Dust begins to fall to the ground

  The air is cold and thin

  Thoughts are haunting me as I look around

  This will never end, and I'll bleed forever…

  Don't acknowledge right, just dwell on wrong

  This spot in hell's where I belong

  I've come so far - it's been so long

  Don't know why it started or where it came from…

  Avenged Sevenfold, “The Clairvoyant’s Decease”

  The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.

  Howard Lovecraft, “The Call of Cthulhu"

  We were given love only for an hour,

  Friendship for a short time, not forever.

  This is life. And if Time is against us...

  Then it is inhuman.

  Yuri Levitansky

  ***

  A young man lit his pipe, leaned back in the chair, sank with pleasure into its soft velvet upholstery, inhaled the smoke, and with satisfaction let his gaze roam around the room. This little chamber, though no more than a hovel compared to his ancestral home, still pleased him. It stirred many thoughts, the kind he liked to mull over alone with his pipe.

  For instance, the thought that the revenues of the Asternian Academy of Sciences were steadily growing, allowing it to afford expensive furniture crafted by renowned masters of the previous century. Or that, since they were given the best rooms, it meant the Academy pinned far-reaching hopes on them, expecting that it was they who would make the great scientific discovery Aktida had long awaited. Finally, that life had turned out well. He was surrounded by luxury, wealth, and crowds of eager young postgraduates thirsty for lectures from the luminary of science… What more could an ambitious and talented wizard desire, who at the age of thirty-five had already earned the title of High Magister, if not wealth and fame?

  Only one thing. To hurl himself once again into the most dangerous of ventures, while still young enough, to explore what no one had yet dared, and to immortalize himself by discovering something unbelievable.

  The young man sighed. He remembered what this moment of bliss had cost him. Endless negotiations. Long journeys across the country. Brilliant ideas that had failed. Perfect contracts that were never signed. Even now, he wasn’t entirely sure everything would turn out well, or that he wouldn’t be thrown out of the Academy of Sciences headfirst.

  Yet he preferred not to think of that possibility. The goal was too close this time, too close to allow himself to end up a fool again.

  The golden-cased floor clock struck ten.

  The young man exhaled a cloud of smoke, carefully set the pipe on the table, poured himself a glass of wine, and took a sip to steady his nerves. The longer he waited in this little room, the more sharply he felt that he simply could not bear it if they were denied funding again. They, renowned scholars, with so many publications defended, so many lectures given, so many expeditions completed!

  Why, he wondered, were most of the Academy’s scholars such blind fools?

  No, this time everything had to work. It must work. They had already hired a guide for the journey north, had already made arrangements with firms for equipment and provisions, had already scoured library archives in search of special literature and maps. All that remained was to go to the bank and place a flourish of a signature beside the check. Naturally, once the bankers confirmed the clients’ solvency.

  His father… The pipe trembled in his thin, pale hands, ash spilling to the floor. He could not think of his father’s name without hatred, though it was only thanks to him that he had his first successes. And his money. The young man did not reflect on it, but he had also inherited from his father a cold, quick, keen mind, a mathematical way of thinking, brazenness, stubbornness, and resolve—the very qualities without which he could never have risen to where he now stood. And also—the ability to bury a grudge deep inside, only to strike back suddenly years later. Though at that time, the young man did not yet clearly recognize this trait in himself.

  His mind was fixed on another problem. And if this man’s mind took hold of a problem, it would be solved. At any cost.

  Check the routes. Consult the archive once more in the Temple of Tornir, visit the druids, and question their shamans. Explore the ruins of the ancient Nocturns. In short, work tirelessly.

  Stop, stop… He must stay cold, collected. Focus. Any haste could lead to failure.

  The most important thing now was to surround himself with reliable people.

  Footsteps. Could it be Erik? Already?.. So soon?

  Impossible.

  The door swung open. On the threshold stood a man of about forty, thin, tall, gaunt, with a pale, sickly face, tousled dark hair, a slightly hooked nose, and his perpetual pince-nez. Behind the thin glasses, framed by dark circles, burned piercing orange eyes. As always, he was wrapped in a fashionable black coat; in his hand, papers; his expression triumphant…

  "Well?!" By a miracle, he managed to keep calm and not spill the ash; he carefully set the pipe aside and poured more wine. "Speak. Don’t drag it out!"

  "They agreed!" shouted the man triumphantly from the doorway, rushing to his friend. "Agreed! Petros, they agreed! They’ll give us the money, they’ll cover everything! You won’t believe it—they didn’t even try to haggle, their eyes nearly popped out of their heads with joy when I told them we would be studying the crossroads of time! They were so delighted they hardly even listened as I explained our aims and where the money would go, and that fat swine, Akeptres—the one who last time looked at me with such suspicion and denied us funding—was smiling and saying at last we’d taken up something useful, something worthy of our status!.. They—"

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  "Calm down, don’t babble." The wine poured again, hissing, foaming, filling the glass. "Did they vote?"

  "Of course, the matter was serious, and the sum too. All thirteen members of the Supreme Council."

  "Who was against?"

  "Ah—just three people. Wait, I don’t remember offhand—I only saw most hands raised in favor!"

  "Saelin, don’t muddle my head. I must know who on that Council are my enemies. So that later, when I take the Archmage’s chair, I can be sure to strip them of their posts first."

  "All right, all right, let me recall. Ah! First, Carella del Els—you know her—she minds the treasury and has long had a grudge against us for shamelessly using the Academy’s funds."

  "She remembers everything except that more than half the money in that treasury is my father’s savings. She forgets how generously he bribed them to ensure I received a proper education. Who else?"

  "Magoliant Odore—the library rat, never liked him… Always tried to hinder us. Mostly because of Vergilius. They have a joint project, and now Vergilius is leaving with us, so Odore is left alone again. But I can understand Vergilius. Traveling to Vaimar and breathing fresh air means more to him than poring over folios and trying to discover where the legendary Zarnibal hid his treasure, though I admit that hoard has immense historical value."

  "Fine. I can even guess who the third was."

  "Of course. You can’t not guess. Romenford."

  "We must be wary of him. A dangerous man, and, by the way, he’s aiming for the Archmage’s seat himself. He has plenty of ties in the government, and no fewer chances at the post than I…"

  "I know, I know. And besides, I think he was the only one who didn’t believe we were truly going to research the crossroads of time. The only one who suggested attaching one of his people to us, to report our every move to the higher-ups. Naturally, no one took him seriously, but I have no doubt he won’t drop the idea. We must be extremely careful. And, by the way, I’m sure he suspects our true goal. Absolutely sure."

  "No need to explain." Petros waved a hand. "It doesn’t matter—we’ll think of something. The main thing is done! Saelin, here’s a glass—let us drink to our success and to the success of our cause!"

  "To success!" declared Saelin with feeling, draining his glass. "Ah! Damn, that’s excellent wine! Well, my friend, let’s embrace. I love this world and everyone in it—even that bastard Romenford."

  "Come here… But softly, calmly—these walls may have ears, and then our money will be gone… My friend. Erik. By damn, I’m glad I can share this joy with you. This is the greatest day of our lives. The greatest."

  ***

  "Where are we going?" Saelin yawned; he couldn’t stand meetings with wizards and scholars. "You know, I’m getting rather tired of this. This will already be the third speech I’ve had to deliver since the newspapers announced the official start of the expedition, despite the fact that we haven’t even finalized the route yet! And still, the whole of Aktida already knows about our undertaking, and we must invent details of a journey we ourselves know nothing about…"

  "Don’t worry," Petros said calmly and confidently. "We’ll manage. You know me—I’ll be able to answer their questions. The main thing is the story, and we invented that together, and agreed it was flawless."

  "The main thing is not to blurt out too much. Everything as we agreed, right?"

  "Saelin." There was a trace of contempt in Petros’s voice. "No one has more interest in keeping our secret than I do. I won’t spill it. And you—keep your tongue behind your teeth."

  "I trust you, don’t worry… And you know, it’s exactly because I trust you that I want to say once again… I don’t like that you invited Ashley on the expedition."

  "Oh, for heaven’s sake, Saelin, don’t start again…"

  "Petros, it’s unprofessional. Gossip’s flying around; in the corridors, people keep bringing up that you had a fling with her before the expedition to the Cross Plateau. And she… Well, what the devil do we need her for? I’m afraid, Petros, that she’ll distract you from the work."

  "Saelin, we were given money only on the condition that two more academicians accompany us," Petros reminded him irritably. "Be thankful I managed to bring Ashley in, because at least we know her. She’ll be honest with me, I give you my word. But that Nubel… An upstart and a sycophant, with not a single original idea of his own; he copies everything wholesale, even his writing style is suspiciously similar to mine. And what could I do if the Archmage himself proposed him? Would you rather we had two Nubels with us? There’s a whole Academy full of them…"

  "Quiet, we’re almost there. Good grief! Look how many people!"

  In a small chamber directly connected to the legendary Tribune—in the center of which, only five years ago, a huge rift had opened, and a grandiose duel between two wizards had taken place (Petros himself had witnessed the event)—everyone connected to the expedition had gathered. Beyond the crimson curtain came the hum of the crowd, cheering the next speaker, while those in the chamber nervously leafed through their prepared reports. Several people leaped up at once on seeing Petros and Saelin, rushing to meet them.

  "Petros! Saelin! At last!"

  "Nubel, what an honor, I’ve long dreamed of working with you," Petros said with a false smile, shaking the professor’s hand. "How are you? Ready for fruitful work?"

  "More than ready! And it’s also an honor for me at last to go on an expedition with such a distinguished professional as you!"

  "You’ve never been on an expedition before, have you, Nubel?"

  "No, Professor Petros, I’ve spent my life so far in study rooms—museums, libraries, archives… I hope I can be useful. I see this as a chance to gain priceless experience. I owe you great thanks for agreeing to take me along."

  "You’re welcome, you’re welcome… Hello, Vergilius," Petros smiled, shaking the hand of another scholar, a silver-haired Nocturn in a velvet purple robe. "How are the maps?"

  "Almost ready. I requested the Mainor archive for a scheme of the southern spur of the Derelz range and a historical summary. It seems no excavations have ever been conducted there, only one source—an excerpt from the chronicle of a Vaimar monastery, dated five hundred and ninety-four years before the New Era—mentions that in those parts there were several villages and a small temple. That’s already a clue—most temples were built on the sites of the crossroads of time. You should be grateful to me for this information, Petros—I spent days digging through manuscripts to find it!"

  "My gratitude knows no bounds, Vergilius. I’m glad such an indispensable aide as you is coming with us to Vaimar… Oh! Who do I see!"

  And Petros sprang toward a young woman—or rather, already a lady—in a simple, austere blue dress with lace cuffs, without any cutouts or décolleté. She was short, fragile, snub-nosed, with a pretty face needing only the lightest touch of cosmetics, large gray laughing eyes, and fair hair neatly arranged in an elegant coiffure. She laughed with a pearly sound, showing her white, even teeth without embarrassment, stood up, and even allowed both men to kiss her hand, which bore a large wedding ring.

  "Ashley! The one and only Ashley Nielder!"

  "Professor Petros," Ashley smiled, sitting back down; the scholars immediately settled themselves nearby in the large crimson chairs. "Professor Saelin, I’m very glad to see you both here. I do hope I won’t be left to fend for myself during the audience, since I know absolutely nothing of history?"

  "All you’ll need to do, Ashley, is smile just as charmingly as you are now," Saelin grumbled. "The audience will be ecstatic—they won’t care what we’re trying to convey to their minds. Why, the great heroine, the most famous woman in the kingdom, has stepped onto the Tribune and even spoken a few words to her admirers…"

  "And where is Roger?" Petros asked, leaning back against the cushions. "Surely he dared leave his enchanting wife in the company of men, unafraid that we’ll each in turn try to flirt with her a little? By the way, Ashley, congratulations on your wedding, and forgive me for not being able to attend. As you see, the work here is boiling over, deadlines aflame…"

  "That’s all right, Professor," Ashley said with the same easy smile. "I completely understand. Unfortunately, Roger could not come, but he also had no objections to my joining you. You see, we love each other very much, and trust one another completely."

  "In some ways, I don’t envy him," Vergilius remarked. The other scholars chuckled discreetly. "No, truly, there are drawbacks to having your wife be the most famous alchemist in the world. And also—the youngest, and the most beautiful. Without doubt." He raised his glass, as though drinking to Ashley, wetting his mustache in dry Surrelian red. The toast was met with applause; Ashley, smiling and casually adjusting her hair, gave a graceful bow.

  "Especially for you," she added almost offhandedly, "I’ve already arranged for a free set of elixirs from the Occultum of the Mage Guild. Among them—fifty bottles of the Elixir of Research. I think—no, I’m almost certain—it will come in handy. Consider it my gift…"

  "Ashley, you yourself are a great gift to us all," said Nubel. "We should be thanking you for agreeing to come with us."

  "Oh, nothing special! I just want to see the world. I’ve traveled all over Aktida these past five years, it’s time to make it to Vaimar as well."

  "Quite right. One must take everything from life while the chance exists." Petros clapped her on the shoulder, and at that moment, one of the attendants poked his head into the chamber and hissed:

  "Gentlemen wizards, it’s time… Your turn to speak… The people are waiting…"

  "Punctuality is the politeness of kings," Saelin drawled.

  "And in some ways we are above kings, which means punctuality recedes into second place," Vergilius retorted no less lazily.

  "Let’s go." Petros rose first. "We are legends, gentlemen scholars. It doesn’t suit us to keep the people waiting for their idols. That would be unbecoming. It’s time. These people must know how we intend to study the crossroads of time…"