When we saw smoke yering over smoke until it became less a scent than a fact of life, we knew we had arrived at Aurelienth. By the time we reached the outer gate, I was already expecting something dramatic, like checkpoints or inspections.

  Instead, there was just traffic. A driver waved at the gate guard and was waved through in return, then the carts coming in after him simply rolled in without getting stopped. No one asked for papers, though the travellers still looked at us particurly hard.

  We rode straight in.

  In small towns, the gate was a line in the sand, and every stranger was an event. I guess towns do get big enough to no longer bother. The real defenses should never be just at the gate, anyway.

  The moment we passed under the gate’s shadow, Anabeth let out a sibint sound, “Ahhh. How dreadful.”

  What did she mean by that?

  She shifted behind me, arms drawing in as if struck by a sudden chill. “It gets so terribly cold in here,” she continued. “Must be some sort of local weather pattern. Cities do that, you know. Aether circution and urban humidity gradients have a profound impact on localized climate, not to mention stone density.” She trailed off while already acting on the problem. First came the shawl, drawn tight around her shoulders. Then she gathered her hair and tucked it away, then shadowed her face with a hood. By the time she finished, she had transformed from a conspicuously well-dressed mage into someone who very much did not wish to be looked at.

  I gnced down at her hands.

  They were not trembling. Nor was her breath fogging. Nor had my breath changed at all. The weather had been the same. The sun hadn’t even set.

  “It is not cold,” I said.

  “That’s because you’re wearing armor.” She sniffed. “Achoo! Ah! I’ve just sneezed. How terribly sensitive to the weather I am, good Sir.” She huddled closer and pulled the hood lower, until only her mouth and chin were visible. “Ah. How cozy.” She rubbed her cheek against my cuirass. “Surely you wouldn’t mind sheltering a poor trembling dy, would you, Sir?”

  “Insolent sorceress. You—”

  “Oh!” she interrupted brightly, lifting one hand and pointing past my shoulder. “There it is.”

  There what is?

  I followed her gesture despite myself.

  We had emerged onto the edge of a broad town square—one of several, judging by the branching avenues—but this one was oddly asymmetrical. The open space spread wide and busy with foot traffic, and there, not at the center where such things belonged, but pushed awkwardly toward the square’s northern edge, stood a statue.

  It was old. Older than its surroundings by far. The figure depicted was human—perhaps—but the style was archaic and the proportions were slightly wrong in a way that spoke of an era before strict academies and standardized forms. No plinth inscription nor dedicatory pque were present.

  “Strange pcement,” I muttered.

  “Ah,” Anabeth said, satisfaction threading her voice. “You noticed.” She leaned just enough to peer around me. I noticed she’d forgotten to fake her shivers. “That statue predates the square. Predates the Order, actually. No surviving records expin it, and every attempt to appraise it has failed rather spectacurly.”

  I gnced down at her. She was watching my face now, not the statue.

  She continued, “The square used to be elsewhere. It was destroyed during the st Human–Goblin war. Fifty-three years ago, give or take. Fires, colpses, a regrettable aetheric detonation involving a bell tower, you see. Bell towers usually get struck during aetheric battles, very possibly because they’re a high vantage point! But that is unimportant. When they rebuilt, they realigned the avenues, widened the trade routes, and moved everything south. But moving the statue was inadvisable.”

  There was something alluring about the way she told the story. I very much did not give a rat’s arse about statues, ancient or otherwise, and I didn’t understand how she came to know so much about this particur square, but her sing-song rhythm sounded improvised, each digression harmless, and somehow they all circled back to the same point.

  I found myself listening.

  “Do you see that fountain, Sir?” She pointed now at a modest fountain set near the statue’s base rather than the square’s heart. “It taps directly into a subterranean aether stream. The stream is shallow but very old, and the aetheric content is pure. It’s said that simply touching the water connects you to the underground flow, and accumutes . . . good luck. Would you like to try, Sir?”

  Under ordinary circumstances, I would not have spared the fountain a second gnce. I had never trusted magical rumors, and ‘Good luck’ was a word people used when they didn’t understand causality. Yet, the task–boon system had a troubling habit of triggering on precisely this sort of thing. If this fountain mattered to Aurelienth, then I could get myself a great task.

  I looked at the basin again.

  The water was clear. Too clear, considering its surroundings. No algae bloom, no discoloration, no visible runoff despite the nearby workshops. From a risk perspective, touching water was negligible.

  I hated when the math favored nonsense.

  Still, I dismounted and reached out.

  [Task Received: Welcome to Aurelienth]

  Objective: Obtain an Aurelienth Civic Sigil Writ from the Town Hall

  Boon: +150 EXP

  Unlocked: New Feature: Bounty Board

  Bounty Board Access — East Westris Region

  Note: Aurelienth functions as the regional civic nexus of East Westris; interaction with aetherically significant municipal ndmarks enables access to regional administrative systems.

  New feature? A Bounty Board? Whatever would that entail? I pictured a wall covered in parchment, each sheet promising Kohns for violence, chaos, or both. Monsters to be sin, fugitives to be dragged back breathing or otherwise, problems important enough to warrant payment but not important enough for the city to handle directly. Those would at least pay significantly more than what meager amount I got from dungeon delving.

  Of course, there was a reason why I’d never bothered. I was weak.

  Nonetheless, the task itself was simple, just irritating. A Civic Sigil Writ was not some badge of honor or proof of worth. It was paperwork, and the useless kind that existed solely so the city could say it knew where you were. That you had a pce, a name on record, a duration of stay. An upstanding citizen of the kingdom. Without the Writ, you could get fined or even detained if you settle down unregistered.

  I was not a criminal, so I had no fear of obtaining a writ and putting my name on record. Anabeth, on the other hand...

  This would be a chance to find out if she was indeed a shady figure.

  I returned to where Silvermane and Anabeth were standing. She looked back up at me, wide-eyed beneath the hood.

  Staring at her, I spoke, “We will travel to the Town Hall. We will obtain an Aurelienth Civic Sigil Writ.”