Ryn hesitated a moment, then reluctantly held out his hand in front of him.

“Palm up, silly.”

He turned it over.

“Ok, now take some deep breaths. The reason you were only able to project fire a single time when you used your gift before must be because you used up all your mana at once. It takes mental and physical energy to use magic--it’s tiring. But if you control yourself and only use some of your mana, you should be able to create some smaller flames--and you won’t tire yourself out so much.”

“But I told you, I don’t know how. It just sort of...happened before.”

“Nonsense,” chided Nuthea. “You’ve touched the Fire Ruby. You have the gift. It’s a part of you now. It’s like a muscle. All you have to do is focus, and you can use it. You have to believe you can do it in order to do it, though. And you’ve done it before, so you know you can do it. Now come on. Focus, and make some flames on your hand.”

Ryn stared down at his open palm. This is crazy, he thought. I can’t do this. Although… He remembered shooting fire from his hands in Cleasor and engulfing the Imperial soldier. He remembered again the flames leaping from the rooftops of his hometown. He remembered his father’s dying expression. He remembered his mother’s look of pain, Vorr’s blade piercing her. There was a fire burning inside him, a fire of passion and fury and hatred. If he really had this gift, and if he could learn to master it, maybe, just maybe he would be able to get revenge on the man who had done all this to him.

A small flame lit in the centre of his palm, hovering just above it.

Ryn closed his hand and hopped back in surprise, and the flame went out with a quiet hiss. “I did it!” he said over the noise of the tavern brawl. “Did you see that? I did it!” He heard his own words, and he sounded like a little boy. He cleared his throat. “Ahem. I mean: there we go. Er...you’re a good teacher, Nuthea.”

“I know,” said the princess, smiling. “Now: Do it again. Only this time, hold your hand up, hold the flame for longer, and let it burn a little brighter. We need to get their attention.” She nodded towards the fighting mess.

Ryn took another deep breath. Making that small flame appear had been like engaging a muscle, one that he hadn’t realised he’d had. He held out his hand and engaged it again, focusing on the space just above his palm and willing fire...

A small flame appeared again. Ryn blinked, almost as startled as before, but this time he kept his hand out and continued to concentrate, and the flame stayed where it was, hovering above his hand, a little tongue of orange-red like you get from a candle.

“Good,” said Nuthea next to him. “Now make it grow.”

Acting on instinct, Ryn willed the flame to increase in size. Fire, grow, he thought.

The little flame expanded into a flickering ball, sending up some more clear smoke into the air above it. Ryn’s palm felt warm, but not overhot. He had to hold his concentration to keep it there.

Some of the brawlers stopped what they were doing now and stood still to stare at the flame. He didn’t pay them any attention, but continued to concentrate on the fireball he was holding in existence with his mind.

“That’s really good,” said Nuthea. “You’re getting their notice. Just a little more.”

Spurred on by the thrill of success and her encouragement, Ryn willed a little more of his energy into the flame. It took more effort, but the fireball grew in size by another inch. It lit the area around them brightly now, and beyond it Ryn caught sight of more of the brawlers stopping in their tracks to stare at what he was doing.

Ryn stretched his arm out and held his hand up, palm flat pointing towards the ceiling, holding the blazing fireball above his head.

Something itched at his mind. The candles. The fireplace. He had become strangely aware of them, even though he wasn’t looking at them. It was like he could sense them burning in different places in the room. He closed his eyes for a moment. To me.

He opened his eyes. The fireball he held above his head had grown again, and now it was the only light source in the tavern. He had drawn the energy from the candles and fireplace, extinguishing them, drawing them into his own fire, a huge ball of flame that crackled quietly above him in the air now, burning in place, sending out light in every direction, with Ryn at its origin. He had to concentrate hard to hold it in place.

The whole tavern had stopped what they were doing now and were frozen in place looking at him in the light from the fireball, some still holding each other in headlocks or with their fists raised where they had been about to throw their next punch. There among them were Sagar and Elrann, mouths hanging open and eyes stretched wide like everyone else’s.

Nuthea spoke up. “Um...sorry to have had to get your attention like this, but my companions and I came here looking for a particular person. Since we haven’t been able to persuade that person to come with us, we will be leaving now. Come along, Sagar.”

She beckoned with a finger, like she was coaxing a misbehaving pet.

Slowly, carefully, eyeing the fireball which Ryn was concentrating on holding up with every step, Sagar weaved his way through the frozen fighters and walked back to Nuthea’s side. They let him do so, their own eyes transfixed by the fireball too.

“Good,” said Nuthea. “Um, thank you. We shall be leaving now.” She turned her head to Ryn and whispered, “You can put that out now.”

Ryn’s heart missed a beat, and the fireball wobbled. “Er, what?” he whispered back out of the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know how!”

“Just take another deep breath and will the flames to rescind! It can’t be that hard!”

Everyone was watching him.

He breathed in, then coughed. Panic seized him and the fireball shot up into the wooden ceiling, scorching it black and dissipating. At the same time, tens of tiny flames sprang out from it, returning to the candles and the fireplace, re-igniting them.

The light inside of the tavern went back to how it had been before.

For a moment, the three of them watched the frozen tavern-brawlers to see what they would do, and vice versa.

And then the roars and shouting began again, and everyone went back to hitting each other, some of them scrambling forwards to get at Sagar, or Ryn, or maybe Nuthea--who could tell?

“Back! Get back, you vermin!” shouted Sagar, kicking one of them in the shins. He snatched his sword back off Ryn and waved it at two more of them, who sprang backwards for safety, then drew their own weapons and surged forwards again.

Luckily, though, the tavern-goers were still fighting amongst themselves as well, and before these two could attack they were rushed by another pair with their swords drawn. Weapons locked.

“You’re not going anywhere until I’ve got my hundred gold pieces for betting on Elrann!” one shouted at another.

Ryn’s distraction had got Sagar closer to the door. They took their chance and sprinted back to it, bashing it open and bursting out into the cool night air.

They pelted down the street and made sure they were a good distance away from the tavern.

It was full dark outside in Ast now. The three of them stood on the cobbles in the light from a street-lamp, at a corner that the street they had been on made with a residential alley of brick buildings, and got their breath back.

Ryn stood with his hands on his knees for a while, panting loudly. Now that he was out of the inn, tiredness sapped his every muscle.

“I’m exhausted,” he said lamely.

“That’s normal,” said Nuthea, breathing fast too. “I told you: it takes physical energy to use mana. Also, you have to practice. It’s like training a muscle. It gets easier with time.”

“Bloody tavern-dwellers!” cursed Sagar now he had his breath. “Bloody women! Bloody woman!”

“Look, numb-nuts,” said a voice, “I’ll come with you and fix your ship on the condition that you stop calling me that like it’s some sort of a bad thing.”

“Who’s there?!” cried Sagar.

A shape had appeared a few paces away from them in the street. She stepped more into the lantern-light. Elrann, with her purple hair, blue overall, goggles and metal bangles.

“Who’d ya think?” she said with her trademark grin. “Didn’t ya hear me? I’ll do the job. For a fee, of course.”

Huh? Ryn thought. Something had changed her mind. But what? Maybe she had lost out on her commission for winning the drinking game and now needed the money.

“About time,” said Sagar with the graciousness of a pig.

“What he means,” says Nuthea, “is ‘thank you’. We’d be glad to have your help.”

“Yeah,” said Elrann, “well, try to keep a rein on your dog--I can always change my mind.”

Ryn fancied he could almost see the steam coming out of Sagar’s ears.

Elrann’s eyes found him. “That was pretty impressive, that fire trick you did back there. Not seen anything like that before, and I’ve seen a few things in my time. You’ll have to show me how you did that sometime.”

Ryn’s body ached. He couldn’t think of a good response. “Er..sure,” was all he came up with.

“Right,” said the engineer. “Now, where’s this ship of yours? Let’s get to it.”

Nuthea regarded Ryn with a crinkle in her forehead.

“It’s late,” she said. “And the airfield is a good distance away. We can take you to it in the morning. For now we should find lodging somewhere in the city. Don’t you agree, Sagar? Do you have enough coin for us?”

“Rrr,” grunted Sagar, probably in assent.

“Do you know of anywhere?” Nuthea asked Elrann.

“Well,” said Elrann, “I was going to spend the night in the Traveller’s Rest, but I don’t think any of you should be going back there in a hurry. And it’s going to be a while before that brawl settles down. I know a few other places, though.”

“Thank you,” said Nuthea.

Sagar cursed under his breath.

Ryn yawned.

“Come with me,” said Elrann.

They followed her into the night.