The Black Iron Glory
A Cold Coincidence

Chapter 24

A Cold Coincidence

Right before sunrise. Yet Claude, not yet asleep, he also did not feel something like sleeping. But that doesn't mean he's not tired. He had just completed the thirteenth diary entry, which was roughly during the last two. It takes two full pages. It took all his energy just to copy it so he was forced to rest for two hours before he even had to translate it.

He had translated so many pages by now, however, that he did not need to refer to the dictionary for the simplest and most common words, so everything went faster.

However, the moon had set, so there was no light where he could bathe. The sky was completely black, except for a few small stones that pierced through the clouds.

Claude gave up on sleeping altogether. There was not enough time to sleep well, and whatever he got would only anger him when his sister woke him up. She was sixteen years old, so it wasn't too difficult for her body. She can always sleep in class if that's the case. It was not that he was the center of attention of his instructor. They might actually be happy to see him fall asleep rather than interrupt the class.

That said, he still needed a little rest before he could continue his work. He wondered if the end of the diary would contain more interesting information. He was grateful for being sensitive to magic. Otherwise, he would never have found this opportunity to learn about the real world of magic.

He never expected that the founder of the Amsra dynasty was much more than the leader of the simple mason fraternity as he had been taught. He was not only a descendant of a white noble family, but also the greatest supplier of ingredients that were essential to their continued rule.

He may have been gearing up for one diary strike mentioned for decades. He had not read the last diary entry, but he was pretty sure he already knew how it would end. Looking back, the history books offer, inaccurate as their version is reality, the attack was clearly successful and some of the survivors were chased to Cyclos. However, he had no idea what had happened to the diary writer, or his friend.

The night sky slowly dissolved into daylight just above the eastern horizon. Claude slipped his head into his room and checked his hourglass. If it keeps on burning on time, it must be around five in the morning. He slipped back into the room. She felt much better now, despite not bathing in the moonlight, and continued her work.

He turned on his oil lamp and focused his attention on page 16 of the cookbook.

. . . . . .

Date: 26th of the 8th, 3341 NM. Weather: Bright.

. . . . . .

This cannot be true. . . Claude was really familiar with the dates written in the ancient Hez, especially the symbols for numbers. It helps that they differ the least from those currently used. He can create enough in a consistent format to read it with a view.

The last entry was on the 23rd, the 8th 3341 NM. Why two days?

He looked ama at the page he had translated but it was really the date. Is someone possibly ripping off another entry? But he couldn't see the slightest bit of the rest of the page, or anything binding that might suggest it.

He pondered this oddity for a while before shrugging and returning to translate.

. . . . . .

. . . . . .

Date: 26th of the 8th, 3341 NM. Weather: Bright.

We're going to the symposium tomorrow.

We stayed in the main camp for the past three days. Baron and Tawari helped me make gunpowder and we have seven buckets now. We tested some in the mountains half a day's drive from the city. It works exactly as I predicted. If enough is used, we can get a bigger explosion from that spell.

The exact strength and effect of a spell depends on the attributes and strength of the caster, and how the spell is performed. However, with gunpowder, the power-to-weight ratio is consistent, as is the type of effect.

We blew up the whole hill with our last test. I was so happy to see everyone gaping as the smoke and dust disappeared. (If I'm honest, so am I.)

The only problem is you have to be really close to the gunpowder to put it out. The furthest distance we can do is ten meters. And then you only have fifteen seconds to be clear. Tawari can do it, but I obviously can't, either because I only ring four and because I don't specialize in combat magic like Tawari.

I have decided to leave a diary here, just in case. I hope someone will find it and read about what happened.

If someone has it, and you're reading this now, I'm Landes Palik. My family lived near Lake Balinga in a small fishing village called Whitestag. My father is Kuyez Palik, my mother is Alosha Molliny. I have two older brothers and one sister.

There is an island in the lake called Egret. One of the other Loenk towers is over there. That's where I learned magic.

There is an island in the lake called Egret. One of the other Loenk towers is over there. That's where I learned magic.

Please there.

Loenk is dead. And I don't know who will control the tower when you read this, or when you get there. My old house is in the basement near the stairs. I hid some of my things under the loose blue stone tiles on the ground. If you lift it out of the way you will see the items under the rock underneath. I didn't use magic to hide it, so no one noticed.

Those things are in the stone box. There are 35 shaliuns. Please give ten to my parents and five to my sister. You can save the rest as a thank you gift. I also have two more diaries there and a book with my study notes.

I'm poor, so I can't give you much, it's already all I have that I don't carry. . .

. . . . . .

This entry, too, spans two pages, although it does not fill in the latter.

Claude's bones froze as he finished. Does fate rule this? That this cookbook, which has drifted across the continent for hundreds of years, finds its way to this city, at this particular time, and that it, he, one of perhaps only a few who is sensitive to magic, and no doubt even fewer who are aware that they, find it? In his case, he only knew he was sensitive to magic because of the book itself! Besides, Claude has already gone to Egret. And the plan includes exploring the ruins of the tower. He was not a very religious person, but he could not help but feel like a hand pushed him, setting everything behind the scenes.

The light flashes when the oil dries, then sniffs completely. Smoke billows in weak light that bounces off the clouds.

Claude rubbed his face, hard. Fate or not, this is how he found himself. What is his choice but to find the long-dead man – what is his name? He opened the diary.

Landes Palik's.

Claude rubbed his face, hard. Fate or not, this is how he found himself. What is his choice but to find the long-dead man – what is his name? He opened the diary.

Landes Palik's.

His biggest worry is that, in the hundreds of years that have passed since the last entry was written, someone has stumbled on a stash. The tower collapsed a few decades ago and is now just a pile of rubble, if items have not been taken away, they may be wedged beyond use, or they may be so trapped, or they may be so, so buried he would never be able to find them or get them even if he did . He prayed nothing happened. He burned to learn their secrets.

The bells of the war god temple finally sounded welcome as much as announced the day.

People slowly emerge from their homes, first in droplets, then in streams as they begin their day.

Claude looked at the scene, his heart agitated. The manual for studying magic was already quite shocking, but the diary that revealed the secrets of the six hundred years was buried? It's something completely different. He could not say he was not disappointed because it was not a manual. But the secret that the diary reveals is sufficient compensation.

Claude wouldn't mention any of this to anyone, of course. It would bring him nothing but trouble, even if he did not mention anything about the origin of his new knowledge. It would be worse if people knew he could read the magic text. That meant he had the talent, the talent he was aware of, for magic. That can't be allowed. He will be lucky to spend the rest of his days in prison. Less fortunate to be executed on the spot. It's damn to be a guinea pig.

What's he thinking? Claude rubbed his face again. One of the drawbacks of his active imagination is the easy distraction. He should wash his face and cope with a day that is too long.

His initial disappointment with the diary had now completely vanished. It would indeed be disappointing if this great coincidence only caused him to read the thoughts of some non-descriptive magus. He was not disappointed by what was actually given to him instead.

He could not speed up time, however much he wanted, so all he could do now was calmly live the day and night that separated him from that lake, that island, that tower, that tower, and those books.