Chapter 111 – The Vault and the Assassin

A ghostly beam of force and fire erupted from Mirian’s outstretched hand, slamming into the stone door before her. Everad gaped at Mirian as her spell sent blossoming cracks through the door. When the runes above it glowed and she felt soft resistance to her spell. The arcane wind had emptied out most of her soul repository, but there was just enough left to work with. She veiled the spell as she had with the golem and used the soul energy to puncture it, letting the rest of the spell continue to smash into the door. The cracks spread, and chips of stone clattered to the ground. Mirian’s auric mana swirled around her like a storm. What few runes that hadn’t been destroyed by the earlier antimagic pulses smoldered, then went dark and coiled with smoke.

She sent one more pulse of force into the door and it crashed open. The thick stone slabs scattered as they smashed into the room beyond. The clatter echoed, and dust swirled about.

Everad still sat on his knees, watching her.

Beyond the door lay a huge sarcophagus, carved of black marble and etched with swirling fractal patterns of gold. The rim of the sarcophagus was ebony, which was carved with hundreds of small flickering runes. She examined them carefully. She recognized the runes for preservation, protection, and reinforcement, but more of them were unfamiliar. At least two of the runes had to do with death and binding, which made Mirian wary of a trap.

The corpse in the coffin was a well-preserved mummy, laying prone with a beautiful rapier clutched in his hands. The rapier itself was a needle, the metal so white it was opalescent. Along the edges of the blade and tip, the metal was black, though it glistened with a faint rainbow sheen like abalone. It had an elegant basket hilt, the curving wires of which reminded her of the tendrils of some of the creatures in the Mausoleum, or a banebriar vine. The basket hilt was made of the same silver-white metal as the blade, with a spiderweb-strand of the strange black metal that ran in swirls along each piece. The grip appeared to be some sort of black leather.

There was something else that was strange about it. The light seemed to catch it wrong, and the sword seemed too solid, like it was more real than everything else around it.

The corpse itself surprised her. Despite the ravages of time, the dark color of his skin was still clear, as were his features. The Fourth Prophet was Persaman, she realized.

She yearned to reach for the rapier, but she needed to understand what the runes in the room did first. The Luminates vowed never to use the blessings of the divine to harm, but she wasn’t sure that vow extended to the protections on holy relics of the Prophets themselves. If there was any risk of a trap that could harm her soul, the risk was too great. Unlike the runes outside the room that had been stripped by the antimagic pulses, these runes were completely intact, and still glowed fiercely.

Mirian looked at the body of the Fourth Prophet. What was it like for you, all those times no one else remembers?

Her eyes wandered around the rest of the room. Stone reliefs showed the various trials of the prophet. She recognized one of the famous battles he’d led, and his journey into the Labyrinth. But what did you stop? What did the Ominian foresee?

Some of the secrets were no doubt lost to the ravages of time. Perhaps the others were still known, kept secret by the pontiff and the archbishops.

“What now?” Everad said, his back still turned.

“I learn, and try again,” Mirian said. “I don’t suppose you know how these runes are constructed, or what purpose they serve?”

“We do not look, even when the vaults are open. It is forbidden.”

“This sword. If I’m right, I can take it back with me when the timeline resets. I just need to learn how.” She brought her attention back to the runes. If I can create a device that can measure the resonance… it can be done with glyphs, so it must be possible with runes. Already, I can capture the soul energy in a device. But how to measure it?

The Luminates passed down traditional knowledge. By not applying modern scientific studies to it, they kept it mysterious. And deliberately difficult to learn.

Except the Deeps have learned something. But how to discover what they’ve learned without the risk?

There was so much to do, and so much to learn. And she had to be efficient. The other time travelers still loomed in the shadows, and she had to beat them.

She studied the runes, memorizing not just their shape, but the feel of them. Soon enough, the world shook, and the apocalypse came to Enteria again.

***

Mirian started the cycle by accumulating her usual resources and surreptitiously fixing the train engine. But before she destroyed the student record building and left for Palendruio again, she set up two variables.

The first was she left a message for Archmage Luspire about the incoming treacherous Sulvorath, and how Adria Gavell was manipulating him to gain access to the Divine Monument for Vadriach University. Being manipulated and having his legacy stolen from under his nose was his worst fear, and he’d react harshly to it.

The second variable involved recruiting an old enemy.

“Valen,” she said, bursting into her room. Mirian had already changed enough that she had to use an illusion spell to look like her old self. “The Deeps have been infiltrated from the inside. I’m deputizing loyal citizens to help. After today, my true identity is compromised, and I have to leave. But if all goes well, we’ll meet again. Are you in?”

Valen was practically salivating at the opportunity. “You’re… really? I didn’t even suspect,” she said. “This is so cool. A secret mission? Of course!”

“Great. Here’s the gold you need to buy a zephyr falcon to send a message to me, as well as written instructions. The message must go out on the 20th. Stay hidden. Don’t take any risks. But I need to know if anyone named ‘Sulvorath’ appears in Torrviol, and what his fate is. Report on Archmage Luspire’s actions, and if any of the Akanan spy cells are caught. I doubt you’ll see the double-agent code named ‘Specter,’ but if you do learn anything, let me know. Can you do that?”

Valen blinked, still not sure if she was dreaming. “Your voice… what’s happening?”

“Tell you what, you get one secret because I like you. The Deeps have true transformation spells that can’t be detected by glyph magic. I’ve had to apply one to myself so that I lose the Akanan spies who are after me. That’s top secret, you understand?”

“Got it,” she said, smirking.

“Good,” Mirian said, and gave her a parting kiss. While Valen was still standing there, stunned, she left, torching the records department on her way out. At least she’ll be having fun, Mirian thought.

She stopped by Cairnmouth next, and met with Lecne again.

Now I have two messages coming in to see how the other time traveler is affected, she thought. By now, she’d come up with quite a long list of ways to make his time in Torrviol difficult, and it was time to start seeing which ones were the most effective. She’d continue to vary them each cycle so he couldn’t adapt.

***

With the Cult of Zomalator drawing Sulvorath’s attention to Cairnmouth, and the southern time traveler continuing his stubborn war campaign in the south, the variables in Palendurio were minimally affected.

This time, when she snuck into the Grand Sanctum after her pilgrimage, she followed Bishop Lancel after his conversation with Hamel, relieved that the timeline hadn’t changed enough to disrupt something so late into the cycle. Secluded as they are, perhaps the Grand Sanctum is even less subject to variations, she thought. The events repeating so exactly even after two weeks also told Mirian there was unlikely to be a time traveler starting in Palendurio.

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As before, Lancel kept glancing through the papers in his hand, seemingly not sure who to give them to. At last, he made his way to one of the upper chambers where the bishops had more luxurious rooms than the dorms of the acolytes and walked into one.

Mirian risked an enhanced hearing spell and listened in the hall outside.

“…Their memory.”

“And to you, Lancel. What do you want?” the other man said. He had a strained voice.

“How do you know I want something? Perhaps I’m just here to visit a faithful and old friend.”

The other bishop snorted. “Please. We’re both busy men.”

“Well, since you insist. One of the acolytes noticed the strangest thing. There’s entries for budget allocations but… well, I’m afraid they go to temples that don’t exist.”

There was a pause, then a loud sigh. “I bet I know who did it. One of the acolytes probably mixed up the names of the eastern temples. I’ll talk to him and get it all straightened out.”

“Ah, good. Knew you’d know what to do. Never was much of one for accounting.” Bishop Lancel’s footsteps echoed and Mirian made to retreat.

“Wait—who was it who noticed? I could use more competent accountants.”

“Acolyte Hamel. One of the folks from out east, suppose that’s how he knew all the temple names out there. He’s an older acolyte. Nervous looking, and a bit portly.”

“Good, good. Thank you.”

“Ah, no, thank you! One less thing to worry about.” With his footsteps continuing, Mirian ducked back down a passage, then took a random turn and waited for him to pass. Then she headed back up to the bishop’s room.

She knocked at the door. “Hmm? Did you forget something?”

“Ah, no. Carry Their Memory. I’m… so sorry to interrupt. I seem to have gotten lost again…”

Lancel had called Hamel portly, but this bishop was downright obese. He gave a loud, exasperated sigh. “Where do you need to go?”