Another gust of icy wind swept across the land, blowing into the chapel windows, swirling among the last remaining people who were leaving the city. Nalvin, engulfed in flames, was gradually dying out. The sky turned a dark, sooty gray; only far to the west did the rays of the slowly descending dusk still glimmer. In the east, where storm clouds were being driven by the wind, dull rumbles of thunder could be heard. Nalvin faded, froze, its blackened, cold ruins disappearing into the gloom.

  Kairu looked upward. He seemed immersed in a dreadful, bottomless whirlpool of detachment, with an impenetrable veil hanging between him and the world around him. In that veil he had finally found something resembling peace, filled only with a dull pain that had no end. Above him, on the chapel ceiling, beyond the empty and rusty candelabra of an old chandelier, there were some faded frescoes. The statues of saints lay toppled by the walls, and all around someone groaned, grunted, cursed through clenched teeth. Someone else, with quick hands, had pulled off his boots, shredded greaves, a breastplate reduced to a heap of scrap metal, and a chainmail full of holes. His legs and ribs were bandaged.

  Viggo was there too, lying and staring upward with a cloudy, apathetic gaze, absentmindedly cradling his bruised arm. His right leg was wrapped in bandages all the way up his thigh. Remiz sat across from him, holding a grimy mirror in one hand and applying some elixir to a torn scar on his face with the other.

  Kairu relived the battle over and over. With indifference he recalled the beginning, the wild adrenaline surging in his veins, and the corpses through which he carved his way. And then he remembered the fight in the square, with horror and fury, hatred toward Cassander and himself.

  His hand still clutched the hilt of a sword. His father’s sword. He had always considered it a lucky talisman. Now, all that remained was a broken fragment. Blurred circles swam before his eyes.

  "So what," he thought dully. "Maybe I’ve lost all my blood and I’m going to die here on a cold bench in a filthy chapel, in the heart of a ruined and burned-out city, surrounded by groaning cripples... Maybe that’s what I was meant for, if not a brave death in battle at the hand of the admiral himself.

  Better to have died there, on the battlefield. Better if he’d killed me."

  Better death than eternal shame and humiliation… Better death than a broken sword in hand. Better death than the mercy of a mocking enemy.

  In a duel, the strongest wins, but in this battle, there was no victor. There was a noble knight who spared him, who gave life to a weak enemy, proving in doing so that he wasn’t even worthy of death…

  He dwelled on this, feeding his torment, inventing ever more pompous condemnations and curses directed at himself—anything to avoid thinking about the pain and the nightmare he had survived.

  It was cold. The damned sweat on his temples refused to dry, congealing into a sticky film. His body, bandaged and bathed in the warmth of healing elixirs, relaxed, leaving only a dull ache somewhere deep in his ravaged lungs and brain. Kairu felt that if he didn’t lose consciousness soon, he’d vomit from the nausea. Yet thoughts kept invading his head, and in his despair, he was ready to smash it against the wall just to finally slip into the relief of unconsciousness.

  A soft rustle sounded, and raindrops began to drum against the shattered stained glass, seeping inside. With a joint effort, the chapel door was closed again, and the hall fell into semi-darkness. Ringus Felm looked around. Everything the healers could do had been done. It was time to go.

  "Gather your people," he said quietly to the head healer. "We’re leaving."

  "It will be done," the doctor bowed and shouted, "Get ready! Prepare the stretchers for the wounded! Begin the evacuation!"

  The secret underground passage, dug for the case when no other way to leave the city remained, began in the chapel basement and led north, far beyond the walls, into the heart of the forest. The orderlies had finished their work, gathered the medicines, and loaded those who couldn’t walk or were unconscious onto stretchers. The others followed behind the procession of monks and doctors. The last to leave the hall, descending the dusty stone stairs into the crypt, were the soldiers who had helped defend the chapel and hadn’t left it during the battle: Felm’s personal guard, and the general himself, bringing up the rear.

  They moved in the dim light, lit only by red torches, past a series of coffins, into the low vaults of a tunnel dug straight into the earth, supported by wooden beams. Kairu saw above him only the trembling earthen ceiling and Remiz walking calmly beside him. He was being carried on a rough wooden frame covered with a sheet; the tight bandages prevented him from moving.

  Then the torches went out, a rustling was heard nearby, and they emerged up a short stairway into the twilight of the forest, beneath the towering canopies of trees and the streaks of rain filtering through them. There was no wind here. Only the strong autumn cold, moisture hanging in the air, the gradually fading smell of smoke and fire, and the distant gray dusk above.

  Soft voices murmured. A small camp lay deep in the forest, surrounded like a palisade by the straight black trunks of pines and firs with broad crowns covered in the sharp fur of long dark-green needles; gnarled, half-naked bushes with yellow leaves glistened with tiny droplets of moisture. They were in the heart of the forest, in a lowland surrounded by hills, rising higher and higher to the south, toward the walls of Nalvin, beyond which a continuous shroud of smoke stretched into the sky. The walls were barely visible behind the trees. Here, a few tents had been pitched, a small fire smoldered under a canopy, and a group of refugees in rags sat around it, stretching their hands toward the flames and talking quietly.

  Kairu managed to notice it all as they carried him across the clearing, managed to gulp down a few drops of water, and then he was taken into a tent, where about a dozen bandaged people lay cramped together. They placed him in a corner, from which he could see the tent flap pulled open, and beyond it the rain gaining strength, turning into a continuous slanted curtain. Sisters of mercy bustled around, and groans and wheezing could be heard from those who were not destined to survive this dreadful day.

  "Drink this," came the quiet voice of a young nurse; her face swam before his eyes. "Oh, Aktos, what have they done to you!"

  They changed his bandage; he felt only a sharp pain in his shoulder and hot blood dripping onto the sheet. Then he had to swallow a cup of scalding, foul-tasting liquid, which at least cleared his vision for a moment and sharpened his thoughts. Then Remiz entered the tent alongside Viggo, who had been brought on a stretcher and laid next to him.

  "There you are," muttered the Kald. "Oh, damn it, Remiz, could you be a bit gentler? Thanks. So, hooray! We’re all alive, despite being total idiots who stayed in that damn city and even got into a fight. Why the hell did I not listen to Petros and get involved in this mess? I’ll return to Vaimar a cripple now…"

  "Don’t be stupid, nothing’s going to happen to you," said Remiz. "Trust me, this medicine works well."

  "Really? Well, I’m still in one piece. But you, Kairu—for Aktos' sake, how did you end up in that damned square, and how did it happen that Cassander didn’t kill you? Why did you get into a fight with him in the first place?"

  "I had no idea who he was, Viggo." Kairu sat up, wiped his face, which had been quickly rinsed in the chapel with water and some kind of disinfectant ointment. "I thought it was the end for me and decided to take down as many as I could while I was still alive. Damn it, this is my homeland... and he just happened to cross my path... How was I supposed to know he was the admiral of their army?"

  "Ignorance is bliss." Viggo rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "Be more alert next time if you want to live longer! You must’ve been born under a lucky star! To fight a real battle with Orwell Cassander himself and survive!"

  Kairu didn’t answer right away. In his right hand, clenched in a pale fist, he held the hilt of his sword, still stained with dried blood. All his wounds were treated with healing balms and poultices that smelled of herbs. Only his right hand had been left free to move. He managed to lift it to his eyes and look closely at the familiar weapon, seeing the delicate mark of the Kenai house, whose wares were sold in every nearby village.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Father... How are you, alone in the village?

  Fear gripped him. And shame, shame for his own weakness. And for Cassander’s mercy—that was the worst part.

  "I'm not a soldier. Just a coward."

  "No, Kairu." Viggo sat up too, peering into his face. "What are you talking about? Don’t give in to defeatist nonsense. A coward? You took down more pirates than any farmer from your village could ever dream of! Anyone else in your place would’ve soiled their pants in terror! And as for Cassander beating you—what did you expect? Glory overnight? Doesn’t work like that. Think how long you trained in fencing and who... hmm, taught you..."

  "Don’t insult Rita. She did her part."

  "I’m not saying anything bad! But let’s face it, you’re still a long way from Cassander."

  "You do know you have a talent, right?" Remiz asked suddenly.

  "What?.."

  "In fencing," Viggo said. "Remiz is right. You picked up techniques in days that take others months to learn. And more than that, you didn’t freeze in battle, you used them. That says a lot! If you’d trained not for just a few months before the fight, but even a single year—Cassander would’ve fled the battlefield like a whipped dog!"

  "That’s not the point." Kairu lowered his hand holding the broken blade with a dark, powerless expression. "I let him defeat me without killing me... Gave him the chance to play the noble man, sparing a helpless, weaponless boy... It would’ve been easier if he had just killed me in combat. But instead, he just broke my sword, and that’s only when I couldn’t defend myself. I was terrified. It would’ve been different if he had taken me out in the heat of battle, but this was like I walked up to the executioner myself. Who am I after that?"

  "That’s not your fault," Viggo said seriously. "Let it go, Kairu. You fought bravely, and you didn’t wet yourself when he nearly killed you several times. And besides, things like death are still worth being afraid of."

  For a while, they were silent, each lost in thought. Kairu stared up at the tent’s ceiling. He longed painfully for sleep, but it wouldn’t come. His mind kept spinning in circles, as if it were being stretched on a torture wheel.

  "Kairu," came Remiz’s voice, as if from far away. "Let me tell you a legend."

  "What does that have to do with anything...?"

  "Nothing. Just a beautiful tale from a time when your ancestors hadn’t yet reached the continent’s shores, and mine were just beginning to learn from the beings who once ruled the world. We’ve preserved many stories from those days, not just about the Lake of Aktida. Oh, there was no peace in Laugdeil back then either, and the continent was overrun by bands of marauders. Civil wars broke out often, and in the north, a terrible threat emerged: the army of Naugr, the Flame Rider. They say he was the son of the god of war, possessing a strength no mortal could match...

  "Many times the free kingdoms rose against him. And there was a great warrior from a now-forgotten people, the centaurs of the Highland Isle, a place still lost to this day. His name was Eolino. He challenged Naugr and discovered that his terrifying foe could not be wounded by his sword. Human steel couldn’t pierce that armor. Only iron tempered in dragon fire could hope to stand against the tyrant of the North.

  "Eolino left his people and, alone, passed through the ravaged lands of the north. He crossed the icy wastelands at the edge of Vaimar, then the Duanmar Plateau, and finally reached lands where no human could survive. The elders say he had to cross the realms of the Frozen Flame, the legendary Kardahill, the pole of cold beyond which lies the other side of the world. And there, beyond the edge of our realm, he found the lost Kingdom of the Smiths. They say they were dwarves, long since gone from our lands.

  "Only one among them, a priest named Ulreg, knew where to find dragon fire, for Vaimos himself owns a spear forged that way. Eolino asked Ulreg to come with him to Assear—that’s what Aktida was once called, before the Alvens gave everything new names. But the king of that land was reluctant to let the high priest go, and so he struck a deal: Eolino could take him if he could slay the werewolf that haunted the mountains. The clever king thought the centaur was doomed, but he underestimated the might of Assear’s greatest warrior.

  "Eolino defeated the beast, though the battle lasted seven days and nights. The kingdom had already declared him dead when he descended from the mountains. The king was forced to keep his word. Ulreg went with Eolino to Laugdeil, where he helped the centaurs build the Dragon Forge, hidden from all eyes. The sword forged there could defeat Naugr. They say Vaimos himself descended from his heavenly hall to light the forge, and in return, Eolino forged a blade for him as well. The sword he created helped him vanquish the Flame Rider and end one of the bloodiest wars in history.

  "And to this day, the Dragon Forge is said to lie hidden in the forests of Aktida. They say its fire has gone out, but the centaurs still know the secret to rekindling it, because they are all descended from Eolino. The centaurs, who have preserved the secret of smithing, come to the Forge to create their finest works. And any sword forged there, they say, is destined to become the mightiest weapon in the world, an invincible blade."

  Remiz fell silent. Outside, only the sound of rain rustled on. Kairu gave a faint smile.

  "It’s just a legend, Remiz. It’s not going to help me. And this..." he raised the broken sword, "…is hardly going to become the mightiest, most invincible blade."

  "That," Remiz said quietly, "no one can say for sure."

  "It doesn’t matter whether this Forge exists or not," Viggo interrupted. "The point is, now is not the time to lose heart. Yes, that sword couldn’t handle Cassander, but you’ll have other chances… if you want them. You understand? Come on, better get some sleep. You’re completely worn out. Now you need rest and recovery, and then we’ll see where else we need to go to feel that adrenaline rush. So, tell us—did you find the crossroads of time?"

  "We did," Kairu sighed heavily. What had happened just yesterday already felt like a dream from another life. "We went into the mountains, and there I used the gift of clairvoyance, sensed the source of magic, and it turned out to be the passage. Just like Petros said—you can’t see it until you step right into it. We talked for a long time, and Petros said this wasn’t our fight anymore, that our purpose lay elsewhere, and that I must find Yuffilis, he would explain everything. And then he…" Kairu strained to recall. "He said, truth and noble goals are many-faceted, and that he had one last task to finish. Then he left—teleported, instantly, gone in a flash. And I came back."

  Viggo sighed with disappointment.

  "And he explained nothing else?"

  "Nothing."

  "He has the right," Remiz said. "We know nothing about him, really, do we? Just what’s on the surface."

  "True," Viggo leaned back into his pillow. Around them there was still noise and movement; they continued their conversation unnoticed. "Say what you want, guys, but I’m completely drained. Mentally and physically. I hope tomorrow we’ll have time to talk about our defeat, politics, the war, Saelin, and everything else. And what we’re supposed to do next. But for now—good night. And congratulations to us all for staying alive."

  He closed his eyes and turned away, pulling a dirty burlap sack over his head. Remiz slipped out quietly, gliding past the wounded who lay sprawled everywhere. His dark silhouette flickered against the deepening twilight that blanketed the forest and then vanished. Kairu lay down again and squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to fall asleep instantly, but his thoughts were a tangled storm. He recalled the battle, the city on fire, everything before and after the fight with Cassander. He remembered preparing the defenses, Petros, and Rita. So much troubled him. Again, he tried to understand why Petros had searched for the Crossroads for so long, what had passed between him and Saelin, and what all those cryptic hints meant during their final conversation. He thought of his vision in the hills, but it all slipped away into deeper confusion, until he realized his complete helplessness.

  And then everything began to spin. Images flickered and shifted, and a dark shadow settled over him. He caught a strong scent of herbs that made his head swim. Bending over him, sitting on the edge of the cot, was Woody Miles.

  "Woody…?" he whispered, unmoving. "So, you didn’t go to Mainor?"

  "Yes, yes," the young man he had once saved whispered back. "I left, hid in the forest, and then found this camp in the thicket… Listen, you saved my life, and I couldn’t leave until I knew for sure that you were either alive or… definitely dead. I found out you were here, that you were wounded by Cassander himself…"

  "Yeah, but I’m alive," Kairu said hoarsely.

  "I’m glad," Woody smiled. "I think I’ll stick with you for now. I’m afraid to go to Mainor alone, I don’t know the way, and in autumn like this, it’s all too easy to starve to death or run into pirates."

  "Stay," Kairu said indifferently. He didn’t care. His thoughts were far away.

  Twilight deepened over the camp.

  ***

  That night, many did not sleep.

  In Nalvin, Orwell Cassander delegated temporary command of the army to his senior officer. Then he gathered his letters from the Castle, took his sword, mounted his horse, and under cover of darkness rode out of the city, heading north toward the Selinel Mountains.

  In the Eastern Province, professor Saelin turned another page of his blueprints, furiously scratched his head, and ground his teeth in frustration at himself. Behind him, the Lake of Aktida gleamed cold and proud. Power lines sparked as they carried energy to the distant construction sites of the first large-scale factories for new weapon production.

  In Mainor, King Emerlun Winver, locked in a tower with a few trusted advisors, began discussing plans to investigate the capital’s criminal network, revive the Secret Chancellery, and hunt down spies from Vaimar and Rikutiam.

  Off the road from Nalvin to Mainor, Rita made a place for the night in a deep thicket, wrapped herself in a sleeping bag, lit a small candle and in the dim light began to reread a letter written in a hasty hand.

  The rain had stopped. The clouds had parted, revealing rare, cold autumn stars. Pale moonlight flooded the forest beyond the fallen city’s walls.