novelzi Chapter 520: The Turning Of The World
Chapter 520: The Turning Of The World
The White Citadel.It was beautiful in its simplicity.
Originally sculpted by the elves as little more than a way to pass the time, it was a spire of pure white marble, so smooth that any passing dragon would know to land elsewhere.
There were no balconies, corbels or gargoyles to blemish the exterior, and although it boasted plentiful windows, they were designed in such a way that neither gulls nor burglars could find a ledge to grip.
Only the doves could claim it as a perch, their wings forever filling the sky.
However, it was more than an example of architectural elegance.
Located in the heart of ancient Ortessa, the Ducal Capital of the Grand Duchy of Granholtz, it was in many ways both the heart of the nation as well as the continent itself.
Constructed upon intersecting leylines of spiritual and magical energy, there was history woven into the very walls … and also the floor.
That’s why–
“[Arcane Teleport].”
Dorlund was immediately distracted.
With an almighty snap, the great wizard with the even greater moustache made his way into the uppermost chamber, before forgetting what he came here for.
A common issue whenever he popped by the White Citadel.
What was always meant to be a brief visit always turned into an opportunity to study the mosaic map of the continent making up the floor.
Including elements of all the gemstone seas, it was a marvel of cartography, detailing the continent in ways only the Elven Kingdom at its height could accomplish.
… Or so it was the last time he’d visited.
Much to his curiosity, the mosaic map had changed.
Quite a lot, actually.
The shafts of light pouring through the windows continued to highlight the forests where the elves had made their fortresses and holiday cottages. But each of them were smaller now.
There were borders as well. Dark lines like scars in the ground, separating the various kingdoms, enclaves and troll countries that made up the modern continent.
Most surprising, however, was the addition of a new landmass.
Directly before his left toe, an island had appeared on the coastline of the Kingdom of Tirea, not far from his own tower. And that meant a new research location.
He’d need to write a reminder to investigate.
Just as soon as he remembered where he kept the journal where he wrote those reminders.
“Greetings, Dorlund. How wonderful it is to see you again. I believe it’s been over two years.”
Dorlund blinked as he looked up.
There, seated behind a wooden desk plopped directly over Ortessa on the map, was a smiling woman with long curls of chestnut hair and a white gown that matched the doves on the window.
She wore a familiar look of amusement even as bureaucracy sought to drown her. There were so many inkwells around her that not even a kraken could refill them. But that didn’t mean there was a mess.
Holding her quill as tidily as she sat, it was clear from the assorted piles of documents that she dispensed with needless paperwork like adventurers did with his door.
A shame. Were she not insistent on her current lifestyle, she’d make for an excellent assistant.
“Ah, Rozalia.” Dorlund brightened at once, remembering what he came for. “Excellent timing. Would you happen to still have the journal left behind by Master Lucian the Black? It should be quite distinctive. It’s so black it turns everything else around it black as well.”
Rozalia raised an eyebrow, then returned to her work.
That was good.
Anything else meant the master vampire’s journal he needed to review again had likely been purged. Yet even if it was, no visit to the top of the White Citadel was ever fruitless.
Although this chamber wasn’t a library, it housed some of the most unique works available, each safely kept away from bumbling hands that might ruin them with sweat.
These were not academic texts, but memoirs, diaries and personal anecdotes, each collected into volumes. Few were written by scholars, yet all came from those wise in their own fields. For within the musings were observations and detailed accounts that could change history if they were more widely known.
“Cabinet,” said Rozalia, briefly pointing with the back of her quill. “The one with a bucket in front of it to collect the malevolent aura.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. But before you begin reading, might you be forgetting something?”
Dorlund paused, even as his legs wished to take him to the cabinet where a black residue was leaking.
That was probably something he should fix.
Still, he thought for a moment, clicked his fingers in realisation, then promptly headed to the door and made his way out into the hallway outside.
Immediately, he was greeted by the sight of a narrow hallway filled with very serious looking knights, several battlemages somehow older than he was and a pair of arcane golems.
All of them were trying very hard not to look in his direction.
Many of them were grimacing.
Dorlund offered a meek nod of apology, then turned around and knocked on the same door he’d just exited from.
“Ahem, it’s Dorlund here … might I borrow one of your books?”
A moment of silence passed.
Eventually, a knight wearily opened the door, still doing his best not to acknowledge anything.
Thus, Dorlund stepped back into the chamber to find Rozalia still scribbling away with her quill. He waited a moment, just as Sister Pomona advised him to do in this situation, before duly making his way to the cabinet with the seeping darkness.
“... By any chance, did you notice anything different?” asked Rozalia, her tone relaxed as she focused on her work.
“Different?”
“There were additional defences to prevent magical teleportation.”
Dorlund paused. His eyes snapped towards the nearest stretch of bare wall.
After a moment, he nodded.
“Ah. I see now. Modern disjunction runes. Very capable. But only if this were a different tower. I’m afraid these are largely ineffective. There’s interference from the original wards. I recommend no further touching as the best course of action.”
“Oh? I’ll have to convey this to the chancellor, then. He’ll be delighted. He was insistent this was a waste of funds.”
“I must agree. The magic inscribed by the elves remains both superior and far longer lasting. I’m not even certain why you’d want more.”
“It was at the suggestion of those outside my door. They believed you to be an untenable security risk. Of course, I informed them you were likely the only one capable of strengthening the White Citadel’s magical defences. Speaking of which, did you not do that without me asking?”
“Oh, I think I did. No touching is definitely recommended, then. Teleportation shouldn’t be possible.”
“And yet here you are, ready to give those poor knights another sleepless night’s rest.”
Dorlund blinked.
“The magical defences are obviously not against me. That’s just silly. What if I need to borrow a book?”
“Indeed … what if you do?”
Rozalia’s shoulders almost seemed to fall. A small sigh escaped her lips.
Whatever fatigue she felt, it wasn't in her ability to use a quill.
In just a few moments, the stack of documents by her side had already significantly increased. That was magic beyond anything even the fae were capable of.
Dorlund took it as his cue to pry open the cabinet.
An evil malignance seeped out, dripping into the waiting bucket. Deeply intrigued, he picked up the journal and flipped to the passage he wanted. If it had become so evil that a viscous substance now dribbled out, it was possible the text itself had changed.
“... And? How has your compendium been coming along, Dorlund?”
“Quite well. I’ve made extensive progress. The Kingdom of Tirea is a bit too quiet for most, but it’s excellent for finishing my work. Or so it used to be, at least.”
“Is that so? Because I’m told things have been quite colourful there as of late.”
“Oh yes. I can hardly go a day without some calamity forcing me to glimpse outside my window.”
“Not too distracting, I hope.”
“Not at all. In fact, it’s been broadly interesting. Unlike the arguments over brie I must suffer in The Lost Mermaid Tavern, I even try to catch the best bits. I haven’t seen everything, but there’s been shadow demons, stone titans, infernal fiends and even the Witch of Calamity. It really has been the whole lot. My only complaint is the occasional disturbance to my sleep.”
Indeed, it was positively raucous at times, despite the deafening charms he had in place.
Sadly for Dorlund, he was always easy to wake.
There was magic for that, of course. But magic wasn’t the cure for everything. Just most things. And when it came to his naps, he’d much prefer to have a natural disposition to sleeping through noise.
Something he’d perhaps have learned had he mastered his trade in a bustling mage’s tower.
“Un … hn…”
Or maybe he simply needed to spend more time around the White Citadel.
He had no doubt that just a few nights listening to politics, treachery and intrigue would teach him how to snore through even a conversation involving his admittedly loud voice.
Glancing to the side, he saw a girl in highly unique clothing tucked away on a sofa, somehow perfectly avoiding the shafts of sunlight as she slept with a smile on her face.
That was a problem. He wanted to sit there.
“Your retainer appears to be on the good sofa.”
“Indeed, she is.” Rozalia’s smile widened, even if she didn’t tear her attention from her work. “You’ll have to make do with the ones for the guests.”
“Those are terrible. I can feel my back aching the moment I sit down.”
“Yes, they work splendidly. But Lady Naptime deserves her rest. She’s been overworked more than usual as of late. Perhaps you’ve seen her. She’s been busy in the Kingdom of Tirea.”
“Really? That sounds foreboding. I certainly hope you’re not planning on anything exploding.”
“Rest assured, I’d come to you if I did.”
“You’d need to ask someone from The Lost Mermaid Tavern. I quite like my tower. I wouldn’t want anything jeopardising it.”
“Perhaps you need a better tower. If needed, I can offer the funds.”
“A better tower won’t do. All that does is invite more nosy adventurers.”
“If intrusion is an issue, have you considered a fireball rune on the doorstep?”
“Yes, but it’s irrelevant. Adventurers will lose to a mimic disguised as a treasure chest, but when it comes to a door, it doesn’t matter how many spells I place on it. They’ll find a way past. Some of them simply kick it down. And without apology, I should add. If there’s one thing in decline in the world, it’s manners.”
Suddenly, Rozalia paused, her quill coming to a rest as a blot of ink ruined a single letter of an otherwise immaculate letter.
“I see. Out of curiosity, has your door met the soles of any particularly notable adventurers?”
“Oh yes. The worst of the lot. As capable as she is, her handiwork comes with utterly no concern regarding property damage.”
“‘She’? … It takes someone talented to earn a place in your memories. Do you know if she has a name? I’ve been hearing quite a few rumours regarding the adventurers of Tirea recently.”
“Well, you'll know this one, I expect. It’s the queen’s granddaughter. Or the former queen’s, I should say. Eliana was slightly before your time.”
Rozalia allowed her quill to rest in an inkwell.
She sat back in her chair, her hands folded in her lap as she smiled.
“I wasn’t aware you encountered her. Might you be referring to Princess Juliette Contzen?”
“Indeed I am. Although she didn’t introduce herself, the resemblance between her and Eliana is striking. I was in constant fear for my knee.”
“A positive first impression, then. What else did you think of her?”
“Intriguing. Dangerous. Unpredictable. She’s like all Contzens, except even more bold. Quite talented in matters of swordsmanship. Appears to have a strong sense of virtue, especially regarding the well-being of farmers. Worth keeping an eye on. Might possibly be the doom of us all.”
Rozalia gently laughed.
That confused Dorlund greatly. Other than himself, he expected everyone else to be punted away.
“... It is a small world,” said Rozalia, finally allowing herself to relax in her own chair. “Or is it more appropriate to say that Tirea is a small kingdom? The little lady you see dozing off is fond of the princess. One of the reasons she’s tired is because she was finally able to convey her feelings, whatever that entails. She’s being quite coy with me.”
“Well, if either of you need a door kicked down, you certainly cannot find someone better.”
“Perhaps I’ll be able to request her services, then. I’ve extended an invitation for the Contzens to visit, although I'm uncertain if the 3rd princess will attend. I’m told she rarely involves herself in royal functions.”
“I imagine that’s for the best. Calamities seem drawn towards her.”
“Or perhaps she’s drawn towards calamities, just as the heroines of fairytales often are.”
Rozalia tilted her head slightly. Her smile turned playful.
“... Tell me, what do you think of prophecies?”
The response came in the form of a raised eyebrow.
Usually, this was all that was required.
Few ever queried Dorlund regarding matters of divination. With the exception of a few notable augers, that was a field closer to astrology than magic.
“Prophecies have their place,” he said charitably. “Foresight is rooted in history, after all. Although you are better placed to judge the results than I.”
“Oh? You’re more tactful than you were two years ago. The Dorlund I knew would have accused me of headbutting crystal orbs.”
“... Have you been?”
“No. But if I did, I imagine I’d see little. Every diviner, oracle and fraud is of the same opinion. Fate itself is becoming more indistinct. The future is darkening, and now there are now more omens than can be counted.”
Dorlund flipped the pages of his journal, having now assessed that the black smudge leaking from it likely wasn’t harmful and therefore not worth bottling.
“Prophecy does not guide the future. Only our hands do. I’d be surprised if you believed differently.”
“The perils of divination are known to me. But so are its uses. So long as the world turns and all the heavens and stars yet flicker, I find it’s little effort to spare a glance upwards.”
“To read them?”
“No. To see if any clouds are blocking the way. If nothing else, diviners are excellent at pointing out where the worst threats to my roses are. Useful for deciding whether or not to bring them in.”
Rozalia leaned forwards, her elbows to the desk and hands to her cheeks.
She wore a musing smile as she stared out of the window. At the potted flowers lining the edge. And somewhere far in the distance, at the blot of dark clouds hovering over the Kingdom of Tirea.
“... Princess Juliette Contzen,” she said with a tone of admiration. “I wonder how you’ll fare should the rain decide to fall?”
Dorlund was mildly intrigued.
There was something new in her eyes. A flicker of recognition.
Of acknowledgement. Of curiosity. Of all the things one of her stature had little need to bother showing him, utterly uncaring as he was about politics and the affairs of the White Citadel.
Because unlike Rozalia of Hariente, Grand Duchess and ruler of Granholtz, Dorlund was a mage, and his thoughts were on research, tea and occasionally cheese.
Although when he returned to his tower, he'd certainly keep an eye on the activities of that girl.
Why, Dorlund intended to add her to his compendium of monsters, after all.