6 : 234 : 07 : 48 : 06

I come out of the vault to Serilon. I forgot to even leave him any light, but he hasn’t moved a step from his post at the brink of the abyss. There he stands, like the ghost of past Christmas, greeting me with the whites of his eyes.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” the soldier asks.

“No,” I answer. “There was not a made to order robot girlfriend in there. Just the core.”

We cross the narrow bridge back to the other end of the freaky hall and climb up the puzzle ladder to the treasure chamber. There I’m stunned to find Sephram hasn’t died off-screen or been captured, and we repeat the above dialogue in only slightly different words. Our job here is done.

What the hell, that went dramatically easier than I expected. I've had more trouble buying flour than breaking into a ruin from the age of gods. All that remains is the minor technicality of getting out of the royal district without raising an alarm. You don’t suppose Serilon would be willing to see us to the door too?

Well, willing or not, he has to.

The officer abstains from heavy protesting and leads us quietly out of the treasury, upstairs, and out of the building. I’m starting to think he’s an exceptionally handy guy to have around. Like a walking ID, security clearance card, and a master key, all rolled into one hunk. It’s almost a pity to leave him here, but I don’t think I can fit him in a suitcase in one piece.

Like so, casually thinking about the future, we stroll out of the palace and into the splendid ambush that awaits us outside.

“Uhhh.”

The previously barren plaza before us is manned from side to side. On a rough estimate, I’d say there are about seven hundred youthful warriors there, arranged in clean rectangles, swords in hand, bows drawn, shields up. One more platoon is on the stairs to receive us, long spears held at the ready, pointed towards us, and nobody’s hand shakes even a little.

“Now, my friends,” Vice Commander Serilon says and turns to me, “I would take the core from your hands.”

There’s only one thing I can say, looking at that send-off party.

“Son of a bitch!”

I sort of saw this coming, but also didn’t.

Like, I recognized it as possible somewhere in the back of my head, but then again, the front gate is the only way out of the district, so I wanted very much to believe the road would be clear and I wouldn’t have to trouble my brain finding another exit. But when did he pass the note? Did he dit and dah at the guards on the way with his eyes, or what the hell? Suppose that'll have to remain a mystery.

Next to me, my friend drops the borrowed guard spear and raises his hands with a heavy sigh. Where's your fighting spirit?

“Man, how can you do this to your friends!?” I ask Serilon. “I thought we had a deal!”

I was starting to like the guy too! To the point I was going to suggest they get Idris Elba to play him in the movie. We might have to settle for somebody five figures cheaper now.

“Where I’m from, people don’t beat up and threaten their friends, or break into their homes to steal that which is theirs,” Serilon gives a scathing retort. “The core, if you will. It belongs to his majesty, the Sultan, like all else in Nikéa.”

Two hundred arrows pointed at my face, I take the metal orb from my bag and drop it on Serilon's outreached palm.

“Hope the Sultan likes his new paperweight.”

“And the gold you took from the treasury,” the man adds, holding out his other hand.

“Shit…” I gather the old coins from my pocket and put them in his hand too. He doesn’t lower the hand.

“And the other pocket…”

Fucking hell, this guy sees everything, doesn’t he?

“What about Hume?” Sephram asks the commander. “He’s coming for the core. Along with the Kingdom’s army.”

“Leave the war with Alberion to us,” Serilon answers him. “We of the Sultan’s Sabers will protect the Old Gods’ legacy our own way, as we have for thousands of years, even without your generous input.”

“You just had to say it?” I lament on the side.

“You were fools to believe Hume’s outrageous lies about the front collapsing in a day. The canyonlands are dug full of hideouts and trenches. Alberion’s armies must pass through a gorge where seven thousand of our finest lie in wait, rested and well supplied, and that is only to be the beginning of their troubles. And no less a fool was Hume himself, to believe Maohen could bribe his way into the vault. There is no greater honor to a Sultan’s Saber than to live and die for the glory of His Heavenly Majesty. No amount of gold or honeyed words may sway us. And the forbidden palace shall remain ever as such to those governed by malice—forbidden.”

“Wonderful. So what happens now?” I ask. “I don’t suppose you’ll let us go with a warning?”

“The same happens to you as happens to all who break the Sultan’s law. You will be rewarded with bracelets of iron and get to enjoy the comforts of our dungeon to your heart’s content. For the hospitality you have shown me today, I will also recommend a good whipping to warm your backsides.”

I groan. “Not another goddamn dungeon!”

“Despair not, my friends,” Serilon tells us. “I do admit to having grown somewhat sympathetic to your cause over our brief time together. I also owe you big thanks for opening the vault and bringing its power source to us. Your lives shall be spared. I will also ensure you are released, eventually, after you’ve had enough time to repent for your misdeeds...By your sixtieth birthday, or close enough.”

“Now you’re just being spiteful!”

I can’t go back to granny as a granny myself!

As much as I hope Serilon will next tell us where to look for the hidden camera, he won't. Instead, he waves at the troops.

“Take them away.”

Sigh. Here we go.

I raise my fists. Of course, willingly marching into prison isn’t an option. Been there, done that, never again. I assume Sephram feels the same. He takes from the hidden pocket of his side bag his go-to weapon, a large kukri-like blade and assumes a fighting stance.

Getting caught alive would break rule number two, anyway.

Never compromise the Order.

Irifan wouldn't knowingly ask any of us to die, maybe, but that's only more reason to pull no punches.

Nothing about this job went by the book, but let's dash the last stretch like a champion.

“You take the three hundred and fifty on the left,” I tell Sephram, “and I’ll take the three hundred and fifty on the right.”

“Personally,” he replies, “I was hoping you’d handle the six hundred on your side. I'm afraid a hundred and fifty is about the best I can manage.”

“Oh, sure, just push them all to me. Not like it makes a difference!”

The spearman platoon closes in.

We should probably start with these fifty.

Then, right as I'm about to jump into the heat…My vision is lit full of blaring alarm signals.

“Huh?”

What? What’s going on?

The cause isn’t any of the troops in front of us, but something further away. I sense a massive energy reading west of the city and turn to look. I see a dark, oblong hunk of metal float in the gray-blue sky above the rooftops. The metal box has a very large cannon attached to it and my ever-helpful magic senses tell me it's undergoing a firing sequence. In the next moment, I see a bright ball of cobalt fire come flying at thrice the speed of sound—headed straight for the palace.

“Get down—!” I yell at Sephram, but only reach to ‘w’ before all hell breaks loose.

The 260-mm plasma shell pierces the central dome of the Sultan’s earthly residence with little trouble. The dome shatters like an eggshell, blown apart from the inside by a vast bloom of blue flames and jet-black smoke that blots out the sun.

I raise the Ice Shield overhead, as big and firm as I can make it, which is just about wide enough to cover me and the dude next to me. Soon after, an expanding shockwave mows down everyone on the plaza, and probably breaks every window in the central city. Which is every window in the city, technically.

A heartbeat or two later, chunks of flaming marble, ranging in size from matchbox to SUV, start raining down about us and on the courtyard, and the Sultan’s Sabers really regret holding a get-together today. Who would’ve thought? Turns out stone burns pretty well when you throw ionized cheruleum at it. The ground trembles. The racket is terrible.

Fortunately, nothing bigger than a melon hits us and my shield can take it. But the palace wasn’t designed to keep standing under bombardment. The marble cake begins to collapse like a house of cards and melts over the stairway.

Squatting under the shield, I turn to Sephram with a question that’s bothering me,

“Hey. If you were to tell a guy something happens ‘in three days,’ would you mean three days counting from tomorrow, or three days counting from that very moment on the same day?”

“Well,” he says, “can't speak for all of mankind, but I belive I'd count tomorrow as day one, the day after tomorrow as the second day, and the one after that as the third.”

I nod in agreement. “Yes, that’s exactly what I was thinking. So should the happening then be scheduled for as soon as the third day begins, or only after the day has fully passed?”

“I'd wait at least until the sundown on the third day,” Sephram answers. “Otherwise, it'd be a lot more precise to say, ‘in two days,’ wouldn't it?”

“Right! Like, you wouldn’t say someone who’s just turned fourteen an hour ago is ‘as good as fifteen’, would you?”

“The choice of an example bothers me immensely, but I agree in principle. Then again…”

“What?”

“‘In three days’ is an awfully vague expression. It could just as well mean ‘no longer than three days’, but the possibility of it taking less is also implied.”

“So what did Hume actually mean when he said that? When is the D-day?”

“Now that you ask me, I’m not so sure anymore.”

“This is so confusing! Villains should be a little more precise with their plans! We have clocks, for gods’ sake! You could just say, ‘our evil plot starts Thursday at seven!’, period! And when you make a goddamn plan then stick to it too! Because otherwise, I’ll feel like a fucking idiot for stressing so much about the three day-thing!”

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Sephram furrows his brow. “You don’t suppose tricking us was his intention all along?”

“Nah. Think he’d be that smart? I mean, he does seem kinda smart, for an evil, medieval psycho, but that smart? That’s borderline psychic! He couldn’t have possibly known we were there eavesdropping on that rooftop, and deliberately fed us false information, to have us break into the palace and retrieve the core, so he could then steal it from us, instead of having to sneak past the Sultan’s loyal army and try breaking into the unbreakable vault—Oh, that lizard-fucking son of a slime!”

“I think we should leave,” Sephram says and this is one of the rare few moments when I listen to him without objections.

Another intense blast rocks the west side of the palace. The formerly beautiful building ruptures like a feather pillow with a new year’s rocket stuffed inside. It’s admittedly still a very pleasing sight, aesthetically. But if the Sultan was somewhere in there, I’m thinking he’s closer to Heaven than earth now. A dang shame about that harem.

My shield can’t take blasts of that magnitude, and neither can my legs, or innards. Sephram grabs my wrist and starts running and drags me along. The barrier spell is a static phenomenon and not the portable kind, so I can’t maintain it while on the move. We can only hope for the best, as usual.

“The core!” I remind the white knight of our job.

Serilon has dropped the reactor sphere and it’s well on its way rolling down the stairs by itself. I’m sorry to anyone who liked the character; he didn't make it. No way am I going back to check for a pulse, though.

We chase after the ball, dodging falling debris and smashed soldiers’ corpses on the way, as more ion cannon shots flash over our heads, seeding destruction in the city. The previously tidy pavement is slippery with a gravy of blood and sharpnel, and I’m rolling on my bumper in the stuff. Icky!

Sephram manages to pick up the core and puts it in his bag, and we run on. None of the surviving guards feel like getting in our way, busy trying to save themselves and the wounded. A couple of thieves don’t seem so important anymore, when fire and brimstone rains down from the sky. You’d think the world was ending. But no, not yet, this is just a warm-up.

The main gate is closed but a stray shot has punched a generous hole in the east wall. That once so formidable wall now looks like a giant poked a hot finger through it. Praying lightning won’t hit the same spot twice, we head for the smoking gap, and climb over the steaming rubble that smells of ozone and carbon dioxide and other unhealthy things, and roll and stumble down to the chaotic street outside.

The locals have found their brick houses are as good as paper mache before the storm of fire and have decided to move house—all together at the same time. They crowd the narrow streets, running like cows let out of barn in spring. They trample and climb over each other in the frantic race to get away from the mayhem and “women and children first” is on nobody’s mind. You can practically smell the panic and it’s contagious.

“This way!”

Still firmly gripping my hand, Sephram departs westward.

Nobody’s instinctive reaction is to run towards the UFO peppering them with hot plasma, but it’s probably the safest direction. The mystery box can’t fire at targets inside their safety area, if they want to stay in the sky.

We run and run along the narrow, labyrinthine streets and towards the slums.

I let Sephram pull me along, too tired to carry my own weight. Little by little, the flow of panicking locals relaxes and we find our surroundings have turned into a ghost town.

Judging we’ve come far enough, we stop to catch our breath in a shaded alleyway between chalked brick flats.

I take a peek around the corner at where the flying deathbolt dispenser is going. After grinding the Sultan’s palace to gravel, the ship has moved to taking potshots here and there, while curving slowly northeast.

“What the hell is that thing?” I ask. I’m pretty sure the tags say “fantasy”! I didn’t sign up for The Chronicles of Riddick!

Sephram peels the palace scale armor off of his shoulders, his face glistening with sweat.

“A crulean dreadnought,” he answers.

“A what?”

He shrugs. “A kind of flying battleship. I don’t know! It resembles the vessel that comes to pick up Master Khram whenever he visits his home.”

“You mean, the shit that’s strictly verboten in the human lands?”

“Very much so!”

Sephram comes to watch the ship glide by, his face grim.

“I now see the reason for Hume’s confidence. But why would the cruleans help him? Why would they risk the future of their people for a mere war among men?”

“You don’t reckon they’re after our ball too?” I ask. “How lucky of us, to end up with the most popular Christmas decoration in the world! What is so great about that damn thing, that everybody wants it? I’d take a motherfucking flying gunship anyday over an oversized battery! It’s too heavy to play polo, and for an anal bead it’s much too big. It’s sorely missing a handle too. Pop that thing in and not even King Arthur would pull it back out again!”

Sephram rolls his eyes. “Why do you always have to be like that?”

“Like what?” I ask back. “Insane? Well, that one’s easy; I was nuts from the start! And the whole goddamn ‘crulean dreadnought’ making things explode everywhere around us isn’t exactly helping! One shot a little too close and they’ll be scraping us off the pavement! In fact, we nearly died a hundred times over just in the last fifteen minutes! All because of that stupid 8-ball you have in your fanny pack! And you ask, ‘why am I like this!?’ I’d start by asking, why am I somehow not even worse than this? Because I have no idea!”

Does it sound like I’m losing it? I am!

“...They were right,” the guy says, shaking his head. “Vysania and Endol. You weren’t ready. If you keep at this, it’s going to break you.”

“Fuck you.”

What can I even say to that?

Nothing. All I can do is laugh. I have to laugh, so I wouldn’t cry.

I have to make a joke of it, so I wouldn’t have to face how fucked up this all is.

“Okay, listen,” Sephram grabs my shoulders and says. “I want you to take the core and head west. There’s a gate in the slum wall, that I would expect lies unguarded at present. Shouldn't be a problem for you. Find yourself a mount and get as far away from the city as you can. Keep heading on towards the mountains, by the route we agreed, and get back to Orethgon as quickly as you can.”

“Why?” What is he talking about? “Aren't we taking the same bus?”

“We can't. In all likelihood, Hume and his troops are already nearby, searching for us. I need to make contact and tell him to stop the invasion.”

I stare at the guy, trying to see if he's pranking me. He's not.

“Are you crazy?”

“Listen to me,” he says. “Even if they have a clear road now, it will take the Royal Army about four days' march to reach the city. With the way things are going here, it’ll be nothing but a one-sided massacre. We can't let it come to that, no matter what. As long as we have the core, Hume will have to listen to us.”

“You've got to be shitting me! Do they seem like the kind of crooks who are open for a friendly conversation? He'll kill you dead! After he's tortured everything out of you in ways I don't even want to imagine, probably including the rack, and thumb screws, and hot coals, and the pear of anguish, and—”

“And now you're imagining it.”

“—The point is, we've got to get out of this place! Now!”

“I’m fully aware of the risks. Which is why I’m going alone. Your role in this is over.”

What is he even saying?

“I don’t get it. Why do you care so much about saving this pile of chicken stew? Why would you risk your ass for a bunch of gangsters, cutthroats, hookers, addicts, swindlers, and stuck-up fanatics? They almost just handed you a life sentence, and you’d still dive head-first into fire for them? Are you literally insane?”

“You’re missing the forest for the trees, Zero. Not everyone here is a criminal. I know many good people in Nikéa, who hardly deserve to be butchered for reasons they can’t even understand.”

I can only shake my head.

“They had it coming.”

Maybe there are a few good guys and gals here, somewhere under all the garbage. But clearly, there aren’t enough. Most of the Nikéans were content to sit back and watch their country devolve into a corrupt cesspool, where the only real law is the law of the jungle. They didn’t necessarily love it, but neither did they care enough to actually do a thing about it. And here’s the result.

I know, I know. They were scared.

Too scared to die and be hurt, and see their loved ones die and be hurt. The fear crippled them.

I understand that, I can sympathize even. But in the end, that’s what they’re still in for: suffering and dying.

All those few righteous people achieved by playing it safe for so long was let things get worse and worse. Maybe they could've tried a little harder when it mattered!

I've been watching this town for long enough to tell this now: when you've reached that point where all your chips are on an outside messiah to come and fix things for you, it's fucking over already. You've lost control. That fleeting spark that makes a person stand up on their own two feet, stare life in the eye, and push on—call it humanity, or soul, or guts, or whatever—it's lost. Gone.

A life like that isn't living anymore. You merely exist.

Even if somebody shows up and props you up then, you'll just fall back on your face the moment they leave.

From that point on, it's not a problem of helping people anymore. The effort it takes is beyond any hero.

Either you die with those people, or you keep walking.

“I’m all up for lending a hand,” I say to Sephram. “But is this really the hill where you want to bite the big one?”

Sephram looks back at me in the eye, perfectly serious, and answers,

“If it comes to that. Yes.”

“Why!?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

I can only laugh. “What the hell does that even mean!?”

But Sephram won’t laugh.

“Zero,” he quietly says, “whatever these people have done in their lives, or have not, it doesn’t matter. They’re still human. The same as you and me. You don’t need to ‘buy’ yourself value as a person through noble deeds. It’s already there in you from the moment you’re born and nothing's going to take it away. And I won't give up on them, as long as there's anything left I can do. Because I know they'd do the same in my shoes.”

I know that look in his eyes.

It’s the same look Irifan always has.

But I can't swallow it so easily.

“Am I? A human. The same as them? I—I’m not seeing it. What do we have in common? Not a damn thing. A handful of body parts? These people would be more than happy to lob stones at me if I gave them a clear aim. It’s the same everywhere I go. I don’t belong anywhere. I'm nothing. I've nothing. The longer I live the clearer I see that. It's each gal for herself.”

“That's not true,” Sephram tells me and takes a step closer.

“It's not?” I ask him. “And what about what I said was wrong?”

Looking at me straight in the eye, his face just as serious as the time he introduced me to the wonderful world of opium, Sephram gives me his answer.

“You have something; you have us.”

“...”

“You have a home. A place where you’ll always be welcome, no matter what happens here today. You have people who have grown to love you, and care for you, even if you don’t want to see it. I’m not telling you to save Nikéa for us, or to die trying. That’s the one thing you can never ask of another. It’s up to you how to spend the time you have. I just don’t want you to deny what's there. You’re not alone in the world.”

“You're lying,” I say, a lot of H2O pooling up in my eyes. “It’s a lie, isn’t it? Why would you think that? I bet they all wish I wouldn't come back. There’s not a single lovable bone in me. I haven’t done one good deed worth a damn for any of you guys. You don’t know who I am. You’re just saying this because you’re too nice for your own good. I don’t believe it. It doesn't make sense!”

I try to turn away, but Sephram grips my shoulders and forces me to stand up straight.

“Look, not everything in life needs to strictly make sense,” he says. “It’s not all just a game of numbers and values, following clear logic. There are things that just are. Things that can't be well explained in words. They simply work out on their own without anybody doing a damned thing about it. Okay, so you may not have been terribly useful all the time. Or even most of the time. Or even half of the time. But I’ll be damned if I never thought you weren’t—”

Sephram never manages to finish his sentence.

Because that’s when the angel of Death catches up with us.