"…how we intend to study the crossroads of time," Petros repeated for the twelfth time, sighing heavily. After several lectures had come six interviews for little rags like Modern Science, then three councils in the magistrate’s chambers, where their plan had faced even harsher scrutiny. But Petros and Saelin had done their work well, describing everything exactly as they would have proceeded if their true goal really had been the study of the crossroads of time. Now the idea had to withstand the strictest criticism. They were reporting before the High Chapter of the Academy, headed by the Archmage.

  "Our idea," Petros continued, "is that, taking as our basis the manuscripts of the ancient Nocturns, we will thoroughly examine the terrain where, at various points in time, ‘crossroads’ were recorded, and attempt to find a connection between the modern phenomenon and the events that shook Laugdeil two thousand years ago. Our science, alas, is still too weak; however, we can make use of the ideas of our predecessors. The main clue was provided by the excavations of the library of the late ancient Nocturns, left in Laugdeil during the conquest and discovered near the Temple of Tornir in Derelzfjord. There we found an entire collection of works directly related to the theme of the crossroads of time."

  "Petros, you understand that this library must immediately become the property of the Mage Guild, and the manuscripts teleported to the Mainor archives?" The Archmage, roused from deep thought, ran his eyes over the maps spread out on the table. "It is of immense value. I trust Vaimar will not lay claim to it?"

  "I will arrange everything," Petros assured him. "My agent will keep the secret until we finish the expedition. I promise you, that library will be transferred to the Institute’s archives very soon."

  "Am I mistaken, or in your interviews and lectures you presented… a somewhat different account of your research system?" Romenford inquired lazily. Petros glared from under his brow at the black-haired wizard with the high forehead, sleek sideburns, and a clean-shaven chin. They had been rivals for years, both aiming at high posts in the Academy, both making great discoveries, both dabbling in politics and constantly trying to trip each other up.

  "You are right," Petros replied bluntly. He had a ready answer for this. "As you surely understand, there are weighty reasons why certain information must not leave this chamber. For instance, our cooperation with the Nocturns and the use of their research. In the current climate of racism once again stirring in Aktida, news of such collaboration might provoke false judgments. You, gentlemen, understand that in science the end justifies any means. But students and reporters should not know this."

  "Quite right," the Archmage admitted after a brief pause. "You know, Petros, I give you full freedom of action—but I expect results. Good results. After all, you are the first in this world to dare to work with time. Very well. Leave your report on the start of the expedition with the Mages’ Guild of Vairad, and the next in the Temple of Tornir; as I understand, later you will no longer have the chance to leave us reports. But I trust your professionalism. You have repeatedly proven your loyalty to the Academy and the Guild, and your ability to find original solutions to the most complex problems. That is precisely why I am glad to entrust this matter to you as a professional, and I hope this study will bring you as much satisfaction as your earlier work. Good luck, Petros. Yes, leave your report here—I will review your route later. Copies of the checks? Yes, yes, leave them as well, all this must remain in the records. Farewell, and… good luck to you all. And take special care of Lady Nielder—she will be of use to us yet!"

  "You may rely on us!" Saelin shouted with a laugh, slamming the door shut.

  "That Petros is taking far too much liberty," Romenford said disapprovingly, once they were alone with the other wizards. Magoliant was leafing melancholically through the detailed papers of the planned work. "It was a mistake to grant him such freedom of action. The expedition is practically beyond our control. We’ve poured money into a highly dubious venture…"

  "Romenford, perhaps you’d prefer to go and study these crossroads yourself?" Magoliant snapped, tearing himself from the scrolls. "They are doing what none of us has dared attempt in years, and that alone is an indictment of us. And Petros has never yet failed us. Yes, he’s been spotted in shady political circles. Yes, he delights in intrigue. But never has he acted against the Academy or the Guild. He is a professional, beyond suspicion. He is our equal, worthy of trust; he could already have slipped beyond our control, and yet he remains loyal to the Academy. Saelin? A strange fellow, but unquestionably a genius—take just his work on bioengineering, on alchemical structures in metallurgy, on systems of mass teleportation, and so on. Petros is quite shrewd in choosing friends. Vergilius—well, an as yet not fully revealed figure, but undoubtedly gifted. He knows the theory of time thoroughly, can analyze facts, possesses a logical mind. Ashley—an adventuress, yes, but a brilliant girl; we cannot gainsay her. She will be the pride of our Academy, and we will boast that the great Professor Nielder studied with us. Nubel—we all know him, and certainly cannot accuse him of working against the Academy. As for anything else, we have no right to censure them."

  "And still it all seems suspicious to me," Romenford muttered, unable to contain himself. "Especially that strange trio… Petros, Saelin, and Vergilius. One—a haughty, arrogant type who insists on doing everything his own way. The other two… Where did they even come from? Why did they start working together? And you know, it’s unlike Petros to take colleagues along. He’s famous for preferring to work alone."

  "I see no contradiction," said the Archmage. "Saelin has so far worked with magic and technology; I think Petros brought him in for technical consultation. Vergilius is a known specialist in temporal magic. Everything sounds perfectly logical. And remember—we’ve placed our own man in their team. In the coming months, we’ll be receiving detailed reports on the work in Vaimar. After the expedition is complete, we’ll have a full and precise record, describing everything down to what time each of them went to relieve himself… If need be, and if I consider your accusations sufficiently serious, Romenford, I promise I will personally verify all the information in that report. If even a single detail does not match, Petros will be questioned. Are you satisfied?"

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  "Not entirely," Romenford grumbled.

  "Well. I’m afraid, for now, you’ll have to make peace with it."

  ***

  "From Petista we head toward Derelzfjord to meet with Konrad," said Saelin, spreading a new map out on the table. "He’s still working on translations that will be of great help to us. After that, we’ll explore this region at the foot of the mountains—here in the past many crossroads were recorded…"

  "Uh-huh." Ashley frowned. "And then… Regerlim?"

  "Exactly," Petros said with a smirk, sitting down beside her. "The famous terrifying forest of Regerlim. The most frightening place in the world—apart from the Desert lands."

  "But why do we need to go there?"

  "We must speak with the druids."

  "Forgive my ignorance… but what connection could there be between druids and the crossroads of time?" Nubel cautiously interjected.

  "None, Nubel." Petros looked at him with pity. "But we’ll need their protection if we want to search the North-Vaimar ridge. Those are their domains. There’s no avoiding it: there’s a clear correlation between the density of crossroads described in those places and the sacred sites of the Nocturns. We intend to discover the cause of this correlation."

  "We’re going to Petista through Mainor anyway, aren’t we?" Ashley interrupted, clearly bored. "Why?"

  "There are a few things I need to check in the Institute," Petros muttered, studying the map. "Trifles, but they may be useful. Some testimonies from the archive—not much, but I want to copy them and bring them along, so that we have as much data at hand as possible."

  "If we stop at the Institute, I’ll drop by the Occultum. Amazing they even let me in there!"

  "Be careful with the knowledge you take from that place, Ashley," Vergilius advised. "It’s a very mysterious place…"

  "I know. But damn it, I’m Ashley Nielder. So—we talk with the druids in Regerlim. And then where? Farther north?"

  "Afraid of freezing?" Petros chuckled. "By the time we reach Regerlim, it will be hot in Vaimar."

  "I’m not afraid of anything. I just don’t understand why we have to go so far, almost to Duanmare."

  "If we must, we’ll climb Duanmare too," Petros said grimly. "The end justifies the means. But according to some indirect sources, there are several very important sanctuaries there, and ruins of ancient Nocturn fortresses. We’re unlikely to stumble upon the lost shrine of Aktos, but we do have a chance to unearth something significant."

  "I heard the sanctuary of Aktos is not far from the Cross Plateau," Ashley remarked lazily.

  "Nonsense, I’ve been there and saw nothing," Nubel protested. "But you’ll see—I’ll find it! Why is it you always get the most exciting discoveries? I want to dig up some relic too!"

  "You’ll get your chance, Nubel." Saelin patted him on the shoulder. "Just a little later than us and Petros. Ashley, on the other hand, only has to sit back and enjoy the laurels of her discovery, while millions pile up in her bank account."

  "You could have gone after Cheverus’s notes on the Elixir of Research yourself," Ashley tilted her head playfully. "Who’s to blame that I seized the initiative, got hold of the alchemists’ diaries, and became interested in the roots of Nibr? That’s how I made my mark."

  "You chose the wrong science, Nubel," Petros sighed. "These days, all the big grants go to alchemists. Historians only get paid when they dig up some long-lost treasure. But Ashley, don’t think this is just a pleasure trip. You’ll be working on alchemy in all your spare time."

  "Of course. How else? I don’t understand maps or manuscripts anyway. And I don’t know a word of the Nocturns’ ancient language. I’d gladly help, but I’ll have to bury myself in my textbooks and herbariums, and instead of cooking soup over the campfire I’ll be brewing potions."

  "Wait… then who’s going to cook the soup?" Saelin asked.

  "I don’t know… Someone who hasn’t yet won the Academy of Science’s top prize, I guess?"

  "Excellent idea… Nubel, congratulations—you are hereby appointed chief cook of the First Derelz Expedition!" Petros proclaimed. "The most responsible position of all: everyone else here is so high and mighty that none of us would lift a finger for household chores. We’d sooner starve to death than take up a ladle. What luck that the Archmage himself saved us all by adding to our team such an irreplaceable worker!"

  Everyone burst out laughing. Nubel laughed too, though his cheeks flushed red.

  "Saelin, may I have a word?" Petros asked, rising.

  "Of course." Saelin frowned, and the two stepped out into the corridor.

  "What about Hector?" Petros asked bluntly as soon as they were alone.

  "He’s coming," Saelin muttered. "No more options. Supplies and equipment are already ordered for him too. You know… I think it’ll be better if I personally keep an eye on him. Who knows what might happen while we’re cut off from civilization? I can’t take that risk."

  Petros was silent for a while.

  "Maybe you’re right," he said at last. "But remember—I warned you against it. The final decision was yours. Keep that in mind."

  "I will," Saelin replied calmly. "And now, back to our assistants… the ones we shouldn’t trust. A strange alliance, don’t you think?"

  ***

  "When do we leave?"

  Saelin sighed heavily. He raised his head and looked with pain at Hector, who sat on the bed in his nightshirt, his hair disheveled, lit unevenly by candlelight. The apartments the Academy of Science had given them lay in nighttime silence; outside the window, mosquitoes whined.

  "Tomorrow."

  "Already?"

  "It was decided not to delay. We must begin as early as possible. I hope you’ve packed your suitcase?"

  "A week ago already… Aktos, how forgetful you are! Still sorting through your notes?"

  "I don’t know how long I’ll need them. Maybe it will all end right there, among those damned Nocturn ruins. We might have a chance to return."

  "I don’t remember anything of what happened there," Hector admitted. "For me, here it feels like home. Listen—maybe I really should stay?"

  "Did you think of me?" Saelin jumped up and slammed his fist on the table. Hector met the full fury of his amber gaze without flinching. "Did you think of me? I can’t tear myself in two. I love you both. Your mother, and you. You’ll settle in there, I’m sure of it. You’ll like it… Hector, understand me. I remember it too well. I’ve never felt at home here. I want to go back, and I don’t care what I have to go through to reach it again."

  They were silent. The candle flame trembled, threatened to slip off the thin red wick and vanish, surrendering itself to the wind.

  "I’m afraid of you, when you get like this," Hector said coldly. "Fine. I’ll submit. I want to go with you."

  "Thank you," Saelin whispered, stepping closer and embracing him. Hector pressed silently against his rough cheek. "You’ll see… You’ll understand me."

  "Do you even know how to find it? This Octarus?"

  "Petros will help us. I understand some things myself."

  "And you’re sure Petros won’t deceive you?"

  "If I can’t trust Petros," Saelin said after a pause, his voice trembling, "then who in this world can I trust?"

  "Me."

  "That’s not enough. Not enough to reach the goal. I’m forced to trust him, don’t you see? Trust and obey. But he will help us."

  "I wish I could be as certain as you, Father." Hector yawned, lay down on the pillow, and pulled the blanket over himself. "Say… tell me again about my mother. What was she like?"

  Saelin sighed. He turned away, staring into the dark corner of the room, blinking rapidly. His eyes stung. There in the shadows lurked something terrible, frightening, ready to creep out and seize Erik Saelin in its arms. Insomnia. And memory.

  "She was very much like you…"

  Hector Saelin fell asleep.