The Office of Arbitration was an ancient and mysterious entity, and the Arbitrators themselves were beings of unprecedented power, carefully chosen from a variety of species. They possessed encyclopedic knowledge of the galaxy and commanded great respect, and they were to be treated with the utmost courtesy at all times.

“You look like one of your corpses,” I said.

On the huge screen George dragged his hand over his face. Normally he resembled one of Tolkien’s elven princes, tall, lean, golden-haired, and elegant in an ethereal way. He liked when people underestimated him, so he often pretended to have a limp and walked with a cane. I had it on very good authority that he was a superb swordsman. He was an even better necromancer. That, I had witnessed personally. Seeing thousands of undead claw their way out of the barren soil of Nexus was something I would never forget.

The George I saw today was entirely different. His long blond hair had broken free of his ponytail and hung around his face in greasy strands. Dark bags clutched at his eyes. He looked haggard, and his silk doublet, which must have been as white as fresh snow at some point, now resembled snow after a week had passed and most of it melted into mud.

He stared at me, his blue eyes distracted. “Hello.”

“When was the last time you slept?”

The Arbitrator pondered the question. “Some time ago.”

He didn’t seem like he was altogether there. He must’ve been extremely sleep deprived. Judging by the blue tint in the white of his eyes, he had taken a lot of boosters to keep himself awake, probably one after another. Whatever the problem he was facing, he’d smashed his computer-like brain against it, and it left him stumped.

“You should shower, George. And then sleep.”

He raised his finger. “Not yet.”

“Why?”

He thought about it. It was almost as if his brain was on a five-second delay. “Valkkinians.”

Ah. Valkkinians were exceptionally difficult.

“Light or dark?”

“Dark.”

That man had the best luck. “They refuse to see you?”

“Yes.”

“You offered fire?”

“Yes.”

“And rubies?”

“Yes.”

“Record what I’m about to say so you will remember.”

He obediently waved his fingers at the display.

“You’re going to take a shower. You must be clean. Don’t use anything with perfume in it. Don’t tie your hair, don’t shave. Then you are going to land near Oharak Mountain, by a stone stele. It’s 900 feet tall, you can’t miss it. You are going to take your shoes off and walk barefoot up the mountain path. Every 67 steps you will stop and kneel. Do this five times, then wait. An elderly Valkkinian will come to see you. Tell him you are my friend. He will help you.”

George struggled with it for a few seconds. “How do you know him?”

“He stayed at the inn.”