After going upstairs, he couldn’t fall asleep for a long time. He tossed and turned on the hard, unfamiliar bed, sat staring at the murky window behind which trees swayed, and some pesky branch kept tapping against the wall off to the side of the window.

  It was stuffy, but he was even more reluctant to open the shutters—at this hour, the mosquitoes were especially frenzied, flying in from the many lakes and swamps. Emerlun leaned his back, clad in a soft silk shirt, against the dirty log wall and, lost in thought, watched the cockroaches crawling around the wax-blurred candle on the table… Why had they even stopped at this inn?

  He knew that somewhere behind the wall Jake Farian was tossing in his sleep, dreaming of himself as the king of Laugdeil, with a giant diamond in his crown. He knew that downstairs, with the faithful black-skinned Muslar keeping constant watch by the door, Valena was asleep—the same Valena to whom he had so carelessly and thoughtlessly suggested coming with them. If only his father and mother were alive, if only he were still in his chambers in the residential wing of the palace, or at the summer estate in the Northern Province, thinking nothing of politics, economics, or international affairs, knowing nothing about the other side of Aktida’s life, the rich Aktida, the civilized Aktida, damn it! Curse that encounter… If his father were alive, he would have disowned his heretic son for consorting with this pauper. But his father was dead. He was the master of his own life now. So… maybe he was doing the right thing?

  He was frightened by that thought and chose to push it aside. Time would tell. When he returned to Mainor… if he returned to Mainor.

  So, in restless reflection, he finally fell asleep just as the first streaks of blue pre-dawn sky began to glow beyond the endless trees outside the window.

  In the morning, when the servant came to wake him, he didn’t feel rested. While washing and shaving over the copper basin, he slowly recalled the events of the previous evening. He ordered breakfast to be brought to his room and, as soon as the door closed behind the servant, sank into deep thought. At that moment, The Lake of Aktida completely vanished from his mind; he nearly forgot why he had embarked on this journey at all.

  The other envoys were already gathered in the hall, waiting for him by the time he finally deigned to come downstairs. The servants had gone to the courtyard to saddle the horses, and the benches where beggars had slept the night before were now empty. Then, coming down the stairs in yesterday’s dress, supported by the Nocturn who was carrying her travel bag, Valena appeared. The king stepped forward to meet her, but she stopped him and quietly asked:

  "Do you swear that when we arrive in the capital, you will do everything in your power to persuade the king to abolish the ship tax and change the laws that could help these pilgrims?"

  Emerlun opened his mouth, but then noticed another person descending from the upper floors.

  "Bravo," said Professor Petros mockingly, taking off his wide-brimmed, crumpled hat and wrapping himself even tighter in his dirty travel cloak. Beneath a thick silver beard down to his waist, a crooked smirk was visible. "Our great sovereign has deigned to speak with mere mortals. Tsk-tsk-tsk, what will happen next, Your Majesty?"

  "What the hell?" Jake Farian asked irritably. "Who is this clown? Do you let every scoundrel talk to you like this, Emerlun?"

  "We’ve been on friendly terms for a long time," said Petros dryly, glancing at him. "And if anyone looks like a clown, it’s you, sir. Judging by your coat of arms, your armor, and that ugly accent, you must be Jake Farian? Pleased to meet you. Frankly, it’s incredibly fortunate that we’ve met. I suppose you’ve just come from Nubelrain? And now you’re wondering what happened to the thing you were looking for?"

  "Explain yourself!" Jake barked. "Listen, you! If you’ve got something worthwhile to say, you’d better speak up in front of royal blood!"

  "I couldn’t care less about your blood, black, red, or blue!" Petros replied with deliberate emphasis, savoring each word. "Rest assured, from a medical point of view, Aktos created all humans equal. And if someone like Jake Farian thinks otherwise, that’s his problem... I’m leaving. So if you want to talk, let’s do it outside. But I suggest you treat me with a bit more courtesy."

  Smirking into his beard, he walked out into the courtyard. Emerlun slowly turned his head toward Valena. She was pale and seemed about to say something, perhaps even spit in his face… He didn’t intend to wait for it and simply said, looking into her eyes:

  "I swear."

  ***

  Petros was puffing on his favorite pipe while riding atop his enormous Hellsteed. His horse's back nearly reached the height of the nearby wagon roof, and Petros himself, standing seven feet tall, looked out at the world from an even greater height, much to the irritation of Jake Farian, who rode beside him and had to glare upward at the imperturbable professor. Petros, clearly enjoying the moment, had pulled his wide-brimmed, battered hat down over his eyes, unfastened his cloak, and released smoke rings that drifted lazily into the sky. This, perhaps, was one of those rare moments that made leaving the new excavation camp near Nalvin worthwhile.

  "Excuse me," he said, glancing sideways at Jake. "Did Your Majesty say something?"

  "I'll say it again," the King of Vaimar growled. "I demand an explanation. I demand to know how you ended up in the same inn with us. And I demand, you beggar, that you state your name and behave properly in my presence!"

  "As I’ve already said," the professor repeated wearily, "my path lies to the Eastern Province, to the Castle of Saelin. And if you're seeking the Lake of Aktida, then our paths align."

  The king of Vaimar remained silent.

  "I don't believe you," he said finally.

  "I understand," sighed Petros. "A royal habit, no doubt, nurtured since childhood. Let me simply report that I consider lying to someone of Your Majesty’s stature beneath my dignity."

  "Stop the theatrics! I don’t believe you. You knew what happened in Nubelrain, and you stayed in the same inn with us. That means you must have been there just before we arrived. Or maybe you set the place on fire. Who knows, maybe you have the Lake of Aktida right now, old man!"

  "I'm very grateful to you for listing your suspicions," Petros nodded. "However, I must say, the word old man offends me. What would you say if I called you that, you fool!" he suddenly barked, leaning from the saddle right into Jake’s face, his eyes blazing with fury.

  "Guards!" the king squealed.

  The soldiers and bodyguards spurred their horses, drawing closer to the two riders.

  "Hold," Jake rasped. Petros pulled back, shifted his horse a step aside, and continued trotting calmly down the overgrown road. "If he moves—kill him. I don’t like him… Actually, search him. He might have the diamond."

  "Very prudent," Petros agreed, puffing calmly on his pipe. "But I wouldn’t recommend it," he warned the guards. "You might only return to Mainor as a handful of ash… or a small cube of ice. Or perhaps your families will receive a nice rat or frog each."

  The soldiers hesitated. They knew all too well that messing with wizards was no joke.

  "And now you, foolish king," the professor said, turning to Jake, "mark my words: I can count on one hand the people I’d allow to lay a finger on me, and your thugs are not among them. But you can believe this: I do not have the Lake of Aktida, though like all of us, I would very much like to possess it. Nubel made a mistake, and he paid for it with his life. I was there, but didn’t make it in time to warn him. The diamond is in the hands of Professor Saelin."

  "Saelin?" Jake's voice lost its former arrogance. "Another hard-headed bookworm? At this rate, there won’t be room for a king in Aktida. All you scholars and your pals will take over."

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  "Perhaps once I had the honor of calling Saelin a friend," Petros answered darkly, "but now I honestly don’t care. I’ve given you the information, though I didn’t have to. I could’ve gone to Saelin alone. But he’s likely expecting you first. Apparently, he still holds some illusions about the intelligence of monarchs in Laugdeil. I’ve long since lost mine. And just so you know, our meeting in the inn was a pure coincidence. I simply like the beer they brew there. That’s why I dropped in for a drink."

  Leaving Jake in utter confusion, his face a mix of mistrust and frustration, the professor tipped his hat to the monarchs, then nudged his horse into a trot, heading east. Jake turned to Emerlun.

  "Well?" he snapped. "We're just going to believe that beggar and follow him to who-knows-where, across the whole damn continent?"

  Emerlun was silent for a long time, deep in thought.

  "The Castle of Saelin is in the opposite direction, in the Eastern Province," he finally said. "I see no reason why Petros would lie."

  "To waste our time!"

  "I’ll send orders to Mainor immediately. My detectives will handle it. If we ignore his words and he’s telling the truth, we’ll lose even more time."

  ***

  They headed east once more, retracing their route, and not far from the mighty Ilvion River, they turned south onto a road that led toward the marshlands of the Eastern Province. King Emerlun kept mostly to himself, replying to Jake Farian’s furious tirades in brief, curt phrases, spending much of the time in his carriage.

  Summer was catching up with them, breathing down their necks with heat, withering the newly-sprouted green grass, and silencing the heavy, broad-leaved trees overhead. It pressed down like a weight on the lungs, then receded, baring its teeth behind gusts of wind and streams of May rain. The month was ending, and the first signs of June buzzed in the air: shimmering wings of beetles, specks of midges. The horses, exhausted from the endless travel, neighed quietly in protest and trudged slower as they approached the Kefrin Thickets at the border of the Southern Province, the wide Ilvion River, and the damp, swampy forests of the Eastern Province.

  The road turned south, flanked by rotting wooden signs from the ancient Boreain Route. Trees leaned closer, and far to the south, above the forest, the peaks of a low mountain range occasionally came into view. June arrived. The brilliant blue sky overhead felt heavier still, but a fresh breeze now blew in from the banks of the Ilvion. On one particularly sweltering day, the whole procession crossed it via a broad stone bridge built by the ancient Nocturns in times long forgotten.

  The river stretched a good mile wide, its current flowing steadily north and east. Along the banks, the same dark green mixed forests reigned. King Emerlun stared at the northern horizon in vain, searching for the white stone towers of Mainor—but they had already veered too far to the south.

  Somewhere out there, where the dark green water merged with the shadowy clouds, the mouth of a small river could be seen. A hundred miles east along its banks stood Boreain, the capital of the Eastern Province. But the kings weren’t headed there. Their path wound down a narrow, twisting road through gloomy swamplands, into the very heart of the ancient forest, toward the castle built thirty years ago by Professor Saelin.

  The road had long been considered dangerous.

  The canopies of eerie gray trees, found nowhere else but this forest, almost completely blocked out the sunlight. Only tiny islands of light pierced through in yellow beams above the marshy hollows. These dark woods sheltered not just strange wild creatures, but also roadside bandits who often preyed on caravans bound for Boreain or the Castle of Saelin. There were tales of inexperienced guides losing their way in the labyrinth of trails, only to end up in a fog-bound bog, never to return. Perhaps that’s why the city of Boreain was built on hills by the river, where a lighthouse shone from the fortress wall at night to help travelers find their way. On that first night among the swamps of the Eastern Province, the guards reassured themselves there was nothing to fear, so long as they could still see the tiny beams of that lighthouse beyond the forest.

  Petros didn’t sleep that night, either. No one had offered him a spot in the wagons, and he hadn’t asked—he considered the hard ground a fine enough bed. Wrapped in his cloak, he sat with his back to a tree, occasionally striking a flint to relight his pipe, lost in thought. The soldiers on watch glanced at his dark silhouette with unease, catching the faint glint of his eyes in the gloom.

  ***

  "I’m leaving you. As far as I understand, you’re not planning to stop by Boreain, and I have urgent business there."

  "Oh no, my friend, don’t think we’ll let you go that easily," Jake Farian hissed. "I see right through you, snake!"

  "What business?" Emerlun asked grimly, ignoring him.

  "I believe I made myself clear: urgent. There are certain magical matters that should be of no concern to politicians. And if you’re afraid of being left without a guide in this wilderness, hire someone in the nearest village. At the very least, my horse is far swifter than yours. I’ll catch up to you at the Castle."

  "We can’t let him go, Emerlun," Jake said angrily. "He might contact his accomplices, and—"

  "Be quiet, Jake," the king waved him off wearily. He had visibly paled during the journey, the energy with which he once rushed to retrieve the diamond now gone. "Let him go wherever he wants. In fact, Petros, I rather hope you don’t make it to the Castle in time… or that something delays you."

  "I’m glad to know my absence brings you joy," the professor said sarcastically. "Always happy to provide such pleasure, though, alas, sometimes I’m forced to endure your company, which has long sickened me."

  He abruptly stood up and walked away from the carriage. He mounted the Hellsteed, spurred it, and galloped off into the dimness of the forest without looking back.

  "If only someone would rein him in," Jake muttered darkly. "Emerlun, how can you tolerate such a man… free in your country?!"

  "He’s appeared for the first time in thirty years," Emerlun replied thoughtfully, watching Petros’s back. "For a long time, he was presumed dead. He had problems with the law once, and my Chief of Intelligence holds a grudge against him for some reason, although there are no formal charges now. Personally, today was the first time I ever saw him, Jake. He may be dangerous, that’s certain. But for now, he just talks, and hasn’t shown himself in any other way. I don’t think we should waste our time on him. Let him roam the land, as long as he stays within the law. We have enough trouble without him."

  "And what about this Saelin? I’ve never even heard of him."

  "We’ve never had any issues with Saelin. He too became famous thirty years ago, then went into seclusion. Since then, he hasn’t invented or discovered anything noteworthy. I’ve heard nothing about him except that he lives in a castle in the Eastern Province. So yes, Jake, I’m as surprised by Petros’s news as you are," Emerlun mused.

  "Something unheard-of is going on," Jake said sarcastically. "Some sort of feud between scholars right under your nose, and you don’t know a thing. If I were you, I’d start reminding these wizards of their place. Who’s the king here, after all?"

  ***

  A stifling tropical heat hung in the air.

  The group continued heading southeast, and more than once Jake Farian cursed Saelin for building his hideout in such a remote area. In his view, and the view of most in Aktida, the professor was a paranoid recluse.

  It was said that Saelin had moved to the swamps of the Eastern Province to hide from some old enemy, that he carried out forbidden experiments in solitude and lived in panic of the authorities. Many years ago, when he was still a successful young scientist, he had reportedly gone mad during an expedition, and several renowned healers had tended to him in the wilderness. The kings didn’t know the truth and preferred not to speculate. What was certain, however, was that Saelin’s Castle was well-guarded against uninvited guests. Getting through his protective barriers was a challenge; the local village guides believed in their existence without doubt, which was why they abandoned the royal procession about two days’ journey from the Castle. No amount of money could persuade them to go further—superstitious fear triumphed over greed—and the procession had to continue blindly on its own.

  However, the road remained straight, with no forks, and Saelin gave no sign of his presence. By the next morning, the gray towers of the solitary stronghold appeared above the forest.

  "Is that it? Saelin’s Castle?" Jake Farian asked quietly. The two monarchs now rode side by side on horseback; the anxiety that both had felt in the depths of their souls in recent days had almost brought them closer together. "Not bad. How did he manage to build such a fortress in the middle of nowhere?"

  "He was rich. That’s what I was told in Mainor… As for now, I have no idea where he gets his money. But apparently, he lives quite comfortably in his home."

  The road curved, the trees reluctantly parted, though their gnarled branches, heavy with massive dark-green leaves, continued to stretch toward the castle, which had claimed territory from the forest. Jake Farian whistled softly through his teeth. They emerged into a clearing surrounded by forest, at the center of which stood a three-story building with large windows and battlemented towers at each corner. The castle, surrounded by silent thicket, looked like an ancient statue carved from a single stone. A portal jutted out from the front facade, with tall wrought-iron doors set beneath a stone arch. Timeworn steps led up to the gates. Somewhere above, supported by the tower battlements and the wide crowns of ancient trees, hung the sky, white from the blazing, unrelenting sun.

  Emerlun Winver and Jake Farian slowly approached the steps, looking upward. The castle was silent. A flock of birds burst from the woods and scattered westward.

  "Let’s go," the king of Vaimar said sharply. He dismounted and headed for the doors. Behind him, the High Priest of the ancient Nocturns climbed out of his carriage with difficulty and, surrounded by guards, made his way toward the castle.