The slope was covered with shrubs of reddish, dry needles and mosses that had emerged from beneath the thawing snow. From the heat on the mountain slopes, huge sheets of ice were melting. At the foot of the volcano, everything already hissed, foamed, and was enveloped in milky steam. There, one after another, small avalanches slid down, and torrents of water lashed against the lava, cooling it, while from above enormous snow masses broke off and tumbled into the valley. Across such places, where thawed drifts blocked the way, they had to climb over; the centaurs sank with their hooves into this cold slurry, while the humans cursed desperately and scrambled after them.

  The winding path led rightward, between bare rocks and a slope down which streams of water poured. Passing through a narrow gap among piled boulders, the travelers came out onto a wide stony road that descended toward the next peak. To the left was a cliff. Far below it lava spread like a lake, trapped among the hills, and beyond those hills, there was an ascent to a vast snowy expanse. Regarlim in this place retreated from the foot of the ridge, and opposite the ruins of Ardrai, nestled on the slope below, stretched an enormous plain.

  The road wound further on, and Kairu could not see where else it passed before reaching the ruins and breaking off at the cold fortress walls. Nor could he yet see the city itself, hidden somewhere below. But the aftermath of the eruption was clearly visible from here. From the plateau, harpies disturbed by the rumble burst into the air and flitted above the field; snow wolves, terrified, dashed along the road, lost their footing at the edge, and fell down with desperate howls. Higher up, among the rocks almost at the very summit, loomed the silhouettes of gigantic shaggy yetis that roared terribly, shaking their powerful paws. Kairu remembered all too well that dreadful roar, which carried for immense distances. From caves in the rocky slope, bats fluttered out; the entire animal world of the ridge, frozen in winter torpor, was now seized with panic and sought refuge, paying no attention to the weary travelers who trudged slowly along the road.

  When the cliff was left behind, and they came into the shadow of weathered rocks, Ioran allowed a short halt, pulled out a flask, and drank greedily before passing it around. Kairu recalled the taste of ordinary water in his own pack with disgust when the life-giving elixir touched his scorched lips. His exhaustion dulled, and the travelers’ spirits rose.

  "Let’s eat something," Yuf suggested, returning the flask to Ioran. "It’s been so long since I last had a proper dinner… What do we have, hardtack?"

  Soaked in water, they were edible enough. The travelers had long grown used to such food. It was hardly enough to truly stave off hunger, but at least it kept their hands and legs from falling into mortal weakness. Yet now their eyelids drooped of their own accord. Kairu felt his thoughts muddying, that he was no longer sure where reality ended and where hallucinations from exhaustion began, or which were true memories and which—false…

  "I know for sure that Petros had done it," Konrad’s voice resounded in his head. "At least once.

  "There is another future in which Petros took control of Darius and Octarus and was able to carry out a revolution in Aktida. But he was still dissatisfied with how that reality turned out, so he went back in time to change it. As a result, we’re here now. Where the revolution hasn’t happened yet, and Aktida has been seized by Saelin."

  He is once again standing in the hills south of Nalvin. Rain falls, drops running down his forehead, stinging his eyes. The air before him ripples, and Petros has just vanished. Vanished, to travel two thousand years into the past. Vanished, only to discover that his plan had failed again. To hand over the Lake of Aktida to Saelin had been no better a solution than taking it for himself.

  The White Tower of Mainor. The city engulfed in fire and drenched in blood.

  "It’s the only way to fix it," Petros said softly. "I wouldn’t do this if we had a choice. But we don’t anymore. We made a mistake."

  "What will it feel like?"

  "Like a dream. You won’t feel a thing. No one will. You won’t even notice. I give you my word."

  "And then…"

  "We’ll all start over. We’ll meet there again. And we’ll do everything differently."

  At last, he understood what that vision meant. Reality had forked. What he had seen was the memory of that Kairu who had existed in the world before Petros had changed something in the past.

  But what exactly had he changed? And where had he gone wrong? And what could they do now, with Darius and Octarus in his hands, to prevent war? Was it possible to undo all the deaths, to set history on new rails, to create another version of reality?

  We underestimate how difficult it is to undo an action that’s already been taken… Everything we do creates a chain reaction of events which, if the initial action is altered, could lead to entirely different outcomes. What we do in the past affects our future, and it’s almost impossible to predict what that effect will be…

  Petros is a fool and an idealist. He believes in the tales of the ancient Nocturns, believes in that stupid prophecy, believes in Elysium—thinks that a little ‘cleansing’ bloodshed would be enough for the whole world to reach beauty and harmony… Utter nonsense. The truth, Kairu, is that Elysium will never come. But I hope this little victorious war has bought me another hundred, maybe two hundred, years…

  Of course, he wouldn’t have told you. And Ashley couldn’t—she wasn’t there, up on the mountain. There’s no one left now... Only me… And maybe some of the druids still remember… Petros killed my son.

  Hector. Hector Saelin.

  "Don’t sleep!" Konrad shouted into his ear. "We have to get out of here. We’ll rest when it’s all over! Kairu, weren’t you in a hurry to reach Ardrai?"

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  He had to drag the others up by force, for the travelers had not slept for two days, since their last stop among the hills at the foot of the ridge. Viggo nearly dozed off as he got up, swearing furiously and rubbing his eyes. When he made his first step, Kairu discovered that after this short rest, his legs once again felt like they were filled with lead. Still, he trudged after the centaurs and Konrad, falling asleep on the move and only occasionally jerking awake when his legs tangled and stumbled over flat ground.

  They crossed another snowy embankment, passed beneath the canopy of several sprawling firs rooted on the slope, and once again found themselves in the shadow of the mountain. The volcano was far behind in the gloom, its peak visible only by crimson glimmers against the ink-black, starless sky. The moon’s glow was almost completely obscured by ashen clouds, slowly crawling westward, like a black sheet smoothing out its folds. And toward it stretched another cloud, carried from the sea by a clean wind. And suddenly, slowly, steadily increasing, heavy wet snow began to fall. The blizzard was not as fierce as the night before, yet the distant sections of road melted into the darkness, and Gedelin led them by touch, skirting the slope and descending along a narrow rock ledge into a mountain valley almost at the very foot of the ridge. At some point, he halted, thoughtfully studying the path ahead.

  "Dob, do you know the way from here to the ruins? Can you guide us?"

  "Not far now," the druid said. "Follow me… and may Vaimos help us."

  It was impossible to understand how he managed to find his way through the blizzard, how he recognized the path among the snow dunes that terrified with their monotonous sameness. For Kairu, it was an exhausting wandering between enormous snowdrifts, and soon he could have sworn that alone he would have been lost instantly. Everything drowned in the icy darkness. They trudged forward, climbed hills, sank into snow, carefully skirted hollows—and suddenly found themselves on the crest of a huge slope leading all the way down to the very foot of the ridge.

  The storm abated somewhat. The wind ceased to rage, and the snow now floated slowly in the frosty air, settling quietly on the ground and on the travelers’ heads. In the distance, through the darkness, the lights of campfires and lanterns in the dead towers of a ruined city could already be discerned, standing on a ledge between two high slopes. Ardrai began here, but most of it lay buried deep beneath lava, and the lava in turn under a glacier and snow. A tongue of congealed basalt stretched to the very edge of the ledge, upon which the silhouettes of the castle and watchtowers slowly emerged through the snowfall.

  It was hard to believe that only a few hours earlier, they had been surrounded by fire and unbearable heat. Only the sticky sweat on their backs and the distant rumbling reminded them of how long they had been on the move and what path they had endured.

  The travelers descended toward the skeletal remains of towers, half-protruding from the surface of the lava tongue. They passed buried roofs and the upper floors of buildings sticking out of the ice, the collapsed ruins of inns and churches. A tomb-like silence reigned; the snow fell softly, blanketing the stone with white powder, and the travelers wandered slowly and in awe among the ruins, like vast sepulchers above the graves of thousands entombed below.

  Ashley stumbled, cried out hoarsely, and nearly collapsed. Viggo and Remiz barely managed to hold her up, but she had to sit down. The leg was swollen and bent at an unnatural angle.

  "Remiz, take a look," Konrad rushed to her. "Damn, we need some herbs… or spells…"

  "On it," the Nocturn said curtly, examining the leg. Ashley groaned softly, throwing her head back. Remiz raised his hands to the swollen place, whispering something, and warmth spread from his palms.

  "We should never have dragged her along." Yuf Lainter shook his head wearily. "She’s been hobbling on a broken leg for half the night, through hellish heat, through bitter cold… and she hasn’t slept for two days."

  "This isn’t good." Remiz wiped sweat from his brow. "Viggo, let’s carry her to the outpost, then we’ll see. She needs more warmth, and I’m spent."

  "We need a kettle and a mortar… the herbs are in my bag," the sorceress muttered weakly. "First brew a salve and apply it hot… it works better that way…"

  "Let’s go," Kairu said sharply. "Viggo, Remiz—carry her carefully. Dob, how far is it?"

  "Almost there." The druid wiped sweat from his brow.

  And once again, they pressed forward. Snow still whirled in the air, but the clouds were slowly clearing, the sky opening up, and glimmers of the great white moon shone through. Out of the darkness, suddenly emerged two druids with spears and wolf heads at their belts. Dob spoke with them; they replied excitedly in their tongue, and then the guide turned back to say:

  "Aok is here—they’ve held out under siege, endured one assault with only minor losses. They say our clan is under a lucky star—the eruption worked in our favor, countless smugglers perished in minutes under the lava. Of course, we still can’t break the encirclement; the valley is flooded, whole rivers are still raging there. But Bor’s forces have been shattered. The outpost is besieged by only about two hundred druids. We have a fair chance."

  Yeah, right, Kairu thought grimly. A fair chance. I wonder if this druid even knows what a siege is?!

  …They reached the fortress gates, climbed the steps, passing between majestic stone statues of birds with outspread wings. More and more druids surrounded them—sentries with weapons and torches, simple refugees huddling around campfires. Voices were hushed and worn out. Following their guides and Dob, the travelers passed under the arch and came out onto the rock in the inner courtyard of the fort, which seemed to have grown directly into the terrain at the foot of the ridge.

  The fortress consisted of a semicircular yard, enclosed by a high wall with arrow slits and special platforms for ballistae and catapults. Along its perimeter ran ledges where archers and crossbowmen could hold out until their munitions were spent. On the city-facing side, a half-ruined bell tower rose at the corner. Opposite it stood a guard tower with fire inside, and a stairway leading deeper into the living quarters, whose narrow slits served as windows. In the yard, fires burned, and dozens of druids bustled about. A lively clamor filled the air. The defenders of the outpost were hauling stones, shot, logs, and anything else that could be hurled at the enemy up onto the walls. The main garrison, about forty druids, manned the walls with bows and spears. The moon hung like a still haze in the boundless sky, its light reflecting off the icy walls of the fortress and the glittering snowdrifts.

  The travelers followed the druids down toward the entrance to the living quarters and stepped inside, making their way along staircases and corridors dimly lit by torches. Heat wafted palpably from deeper within. They descended lower, passing rooms where druid refugees—old men, women, and children—sat clustered around hearths, feeding whole stacks of books into the fire. Furniture too went into the flames—broken chairs, tables, armchairs, anything made of wood… Then their guides said something to Dob, turned, and hurried back, while Dob himself entered first into a room in the basement of the quarters.

  In the middle stood a long table piled with bundles of arrows, swords, daggers; in the far corner blazed a huge fireplace, before which Aok, his shaman, and several other elders sat on stools. Warriors at the table grimly scraped blades against whetstones. At the sight of the guests, the chieftain leaped up, babbling incoherently, wiping away tears of joy, and embraced his son, who immediately ran to him. Konrad approached them at an unhurried pace; Viggo and Remiz carried Ashley and gently laid her on a bench by the far wall. The rest of the travelers followed hesitantly, like moths drawn to saving warmth.