Heir Of Novron: The Riyria Revelations (37 page)

Arista pivoted, hoping to escape unnoticed back up the stairs to the sheltered sanctuary of her chamber, when she spotted the monk. He sat on the floor near the washbasins, where the stone was wet from a leaky plug. His back rested against the lye barrel. He was small, thin, and dressed in the traditional russet frock of the order of the Monks of Maribor. Delighted by rubbing the shaggy sides of Red, the big elkhound who sat before him, he had a great smile on his face. The dog was a fixture in the kitchen, where he routinely cleared scraps. The dog’s eyes were closed, his long tongue hung dripping, and his body rocked as the monk scratched him.

Arista had not seen much of Myron since the day he had
arrived at the castle. So much had happened since then that she forgot he was still there.

Walking forward, she adjusted her robe, straightening it and fixing the collar. Heads looked up. Cora was the first to see her. The pace of her plunging slowed. Her eyes tracked Arista’s movements with interest. Nipper, having dropped his load, stood up and was in the process of brushing the snow off when he stopped in mid-stroke.

“Ella—ah, forgive me, Your Highness.” Ibis Thinly was the first to speak.

“Actually, I’d prefer Arista,” she replied. “I couldn’t sleep. I was hoping to maybe get a little soup?”

Ibis grinned knowingly. “It can get cold up in them towers, can’t it? As it happens, I saved a pot of last night’s venison stew, froze it out in the snow. If that’s all right, I’ll have Nipper fetch it. I can heat it up in two shakes. It’ll warm you nicely, and how about some hot cider and cinnamon to go with it? Still got some that ain’t quite turned yet. It will have a bit of a bite, but it’s still good.”

“Yes, thank you. That would be wonderful.”

“I’ll have someone run it up to your chambers. You’re on the third floor, right?”

“Ah, no. Actually, I was thinking of eating down here—if that’s okay?”

Ibis chuckled. “Of course it is. Folks been doing that a good deal these days, and I’m sure you can eat anywhere that pleases you, ’cepting maybe the empress’s bedroom—course rumor has it you did that already.” He chuckled.

“It’s just that”—she looked at the others, all of whom were watching and listening—“I thought I might not be welcome after… after lying to all of you.”

The cook made a dismissive
pfft
sound. “You forget, we worked for Saldur and Ethelred. All they ever did was lie and
they sure never scrubbed floors or emptied no chamber pots along with us. You take a seat at the table, Your Highness. I’ll get you that stew. Nipper, fetch the pot and get me the jug of cider too!”

She took a seat as instructed and whether they agreed with Ibis’s sentiments or not, none of them said a word. They returned to work and only occasionally glanced at her. Lila even ventured a tiny smile and a modest wave before returning to her struggle with the bowls.

“You’re Myron Lanaklin, aren’t you?” Arista asked, turning on her stool to face the monk and the dog.

He looked up, surprised. “Yes, yes, I am.”

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Arista. I believe you know my brother, Alric?”

“Of course! How is he?”

“He’s fine. Haven’t you seen him? He’s just upstairs.”

The monk shook his head.

No longer being scratched, Red opened his eyes and looked at Myron with a decidedly disappointed expression.

“Isn’t he wonderful?” Myron declared. “I’ve never seen a dog this big. I didn’t know what he was at first. I thought he might be a shaggy breed of deer that they housed in the kitchen, much like we used to keep pigs and chickens at the abbey. I was so happy to discover he was not a future meal. His name is Red. He’s an elkhound. Although, I think his days of hunting wolves and boar are over. Did you know that in times of war, they can take knights down off horses? They kill their prey by biting the neck and crushing the spine, but really he’s not vicious at all. I come down here every day to see him.”

“Do you always get up this early?”

“Oh, this isn’t early. At the abbey this would be lazy.”

“You must go to sleep early, then.”

“Actually, I don’t sleep much,” he said as he resumed petting the dog.

“Me neither,” she admitted. “Bad dreams.”

Myron looked surprised. Again, he stopped stroking Red, who nosed his hand in protest. She thought he was about to say something, but then he returned his attention to the dog.

“Myron, I’m wondering if you can help me?” she asked.

“Of course. What are the nightmares about?”

“Oh no. I wasn’t speaking of that. It’s just that my brother mentioned you read quite a bit.”

He shrugged. “I found a little library on the third floor, but there are only about twenty books there. I’m on my third time through.”

“You’ve read all the books in the library three times?”

“Almost. I always have trouble with Hartenford’s
Genealogy of Warric Monarchs
. It’s almost all names and I have to sound most of them out. What do you need to know?”

“I was actually thinking about information you might have read about while at the Winds Abbey. Have you ever heard of the city of Percepliquis?”

He nodded. “It’s the capital city of the original empire of Novron.”

“Yes,” she said eagerly. “Do you know where it is?”

He thought a moment and smiled to himself. “In every text, they always refer to everything else by way of it. Hashton was twenty-five leagues southeast of Percepliquis. Fairington, a hundred leagues due north. No one ever mentioned where Percepliquis was, I presume because everyone already knew.”

“If I got you a map, would it be possible to find it based on the references to other places?”

“Maybe. I’m pretty sure that’s how Edmund Hall found it. Although, all you really need is his journal. I’ve always wanted to read that one.”

“I thought reading his journal is considered heresy. Isn’t that why they locked Hall and his journal in the top of the Crown Tower?”

“Yes.”

“And yet you would still read it? Alric never mentioned what a rebel you are.”

Myron looked puzzled, then smiled. “It is heresy for a member of the Nyphron Church to read it.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’re a Monk of Maribor.”

“And blessedly, we have no such restrictions on our reading material.”

“It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” Arista said. “All the things that might be hidden at the top of the Crown Tower.”

“Makes you wish you could get inside, doesn’t it?”

“Yes—yes, it does.”

They arrived late that evening, the whole castle buzzing with the news. Trumpets blared, servants rushed, and before she could get dressed, two servants, as well as Alric and Mauvin, had stopped by to tell Arista of the caravan that had just arrived from the north bearing the falcon crest and the banners of gold and green.

She hoisted the hem of the robe and raced down the steps with the rest. A crowd formed on the front steps. Servants, artisans, bureaucrats, and nobles mingled and pushed to see the sight. Guards formed an aisle allowing her to pass to the front, where she stood next to Mauvin and Alric. To her left, she spotted Nimbus draping Amilia’s shoulders with his cloak, leaving the skinny man looking like a twig in the wind. She did not see the empress.

Wind-whipped torches and a milky moon illuminated the
courtyard as the caravan entered. There were no soldiers, just elderly men who walked behind carriages. Toward the rear of the procession came wagons bearing a shivering cargo. Women and children, crammed tightly together, huddled for warmth beneath communal blankets. The first carriage reached the bottom of the steps and Belinda and Lenare Pickering stepped out, followed by Alenda Lanaklin. The three women looked up at the crowd before them hesitantly.

Mauvin ran forward to embrace his mother.

“What are you all doing here?” he exclaimed excitedly. “Where’s Father, or didn’t he—” Arista saw Mauvin stiffen and pull back.

There was no joy at this meeting. The women’s faces were sorrowful. They were pale, drawn, and gray, and only their eyes and noses held color—red and sore from crying and the bitter wind. Belinda held her son, wringing his clothes with her fists.

“Your father is dead,” she cried, and buried her face in his chest.

Moving slower than the rest, Julian Tempest, the elderly lord chamberlain of Melengar, climbed carefully down out of the carriage. When Arista saw him, her stomach tightened. She could think of very few things that might cause Julian to leave Melengar, and none of them good.

“The elves have crossed the Nidwalden River,” Julian announced to the crowd. His voice fought against the wind that viciously fluttered the flags and banners. He walked gingerly, placing his feet upon the frozen ground as if it might be pulled out from beneath him. The old man’s stately robes snapped about him like living things, his cap threatening to fly off. “They’ve invaded and taken all of Dunmore and Ghent.” He paused, looked at King Alric, took a breath, and said, “And Melengar.”

“The north has fallen? To elves?” Alric sounded incredulous. “But how?”

“These are not the
mir
, Your Majesty. They are not the half-breeds we are familiar with. Those that attacked are pure-blooded elves of the Erivan Empire. Terrible, fierce, and merciless, they came out of the east and crushed all in their path.” The wind gained a grip on the old man’s cap, throwing it across the yard and revealing his balding head, wreathed in thin white hair. His hands flew up in a futile effort and remained at face level, quivering and forgotten. “Woe to the House of Essendon, the kingdom is lost!”

Alric’s gaze lifted to the caravan. He stood staring at the long line of wagons, studying its length, the number of faces crawling from them, and Arista knew what he was thinking.

Is this all?

Julian and the ladies were ushered inside. Arista watched them enter but remained on the steps. She recognized a face or two. One had been a barmaid at The Rose and Thorn. Another, a seamstress at the castle. Arista had often seen her daughter playing near the moat with a doll her mother had made from scraps. She did not have the doll now and Arista wondered,
What became of it? What became of everything?

“There’s not that many,” Amilia was saying to Sebastian. He was a ranking castle guard, but she could not recall his specific position. “Find room for them in the gallery for now.”

He snapped a salute.

“And have someone run and tell Ibis to get some food prepared; they look hungry.”

Amilia turned back toward the castle doors when she made eye contact with Arista. She bit her lip in a sad expression. “I’m sorry,” she managed to say, and then walked away.

Arista remained on the steps as the stable hands broke
down the harnesses and the wagons emptied. A line of refugees filed past her, heading inside.

“Melissa!” Arista called.

“Your Highness.” Melissa curtsied.

“Oh, forget that.” She ran down the remaining steps and gave the girl a hug. “I’m so happy you are all right.”

“Are you the empress?” a little girl asked, holding on to Melissa’s hand.

Arista had been away from Melengar for some time—only a few months short of a year—but this child could not have been Melissa’s. The girl had to be six or seven. She stood on the step beside Arista’s maid, bouncing on anxious feet and clutching a bundle to her chest with her free hand.

“This is Mercy,” Melissa said, introducing her. “We found her on the way here.” She lowered her voice and whispered, “She’s an orphan.”

There was something familiar about the little girl. Arista was certain she had seen her before. “No, I’m sorry. I’m not the empress. My name is Arista.”

“Can I see the empress?”

“I’m afraid not. The empress is very busy.”

The child’s eager expression collapsed to one of disappointment, and her head drooped to look at her feet. “Arcadius said I would meet the empress when we got to Aquesta.”

Arista studied her face a moment. “Arcadius? Oh yes, I remember you. We met last summer, wasn’t it?” Arista looked around the few remaining refugees but did not see her old teacher among them. Just then, she noticed the bundle move. “What have you got in there?”

Before the girl could answer, the head of a raccoon poked out. “His name is Mr. Rings.”