"This doesn’t feel right," Axel muttered, leaning on the railing and gazing into the distance. "Too quiet. Too calm. Not good at all."

  "What were you expecting?" Konrad asked softly, coming up behind him at a slow pace. "Nobody likes this place. And people are better off not wandering into this part of the forest at all."

  "Thank Aktos, there are still places like this left in Laugdeil," Axel grumbled. "Untouched. Guarding, faithfully, what has lain there since the dawn of time. And if you ask me, we’d be better off not poking our noses into certain matters. Like whatever those three are up to—Petros, Vergilius, and Saelin."

  Konrad shrugged, silent for a while. Then said, dryly:

  "I actually wanted to talk to you."

  Axel gave a short snort. He didn’t turn, didn’t move to meet the translator halfway.

  "I’m listening."

  Konrad hesitated, thinking, weighing his words. Finally, he spoke:

  "It could happen… that things take a turn none of us expects. That something occurs beyond anyone’s reckoning. And then… Axel, I’m certain we’ll have to split. Those three have their own goal. But if that goal outweighs our lives, then by the gods, I’d rather save my own skin. You follow me?"

  "I’m not sure I do."

  "Listen, Axel." Konrad spat overboard. "I think Vergilius’s right. Petros is deceiving us, hiding something."

  "Wasn’t it you who first stood by him? Wasn’t it you who dug through the Temple of Tornir archives with him last year? I thought you, of all people, knew what was on his mind."

  "I thought so," Konrad admitted, scratching his head. "But I’m not so sure anymore."

  He paused, gathering himself, then burst out:

  "Men from the Fighters’ Guild came to me. Asked questions about Petros. He’s under suspicion. At first, I thought it was just his freethinking—that his contempt for the king and for the Archmage meant political ambition. But it’s worse. Axel, from what I gathered, they suspect him of abduction. Murder. And now I wonder if it all ties back to that book Petros brought me last year to translate…"

  "I don’t believe it," Axel said evenly. "I trust him as I trust myself. Let the Guild and the king’s investigators worry about it. Let them prove him guilty, then I’ll take back my words. Until then, I stand with Petros."

  "You realize if he is guilty, the stain will fall on all of us? And we’ll be lucky if only our names are ruined. If not, we’ll all face prison."

  Axel drew a deep breath.

  "What are you suggesting?"

  "Nothing yet. Just this: don’t do anything rash. I’m convinced this isn’t only about studying the crossroads of time. Those three are after something else, and it’s tied directly to Hector Saelin. How, I don’t know. But I ask you: if something happens, we step away. All of us. Together. Let Petros and Saelin deal with the mess they stirred up. Agreed?"

  "I won’t promise that," Axel said through his teeth. "Konrad, it will depend on how things unfold, on how I see it for myself. But I’ll grant you this much: it’s a possibility. One of the paths I might take. Nothing more."

  "That’s enough."

  Silence stretched. The sky was darkening, clouds creeping across the sun.

  "Do you have any real proof, Konrad?" Axel asked with feigned casualness.

  "Proof of what?"

  "That those two aren’t who they claim to be. Not just scholars driven by curiosity. That’s what you were implying, wasn’t it?"

  "Yes… probably," Konrad admitted with a slow nod. "But only between us…"

  "Of course."

  "Manuscripts. Maps. That damned book I translated. I caught glimpses, now and then, of what Petros and Saelin were after as they pored over those texts night and day. Places marked in charcoal… You see, most of those writings are chronicles—accounts of events just before the Nocturns migrated to the Archipelago. Petros and Saelin were searching for certain objects, relics that had served as religious symbols. The Sun and the Kraken—you’ve heard of them? They were trying to trace what became of those items during the war two thousand years ago. The logical assumption is the Nocturns took everything with them to the Islands. But Petros and Saelin think otherwise. They tie those relics to the crossroads of time. That’s why they comb sanctuaries, chasing after treasure, or something like it. Common treasure hunters, in truth."

  "And what’s that to us?" Axel asked coolly.

  "I used to think—nothing," Konrad admitted. "But after meeting that druid, Brokr, I’ve changed my mind. Everything I’ve told you ties back to Hector. And if Hector is in danger, that danger touches all of us. You see?"

  "I see. And you know, Konrad…" Axel smirked. "I could tell you something about Petros as well…"

  "About Petros?" came a voice behind them. Both men turned at once.

  Nubel was stepping onto the deck.

  ***

  "I don’t understand," Aok confessed, circling the clearing for the tenth time before returning to where Petros sat in the grass, absently packing his pipe. Saelin lay unconscious, deathly pale. Vergilius had only just come to and was drinking greedily from a flask. The sky was sinking deeper into darkness.

  "Petros…"

  The professor raised his eyes—indifferent, unreadable.

  "There should have been signs," Aok said. "Plenty of signs. Druids attack in large bands, with bows and crossbows; the ground should have been trampled. Once they go to battle, they don’t hide anymore. There should be arrows, or at least marks in the trees where they struck. Scraps of canvas caught on branches—your Axel, for all his skill, couldn’t have launched without snagging something. And bullet scars, at the very least… They couldn’t have failed to fight back. I found nothing."

  Petros said nothing.

  "I don’t understand," Aok repeated, spreading his hands.

  Petros let a smoke ring drift from his lips.

  "But I understand perfectly. Nothing could be simpler, Aok. There’s a traitor among us."

  ***

  "What’s all the whispering about?" Nubel asked cheerfully.

  Konrad and Axel exchanged a look.

  "Should we tell him?" Konrad asked uncertainly. Axel only gave a dark shrug. The scholar said, "Ah, to hell with it. Everyone should know. We’re all on the same side now…"

  "You mean what Vergilius was going on about back in Steiling?" Nubel asked with a mocking smile.

  "Yes. It worries me too, a little…"

  "I happened to overhear the end of your conversation," the scholar cut him off. "And I realized that neither of you knows half of what’s actually going on here."

  "What are you talking about?" Axel demanded suspiciously.

  "Listen, Axel. Vergilius was right. We made a grave mistake when we landed here in this wilderness. And we are in real danger. You’re the only one who can pilot this thing, and right now, you’re the only one who can take the step that will keep us alive. Do you understand?"

  "Be specific, Nubel," Konrad said quietly. Axel just scowled, watching the scholar with hard mistrust. "Tell us what you know that we don’t."

  "I know… or rather, I strongly suspect. All the evidence points one way. In this little play we’re watching, Saelin is just a pawn, no matter what he fancies himself. But Petros—Petros isn’t even a queen. He’s the chess master, moving us around however he pleases. And the goal of his game goes far beyond studying the nature of the Crossroads of Time. I’d wager that once we get out of this shrine, Petros will already have everything he needs. But what he truly wants is something else—the leverage to seize power over the Academy of Sciences."

  He paused, glancing from Axel to Konrad.

  "Nonsense," Konrad scoffed with a shrug. "You’re raving, Nubel. Why would he want that?"

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  "Because he craves power, you fools." Nubel’s face hardened, his tone iron. "What he’s after—my suspicions were confirmed after the last shrine—he’s looking for a source. A new kind of energy, unknown, stronger than anything else. A force that bends not just space but time itself. The very power that creates the Crossroads. And his aim is nothing less than the Archmage’s seat in the Academy, the chance to flaunt his strength before the royal court, to place magic on the same level as politics. Konrad, if you know Petros at all, you must know this has been his dream. And the road he’s on could bring him there."

  "Why do you care, Nubel?" Axel asked before Konrad could.

  "Because I want no part of it," Nubel said with a shrug. "Because I’ll fight for the Academy as it is now, without Petros or men like him. Because I dislike the man and his ideas even more. And I’ll do everything I can to make sure this expedition fails."

  Axel’s face darkened. His hand twitched toward the crossbow at his belt.

  Nubel saw. Before the aeronaut’s fingers could brush the stock, the scholar had the rifle in his hands, swung down from the strap on his back. Konrad’s jaw dropped.

  "Gentlemen! Time for dinner!" Ashley’s voice floated up from below.

  "Yes, yes, Ashley, dearest, just a moment!" Nubel called back pleasantly. He shifted toward the railing, positioning himself to keep both the hatch and the two men in sight. Then, more softly: "Axel, don’t do anything stupid. Take your hand off that toy. I can put a bullet through Konrad and maim you before you blink. The Academy of Sciences stands behind me—"

  "—and Romenford," Axel finished, spitting to the side. "Of course. I should have guessed at once that one of you scholars would be bought and planted here to spy on Petros. But that you’d sell yourself for their gold… that I didn’t expect of you. And to think—I defended you to Petros!"

  "You’ve always lacked foresight, my dear man. But enough chatter. Fire up the burner. We’re leaving."

  "What?"

  "You heard me. You’re under my sights. I won’t kill you, but I’ll spill enough blood to make you think twice about arguing. All this talk we three just had—it’s meaningless. I could have done this from the start. We’re leaving."

  "And where, exactly?" Axel didn’t move.

  "Gentlemen!"

  "Ashley, we’ve got a problem up here!" Nubel shouted. "Come up, we need you!"

  "Ashley, stay down!" Axel roared.

  In the silence that followed, they could hear her set something down slowly, then take a few steps. Nubel’s face blanched; his lips pressed tight.

  "What in the hell is going on up there?" Her voice carried confusion and a thread of alarm.

  "Ashley," Nubel said gently, "come up."

  "Ashley, don’t you dare!" Axel barked. "Stay where you are! Ash—"

  And then it happened—what none of them expected. With a sudden move, Konrad seized Axel’s right arm, twisting it behind his back, clamping a hand over his mouth, and slammed the aeronaut down onto the deck. Axel bellowed into Konrad’s palm, eyes wide. Nubel slowly lowered his rifle as the sorceress began climbing the ladder…

  "That’s it," he said quietly when she emerged. Axel, crushed against the railing, thrashed wildly, managing to bite Konrad’s hand. Konrad howled. Ashley vaulted onto the deck in one leap—and Nubel shouted:

  "Turn around and don’t move!"

  Ashley froze, her whole body trembling. Behind her, Axel staggered free of Konrad’s grip; ahead, Nubel’s rifle was leveled at her, his expression cold and steady, finger firm on the trigger.

  "So you’re with him too!" Axel snarled, wiping his mouth. "Both of you—filthy traitorous bastards!"

  "No," Konrad muttered, stepping aside. "No, but… damn it, I’m with him."

  "I have an ally," Nubel smiled thinly. "At least not everyone on this aerostat is still willing to serve Petros’s schemes. Axel—do as I say, and quickly. Otherwise… well, you know, lady Nielder’s blood will be spilled on these boards."

  "You wouldn’t dare…" Axel staggered up from the railing. "You… you couldn’t…"

  "Want to test me?" Nubel stepped back a pace. "Don’t try my patience, Axel. We take off—now."

  "What’s happening up there?" Hector’s voice rang out, sharp with worry. "Ashley! Axel!"

  Axel moved toward the burner at last, slow and heavy. Ashley was shaking, on the verge of collapse. Konrad said nothing, eyes fixed on the rifle. Axel bent to the valve, twisted it open, pulled the lever. With a groan, a hatch in the deck yawned wide; he dragged out the folded balloon, fastened its mouth over the burner. A hiss as hot gas rushed inside; the engine throbbed to life; the propellers clattered and wheezed; the conveyor below began shoveling fuel into the furnace.

  The balloon was rising. From below came the sound of hurried footsteps.

  "Hector, stay down!" Konrad shouted. Nubel twitched his shoulders impatiently.

  "Faster, Axel! Full power!"

  Axel ground his teeth and shifted the lever. With a roar, the flame surged, the gondola lurched upward so violently that Ashley screamed and fell, Konrad toppled against the deck, and even Nubel went sprawling. Axel alone stayed on his feet. In a flash, he whipped the crossbow from his belt, but he was a fraction too slow. Nubel rolled aside just as the gondola pitched sharply, bolts thudding into the planks where he had been a moment earlier. Splinters flew.

  Axel bellowed, grabbed a lever with his free hand, fighting to stay upright as the gondola heaved the other way. Konrad slammed into the railing, Ashley tumbled across the boards with a cry, covering her head. The balloon tore skyward so fast it pinned Axel to the deck, forcing the crossbow from his grip. The hull crashed through the crowns of pines at the edge of the clearing with a screech of splintering branches. Then the trees were gone, shrinking below, and above was only the sky rushing towards them.

  "Axel!" Nubel’s scream was raw, almost breaking. "Shut it down! Stop climbing, damn you, level us out, head north! Don’t play the fool!" His rifle barked, bullets punching into the planks inches from the fallen crossbow.

  Axel clawed at the controls, yanking a lever. The flame died so abruptly that they were flung upward. Swearing under his breath, Nubel forced himself to his knees, rifle still trained on Ashley. Axel staggered up a second later, wind tearing at his hair, the gondola shaking under the shriek of propellers and the groan of the engine.

  "To the wheel," Nubel rasped. "Now. Turn her toward Ardrai. Do you hear me?"

  The aeronaut obeyed. Ashley lifted herself unsteadily, dazed, her eyes wide. Konrad sat clutching a bleeding gash on his scalp where he’d struck the railing.

  Axel seized the wheel. Slowly, the propellers angled, and the aerostat swung onto a new heading, forest stretching out to port, a mountain chain hazy on the horizon, and below them the endless green sea of Regerlim drifting past.

  "And then what?" Axel asked. His back was to Nubel; the scholar couldn’t see his face. "What’s waiting in Ardrai?"

  "They’re already waiting for us," Nubel said calmly. "We have everything we need—charges, evidence enough. Don’t worry, Petros and Saelin will be delivered there soon enough. The druids will see to it. None of you is in danger. The expedition will be declared a failure, and then… we all go home."

  "Ardrai’s at least two hundred miles," Axel muttered. "We won’t reach it before tomorrow night. You mean to keep me at gunpoint the whole time?"

  "Why bother? The aerostat can fly itself. You’ll sleep, tied to the rail—like the rest of them. Understand—" he smiled thinly—"I don’t wish any harm on you, gentlemen… or on you, my lady. Ashley, don’t be afraid. Compose yourself. I only want to stop you from doing anything foolish."

  "So many people," Axel murmured bitterly, "seem to know better than me which actions are wise and which are foolish. And I—just the idiot. You think I’ll let this go, Nubel? No. I’ll see to it that Petros’s case is judged fairly. If he dies—if the druids kill him—I’ll make sure everyone knows it was your doing."

  "Finished?" Nubel sneered. "Then shut up and fly. Your babble wearies me."

  He glanced back only for a heartbeat, over the rail, at the clearing already far behind them—five, maybe six miles gone.

  That was when another player entered the scene.

  Hector burst from the hatch and smashed Nubel over the head with an iron mess bowl. It wasn’t enough to knock him out, but pain doubled the scholar for an instant. As he turned, Hector drove a fist into his gut and seized the rifle, wrenching it from his hands.

  Axel abandoned the wheel, and it spun wildly, lurching the aerostat into the wind. Nubel and Hector went tumbling across the deck, the rifle coughing a wild burst into the sky before Hector tore it free and flung it overboard.

  For a second, both froze. Nubel watched in horror, Hector still unable to believe he’d succeeded. Then Axel lunged, slammed into Nubel, and pinned him down.

  "Axel, no!" Konrad shouted. "Stop—!"

  "Aaah!"

  Ashley’s scream cut through them, shrill and terrible. Axel, fist raised to smash Nubel’s face, realized with a jolt that the gondola was no longer rolling sideways but nose-first. They were pitching down, fast.

  Above them, the balloon was collapsing with a hiss.

  The canvas stretched, whipped by the gale. Tiny bullet holes, dozens of them, widened, seams splitting. The aerostat was losing altitude and gaining speed. Konrad screamed as he tumbled forward, rolling down the deck. Axel clung to a lever, one hand clutching Nubel’s collar, while Ashley clung to the rail, shrieking as if her soul were tearing loose.

  "Hector!" Axel saw the boy sliding after Konrad. Both slammed into the forward railing, clinging desperately as the nose tilted down, the green sea of forest surging up at them. They were falling, falling faster than ever. Only the lingering heat in the torn balloon slowed their plunge at all.

  "Nubel!" Axel roared. "I’m letting go!"

  "No!" the professor wailed.

  "Grab something, damn you! I need the controls!"

  He released his hand. Nubel scraped at the planks, slipped, crashed against the railing, crying out as he caught himself there. Axel, clinging to his levers, hauled himself upright, braced against the burner’s pipe, the blast of flame scorching his face. He fought to think. Ten, maybe fifteen seconds before impact. Pines and firs raced up to meet them, the aerostat skimming on its last breath. Another heartbeat, and its belly would rake the crowns of the tallest trees…

  The lever. Jettison ballast. Emergency hatches snapped open, sandbags and crates tumbled down—cargo Axel hadn’t stored in the essential compartment. A violent upward jerk. Five, maybe ten extra seconds of grace. The nose leveled briefly, then dipped again. The propellers were ruined, spinning wildly, impossible to control.

  But the side and tail flaps remained, still able to shape the air. Axel pulled them up to the limit. He managed to align two propellers, the nose lifted again, and the fall’s trajectory softened. The speed didn’t drop, the altitude didn’t rise. But now, at least, a phantom, mad hope flickered that maybe they wouldn’t smash into the heart of the forest, maybe they could reach some half-suitable clearing.

  And a clearing appeared ahead. The treetops beneath blurred into a single gray-green mass, racing past too fast to distinguish, but Axel spotted what he needed, and braced himself. The nose pitched forward again, he dug his boots in, seized the gas valve, clenched his teeth, and began to count. Beads of sweat burst from his brow, stinging his face; on his bitten lip, blood welled sharp and salty…

  The last seconds. A hurricane wind, tearing at him, shaking focus loose.

  He held his breath—and yanked the valve shut.

  The balloon stretched thin, then collapsed almost at once, sagging into rags tethered by ropes to the gondola. They plunged forward, trunks, branches, splintering limbs whipping past as the dying airship barreled on, shredding itself against the forest. Axel clung to his levers, lips cracked and dry, whispering a prayer, while the gondola tore through pines, firs, cedars, scraping with the trailing shreds of canvas.

  And somehow, by miracle, there wasn’t a single tree placed just so to shatter the gondola into splinters a hundred feet up. Somehow, the ripped balloon scraps didn’t tear free entirely, but snagged on jutting branches, slowing the descent. By miracle again, the propellers clung on, guiding the ruin almost to the end. By miracle, the half-dead craft managed to crawl toward that blessed clearing.

  One final lurch—smashing into the crown of a young cedar, snapping it clean, dropping the trunk like a felled mast. The gondola plunged down, ripping through the tangled branches in a storm of pine needles and flying splinters. The trees bent beneath its weight, slowing it, until it toppled sideways into the grass amid a tangle of broken wood. Shredded ropes dangled from surviving trees; the remains of the balloon hung like a gray rag among the crowns. Axel saw it all, hanging himself from a sticky, resinous branch, where he’d leaped to at the last instant, clawing the bark, wheezing as he scrambled astride. When he hauled himself up, silence already lay across everything.