6th Illost, 998 NE
Harukar hated this, the interminable waiting. And waiting on diviners, no less! It was beyond insulting. They of all people ought to know the appointed time had passed, or at least to invite him at a later hour. They were behind the door, still engaged with their current, equally-afflicted guest – while he sat on the crude bench outside, listening to everything. Every word that passed a casual insult.
Again and again, Harukar looked at the other door, the exit to Hightown from this nondescript, empty building. Again and again, he bit down on his disappointment, and awaited his turn.
Timesnatcher was a forceful personality. Harukar didn’t fear the man as he feared Lyferin but he could tell from his speech, his poise, that here was a man of noble breeding. And Lightblind was no less forceful, if a little less well-bred.
Something in Harukar had always led him to take the subservient position when faced with those who were genuinely highborn. He’d always liked knowing his place, in the guild, in the greater society of Mund, even if it wasn’t near the top – just so long as it wasn’t near the bottom. But being Direcrown let him speak to such people as Timesnatcher and Lightblind on the level. For all that they might have been Lords and Ladies of the Arrealbord, for all they knew he too was one such Lord. He might not quite have had their smoothness, but he could adopt their mannerisms and, with his rhimbelkina in place, their most-accurate visions of him might still depart wildly from reality. Even better, they would be aware of the fact.
But he was still here. Still waiting.
The door opened, and Timesnatcher followed the girl to the exit.
“You’ve got to be mad,” her voice echoed as she departed. “Tell you what, next time I see you I’ll bring you a priest and we’ll get you sorted right out.”
“You don’t have to –“ Timesnatcher raised his voice –
She let the door slam behind her.
Direcrown looked across at the arch-diviner, noting the weariness in his frame as he stood in the doorway.
“How much did you overhear?” Lightblind asked from the doorway to the private room.
“You know,” Harukar replied, feeling his lip curl behind the mask, “or you can guess.” He got to his feet with demonic swiftness. “So you want me to come to Zadhal with you.”
If they’d really wanted to hide their words, they wouldn’t have had him sitting outside – nor would they have stayed in an ordinary time-flow to discuss it.
“We need you, Direcrown,” Timesnatcher said. “I’ve seen things. You’re integral to the whole mission.”
“What have you seen?”
The city’s greatest diviner performed his customary motion – Harukar fancied that if he continued to shake his head so often it would one day shake right off.
“I can’t go into that. You know why. And you know why you have to come.”
“Then what is it compels thee to even request mine attendance?” Harukar said coldly. “If thou knowest all, and hath seen fit to see me there, constrict my fate with thy thoughtless hands – what cruelty is it now to so implore me? To mock me with the choice thou seest I cannot make?”
“Thinkest thou mine eye cannot be deceived?” Timesnatcher snapped, a shocking rumble of flawlessly-spoken outrage.
For a moment Harukar lost his breath, and couldn’t recover it, his lungs constricting.
Timesnatcher softened. “I cannot make that choice for you! I can only tell you what I’ve seen.”
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“But – but you cannot bring yourself to do so! You –“
“Direcrown…” Lightblind spoke gently, yet he felt the fight leave him at her remonstrance. “Direcrown, we need you. We all know why our vision can’t bind you. Don’t resist this. You want acclaim? You want the recognition you deserve? Redgate is gone. Just –“
“He’s not gone forever.” Harukar looked down at the redebon flooring. “But I will come.”
He sensed the glance pass between the two arch-diviners.
They’d made him wait, so he’d made them beg for it. The truth was, he’d desired to go to Zadhal all along. Not wanting to do what they wanted him to do, even though he wanted it – that was the frustrating part.
Zadhal – wherein he might find the answer.
* * *
12th Illost, 998 NE
As the others started to panic and flee, Harukar sighed, and drew on his phinphardion essence. The concealment this eldritch offered far exceeded the tricks of the enchanters. A glamour merely created an illusion about the subject that beguiled the observer’s mind, forcing them to see instead of flesh the very air the subject’s flesh ought to have occupied. This was altogether different; he was able to extract pure invisibility, draw it out of the demon and flood his own body with it, even push it into his clothing. The change of essence was complete. He hadn’t yet been capable of forcing handheld items to partake in the effect, but he was getting there.
Every morsel of flesh tingled as he watched it work on his hands protruding from his sleeves – soon the sleeves themselves and all the rest of his rust-coloured robe had vanished too.
It itched. Even his eye sockets, his ear canal, the inner surfaces of his nostrils. He kept his hands still, refused to give in to the urge to start scratching. He’d seen his phinphardion before it turned invisible, and he’d seen the process by which it changed, the removal of its skin it achieved in seconds, like a horrifying self-peeling orange. He’d never once dared scratch, and even if it sped up the change he wasn’t about to start now – not with several dozen deathknights about to skewer him with nethernal iron. This was not the environment in which one ought to take unnecessary risks.
Only a few of the deathknights were aiming their lances at him and even these potent undead creatures seemed at a loss as he disappeared right in front of them. Sailing away through the air with his wizard-flight, Harukar abandoned the weave moments before the magister, Valorin, and headed west.
They will catch me up, he told himself. My time will be better spent uncovering the source of all this undeath while they are distracted.
Alone, he soared over the desolate streets. He had no doubt a few of the things in Zadhal could see through his transparent form – no defence was ever perfect – but the superior invisibility of his eldritch would surely see him past the vast majority of the threats this place held. They’d sprung the trap, now; further confrontations would likely be incidental. And if something wanted a fight – well, he’d give it one and send it back to Nethernum sobbing. Besides, he was fairly certain a number of the arch-magisters had flown upwards, and those idiots already knew their invisibility was useless against these foes.
It was an intriguing place, this city. The value of such a vast site, in terms of its history, was incalculable. The Sablemain Museum, Harukar’s favourite, had been levelled following its infestation during the Incursion back in Chraunost – where Hellbane and Mindbreaker had fallen, failing to protect the place – but one might almost think it could be reconstructed, should one be granted free access to Zadhal’s treasures. The majority of the museum’s pieces had originated in the sixth- and seventh-centuries; the frosted objects he could see through time-wrecked roofs could’ve been used as one-for-one replacements after a polish and shine. This was to say nothing of the innumerable tomes of knowledge that were still surely there somewhere, waiting to be found, protected by spells of keeping and permanence –
He raised his head, his senses warning him of a potential cause for concern, but it was nothing – just some skeletal chariot incapable of perceiving him. He soared above it, letting it continue on its way, presumably hunting the others.
It didn’t take him long to find the Green Tower, but it took him longer to enter. It didn’t sense him with eyes but with ancient spells that probably heard his thoughts ticking over or heard the beating of an invisible heart. When its bony defences came alive he shielded himself against assault and used the wyvarlinact claws to dig a hole in the tower’s cladding. It was difficult to maintain even a small opening; in the end he used his supernaturally-durable body to shoulder his way through, tearing the top layer of his robe across the back.
And of course, the very moment he was in, the bone-walls dropped aside, their magic deactivated; the bones went plummeting to pitter-patter on the ground far below, stilled once more. As if to invite him to leave, get out of this place while he still had chance.
But that wasn’t anywhere near the top of his list.
Fascinated, he reached out for a curl of burning green glyphs, took it in his hands and set to work. Within five minutes he’d deciphered the riddle and started to read.
Behind the infernal mask, his eyes widened, and a rare smile spread across his lips.
This is what I’ve been looking for.