“Lamdir Paydamat wasn’t there at the time to use her magic to make us understood—”


    Lamdir mean?” Sinit?a asked.


    fomase and fomaze.”


    Lamdir must be close enough.”


    When they had left their lodges, an Isyar had arrived with goggles for each of them. They were meant to protect against the glare of the sun off the snow. It wasn’t as much of a concern at this time of year when there were only a couple hours a day of sunlight. However, during the summer when the days were longer, continued exposure could blind a human. Even now, with only a few thin beams of sunlight passing through the breaks in the hills, it was very bright out. Meleng was glad for his goggles.


    Lustrous Rose in those days, you see. Anyway…”


    As they continued up the slope, Isyar came out of some of the buildings and watched them pass. Many flew out of the open roofs, and then back in afterwards. Sinit?a waved at every Isyar they passed. A few waved back, but most just stared at her, some in surprise, some in awe, even a few in disgust. There were also a few who paid them no attention at all, though those tended to be farther away—perhaps too far to notice Sinit?a’s potential? Meleng would have really liked to see what they saw when they looked at her. Jorvan had described it as a kind of glow, but that it also went beyond that—not a particularly helpful description.


    By the time they reached their destination, Meleng had fallen well behind. He bent over and gasped for air as he finally reached Gen. “I wish it wasn’t so steep.”


    Gen chuckled. “We are in the mountains, lad. Probably why Isyar have wings.”


    They were on a wide ledge, the round, winged Council building at the far end of it. Between them and the building stretched a garden of bizarre plants, some of them like short purple pine trees, others taller and with white flowers. Puffy purple bushes that had been trimmed and cut into geometric shapes were spaced at regular intervals throughout the garden, and the grey roots with flat leaves Meleng had seen elsewhere twined between and around all the other plants.


    Gen patted Meleng on the back and strode up to Sinit?a. “Now, this remarkable statue was sculpted before Chithishtheny was founded. It’s believed to be at least three thousand years old.”


    “So they say,” Gen said. “Apparently, the sculptor wasn’t trying to represent any actual individual, just a generic Isyar I suppose. Personally, I think they just say that because no one remembers who it was supposed to represent.” He chuckled.


    Gen gestured around them. “There’s certainly lots of snow here for you to practise with.”


    Gen knelt beside her. “It’s called...now, you have to be careful with the pronunciation here. Get it wrong and you can end up saying the Isyar word for dragon. But if I have my pronunciation right, it’s called a frirrdund.” He rolled the middle r’s.


    “Firr-er-er-dun,” Sinit?a said.


    “Frirrdund,” a voice said.


    An Isyar had approached behind them. His wings hung at odd angles, withered and useless, though he otherwise looked in peak condition. Indeed, he was the most muscular Isyar Meleng had ever seen. Instead of the typical Isyar gown, he was dressed in a form-fitting fabric similar to what Fevionawishtensen had been wearing, but a darker grey colour.


    “Frirrdund,” the Isyar repeated.


    “Why?” Sinit?a stood up. “Furrrrrdund.” She grinned at her overemphasised r’s.


    The Isyar shook his head. “Frirrdund.”


    Gen stepped between Sinit?a and the Isyar. “Yes, thank you. If we head over this way, your Highness, there’s another statue almost as old and with a much more interesting story. We—”


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    “Frirrdund,” the Isyar said one last time, then turned and started running.


    “Ptip!” the elderly Isyar yelled. He raised his cane, which stretched outwards, past Meleng, Sinit?a, and Gen, then wrapped around the fleeing Isyar’s legs, pulling him off his feet.


    “What are you doing?” Sinit?a grabbed the cane, but it shrank back to its normal size, whipping past her hands. She screamed and stumbled back. Her mittens were ripped right through, and blood was staining the tattered remains.


    Gen sighed. “I’m so sorry. I should have warned you, but it slipped my mind. I’m a terrible guide.” He looked over where the elderly Isyar was still yelling at the Isyar begging at his feet. “The one with the bent wings is called Itra, but he’s more commonly called a ptip. It’s something of a slur against Isyar born without the ability to use magic.”


    “Your Highness, I wouldn’t recommend…” Gen shook his head and sighed. “This will not end well. That’s one of the other Lamdirs.”


    The Lamdir went quiet and turned slowly to face Sinit?a. He peered up at her, his eyes narrowed. Behind him, Itra scrabbled to his feet and hurried away.


    Sinit?a shushed Meleng, then said calmly to the Lamdir, “I know you probably can’t understand me, but you don’t have to be so mean to him. He was just trying to help me.”


    The Lamdir’s fingers began tracing something on one of her scarves. Meleng couldn’t make out the exact symbols, but he doubted they were anything good. “Sinit?a, look out!”


    The scarf sprang to life, pulling itself tighter around Sinit?a’s neck. Sinit?a screamed, but the scream cut off as she began to choke and gasp for breath. She clawed at her neck.


    Meleng let go of the scarf and rushed at the Lamdir. “Let her go!”


    The Lamdir raised his cane, which stretched out again and whacked Meleng across the side of the face. He fell over, the other side of his face slamming into the hard ground. He groaned and looked up. The Lamdir raised his cane again and swung it down.


    Somewhere behind him, a voice yelled in Isyarian, and the elderly Lamdir yelled something back. The two began yelling back and forth at each other.


    Meleng crawled along the ground towards Sinit?a and Gen, not bothering to even look at his saviour. Gen was seated on the ground, cradling Sinit?a in his arms. She was free of the constricting scarf. It lay in a couple pieces on the ground.


    “Alas, my dear,” Gen said, “reality rarely lives up to the stories. But many are kind. That one saved you.” He nodded towards their saviour.


    Meleng looked over to see who had come to their rescue. She was a tall Isyar, almost as tall as Meleng, and young-looking. Her wings were spread wide, and they twitched as she glared at the elderly Isyar. The shouting between them had stopped.


    Sinit?a sniffled. She pulled off her goggles and wiped her tear-filled eyes. “Who is she?”


    Their rescuer said something, this time softer, but the elderly Isyar still heard her. He hissed something in reply, spread his wings, then flew away. Their rescuer raised her hand, her forefinger and pinky extended and pointed towards the retreating Isyar. After a moment, she smirked, lowered her hand, and folded her wings. She walked over and knelt beside Meleng and Sinit?a. She held out her right hand, palm out. “Lamdhir Chiansamorkin.”


    Sinit?a looked at her and sniffled again. Meleng tried to reach his left hand out, but he couldn’t get it out from under Sinit?a.


    Sinit?a detached herself from Meleng and placed her right palm on Chiansamorkin’s. “Princess Sinit?a Alessia Deanna Folith. You have beautiful eyes.” She lowered her hand again.


    Chiansamorkin smiled. “Thank you, Princess. You are beyond beautiful. An absolute marvel.”


    Sinit?a beamed and wiped her eyes. “You think so?”


    “Such incredible power.” Chiansamorkin turned her gaze to Meleng.


    He hurriedly pressed his palm against hers. “Meleng Drago.” Her eyes were unusual, dull red and splotchy. He wasn’t sure why Sinit?a described them as beautiful.


    “Apologies, Lamdir,” Gen said, “but I...”


    “Lamdhir,” she corrected.


    “Apologies again, Lamdhir. I was only going to say that I don’t recognise you, and I’ve met the Lamdritta before.”


    “The old guy was a Lamdir too?” Sinit?a said.


    “Lammdir.” Chiansamorkin offered her hand to Meleng. “Lammdir Griholbovroh. He is a…” She paused while she helped Meleng to his feet. “I think the word in your language is ass. He is an ass of the worst kind. It is long overdue time someone challenged him for his position.”


    “You’re the first nice Lamdir we’ve met,” Sinit?a said.


    “Lamdhir.”


    “I’ll get our friend Jorvan to help me,” Sinit?a said. She put her hand over her mouth and gave a light gasp. “Sorry, I mean Jorvanultumn.”


    “I am aware Captain Eti?nne Gen has been to Chithishtheny many times,” Chiansamorkin said, “and he could probably give you a decent tour. However, I’ve lived here my whole life. I’m sure there are things I can show you and tell you about that he has no knowledge of. No offence, Captain.”


    Gen raised his hands. “None taken.”


    Gen shook his head. “It’s fine. Go have fun.”


    Chiansamorkin put her arms around her and clasped her hands over Sinit?a’s stomach. “Now hook your arms over mine.” She looked to Meleng and Gen. “Please stand aside.”