Theft Of Swords: The Riyria Revelations (19 page)

“You may leave your lantern. You will have no need for it,” the clerk stated. Royce nodded but kept the lantern nevertheless.

As they stepped through the doorway, Hadrian heard a sound like singing, a faint mournful song as if a thousand voices joined in a somber dirge. The sad, oppressive music brought to mind the worst memories of his life and filled him with a misery so great it sapped his resolve. His feet felt weighted, his soul chilled. Moving forward became an effort.

Once the party crossed the threshold, the great doors began to close, shutting with a thundering boom. The chamber was well lit, although the source of the light was not apparent. It was impossible to judge the height or the depth of the chasm. Both stretched into seeming emptiness.

“Are other prisons like
this
?” Myron asked, his voice quavering as they began to inch their way across the bridge.

“I would venture to guess this is unique,” Alric replied.

“Trust me, I know prisons,” Royce told them. “This
is
unique.”

The party fell into silence during the crossing. Hadrian was in the rear, concentrating on the placement of his feet. Partway across he paused and glanced up briefly to check on the
others. Myron was holding his arms out at his sides like a tightrope walker. Alric, half crouching, reached out with his hands as if he might resort to crawling at any minute. Royce, however, strode casually forward with his head tilted up, and he frequently turned from side to side to study their surroundings.

Despite its appearance, the bridge was solid. They successfully crossed it to a small arched opening into the black tower. Once off the bridge, Royce turned to face Alric. “You were fairly free about revealing your identity back there, Your Majesty,” he said, reproaching the monarch. “I don’t recall discussing a plan where you walk in and blurt out, ‘Hey, I’m the new king, come kill me.’ ”

“You don’t actually think there are assassins in here, do you? I know I thought this was a trap, but look at this place! Arista never could have arranged this. Or do you honestly think others will be able to slip in the same cliff door we entered through?”

“What I think is that there is no reason to take unnecessary chances.”

“Unnecessary chances? Are you serious? You don’t consider crossing a slick, narrow bridge over a gorge, which is who knows how deep, a risk? Assassins are the least of our worries.”

“Are you always this much trouble to those guarding you?”

Alric’s only response was a look of disdain.

The archway led to a narrow tunneled corridor, which eventually opened into a large round room. Arranged like an amphitheater, the gallery contained descending stairs and stone benches set in rings, each lower than the one before it, which focused all attention on the recessed center of the room. At the bottom of the steps was a balcony, and twenty feet below it lay a circular stage. Once they descended the stairs,
Hadrian could see the stage was bare except for a single chair and the man who sat upon it.

An intense beam of white light illuminated the seated figure from high above. He did not appear terribly old, with only the start of gray entering his otherwise dark shoulder-length hair. Dark, brooding eyes gazed out from beneath a prominent forehead. No facial hair marred his high cheekbones, which surprised Hadrian, because the few wizards and magicians he knew about all wore long beards as a mark of their profession. He wore a magnificent robe, the color of which Hadrian could not quite determine. The garment shimmered somewhere between dark blue and smoky gray, but where it was folded or creased, it looked to be emerald green or at times even turquoise. The man sat with the robe gathered around him, his hands, lost in its folds, placed on his lap. He sat still as a statue, giving no indication he was aware of their presence.

“What now?” Alric whispered.

“You talk to him,” Royce replied.

The prince looked around thoughtfully. “That man down there can’t really be a thousand years old, can he?”

“I don’t know. In here, anything seems possible,” Hadrian said.

Myron looked around the room and up toward the unseen ceiling, a pained expression on his face. “That singing—it reminds me of the abbey, of the fire, as if I can hear them again—screaming.” Hadrian gently put a hand on Myron’s shoulder.

“Ignore it,” Royce told the monk, and then turned to glare at Alric. “You have to talk to him. We can’t leave until you do. Now go ahead and ask him what you came here to find out.”

“What do I say? I mean, if he is, you know, really a wizard of the Old Empire, if he actually served the last emperor, how do I approach him?”

“Try asking what he’s been up to,” Hadrian suggested. That was met by a smirk from Alric. “No, seriously, look down there. It’s just him and a chair. He has no books, no cards, nothing. I nearly went crazy with boredom cooped up in The Rose and Thorn last winter during a heavy snowfall. How do you suppose he’s spent
a thousand years
just sitting in that chair?”

“And how do you not go insane, listening to that sound all that time?” Myron added.

“Okay, I’ve got something.” Alric turned to address the wizard. “Excuse me, sir.” The man in the chair slowly raised his head and blinked in response to the bright light from above. He looked weary, his eyes tired. “Sorry to disturb you. I’m Alric Ess—”

“I know well who art thee,” Esrahaddon interrupted. His tone was relaxed and calm, his voice gentle and soothing. “Where be thy sinlister?”

“My what?”

“Thy
sinlister
, Arista?”

“Oh, my
sister
.”

“
Sis-ter
,” the wizard repeated carefully, and sighed, shaking his head.

“She’s not here.”

“Why doth not she come?”

Alric looked first to Royce and then to Hadrian.

“She asked us to come in her place,” Royce responded.

Looking at the thief, the wizard asked, “And who art thee?”

“Me? I’m nobody,” Royce replied.

Esrahaddon narrowed his eyes at the thief and raised one eyebrow. “Perhaps, perhaps not.”

“My sister instructed me to come here and speak with you,” Alric said, drawing the wizard’s attention back to him. “Do you know why?”

“’Tis I who bade her send thee.”

“Neat trick since you’re locked in here,” Hadrian observed.

“
Neat?
” Esrahaddon questioned. “Dost thou intend ’twas a clean thing? For I see no filth upon the matter.” The four men responded with looks of confusion. “ ’Tis not a point upon which to dwell. Arista hath in habit graced me with her presence fair for a year and more, though difficult be it to determine the passage of the sun within this darkened hole. A student of the Art she fancies herself, but schools for wizards thy world abides not. A desert of want drove her to seek my counsel. She bade me teach those skills now long forgotten. Within these walls am I locked, as time skips across fingertips untethered, with naught but the sound of mine own voice to pose comfort. So did I acquiesce for pity’s sake. Tidings of the new world thy princess did provide. In return, I imparted gifts upon her—gifts of knowledge.”

“Knowledge?” Alric asked, concerned. “What kind of knowledge?”

“Trifles. Be not long ago thy father suffered ill? A henth bylin did I instruct her to create.” They all looked at him, puzzled. Esrahaddon’s gaze left them. He appeared to search for something. “By another name did she fix it. ’Twas …” His face strained with concentration until at last he scowled and shook his head.

“A healing potion?” Myron asked.

The wizard eyed the monk carefully. “Indeed!”

“You taught her to make a potion to give to my father?”

“Frightening, yes? To have such a devil as I administering potions to thy king. Yet no poison did I render nor death impart. Likeminded was she and did challenge me thus, so each did we drink from the same cup to prove it free of mischief. No horns did we grow nor deaths impart, but thy liege fared well upon the taking.”

“That doesn’t explain why Arista sent me here.”

“Death upon thy house hast come?”

“How do you know that? Yes, my father was murdered,” Alric said.

The wizard sighed and nodded. “I forewarned a curse so dreadful hung above thy family’s fate, but ear thy sister hast not. Still, I beckoned her to send thee forth should death imperil or accident belay the ruling House of Essendon.”

Esrahaddon looked deliberately at Hadrian, Royce, and then Myron. “Innocents accused thy fellows be? For I counseled her thus—trustworthy only are those assigned blame for deeds most foul.”

“So, do you know who killed my father?”

“A name I have not nor clairvoyant am I. Yet clear is the bow from which the arrow flew. Thy father died by the hand of man in league with the adversary that holds me fast.”

“The Nyphron Church,” Myron muttered softly, yet still the wizard heard and his eyes narrowed once more at the monk.

“Why would the Church of Nyphron wish to kill my father?”

“For deaf and blind be the passions of men once scent is sniffed. Watchful are they and listen well these walls, for while act benign and intent charitable my jailors believed my hand did point the way and thy father the Heir of Novron be.”

“Wait a minute,” Alric interrupted, “the church doesn’t want to murder the heir. Their whole existence revolves around restoring him to the throne and creating the New Imperial Era.”

“A thousand years renders not truth from lie. Death called for and death sought for the blood of god. ’Tis reason true that sealed away am I.”

“And why is that?”

“Alone, muzzled and buried deep, chained to a stone-lined grave I am kept. For witness to this counterfeit of the truth I stand, the only lamp in a ceaseless night. The church, that bastion of faith, the wicked serpent whose fangs did wretch the life from the emperor and his family—all save one. Should heir be found, evidence shall I hold and such proof against slander wield. For ’tis I who fought to save our lord.”

“The way we heard the story,
you
were the one who killed the imperial family and are responsible for the destruction of the entire empire,” Hadrian said.

“From whence did such tale arise? From the adder tongue of mitered serpents? Dost thou truly believe such power resides in one man?”

“What makes you think they killed the emperor?” Alric inquired.

“ ’Tis not a question nor guess. ’Tis no supposition I extol but memory—as clear as yesterday. I
know
. ’Twas there and ’twas I who delivered the emperor’s only son from death at pious hands.”

“So you are telling us that you lived at the time of the emperor. Do you expect us to believe that you are over nine hundred years old?” Royce asked.

“Thou speak of doubt, but none have I. A question posed and a question answered.”

“That’s
just
an answer like this is
just
a prison,” Royce countered.

“I still don’t understand what all this has to do with my father. Why would the church kill him?”

“Kept alive by powers of enchantment am I, for I alone the heir can find. These serpents watch and hope to see me slip and cast into their hands the fruit of Novron. An interest upon him did I show. By kindness did I suggest deference toward thy father, and in haste to rid burdened souls of traceable guilt
did the church slay thy king. Mores the blood to stain red hands. Never did I expect—but wonder nonetheless at their vicious thirst, so to Arista did I warn of perils and portents dark.”

“And that’s why you wanted me brought here? To explain this to me? To make me understand?”

“Nay! I did send summons but for a path of another course.”

“And what is that?”

The wizard looked up at them, his expression revealing a hint of amusement. “Escape.”

No one said anything. Myron took the moment to sit down on the stone bench behind him and whispered to Hadrian, “You were right. Life outside the abbey
is
much more exciting than books.”

“You want us to help you to escape?” Royce asked incredulously. He held out his hands and looked around the black stone fortress. “From
here
?”

“ ’Tis necessary.”

“ ’Tis also impossible. I have gotten out of a number of difficult situations in my time but nothing like this.”

“And thou art aware of little. Measures thou see art but trifles. Walls, guards, and the abyss stand least among the gauntlet. Lo what works of magic ensnare me! Magical locks claim all the doors here as smoke and dream they vanish with passage. The bridge into the bargain, for it hath withered hence. Look and ye will find it so—’tis gone.”

Royce raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Alric, I need your ring.” The prince handed it to the thief, who climbed the steps and disappeared into the tunnel. He returned a few minutes later and gave the ring back to Alric. A slight nod of his head confirmed what Hadrian already suspected.

Hadrian turned his attention back to the wizard and
Esrahaddon continued. “More to the misery and serious still art the runes that line these prison walls. Magic defends this offending stone, which neither force of blow nor whit of wizardry shall let slip the portal of this hateful cage. ’Tis what thou hear as twisted euphony, this mournful wailing that plagues the ear. Within this spellbound grasp of symbols no new conjuration may manifest. Moreover, what more to trip hope and plague mind but that time itself lies captive in this hateful grip, suspended thus immobile. ’Tis why the years but wave in passing as they flee, never touching this cave nor inhabitants therein. In joining me, thou hast not aged one wink nor shall thou hunger nor thirst—lest no more than when thou entered. Shocking O this feat, this masterwork of mountainous achievement, built for one soul.”