t easy,” Acquiescas answered, turning away. “We spoke every day for a week, and his excellence seemed far from amenable at first. No, by his face on our first meeting, as I presented my business, I was already certain he was going to have me whipped and hung, if not worse. I admit, I could have worded the introduction a bit better, but what’s said is done and hindsight is poor man’s wisdom. Yet, I refused to give up. This means everything to me, it’s what I’ve worked for all my life. And it appeared that the Divines were on my side. From the second day on, there came about an almost mysterious change in lord Hiyrland’s attitude. I found him suddenly turned—if not outright agreeable—at least mildly curious regarding my intentions, and he asked for more details about my past study and background, my plans, and so forth. And from the third day on, he was already making suggestions of his own and improving on what I had presented. I suppose he finally came to see the societal and cultural impact my research is bound to have, not only on the locals, but the entire civilized world. Ah, I knew him to be a man of wisdom, deep down! The story of Eylia is part of our collective legacy as a species, it is knowledge that must be salvaged and preserved! I’m so damn glad we got to see eye to eye, in the end!”

“Somehow, I seriously doubt that,” Waramoti muttered, though Acquiescas failed to heed him.

“The preparations are underway, even as we speak,” the scholar said. “Of course, an undertaking of this caliber isn’t ready in a day or two. It will take meticulous planning to determine the best possible route, we need to assemble the crew, gather equipment and supplies, follow the weather, et cetera. But after a month of work, I have faith that we’re getting close. Unless...”

Acquiescas’s expression clouded and he interrupted himself.

“…Unless?” Izumi urged him to go on.

“Ah, well, we come to the reason why I sought hired hands,” the man responded, turning to face the north side windows. “You see, I’ve found that there are certain elements in Utenvik, who are not very...pleased by my intentions. In fact, they would prefer that we abandoned the whole project, and have made their opinion known, several times.”

“What happened?” she asked.

“See, I came here originally with an assistant,” Acquiescas explained. “A student of mine from Cotlann, who shared my enthusiasm for the subject, in a way very few of my peers did, but...Well, a tragedy recently met the poor lad. They found Alfois four days back—with his head crushed. He’d been hit by a rock from behind, apparently, while he’d been on his way home from the nearby tavern. Oh, I never should’ve brought him! May he find peace in the beyond.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Waramoti told the scholar, not much real empathy in his tone. “But are you certain his death was related to your endeavor, and not only a random act of violence towards foreigners?”

“I have no proof, of course,” Acquiescas said, turning to him. “But you see, the timing of it was quite uncanny. It was not much earlier that I met a certain man at that very same tavern—completely unknown to me previously, I should add. A local fellow, grim and hairy. He bumped into me in the doorway with deliberate weight, leaned over and told me to ‘keep damn well clear of the mountains’, and then was on his way. I was stupefied. How could he know of my plans, which I’d only disclosed to the Steward before? And I’ll never forget the look in that man’s eyes. His gaze was downright murderous. No doubt it was Alfois’s killer I met that day! I am sure of it!”

Acquiescas shuddered, recalling the incident, while Izumi and Waramoti traded glances.

“Also,” the scholar continued, “around the same time, I began to receive strange notes. I know not who leaves them, but they appear in various places, sneaked into my coat pockets, pushed under the door, and wherever, and they are all uniform in their contents. ‘Death awaits in the mountains’, ‘leave the past lie’, ‘never go to Eylia’—and so on, you get the message. Quite disturbing! I can’t begin to guess why these people choose to view my project as evil, but unless they come forward and explain their reasons to me like civilized beings, I can’t let myself be swayed. I do not mean to step on anyone’s toes, but the success of my research means more to human history than honoring local superstition. This is all bigger than we are! My work will show how we ourselves will be remembered in the far future!”

“So, bodyguards,” Waramoti shrugged.

“Yes,” the scholar answered. “It’s become evident that my life is at risk. Yet, lord Hiyrland belittles my concerns, calling the notes as mere childish mischief, and the death of my assistant an innocent accident. Accident! As if he tripped and smashed his head by a pure mistake! That’s nonsense! Alfois was a tad clumsy, yes, but nobody is that clumsy! The danger is real. And I am not built like these people are! I’ve never held a weapon in my life! It goes without saying that my and lord Hiyrland’s views of ‘danger’ are worlds apart. If his lordship will not provide me with sufficient protection, then I will need to take matters into my own hands—or, put them in yours. If you would be so kind.”

The tea pot started to whistle and Acquiescas hurried over to remove it.

“I will pay the lady ten coppers per day, the boy five, is that fair?” he shortly called back. “The job is expected to last until the end of the week. After the expedition sets out, I shall require your services no more. In the meanwhile, you are welcome to stay here, at my residence, and meals are also on the house. I would prefer that you kept close at all times, but if you have any pressing matters to attend to, you may take care of them during the day. My stalkers wouldn’t be so brazen as to attack in broad daylight, while the guards are about. I must also visit the City Hall each day, to take part in the recruitment process, planning, and such like general organizing. You need not accompany me there, I’m sure the Steward’s men will suffice for my protection. It’s only when night falls and I am by myself that I get uneasy.”

Returning to the two, handing them their tea cups, the scholar then slammed his palms together and gave them both an expectant look.

“How about it?” he asked. “Are you still up for this? Or have I scared you too much?”

Taking a sip from her cup, Izumi smiled at the professor and then extended her free hand with a confident pose.

“Looks like we have a deal!”

Acquiescas forced a smile in response and nodded.

This time, he refrained from the handshake.