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with his foundling, the boy who went nameless until his fifth birthday, when, accompanied by his master, he announced that his name was Nergei to the other boys, to the women who taught them every day in the village square, who would teach Nergei, as well.
    Londih did not know if that had always been the boy’s name, or if it was only then that the boy had been given it. He supposed it did not really matter either way, but from that point on the Old Stargazer went unseen, leaving Nergei to gather his herbs, to ask for his food, to let Londih and the other councilors know when some wall of his observatory needed shoring up or patching.
    But there he was again. And there they both were, although the boy was hiding in the back, doing his best to disappear. Londih did not pay him much mind—there was too much talking around the table to do so—but still he was curious about the boy asnever before. The bruises across his face and neck were ugly to look upon, uglier still if you were Londih, if you were Kohel’s father, who Londih suspected had done much of the damage.
    Arrogant boy. Spoiled son, unworthy of inheriting the Crook of Haven.
    Still, it would not do so to say so. Even with the burnt body of the kenku in front of him, Londih would support his son’s story, with or without the support of the others, a stand harder to take with each passing moment. “Londih, I grow tired of this conversation,” said Bozon, one of the other elders, a minor landholder but excellent farmer. “Your boy’s bow did not do this. How was this creature felled? Look at his chest. What magic is this?”
    Pyla nodded. “Surely Kohel and Padlur could not have earned such a victory, as impressive of boys as they are.”
    Bozon looked at the Old Stargazer—looked nervously, Londih saw—but he did not accuse the man, did not ask him for explanation. He had asked Londih, and Londih was required to answer. He said, “Kohel and Padlur told me—told me and Orick—that they were out in the woods when they found Luzhon and the Stargazer’s boy beset by these creatures. They were able to kill this one with their bows, causing the others to flee.”
    “This body is burnt, Honored One,” pressed Bozon. “What boy fires a bow so fast it sets its arrows on fire? Padlur is an impressive young man, but we must trust our eyes, our reason.”
    “The boys discovered them in camp. This one was knocked into the fire after it was felled,” Londih said, trying his best to believe the claim.
    Pyla moved closer, looked at the body on the table, getting very close to the smoldering end. “The burn is strong. It still radiates heat. They say it fell into a campfire?”
    “My son says so,” said Londih.
    “And you believe him?”
    “He is my son.” Londih tried to warn his reeve away, but the crafty councilor pretended not to hear Londih, and pushed ahead with his inquiry.
    Pyla plucked a feather from the torso. The end was still hot. “No ash,” he said.
    “What do you mean? Could it be—” asked Bozon, but Londih’s hard gaze stopped him.
    “This does not appear to be a natural fire, Honored One,” said Pyla.
    Londih squeezed his hands around the crook, stared his second down. “Pyla, are you questioning my son’s word?”
    “Honored One, this is spellcraft. This is the Old Stargazer. Or else—his boy?”
    “Choose your words carefully, Pyla. One day, Kohel will be your chief, and you will no longer be anyone’s reeve. Will you have him ascend to his right station with the knowledge that you spoke against his good word? That you called him a liar in open council?”
    Pyla backed down, took a step back from the table. He begged forgiveness, and Londih waved off his words. “It is no matter,” he said. “Only frustration. Only fear.”
My fear
, he thought.
Mine that causes your disbelief, because I do not believe either. But what choice is there? If the others believe there are two wizards among us—the Old Stargazer and now his