Fyre Fly: Chapter 27 – Good Riddance

Over the next few days, we gradually drift across and then away from Mount Haze. It’s still within sight, but tonight the last of the airships will depart, and then we’ll be alone floating over the wilderness. It seems our max stay for any one city is four days. We could spend more mana to fight the winds and hover over a city for longer, but we don’t deem it practical right now. We need to make sure we have an idea of where we want to land and enough mana to get there before we burn too much of our reserves.

The next major city is a week away, and we’re told that one doesn’t have an airship port; the only airships that might be in the area would be transport from visiting cities. I’m not too worried about this obstacle, however; we have one of Dizzi’s cloudstone transport vessels made, and several more in the works; we can spend the next week testing them out before we arrive.

Not to mention, I might be able to head down to the surface myself this time.

Nek points out several of the items we’ve traded for, spread across a table in the office.

“Elf hair,” he says, pointing to several long braids. “Dhamypr hair, and goblin hair. Shed skin from lamia, and shed scales from nereids. Wood grown from a dryad. There aren’t any cambions or orcs in Mount Haze, so they couldn’t help us there. There are a few halflings, but they didn’t have enough hair between them, and weren’t too keen on the idea of shaving anyway.”

“Well done, Nek,” I say, looking over our rather macabre spoils. “I can’t imagine these were easy to ask for.”

His ears droop. “You have no idea.”

“Will it be enough?” Mirzayael asks. “There isn’t as much goblin hair.”

“The amount of matter the Dungeon Core needs to ingest for the species to be registered is dependent on the species’ mass,” I explain. “Some sort of ratio, it seems. So we don’t need as much goblin hair as we would for, say, an orc.”

Mirzayael tacks off a couple fingers. “We’re still missing three species, then.”

I nod. “Of the fifteen sentient species on this planet that Echo has informed me of, I’d say we’re off to a very good start.”

“Well,” Mirzayael says, “let’s see what this much will get you.”

“What’s your current Role Range?” Dizzi cuts in as I’m reaching out for the first lock of hair.

I pause to Check it.

[Role Range: 35.1%]

That’s a smidge higher than it was last time, and the Dungeon Core hasn’t eaten anything since then. Was this a result of my connecting the weapons system to the throne? Or perhaps training with Mirzayael. (Thankfully, she’d put that on pause while we’ve been in the middle of trade negotiations, but I’m certain she’ll restart the practice with great fervor once we leave the city and have more time on our hands.)

I relay the stat to Dizzi, who jots it down on a slate.

“Okay,” she says. “Ready. But do them one at a time so we can get data on each!”

“Good idea.” I unnecessarily nudge the Dungeon Core, who has been hovering over my shoulder excitedly once it caught wind of what we were planning.

New things to eat! It hopes they taste good. It’s sure it won’t be as good as rocks, but sometimes new things can be interesting. Like the sea shells! Those were fun to eat.

Yes, I encourage it. Just like candy.

Recalling how it gagged down the harpy feathers and dracid skin, I carefully keep the parallels between that and the current sampling of goods secret. It’s all keratin, I think, and if it didn’t like the ones before, it’s probably not going to like this.

But to my surprise, the Core slurps down the elf braids like pieces of spaghetti. Hmmm! This is very odd. It needs to try more to decide if it likes it.

“Thirty-nine point nine,” I quickly read off before the Core eats the goblin hair next.

[Role Range: 44.3%]

Then the dhampyr: 50.7%

Then the lamia skin—

EW! The Dungeon Core shudders in my mind. Oh, no, it remembers this. It did not like this before. So gross!

Mirzayael snorts. “But it ate the hair completely without issue?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s all in its head,” I reply. “Remember the spring water? As if it doesn’t love sulfur when it’s in rock form.”

“Fifty-eight point two,” I say, trying to tune out the Core’s complaints. It starts retching for extra emphasis. I swear, this rock is more dramatic than any person I’ve ever met.

Come on, I tell it. Only two more to go. Then… I wrack my brain for any incentive I can offer it. It’s a lot harder when we’re not surrounded by stone it can chew on. ...I’ll have Ollie go get some more shells for you.

That perks the Core right back up. Yes it would love more of the tiny crumbly rocks that shatter between its teeth in the most delightful way! It downs the nereid scales and dryad wood after that. The wood it’s unsure about, but it surprisingly deems the scales acceptable. Honestly, who knows with the Core. Its preferences seem pretty inconsistent to me. Like a kid who will tell you how something good tastes based on what they think it is rather than what it actually is.

“I missed the last one,” I tell Dizzi. “But after those last two, I’m now up to seventy-three point one.”

Dizzi scribbles a couple more notes. “Yeah that makes sense. It’s not a linear relationship. The more the Core eats, the more benefit it gives your range,” she says. “Wow, we basically doubled it. That’s great! I think the last three species will get you over one hundred percent.”

“How does the percent translate to range?” Mirzayael asks.

“I picked ten kilometers as a semi-arbitrary goal,” I tell her. “So seventy percent is seven kilometers of range. I suppose I should update it to a bigger goal now.”

But I’ve very pleased with how far it’s already come. Not only can I now reach the ground, I’ll have significant wiggle room in wandering around on the surface.

“What are we at, four kilometer’s altitude? That means…” I get Echo to do some quick Pythagorean math for me. “I can range about five and a half kilometers from the Fortress while on the ground. That’s over ten kilometers in diameter. That’s fantastic!”

“The question is, how to increase it further,” Dizzi muses. “After you get some biological matter from orcs, cambions, and halflings, we’ll have hit the end of this source of range increase.”

“More intense sparring sessions should help,” Mirzayael suggests.

Dizzi looks up at us in delight. “You guys are sparring? Oh, I gotta watch that.”

“What about the last of the tower’s spell circles?” I ask Dizzi, coincidentally changing the subject.

“Those ones are interesting,” she says. “Turns out they’re not like the other two. The third one is less offense and defense and more… surveillance, we think. But we haven’t been able to suss out the fourth one yet. It’s more complicated, and we don’t know a lot of the runes that are used.”

That dampens the mood. I dislike a surveillance system almost as much as a weapon system, but I can see the reason in both. If nothing else, I’ll connect them to the throne just for the small boost in the Role Range I’ll receive.

On the plus side, though, the feelers we’ve been putting out with regards to the public’s perception of Fyrethians has been promising. We obtained a couple history books from the scholar group, and most of them don’t even mention Fyreneth’s Fortress—or the Jorrians, for that matter. The only book where we found any mention of Fyreneth was a book about the Ruins, a collection of city remains that leak ambient magic into the world—like the Drifting Isles, which we had originally been mistaken for. While the Jorrians had insisted the Ruins were ancient cities destroyed by the gods, this is not the prevailing theory elsewhere in the world. Fyreneth’s city was mentioned briefly as possibly being another Ruin, though it was too remote to reasonably investigate.

I’m inclined to doubt her city is in fact one of these remains; we aren’t a source of magic for one. If we did, our lives would be made exceptionally easier. Additionally, though, the timeline doesn’t seem to add up. Archeologists estimate the Ruins are nearly two thousand years old, while Fyreneth’s city was founded—and fell—within the last one thousand years.

It seems we really have been given a fresh start, as long as we can avoid the fanatics in Jorria.

And, of course, the gods.

As the sun lowers toward the horizon, the airships depart, one by one. Captain Marlowe is the last to leave, and we gather at the docks to bid him farewell.

“You’ve made me a rich man,” he happily remarks, grinning as he clasps each of our hands in turn. “Hope to see you all around these parts again. Sure would love to continue doing business with you all. I’ve sent some wyverns ahead to Hetopolis with some introductions, so they’ll know you’re coming.”

“I appreciate it,” I say. “We wouldn’t have been able to do all this without you.”

“Nay, you didn’t need me,” Marlowe says. He pauses before adding,” But you wouldn’t have done as well!”

Mirzayael feels mildly offended, but I chuckle. He’s probably right.

In the end, we were able to trade textiles, spell circles, ore (much to the Dungeon Core’s remorse), and soil additives, and in exchange we came out with an incredible amount of produce—including seeds to expand our own produce selection. Dizzi was delighted to gain a few new artificing books as well, which she’s sharing with the spell circle research team, and I have gathered a sample of the regional currency, which I will probably start to duplicate on the way to Hetopolis (with much discomfort).

Most importantly, though, is one item we were able to export.

A small group of Marlowe’s crew escort Ragna to their ship. She’s no longer shackled, but from the way the crew are walking tightly around her, it’s clear she’s not free to do as she pleases, either.

I feel a bit uneasy about releasing her, even though it was my idea. I worry what she might tell others about us, and that they might believe her. After learning how the rest of the world seems to have forgotten Fyreneth, or at least indifferently relegated her to myth, I know I should feel better about letting the Jorrian go. Not to mention, Jorria itself has had plenty of time to warn the gods about us—if that’s even something they could do—and they’ve not confronted us yet. So rationally, I know there is no danger in releasing her. But her obvious disdain, when she glares once more back at me before being walked onto Marlowe’s ship, fills me with sorrow.

Perhaps it’s not anxiety I’m feeling after all; it might be regret more than anything. I might be winning Gardi over, but we couldn’t do the same for her. Which is the outlier?

“I have a parting gift for you,” Captain Marlowe says, pulling me from my introspection. He holds out a small stack of letters.

“What’s this?” I say, accepting the bundle. “You want to be pen pals?”

“Each letter is spelled to deliver itself to my ship.” He gestures for me to turn them over. On the other side are small, simple spell circles. “Write the letter and activate the spell, if you ever need to reach me.”

“Thank you,” I say, a little touched. “I’m sure we will be in contact again. You’ve been a great help. I’m not sure how we’ll be able to make it up to you.”

“Actually, I do have one last request for you all,” Captain Marlowe says, grinning shamelessly. “I didn’t make any promises, but I said I would ask.”

Mirzayael scoffs. “And giving us a parting ‘gift’ right before asking for a request is completely incidental, I assume?”

“Amazing coincidence,” he agrees, eyes crinkled in amusement. “There’s a couple people who would like to stay.” Mirzayael’s eyebrows shoot up, and he makes a placating hand gesture. “At least just until the next city! They could take an airship back home after that. But it isn’t every day a city flies over your home, and you’ve stoked quite a few people’s interests. I’m sure there’s more they’d like to learn from you all, and I’d hazard a guess there’s more you could learn from them.”

This certainly wasn’t a request I was anticipating, though in retrospect, it is something we should have prepared for. Even if no one stayed with us today, our kingdom will certainly receive visitors in the future.

“How many?” I ask.

“Nine individuals,” Captain Marlowe says. “A couple are scholars, one from the airship guild, and the rest, frankly, are just intrigued. Two being my niece and nephew,” he adds with a wink, “so I expect for them to receive special privileges.”

I can tell he’s joking with this last comment, but Mirzayael doesn’t feel amused.

“Spending the night is one thing,” Mirzayael says to me privately. “But staying with us for a whole week? Perhaps more? This makes me uneasy.”

“I understand,” I say. “But it might not be a bad idea. He’s right that it wouldn’t hurt us to have people familiar with the area and customs with us when we reach Hetopolis. It would help us be more prepared. Besides, we’ll need to start making accommodations for outsiders at some point.”

“Do we?” Mirzayael asks, resignation setting in. We both know that’s what Fyreneth would have wanted.

“Fine,” she says aloud. “You can tell them they may stay. Just to the Hetopolis, however. We will reevaluate their hospitableness from there.”

“Fair enough,” Marlowe says with a wide grin. “Glad to hear it. I’ll go let them know, then. Lord Mirzayael. Lord Fyre.” He tips his hat. “It’s been a pleasure.”

The captain saunters back to his ship as Mirzayael tells a few of her scouts to deliver a message to prepare a few rooms. She picks populated locations outside the palace, I notice. Not too close, but still in areas where people can keep an eye on our guests.

For Mirzayael, I consider this significant progress.

Our guests disembark with excited smiles and large travel bags—they clearly came prepared. I’m a little relieved to see the scholar Lisari is not among them. Marlowe’s relatives are a young felis woman and a young human man—at least now I don’t have to wonder how these multi-species siblings came to be. They seem ecstatic to meet us, and even Mirzayael isn’t impervious to their infectious enthusiasm.

As Marlowe’s airship pulls away, and we turn to lead our visitors into the city, I can’t help but feel this marks some kind of turning point. I have a feeling the empty streets and houses in the lower tiers of the city won’t remain so for long.