…For it has been told to you that a new hour shall come, and such hours shall become more and more frequent, when the earth shall begin to moan again, and nests of the devil shall form upon it, called the crossroads of time. And then people shall see what force they have awakened when started using the Sun and the Kraken to satisfy their vanity. And then the Seer shall realize that the only path is to forever lock this construct behind the gates of eternity, paying the price with his own soul… And there is no other way for him, for someone must take this step.

  And then all shall return to its proper order. Time shall fall apart, and each moment shall become what it was meant to be. The past shall return to the past, and the future to the future. And the spiral shall begin anew. But we, the people, shall never know of this, for in the hour when the secret of the Sun and the Kraken vanishes into eternity, one reality shall replace another, and no one shall notice the passage…

  So pray. Forget the gods, for they are beneath time. They cannot halt this mechanism. Pray to the Light and to the Darkness. Pray to the hero who will deliver you from eternal suffering and release you from the circle of endlessly repeated mistakes. Only thus is Elysium attainable.

  "Vaimarakirian", work of the servant of God Gorentum, chapter XI, verse twenty-seventh.

  Year 1239 of the old era, 549 years before the new era.

  Translated by Konrad from the Temple of Tornir, completed in the year 1422 of the new era.

  The original is considered lost; the only surviving partial copy in the original language has been privatized for academic purposes by the Academy of Sciences and is kept in the Occultum of the Institute of Magic.

  ***

  Confusion is to commotion

  What love is to our devotion

  Imperceptibly big

  Big as the ocean

  And equally hard to control

  So save your predictions

  And burn your assumptions

  Love is friction

  Ripe for comfort

  Endless equations

  And tugging persuasions

  Doors open up

  To interpretation

  Expecting perfection

  Leaves a lot to ignore

  When the past is the present

  And the future's no more

  When every tomorrow

  Is the same as before

  The looser things get

  The tighter you become

  Pearl Jam

  ***

  Chapter 4.1.

  Did we… win?

  Through a tiny attic window, only a patch of violet sky could be seen, where the first stars barely twinkled, and the rare clouds still drifted, just recently mingled with the smoke columns from cannon fire. But for almost an hour now, the guns had fallen silent. The screams were fading. The stunned and blinded city was blanketed in silence.

  The battle is over. If the pirates had entered the city, smoke from fires would already be rising to the skies, and frightened citizens would be running through the streets. But now it was quiet. Does that mean we won?

  The stairs creaked below. Someone was quietly sneaking through the dusty gloom of the first floor.

  A hand gripped the dagger—but in a way that didn’t reveal any tension. A brief glance at the grimy mirror near the window. The glass reflected the corridor and the staircase. Another creak… Understood. The visitor wasn't sure whether the mistress of the house was home. Good.

  Seconds of tension dragged on endlessly. Was it really that hard to climb up to the third floor and enter the dusty attic with its low, leaky ceilings, old creaky cot, vanity table, stool, and the wardrobe filled with modest wanderer's belongings—the refuge Dalid had given them after the mad night at the Garamant’s mansion?

  Apparently, yes.

  Finally. Closer and closer. Then, a sudden stillness—the visitor was still hidden in the darkness but had already sensed that they were not alone in this ancient, half-ruined house. Then footsteps again, less stealthy, still slow and deliberate. Joanna closed her eyes and smiled. She already knew who had entered the room.

  "We won," said Rita.

  "I figured. You startled me a bit, to be honest. I was afraid Maclevirr’s people had tracked this place down."

  "If you stayed hidden this whole time, then there’s no way they could have. I think, for now, while everyone’s focused on what to do after the victory, we can move about freely for a bit. But we can’t stay here long. At least not us four. Honestly, I don’t care what you decide to do next."

  "And what are you going to do next?" Joanna asked after a pause.

  "I don’t know yet. But right now, I’m going to the hospital. There we will decide."

  Joanna looked at her directly. Rita’s eyes gleamed with triumph, her smile wouldn’t fade. She seemed to be bursting with news, and it took only a few seconds before she blurted it out:

  "Kairu is alive!"

  "Oh, gods," Joanna thought. "Your ways are unfathomable…"

  "But how…?"

  "I don’t know. He’s in the hospital and will be able to explain it all soon himself. And I think, since you’re still here, you should be there too to see him. I think you owe us all quite a few answers."

  "I don’t know if the time for answers has come," Joanna said, her voice trembling. "But the fact that Kairu is alive, that’s wonderful news. We have hope again. But we have to act quickly. Looks like I’ll be coming with you."

  ***

  "Gentlemen," said King Emerlun without ceremony or greeting, "the matter is serious and requires discussion. We won the battle, this is our first real victory in this war. But the war is not over; in fact, it may only just be beginning. And we must decide what to do next."

  They were not standing in the lavish Golden Hall of the royal palace, nor in the office under the roof of its tallest tower, where the king usually held his council. This small, dusty room was located right in the Secret Chancellery headquarters and, not long ago, had served as a shared mess hall for soldiers. Along with the king sat Lainter, Hellerson, Telorand, Geonar, Felm, Maclevirr, the envoys of Boreain, several ministers, several officers, and the king of centaurs Levkir, who stood, arms crossed over a chest now clad not in armor but in a ceremonial toga, gazing at the humans with a gloomy, hostile expression. They were all waiting. Some—to receive royal orders. Others—to hear the king’s and generals’ plans. And some were waiting to finally understand how the situation had changed after the hard-fought, grueling victory.

  For the victory had not come easily. The pirates were utterly annihilated, only a few tens of them captured as prisoners. But only about a quarter of the original armies of Mainor and Asternia remained. The main strength now consisted of the Asternians led by Telorand, Vaimar’s legionnaires under Hugo Hellerson, and the centaurs. The army gathered in Mainor before the siege was almost entirely destroyed; only those regiments that held out until the arrival of the Kalds survived. Among them were the heroic Twelfth Regiment, the Sixth, the Ninth, and remnants of the Twenty-Third and Thirtieth Cavalry Brigades.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  "Before we make rash conclusions and risky decisions, I suggest we assess the situation," said Geonar coldly, wiping sweat from his forehead. His head was bandaged, a stray bullet had torn off half his ear as he watched the battle from the wall. Lainter had his arm hastily wrapped. At the end of the battle, after falling from his horse, a pirate had savagely beaten him with a cutlass. He dropped his shield and defended himself with his bracer-covered arm. The armor saved his veins and tendons from the slashes, but the doctors diagnosed four closed fractures. The pain was intense but bearable, and Yuffilis had refused to go to the infirmary, because the king had summoned him. Thus occurred the memorable meeting at the battlefield gate of Mainor with the envoys of fallen Boreain. Afterward, Yuf, nearly fainting from the pain, made it to Maclevirr’s headquarters and now sat, lost in thought, the pain in his arm breaking his concentration. Hugo had gotten off lightly, with just a few scratches—luck was with him in battle. The other council members were unharmed.

  "So, what are we looking at?" Geonar scratched his head. "Right after sunset, when the battle’s end and our victory were officially declared, we reviewed the troops. At present, Mainor has about a thousand combat-ready men—that is, those who can stand firmly on their feet and still wield a sword or ride and hold a lance. I estimate two to three thousand wounded, and about half of them will likely return to service sooner or later. Telorand, your numbers?"

  "Five thousand fit for combat, including cavalry, archer squads, crossbowmen, grenadiers, and pikemen," answered the Governor of Asternia firmly. "We also managed to preserve four mobile catapults and other siege engines we had kept in reserve. Around two thousand wounded. The exact count will come once the medics finish their work."

  "Sir Hellerson?"

  "Four thousand Vaimar legionnaires, able to march under Aktida’s banner tomorrow if need be. Few wounded, the pirates didn’t have time to injure many. But that’s not our only strength. We also have about five hundred mercenaries from Vairad and another five hundred professional soldiers from the Fighters' Guild. They know war well and are ready to fight for Aktida."

  "How much are the mercenaries asking?" the king grimaced. "And what if we can’t pay them? Too much money already goes to the manufactories and maintaining the army…"

  "Lainter and I have already taken care of that, Your Majesty." Hugo bowed. "We’ve signed contracts with several independent Vaimar clans willing to sponsor Aktida’s war against Saelin. They’ve chosen not to reveal their reasons, but the fact remains, funds have been transferred to official accounts in Petista banks and set aside to support the mercenary army. You can verify this."

  "So you were preparing in advance for Vaimar’s possible involvement in the Battle of Mainor?" Maclevirr asked suspiciously.

  Lainter seemed to awaken from a dream.

  "All these preparations were made back in the autumn and winter of 1453. We took into account the possibility that the reserve forces of Petista, Boreain, and Asternia might not be able or might not arrive in time when Mainor decided on its final battle. And we deemed it necessary to reinforce our army in any way possible. Mr. Hellerson is a Vaimarite immigrant and a highly respected man in his homeland, formerly a captain of the Fighters' Guild, with connections in Vairad and nearby cities. He helped us."

  "Well done," noted the king, once again examining Lainter closely. He could have sworn he had seen him somewhere before, but the face, turned into a grim, elderly mask, disfigured by scars, kept him from grasping the memory. "Yes, undoubtedly, you deserve a place among the commanders of the new army of Aktida. The northern attack was brilliantly planned and executed, the pirates were swiftly encircled, and your men obeyed your commands precisely… I believe you can be entrusted with command of larger divisions, despite your current low ranks."

  "We are ready to follow you to the end," Hugo bowed.

  "So, even in the best-case scenario, we have about twelve thousand," summarized Felm. "Too few, gentlemen! Too few! We need more, much more to reclaim Boreain and retake the Eastern Province!"

  "You’re proposing a direct assault, straight to Saelin’s castle?" The king shook his head. "I don’t know if we’re capable of such a move."

  Felm opened his mouth, but Lainter spoke first:

  "Your Majesty, if I may… It’s not worth taking such a risk now. Consider this: two of Saelin’s main armies have been defeated. He needs time to rebuild his strength, but in the Eastern Province he still maintains large enough forces to defend with the fury of an eagle guarding its nest. He won’t have time to gather enough strength to strike another crushing blow any time soon…"

  "And that’s exactly why we need to strike again!" Geonar interrupted. "Young man, you must understand, that right now, we hold all the cards. Almost no one escaped the battlefield, and we can bluff Saelin! He doesn’t even suspect the true number of our troops or the state we’re in. With a skillful combination of strong strikes at key strategic locations and guerrilla warfare in the forests of the Eastern Province, we might not even need to enter Boreain. We can reach the Castle by creating an illusion of overwhelming force before Saelin recovers from the initial blow. We risked everything during the siege of Mainor, and we won. To squander this chance now would be truly foolish."

  "But don’t you understand that after the pirates were crushed, Saelin’s largest army is now in the Eastern Province!" Hugo exclaimed. "We mustn’t underestimate Saelin. He wouldn’t have risked everything by relying on Orwell Cassander unless he had strengthened his fortress as much as possible. We can’t starve it out, we’d lose our advantage, or even suffer a crushing defeat! The only viable path is strategic patience. In the meantime, we can rebuild our strength, fortify Mainor, and prepare for further assaults. The centaurs will bring in reinforcements, and Vaimar will send more soldiers. The pirates left in the Southern Province won’t dare abandon their hard-won positions; we needn’t fear their raids. The Eastern Province won’t strike quickly, Saelin will save those forces for defense. He’s trying to bait us into taking a risky step, luring us into the Eastern Province, knowing we’re weakened, so he can destroy us on his home turf. Saelin is devilishly cunning."

  "There’s no way the Eastern Province holds more troops than Orwell Cassander commanded!" shouted Telorand, cutting him off. "I propose we immediately gather all remaining forces and retake southern Ilvion from Saelin, then Boreain, and then the Eastern Province. We’ve taken the advantage. Hellerson is right: there’s no threat from the west…"

  "And what about the north?" the king asked sarcastically. "Gentlemen, have you forgotten about Vaimar? Not the mercenaries, who fight for whoever pays and feeds better… But the regular army of Jake Farian?"

  "Your Majesty," Maclevirr interjected quickly, "he is the last person we need to fear. And do you know why? Because he fears Saelin himself. He hasn’t expressed any stance on the war, hasn’t participated in any councils, and the Kalds in Vaimar’s embassy simply shrug and claim they don’t know Farian’s foreign policy. He’s waiting, he’s a sly fox too. And he wants to know when the right moment will come to remind the world of his presence. Now is not that moment. Remember, he too doesn’t know the price we paid for victory and may overestimate our strength. So Jake will wait. I’m sure of it."

  "What about the Nocturns?"

  "That’s a difficult question," Maclevirr shook his head. "I don’t know what they’re thinking. There is a risk they might enter negotiations with Saelin."

  "What could he possibly offer them in return?" Felm roared. "It wouldn’t be anything like the ultimatum he gave us! He can’t intimidate them, his pirate forces are destroyed, and he has no fleet of his own yet…"

  "What about the shrines? Have you forgotten the shrines? Saelin could promise them the same thing he promised the pirates: a ravaged Aktida. A juicy prize that promises a return to power. The reconquest of Laugdeil. The Nocturns would jump at the chance, they’ve waited two thousand years for an opportunity like this! Remember the world war of 1355? It started because the Nocturns attempted to reclaim influence on the mainland. We acted too rashly when we exiled them to the Archipelago. They must not be underestimated."

  "From all sides…" The king clutched his head, eyes closed—at that moment, he looked even more exhausted and worn than during the siege. "From all damn sides, there’s no hiding from them! All they want is to trample us into the ground… Maybe… maybe this really is Aktida’s destined end?"

  A dreadful silence fell, broken only by the shouts of medics tending to the wounded outside, and the ticking of a wall clock.

  "No more of that talk!" Maclevirr snapped sternly. "We must fight until the last Alven dies. But fight smart, no foolish actions, and do everything we can to win, or at least gain the upper hand. Everyone around us—the Nocturns, Vaimar, Saelin—they’re all trying to decide our fate for us. We mustn’t let them."

  "They’re not fools," Yuf said, entering the conversation again. "They won’t fall for such a pitiful bluff. They’ll consider the possibility that we’re weakened. That’s why we can’t show them how weak we truly are. We must use every minute to strengthen ourselves, push the doctors and builders to their limits, gather armies from every direction, grant amnesty to all state criminals, both ordinary and political, to get them back under arms. Mobilize again, and recruit everyone who, for any reason, wasn’t taken last time. And prepare carefully before we strike a calculated blow. The only thing they’re waiting for is our mistake. And we must not make it. Your Majesty, I believe we must not rush an attack on the Eastern Province. It won’t work."

  The king was silent and frowned. Telorand, Geonar, and Felm looked at Lainter and Hellerson, who stubbornly held their ground, with open hostility, while King Levkir and Maclevirr watched them with interest.

  "Alright," said Emerlun at last, making an indistinct gesture. "Here’s what we’ll do. I need detailed reports on the state of the city—how much provisions and fuel we have, the exact number of dead, wounded, and unharmed soldiers. I won’t sleep. I want all of it on my desk by morning. Telorand, I want to speak with you personally, then with you, Maclevirr, around four in the morning, I think. Then, around five, I expect Mr. Hellerson with a detailed report on what’s happening in Vaimar." And with that, the king fixed his eyes directly on Hugo.

  "I know what you want, Your Majesty," Hugo said calmly; only Lainter, sitting next to him, noticed how his hands were trembling. "A test of my honesty and loyalty? I'm ready. Ten years ago, I swore loyalty to the Crown of Aktida in Petista and have never betrayed it, nor do I intend to. I serve you and only you, not Jake Farian. If you want me to spy for you instead of fighting openly—I await your orders, even if it goes against my nature."

  The king stared at him for a long time, and suddenly his face twisted into a smile.

  "Hugo, a great soldier is far more valuable to me than another good spy. Frankly, I already have too many of those. But you—you’re a unique man in your own way. And I expect honest help from you, if only to help me understand what’s really going on around me. I don’t want to jump to conclusions."

  The king turned to Ringus, and Hugo quickly wiped the sweat from his forehead.

  "I think you're all right to some extent," Emerlun continued. "We should wait and gather strength, but at the same time we can’t delay a strong strike for too long. I haven’t decided anything yet, I need to weigh and think it over. Yes, Hugo, you said some officers were taken prisoner? I’ll go interrogate them personally. Maclevirr, you’re coming with me. Lainter, Geonar, Felm: issue the necessary orders to your officers to have the reports ready by morning, and verify the information yourselves if possible. Also, see that the Boreain envoys are escorted to apartments in my palace. I’ll speak with you gentlemen tomorrow. I haven’t made any final decisions, and by two in the afternoon I expect you all here again for a much longer council... Oh yes, Geonar. Don’t forget to issue a commendation to the brave soldiers of the Twelfth Regiment, who held the gates of Mainor until reinforcements arrived, and of course, to everyone who managed to survive that slaughter. That’s all, gentlemen, you are dismissed, except for Maclevirr, we now need to speak with the ministers. That’s it. Work, work, and more work! Finally, the war has reached its long-awaited turning point, we have a chance to crawl out of this hellhole, and by damn, I’m going to take it."