The Years of Apocalypse - A Time Loop Progression Fantasy-Chapter 179 - The Golden Tower

Mirian woke, feeling more relaxed than she had for a long time. The elements had ravaged her body last cycle, and so it was nice to feel warm, for the air not to burn as she breathed it. Even the water dripping down from the ceiling felt nice in comparison. She lay in bed just a bit longer, the mediocre mattress feeling like a queen’s bed in comparison to the jagged rocks she’d been putting her sleeping roll on top of.

Eventually, she sighed and threw off the covers, then fixed the hole in the ceiling.

Lily woke to the noise of her moving about, then stared at her. “Mirian?” she said, slightly alarmed.

“What?” Mirian asked. She hadn’t done anything alarming yet!

“Your eyes,” she said. “They’re… different.”

Mirian looked at her. Then, resigned to having to explain all this stuff again to her roommate, conjured her soulbound spellbook (Lily let out a yelp at this) and cast a mirror spell. She tilted her head back and forth as she examined herself. Lily was right. Her eyes had been a dull gray, but now they were more like silver. They had a subtle shine to them, as if something deep within them were glowing.

My soul, she realized.

She embraced the titan-catalyst and saw the great gyre of her soul spinning, shining. The change was dramatic. Her aura was rapidly expanding. And, if she wasn’t mistaken, she was having an effect on the nearby ambient mana.

Her stomach grumbled. As was now usual at the start of the cycle, she was absolutely ravenous.

“I’ll tell you what’s going on over breakfast,” Mirian said.

***

That cycle, Mirian brought the Labyrinth artifacts back to Torrviol. She did the trick with the glider again, using the prevailing winds to rush her back to town while Beatrice and her crew traveled by foot. Meanwhile, Jei prepared the groundwork for their research efforts.

They tested the Labyrinth artifacts by the Divine Monument, running into failure after failure. When Torres managed to get one of the devices to respond near the Monument, there was jubilation—but it quickly turned sober when there was no measurable effect they could discern.

Professor Seneca and Professor Endresen stayed up late with their teams, doing all sorts of experiments on the new elements. While Seneca focused on the chemical properties and reactions, Endresen tried to find specific effects on arcane physics. There was no doubt in Mirian’s mind they were making incredible discoveries—but simply expanding their knowledge of physics was insufficient.

Mirian developed a new style of handwriting, working to cram in as many diagrams and as much text as was feasible in her spellbound book. Clearing the pages was an annoying process that involved using several celestial runes and a binding in conjunction with high-grade soul energy, but once scoured, she could reuse Holy Pages. She managed to condense ten pages of notes down to five, then filled four more with the chemistry and physics notes.

Meanwhile, Mirian used Nicolus, Valen, and Professor Marva to create and monitor a network of informants, as well as the priests in town to look for any soul-disguises. Mirian had taken care of the spies, but that wasn’t what she was really worried about. If there were other time travelers scouting her out, she wanted to know. Mirian had found a place deep in the Torrviol Underground, and slept there at nights, protected by layers of arcane and celestial wards.

Her attention turned back to Akana Praediar. It was time to return.

She interrogated the imprisoned spies. Spies like Idras had little pieces of useful information here and there. Diehards like Nathanial still told her little. Even when she faked breaking him out of prison while disguised as Specter, he was tight-lipped.

More importantly, she and Nicolus had reestablished contact with his Uncle Alexus, which had reminded Mirian that Alexus had attended a party at the start of the month that had included Sylvester Aurum.

Sylvester Aurum. The richest man in the world. The very same one Prime Minister Kinsman had demonized in his speech.

The gala was on the 5th. Mirian would have to depart Torrviol immediately, and rush the paper forgeries. Nurea would be useful for that last part, since she already had Syndicate contacts in Cairnmouth. And Nicolus would be useful for establishing contact with his uncle.

After that, she’d hunt down Westerun.

***

Alexus Sacristar was nothing like his brother. He had none of the regal posture or serious demeanor. Instead, he had thinning hair and a jovial tone. He liked to shake hands, smile, and tell risque jokes that weren’t actually funny.

“Sire Nurea! So good to see you, how’re the folks? And Nicolus, ah, look at that muscle! Still can’t believe you’re all grown. How much for the hair?” he asked, ruffling Nicolus’s. “And, uh… Mirian, was it?”

Nurea glared at him, serious as a grave. “Did you get us in?” They’d sent a zephyr falcon ahead with instructions for Alexus to find a way to get all three of them into the gala.

“The two of you, yes. Ah, the thing about it is, the Akanan Foreign Affairs folks actually do know quite a bit about Persaman nobility, so they didn’t quite buy your little concocted story. I passed it off as me falling for a scam so I didn’t get us all banned for stepping on Lord Saiyal’s edaeza on the northeastern province.” He paused. “Do you know what that is?”

“Land claim?” Mirian asked.

“Ah. No. I mean, that’s the literal translation, but it’s rights to govern the land semi-autonomously as long as tribute’s paid to the central government. Edaez rights are traced back through family ties to the governor position or holy titles of nobility granted during the Triarchy. Of course, there is no central Persaman government anymore, but the warlords are using the edaeza system to give their fiefdoms a bit more legitimacy. Oh, don’t call Saiyal or any of his buddies warlords or you’ll be very unwelcome at any future high-society event.” He said this all very quickly, then broke into a smile again. “You’ll need another way to get in.”

Nurea scowled. “But the entire point of—”

Mirian cut her off. “I’ll find a way.”

“You brought actual clothes, I hope?”

Mirian had bought an absurdly overpriced dress from a shop in Cairnmouth, so she nodded. Nicolus and Nurea had their own fancy outfits from before the cycle.

“Great! And notes of Baracueli noble traditions are all the rage in high fashion right now, so Nicolus won’t be thrown out any windows until after he opens his mouth.” He slapped Nicolus on the back, who grinned at him. “I ever tell you the one about the Uru fishermen visiting Florin? No? So two fishermen from Urubandar are visiting the Principality…”

They headed back to the apartments Alexus was renting so they could prepare for the gala, and Mirian ignored Nicolus and his uncle as they started laughing about in-jokes she couldn’t make heads or tails of. Her mind was running through her memories and the Ominian’s Mausoleum. Sometimes, a small change could have large echoes in the timeline. Sometimes, events seemed nearly unalterable. But the gala would be full of some of the richest and most powerful people on both sides of the Rift Sea. She wondered how much could be changed just by pulling strings here.

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***

The gala was on the two highest floors of the subtly named Aurum Tower. Sylvester Aurum had constructed the tower in a central point in Vadriach. The spire had a view of the University from one side, and another side looked out over the city so it could see the Senate building. From another, they could see the trains moving back and forth from the Akanan countryside, trains loaded up with grain, trade goods, and myrvite parts.

Like Vadriach University, Aurum Tower used the latest spell engines to create a spectacle.

The tower was made of dappled black stone. Near the bottom, it almost looked castle-like with thin, small windows. As the tower climbed, the windows grew larger, until up by the penthouse, there were large panes of glass that nearly took up the whole wall. Outside, the building was covered in swooping metal decorations that swirled up to the pinnacle. Each was gilded and then glyphwork enhanced, illuminating the top of the tower in shining gold. More glyphs along the windows both reinforced the construction and caused the windows to swirl with ethereal light on the outside, illuminating the silhouettes of the guests, but not revealing their identities to anyone looking in.

The lobby was equally grand, with different colors of marble and abstract metal sculptures mixing both modern and ancient architecture. A fine blue and white carpet led them to the elevators, which, like Vadriach University, were force disks that carried people up luminous shafts that ran through the center of the building.

The same glyphs that reinforced the windows also would cause problems if the windows were tampered with. Shape stone also wouldn’t do. At the lower levels, the stone was under such compression Mirian worried about the physical effects of removing parts of it, and anyways, apparently they’d used steel bars to reinforce the construction or somesuch. The doors were protected by private security, and Mirian quickly noted the use of illusion-detection glyphs. When she peered through her focus, she could see several soul-bindings in use among nondescript but well dressed men near the entrance. One of them she actually recognized. Hmm. Sylvester seems to have an actual RID agent working for him.

Mirian watched from a nearby building as Nicolus, Nurea, and Alexus made their way to the entrance. The streets had filled up with fancy spell carriages. Lord Saiyal arrived, accompanied by a large entourage of well-dressed men and women, also of Persaman descent. Mirian only knew what Alexus had said of the man. He was a staunch ally of Akana Praediar and Baracuel, and controlled many of the lands that fossilized myrvite was mined from.

Next, she noticed a much fancier spell carriage, one with a sleek design and gilded carriage. Josephine Rosen and Magnus Tyrcast stepped out. The next carriage contained Lester Rosen, Josephine’s father, and the second most powerful industrialist in Akana.

As the parade of well-dressed party-goers continued to flow in, Mirian noted a black spell carriage pulling up. A thin man with gray streaks in his hair and a dark jacket embroidered with green spiraling leaves stepped out. Allen Matteus. Old Kudzu. Idras had finally told her where he got the nickname. “He’s got his tendrils in everything,” he’d said. “You can try trimming it, but he’ll just grow them back.”

It struck Mirian as strange. She’d first assumed the conspiracy would involve secret meetings and dark backrooms, but the heart of it was out here in the open.

Mirian considered using total camouflage to get in, but with the tight doorway and numerous guards, the light distortions would be detected. Another possibility was soul-binding herself to look like Adria, but with the actual director of the Republic Intelligence Division here, it was too likely her bluff would get called.

What I really need to be able to do is a stone mole fourth dimensional hop, she thought. True teleportation would be incredibly energy intensive, but stone moles were able to do the jaunts with very little arcane energy, so there had to be a way. Now, however, was not the time to try out experimental magic.

With most of the guests now inside, Mirian circled around to the back of the tower. There, she saw workers unloading spell carts into a small service entrance. Well-dressed servants were receiving the boxes. Could it be that simple? she wondered. There were no agents with soul-disguises there, and her divinations didn’t reveal any of the common glyphs for illusion detection. Instead, they had the same glyphkey and force barrier system the University had. Mirian observed them, then cast major illusion so that she looked like one of the male servants. She extended the illusion so that it looked like she was carrying an ornate box, then summoned her spellbook inside the box. She then approached the door, assuming the Sinister Hand Of Shadow form, which extended her aura so that her spell resistance was projected around her. With the both mythril amulet and spellbook manifested, the spell resistance would easily defeat the barrier.

She pretended to use a glyph key, and simply walked in, the force barrier fizzling slightly as she passed by. One of the glyphs powering the force barrier began to crack, but used a quick spell to displace heat from the glyph, stabilizing it. She ceased using the Shadow form, and dismissed both her spellbook and amulet as she approached the elevator. The service elevator didn’t use any of the fancy force disks; it was a solid wooden platform raised by four chains run by a spell engine, using a clever counter-weight system. Still, she didn’t want to accidentally disable some critical conduit.

Another servant joined her on the elevator. “I don’t think we’ve met,” he said.

“I usually work at a different location, but they wanted more people. Couldn’t exactly say ‘no,’” Mirian said, assuming a deeper voice.

“Hm,” the man said. Five more boxes joined them, and then someone at the elevator controls hit a switch and the platform ascended.

The elevator emerged two floors below the main event, where more servants were moving around a packed kitchen. There, lines of waitresses picked up various delectable looking hors d'oeuvres and moved towards the gala. The waitresses were all beautiful young women dressed in fine stockings and short skirts. What would be improper on a lady of high class is mandatory on the commoners serving her.

Mirian found a side room, then used Specter’s flexible-disguise illusion, shifting her illusionary disguise to be that of one of the waitresses. Professor Marva would be proud of the speed and quality of my disguises, Mirian thought with a smile. She took a tray, then followed another waitress.

“Are you new?” the other woman asked, voice low.

“I am,” Mirian said.

“Word of advice I give to all the new girls. Always smile at everything they say, but if they proposition you, pass it off as a joke and leave. It won’t be worth it, and sometimes the price is far higher than you think.”

Disturbing, Mirian thought. The level below the gala had several spell engines running, all being monitored by arcanists. More servants were bustling around, though it wasn’t entirely clear to her what they were doing. On at least one table, servants were preparing favor gifts for the attendees.

The two of them moved to another staircase. There, light and sound displacement spells darkened the stairs, presumably so the well-lit and noisy service area wouldn’t pollute the party above. Together, their heels clicked up the dark stone stairs and they emerged onto the gala floor. Mirian had two simultaneous reactions that caused her tray of fancy snacks to wobble: one was the ostentatious displays of lights, force barriers, and illusions, and the second was the D-class waste mana all the spell engines generating those spells were putting out.

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This level of the gala had some hundred people chattering away in groups, making little islands as they clutched champagne glasses around gilded tables, or scattered about as they lounged on ornate furniture. A set of dancers performed by one of the walls. An illusion engine duplicated the dancers while a second engine cast illusionary mists. Together, they merged to create a performance that made the dancers move about like materializing and dematerializing spirits.

Meanwhile, the entire penultimate floor was lit by the shifting lights of an illusion show. The Akanan colors of white and blue figured prominently, though because it was Mr. Aurum’s event, so did gold.

Whenever an empty hors d’oeuvres plate or beverage was set down—no matter where—a small force spell plucked the offending dish up and levitated it towards the ceiling. There, it was shuttled back into a tiny hole where it went back to the kitchens to be washed. That meant every glass and plate had its own tracking glyphs on it, and there would be even more spell engines working in concert to achieve the effect. Exorbitant doesn’t even begin to describe it.

She recovered and set her serving tray down on one of the bars, then ducked behind one of the brighter illusionary displays. As she did, she let her servant disguise drop and let her actual dress show.

Mirian was wearing a long flowing dress of modern eastern Baracueli fashion. It was black and violet with silver patterns of embroidery, the thread set in the same fractal patterns one might find on an eastern temple. Violet, because she’d always liked the color, and silver to match her eyes. The silver also complemented her mythril amulet, which she wore openly now. The dress was strapless in the modern Akanan style, and included a small enchantment that floated a small ribbon of translucent cloth around her bare shoulders. The outfit was completed by elbow-length silk gloves.

A decade ago, she would have felt self-conscious wearing something so ostentatious and revealing, but her time in the loop had weathered away those anxieties to nothing. Mirian delicately snatched one of the champagne glasses from a nearby waitress’s tray. Heads turned around the room as she strode into the center of the gala.