2 : 332 : 13 : 42 : 34

The hard part done and over with, I can assume a more comfortable posture as we move on to the main topic of the cheerful reunion. The topic I’d half-accidentally put on hold for three years plus change; that minor problem known as the impending end of our world. Out of the loop for all this time, I have no idea what’s going on, but I'm all ears.

There’s a lot of catching up to do.

Thankfully, I'm not the only one who's been skipping class, and Irifan throws us frequent fliers a bone.

“Mayhap it's best to begin with a quick overview of the situation, and what has been learned? I'd ask everyone present to provide a brief report on their discoveries thus far—maybe beginning with Master Mansoix? Would you be so kind?”

“As it pleases you, your grace,” Sephram replies and pushes up to his feet. “My humble labors have won me no medals thus far, and are speedily out of the way. I'm both glad and relieved to confirm that the Kingdom has—after delays upon delays—withdrawn all of her troops from the territory of Nikéa by this date, and something of a peace has returned to the land.”

Right. I already forgot that country existed.

“In place of a Sultan, there now sits a Marquess; one saddled with the ungrateful duty of juggling the interests of the conquered and the conquerors alike. But the world still stands, the secret of the Sultan's vault safely buried. After the dust settled in the east, I journeyd thence to my old home in Lincastle, with the purpose to uncover precisely how intimate was the contact between the late Field Marshal, and our elusive nemesis overseas. Alas, the villains covered their tracks with piety and no obvious linkage could be brought up to prove a connection. But the trip was not entirely wasted, thank Divines. I did rekindle a handful of old contacts by the wayside, who should aid us greatly in our future operations in the realm. And I did forge a handful of new bonds as well. We are quite a bit less hurt for cash these days, and one of our latest contacts happens to enjoy a high standing in the King’s own court.”

The guy turns to Irifan with a meaningful look.

“I'm told the King has not forgotten the name of Orethgon altogether, and our standing in his majesty’s eyes stands greatly improved as of late. And that'll be all for my part, for now.”

The smile she returns him seems less than diplomatic and her cheeks take on a bit of color. What the hell? Nothing worth a medal? Why does it seem to me like the most important part of the whole book got taken care of while I was away?

“Then,” Irifan continues and looks the other way, “what news from Qazaria, Master Khram. Was your trip without trouble?”

A wide grin on his rocky face, Master Khram pushes his seat back with a creak and rises on his stumpy feet.

“Hrm, thank you for asking, your grace!” he says, little changed. “It was all in all a very pleasant journey, aye! Very fruitful! I was able to look into what you wished, and also took care of some personal dealings on the side. No trouble whatsoever on the frosty northern horizon!”

“Indeed? So you were able to locate the Heaven’s Pillar in the Northern Continent?”

The crulean proudly knocks his chest with a resonant bang.

“But of course! The enigmatic Tower of Leng plays a role in several of our eldest legends and traditions! Unveiling its whereabouts was a trivial matter! And I am pleased to report to you, that this particular tower is forever beyond the reach of our foe. Not only do my kind deeply distrust all elves, and are sure to hinder the passage of such even unbidden—but also, the tower lies deep in Lord Indra’s wintry domain, where only spirits and fiends may roam. Not only that, the thing is buried thrice its length in the eternal ice of the Arctic, making it thus utterly inaccessible to all! There could be no safer place to store godly secrets, I dare say! Our world will have to undergo great revolutions before Yaoldabath will claim the core of that one!”

“That is certainly good news,” Irifan comments, accordingly relieved.

If our enemy was a master of shovels, I'd agree. But magic tends to complicate things.

Can we really close the case there? Granny doesn’t look too easy either.

“An outside enemy is hardly ever as fearsome as one inside. What of the cruleans who took part in the attack on Nikéa? Were you able to learn who they were?”

Master Khram only shrugs his bulky shoulders at the witch's question.

“I saw and heard no sign of anything nefarious. There weren’t any ships cleared to cross the border around the date specified, and records weren’t left of any lawless traffic either. No obvious villainy or discord afoot. My people remain at peace, minding their own affairs, above all else. They are already busy planning the tournament to decide the next Forgemaster in two years, and have no time nor care for foreign schemes. My inquiries were met only with laughter and much shaking of heads. The merest suggestion seems far removed from what's real.”

“Indeed?” Sephram sardonically remarks. “The thousands to pay witness to the hellfire that took their homes were surely then caught only in a fanciful dream. It is a load off my shoulders to know now, five years after the fact, that none of it actually happened.”

“Oh, there is no need for any of that!” Master Khram argues back. “That you saw forbidden technology then, I do not doubt at all! I only wish to question the affiliation of said craft. More likely, it was an elvish ship, camouflaged by their sorcerous arts, to falsely lay the blame on my people! I find that is a story far easier to believe.”

“Excuse me!” I cut in while carefully balancing on the back legs of my chair, my heels on the edge of the table. With my arms crossed over the chest, my dignity will be gone if I lean too far back. Always living on the edge. “That was not a Dominion ship almost killing us that day. Trust me, I’ve seen a few by now.”

“Hrmph!” Master Khram snorts. “I believe you are not impartial in this matter anymore, little one.”

Dude, you really want to go there?

“We shall leave the matter of the alleged crulean involvement for now,” Irifan cuts in, before I can voice my a counterargument, “until such a time that we have more evidence. Next, I would like Master Vysania to tell us of her long voyage to the east.”

Oh, I was looking forward to that too.

The kitty girl obediently picks up and rises to stand between Master Khram and me, as if to split us up.

There’s no trace of the pre-meeting debate left on her face. She’s put it all past her and is back in business mode again. Have to admit, keeping personal feelings and work separate like that, it's kind of cool.

“As the records foretold, there was another Pillar in the far-eastern land of Ibolhyma,” she explains. “It rises on the verge of a range of mountains on the very limits of land, nigh collapse into the Midian Sea. The descendants of the once-fabled Kingdom in Ibolhyma, who live there, have devolved over ages into primitivity, and no longer speak the Common Tongue. Securing their cooperation proved difficult, and harder yet was the way up the mountain side. To make matters worse, I met rivalry on site.”

“Someone else was after the tower?” Sephram asks, a brow raised.

Everyone makes surprised faces, while Vysania gives us time to take our guesses. I already got spoiled last night, though.

“Yaoldabath,” Irifan whispers the name.

Everyone else was stuck grinding side quests, while the cat girl goes and has a close brush with the last boss? And the readers saw none of that? Who the hell directed this scenario?

“Indeed,” Vysania nods without much feeling, like she spotted Elton John on a trip to Walmart and only ever liked Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.

“He was there?” Irifan questions in disbelief. “In person?”

“He had a token force with him, consisting of his personal guard, as well as a company of human troops.”

“Human?” Master Khram parrots in confusion.

“They looked human,” the cat says. “Knights in black suits of armor lacking any identifying markings. But they were well trained and possessed strange powers beyond ordinary mortals. I was able to take one captive and sought to question him…But the curse in his body killed the man before he could tell me anything. I believe it was the same type of ‘brand’, as described by Zero and Master Mansoix in their reports.”

Did she really put my name first? Oh dear, I’m blushing. That’s practically a love confession, isn’t it?

She carries on with the report,

“Judging by the enemy’s movements, they already had the location of the Pillar. I only meant to confirm if the reactor was active and measure the output, but plans had to be changed. I couldn’t allow Yaoldabath to claim the relic, so I proceeded to unlock the reactor chamber, removed the core unit, and made my escape. Thankfully, my guide knew the mountains better than the enemy and we were able to elude pursuit. The trip back was not without trouble and a broken leg delayed me by two months, but I have the core with me, undamaged. I am confident I can reconnect it with the tower’s system again, once the threat is no more.”

“Splendid. Very well done!” Irifan praises the feline heroine’s efforts. “We’ve prevented one tower from being destroyed. This is an enormous triumph for us—and for all life. And yet…”

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

The boss falls quiet and looks down, her brief smile fading.

“The countdown is now on,” Master Teresina finishes the thought. “Our enemy is made aware there are other players after the towers. We’ve given him a slap on the wrist this time, and he won’t rest until our audacity is paid for. It is now a question of which comes first; we turn the world against him, or he plunges us into oblivion.”

Daaaamn. I hate time limits!

“Two more towers still stand unaccounted for,” Irifan goes on. “Can you tell us what you have learned of them, Master Endol?”

In answer, the ancient jerk politely gets up from his seat and begins his tale.

A tale that could've been mine.

“After parting ways with a certain prodigal child, I first set my course for the sacred mountains of Ukulu, the site of the fabled ‘Tower of Destiny’, thusly recorded in many chronicles, including the Champions’ Deeds. My pilgrimage there met the expected conclusion. At the Throat of the World, I found a fully intact Heaven’s Pillar, every bit the majestic view the stories painted it as. Alas, the fame of the site proved to be its undoing. There was no way the myth of the Covenant and the Night of the Ritual could be unknown to the Duke of Elevro, and he had correctly appraised the tower’s true identity. The seal on Ukulu’s vault was long undone, the tower dead silent, the core unit missing. Where it has gone, I cannot say, but we should assume it utterly obliterated by now. I would surmise the enemy went after Ukulu's tower before any of the others.”

“That is now two towers the enemy has broken,” Master Gunlau sighs. “Whilst our side has saved one, and one is out of reach for both.”

“If only the match had less deadly consequences, I could call it a right spectacle,” Sephram adds.

I truly missed the dude-perspective. Not.

“What of the fifth one?” Irifan speaks, “Master Endol, do you know where it is?”

“I do,” the Sage replies with a cautious nod. “After returning from Ukulu, I immersed myself in study at the Central Archive, going through swathes of records untouched for eons. Though I have not been able to verify the accuracy of their contents with my own eyes, I’ve had multiple elder sources independently agree on the same location. It is not a location cited baselessly, nor for comedy, which gives me confidence the information is to be trusted.”

“And that place would be where?” Sephram asks.

After a small but heavy pause, Master Endol answers,

“Dali-thú-Dalinnéa.”

A dismayed silence falls at those foreign syllables.

That name, which sounds only like a muffled sneeze to a layman, makes any friend of fantastical bedtime stories feel a chill.

Sure, even I’ve heard of it. Though up until three years ago, I’d had the place in the same box with Atlantis and Neverland and Charlie's chocolate factory.

“Yes,” Master Endol resumes with less spirit. “The former land of Crulea—and the present day hive of the dragon species.”

“Sure enough, that’s as safe as it gets for hiding things,” granny grunts with a snort. “Approaching the forbidden island means a quick death to anyone not dragon. Not even Yaoldabath could stroll into the ancestral nest of wyrms by himself. His black knights will be of no use to him there. He’d need all the armies of Elevro to even reach shore, and those armies he cannot deploy unpermitted by the High House. By all rights, his hands ought to be tied.”

“So, the world is safe even without our further involvement?” Sephram asks. “Until the eternal ice of Leng is melted and until the dragons have vacated the ruins of Crulea, there are two cores he can never have.”

Great. I wish we had known that before we got started. Now I feel pretty dang stupid for working like a dog and losing sleep for so long.

The gang looks more or less content to leave the conclusion of the story to far-future generations. All but one.

Then Vysania brings up a lone objection.

“That can't be right.”

“And what was wrong?” Sephram asks.

The kitty explains,

“The enemy has tried to seize three of the cores in a very brief window of time. It would be beyond bizarre if he didn’t have a plan for the remaining two. No. I cannot believe that is the case. He would not have started this now, unless he felt he was ready, that all five were already in his grasp. Assuming otherwise would be too reckless.”

“Our enemy is immortal,” Master Gunlau says, shrugging. “He would have no need to rush things. Perhaps he chose to seize the relics in his reach now, and leave the rest for ten thousand years later, after others have forgotten the matter?”

Sephram and Master Khram make quiet nods to show agreement.

But Vysania shakes her head.

“He faces the threat of being found out each time he makes an attempt for a reactor. Even empty, they reveal his intent. The towers are holy sites to many peoples, carefully watched over. A strategist of his caliber would not risk giving the world the time to unite against him. He needs to be faster, and also have a backup plan, in case it goes awry.”

“But how?” Master Khram asks, confused. “You give the villain too much credit already! He cannot go through the dragons any easier than my people and the ice fields! Not even a god could!”

“That is what scares me. Not knowing. As long as it seems impossible to us, our opponent holds the advantage.”

Nobody can deny the cat has a point. But she's only getting started.

“That’s not all that's off,” she carries on in an anxious speech. “By reason, Yaoldabath should have access to the same records we do and know where to find each tower. He wouldn't move openly unless he could be reasonably sure of success. But we’ve had reports and rumors of his black knights already before the first tower was hit, and in places clearly unrelated to the Pillars. Why? Why take such risks? This isn't only about the towers, can't be. It’s as if there's something else he's looking for in addition to the cores. But what could it be? What are we not seeing...?”

“——The Cube.”

Before I know it, the dots have hooked up in my head and that random word has escaped my big mouth.

Everyone turns slowly to look at me, the way you’d look at someone who burbs at a funeral.

No putting the spirit back in the bottle. Pressed by the questioning stares, I hurry to explain myself,

“I—I mean, that’s what I randomly overheard. Once, before. That he might be looking for something called a 'cube'. Don't know what that is. Something very old, mysterious. Cubic. Box-ish. Four corners.”

“...The Cube of Kronenberg?” Vysania guesses with a deep frown.

“Yeah, that. The thing with the very Swedish-sounding name.”

Now how did she know that?

“Would you mind telling us non-wizards what is going on here?” Sephram kindly plays the fool for me. Or himself.

“Archmage Kronenberg was the founder of Kaldession,” Vysania answers. “In his later years, he made a series of prophetic readings, one of which predicted the existence of a cube, a mathematical entity of such perfect internal logic and integrity that it would manifest as a physical object, despite being a construct of pure information.”

“...”

The muggles in the audience make very daft faces. I could be one of them.

“...So it is only a dream?” Master Gunlau asks, incredulous.

“What the Archmage described in his readings were not fantasies, but Laplacian eventualities,” granny irritably corrects the monk. She thinks discussing the arcane with no-mags is futility itself. “That means, inescapable necessities resulting from the observed track and state of elements. And would you kindly leave it at that?”

“What would Yaoldabath do with such a thing?” Master Khram quakes, still dumbfounded.

“Anything,” Vysania answers. “Mages have coveted the Cube since Kronenberg’s time. They say anything viewed through this relic—rituals, energy, matter, life forms—becomes converted into raw data, allowing observations of reality unbound by the corporeal senses. An omniscient point of view, so to say. There would be virtually no limit to what the Cube could do in the hands of a wizard of Yaoldabath's caliber. No truths would be hidden from him. Any formula could be perfected, any defense dismantled, any obstacle circumvented. Considering its properties, the magic community also knows the relic by another name——as Grand Magic Decoder.”

“Wouldn’t that thing make him…very close to an actual god?”

Sephram’s question leaves everyone’s head spinning.

“Wait,” I butt in, “if he has the funky box, then wouldn’t that mean he can easily pick up the two remaining cores too? No matter where they are?”

“That’s a big if,” granny throws in.

“We have no proof Yaoldabath has indeed recovered the Magic Decoder,” Master Endol interjects. “Its authenticity as well remains unverified thus far. The object being a theoretical inevitability in this universe does not specify any point of time. It could manifest now, or a billion years from now, or only in the very final seconds of the cosmos.”

I stare at the tabletop and words stream out of my mouth unbidden,

“Unless someone took advantage of its inevitability and knowingly forced it into being before its time.”

“And who could do such a thing?” he asks.

I look up, unsure if I want to say it. “...God?”

No one comments.

The room feels really cold all of a sudden.

“Look, can we really afford to wait this out?” I stand to question the gang. “It all ties together, don’t you see? The balls, the boxes, the towers, everything! Everything that's happened in these past years. Every crisis that popped up in Amarno, every obstacle—they had something magical behind them. Like they were game pieces prepared in advance. Distractions meant to take attention away from something else, something bigger. It was his doing, it was all him, I just know it. There was never any conclusive proof, but it couldn’t be anybody else. Divide and conquer, right? He didn’t want his own people to catch on, them least of all. That’s what it all comes down to. He’s ready. It’s happening now. And we have to move fast, if we mean to stop him.”

“But how?” Sephram asks. “We can't well retrieve the last two cores ahead of him like we did in Nikéa or Ibolhyma, knowing where they lie. What’s difficult for our foe would be sheer madness for us.”

“Is it?” I ask.

“Is it not?”

I look at the circle of deeply doubtful faces and weigh my bad options.

Should I tell them? Sephram already knows me well enough to guess what I’m thinking.

“Don't tell me you have a plan?” He intones it the same as “are you joking?” Since he knows my remedies tends to be as bad, or worse, than the disease.

“I don’t know about the tower on the north pole,” I answer diplomatically. “But about how to get to the other one…I may know someone.”

Someone who can help.

Can—but might not be entirely willing.