Heir Of Novron: The Riyria Revelations (53 page)

Both of them looked shocked. “But, Your Eminence, I will be riding north—there is risk—”

“I will leave it to her, then. Amilia? Will you go?”

She nodded. “As my empress wishes,” she said solemnly, as if this were a terrible hardship that she would endure only for the sake of the empire. Amilia, however, was not a very good actress.

“As you will be passing by Tarin Vale, see that you check on Amilia’s family, and ensure they are sent here to the palace.” This time Amilia lit up with genuine surprise.

“As you wish,” Sir Breckton said with a bow.

Amilia said nothing but reached out and squeezed Modina’s hand as she passed her.

“One more thing,” Modina said. “See to it that the man—the one that lit the fire—see that he receives a commendation of some kind. He should be rewarded.”

“I will indeed, Your Eminence.”

Servants entered the hall carrying plates but pulled up short with guilty looks.

“No, no, come in.” She waved them forward. “Chancellor, you and I will continue in my office to allow these people to set up for the evening meal.”

Outside the great hall, the corridors and public rooms buzzed with dozens of people walking, working, or just gathering to talk. She liked it this way; the castle felt alive. For so long she had lived within a cold hollow shell—a ghost within a mausoleum. But now, packed tightly with guests, all fighting for access to washbasins and seats at tables, and arguing over snoring and blanket stealing, it felt like a home. At times, she could almost imagine they were all relatives arriving as guests for a grand party or, perhaps, given the lingering mood, a funeral. She had never met most of those she saw, but they were family now. They were all family now.

Guards escorted them through the corridor and up the central stairs. Since the Royce Incident, as Breckton called it, he insisted she have bodyguards at all times. They ordered people in gruff tones to step back. “Empress!” they would call out, and crowds would gasp, look around nervously, dividing and bowing. She liked to smile and wave as she passed, but on the stairs she had to hold the hem of her dress. The dress, for all its expense, was no end of problems and she looked forward to the end of the day, when she could retire to her room and slip into her linen nightgown.

She half considered going there now. Nimbus would not mind. He had seen her in it hundreds of times, and while he was a shining example of protocol himself, he was silent to the foibles she made. As Modina climbed the stairs, it occurred to her she would have no more reservation about changing her clothes in front of him than she would about doing so in front of Red or Amilia, as if he were a doctor or priest.

They entered what had once been Saldur’s office. She had had most of the church paraphernalia and personal items removed. The chambermaids might even have scrubbed it—as the room did smell better.

The sun was setting outside the window, the last of the light quickly fading.

“How long has it been?” she asked Nimbus as he closed the office door.

“Only two days, Your Eminence,” Nimbus replied.

“It seems so much longer. They must have reached Amberton Lee by now, right?”

“Yes, I should think so.”

“I should have sent riders with them to report back. I don’t like this waiting. Waiting to hear from them, waiting to hear the trumpet blare of invasion.” She looked out at the dying light. “When they seal the northern pass and destroy
the bridges in Colnora, the only way in or out of this city will be by sea or the southern gate. Do you think I should put more ships out to guard against a water invasion? We are vulnerable to that.”

“It’s possible, yet unlikely. I’ve never heard of elves being ones for sea going. I don’t believe they brought ships with them across Dunmore. Breckton destroyed the Melengar fleet and—”

“What about Trent? They might have gone there for the ships.”

The slender man nodded his powdered-wig-covered head. “Except that there was no need at that time. There will be no need until your men close the roads. Usually one doesn’t go to great lengths unless one has to, and so far—”

“They have had an easy time of killing us. Will it be any harder for them here?”

“I think so,” Nimbus said. “Unlike the others, we have had time to prepare.”

“But will it be enough?”

“Against any human army we would be impregnable, but…”

Modina sat on the edge of her desk, her gown puffing out as she did. “The reports said swarms of Gilarabrywn. You’ve never seen one, Nimbus, but I have. They’re giant, brutal, terrifying flying monsters. Just one of them destroyed my home—burned it to ash. They are unstoppable.”

“And yet you stopped it.”

“I killed one—the man said swarms! They will burn the city from the sky.”

“The shelters are almost complete. The buildings will be lost, but the populace will be safe. They will not be able to take the city by Gilarabrywn. You have seen to that.”

“What about food?”

“We’ve been lucky there. It was a good year. We have more
in store than is usual for late winter. Fishermen are working around the clock harvesting, salting, and smoking. All meats and grain are rationed and underground. Even here at the castle the bulk of the stores are already in the old dungeon.”

“It should slow them down, shouldn’t it?”

“I think so,” he said.

She looked back out the window at the snow-covered roofs. “What if Arista and the others had trouble? What if they were attacked by thieves? They might have died even before reaching the city.”

“Thieves?” Nimbus asked, stifling a laugh. “I daresay I should pity any band of
thieves
that had the misfortune of assaulting that party. I am certain they have entered Amberton Lee safely.”

She turned to face him. His tone was so confident, so certain that it set her at ease. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. We just have to hope they are successful. What obstacles they will face beneath the Lee will certainly be more formidable than a band of thieves.”

A
rista had no idea what time it was or how long they had walked since reaching the bottom of the shaft. Her feet, sore and heavy, slipped and stumbled over rocks. She yawned incessantly and her stomach growled, but there was no stopping—not yet.

They followed a series of narrow crevices so small and tight it often required crawling and, in the case of Elden, a sucked-in stomach and the occasional tug-of-war. It was frighteningly claustrophobic at times. She moved sideways through narrow slits where her nose passed within inches of the opposite side. During this period, Arista’s robe was the only source of light. At times, she noticed it dim or flicker briefly, which gave her concern. She would stiffen and instantly the light grew steady, often brighter, but as the night dragged on, the light drifted steadily from white to darker shades of blue.

The passage widened and constricted, but Royce usually found a way to move ahead. On a few occasions, he was wrong and they needed to backtrack and find another way. At such times, Arista heard Magnus mumble. Royce must have heard him too, but the thief never spoke or looked in his direction. The dwarf, who moved through the tunnels like a fish in
water, did not elaborate on his grumblings. He remained generally quiet and traveled in the rear or middle of the group, yet occasionally when Royce entered a crevice, Magnus might cough with a disapproving tone. Royce ignored him and invariably returned with a scowl. After a few missteps, Royce started turning away from an appealing path the moment Magnus made a sound, as if a new thought had just occurred to him. Silently worked out and agreed upon, the system functioned well enough for both of them.

The rest of the party followed mindlessly, focused only on their own feet. After the first hour, Alric, who had begun the march giving the occasional obvious direction or asking questions, then nodding his head as if approving some sort of action, gave up the pretense altogether. Soon he dragged himself along like the rest, blindly following wherever Magnus and Royce led.

“Mmm,” Arista heard Magnus intoning somewhere ahead, as if he had just tasted something wonderful.

The princess was fumbling forward, ducking and twisting to get by as they struggled through another long narrow fissure. The blue light of her robe made the rock appear to glow.

“Wonderful,” the dwarf muttered.

“What is?”

“You’ll see.”

They inched onward through the crevice, which became tighter. She felt forward with her feet, kicking away loose stones to find footing.

“Whoa.” She heard Royce’s voice from somewhere up ahead, speaking the word slowly with uncharacteristic awe. She attempted to look forward, but Mauvin and Alric, standing ahead of her in the narrow pass, blocked her view.

Alric soon exclaimed, “By Mar! How is that possible?”

“What’s happening?” Degan said behind her.

“No clue—not there yet,” she replied. “Mauvin’s big head is blocking me.”

“Hey!” he retorted. “It’s not my fault. It gets really narrow in—Oh my god!”

Arista pushed forward.

Mauvin was right—the path did grow very tight—and she had to bend, squeeze, and step through. Her shoulders brushed the stone, her hair caught on jagged rocks, and her foot was almost stuck as she shifted her weight. She held her breath and pulled her body through the narrowest gap.

Once on the far side, the first thing she noticed was that she was standing in a large cavern, which, after the hours of crawling like a worm, was wonderful. The action of some forgotten river had cut the walls out in scoops and brushed them to a smooth wavy finish. Elongated pools of water that littered the floor shone as mirrors divided from each other by smooth ridges of rock.

The second thing she noticed was the
stars
.

“Oh my,” she found herself saying as she looked up. The roof of the cavern appeared just like the night sky. Thousands of tiny points of light glowed bright. Captured in the enclosed space, they illuminated the entire chamber. “Stars.”

“Glowworms,” Magnus corrected as he walked out ahead of her. “They leech on to the ceiling stone.”

“They’re beautiful,” she said.

“Drome didn’t put all his grandeur on the outside of Elan. Your castles, your towers, they are sad little toys. Here are the real treasures we hoard. They call us misers on the surface—they have no idea. They scrape for gold, silver, and diamonds, never finding the real gems beneath their feet. Welcome to the house of Drome; you stand on his porch.”

“There’s a flat table of rock up there,” Royce told them, pointing ahead at a massive plate of stone that lay at a slight angle. “We’ll camp, get some food, and sleep.”

“Yes, yes, that sounds wonderful,” Alric agreed, bobbing his head eagerly.

They walked around the pools filled with the reflected starlight. Myron and Elden, both with their eyes locked on the distant ceiling, missed their footing several times, soaking their feet—neither seemed to care. They climbed to the surface of the table rock, which was as large as the floor of the palace’s great hall. It was a vague triangle, and the long point rose at the center of the cavern like the prow of a ship breaching a wave.

With no wood and no need for tents, making camp consisted entirely of dropping their packs and sitting down. Arista had the lightest pack, carrying only her own supplies of food, bedding, and water, but still, her shoulders ached and did so even more noticeably once she set her burden down. She planted herself on the prow, her legs dangling over the edge, and leaned back on her hands, rolling her head. She felt the aches in her neck and looked up at the false night sky. Elden was the first to join her; he settled in and mimicked her actions exactly. He smiled bashfully when he caught her looking. The big man’s forehead and his left cheek had ugly scrapes and his tunic was torn across the chest and along his right shoulder. It was a wonder he had made it through at all.

From her pack she pulled one of the meals, in a neatly sewn bag. She tore it open and found salted fish, a preserved egg with a green look to it, a bit of hard bread, walnuts, and a pickle. Just as she had once devoured the pork stew Hadrian and Royce had given her the first night she had traveled with them, she consumed this meal, and when finished, she searched the bag for any remaining crumbs. Sadly, she found only two
more walnuts at the bottom. She considered opening another bag, but reason fought against the idea. Partially sated, her hunger lost its edge and gave up.

Most of the group found seats along the edge of the shelf and lined up like birds on a fence, their legs dangling at various rates of swing. Royce was the last to settle. As in the past, he spent some time exploring ahead and checking behind. Degan and Magnus sat together some distance from the rest, speaking together softly.

“Blessed Maribor, am I starved!” Mauvin declared as he tore open a bag of his own. His expression showed his disappointment, but he was not discouraged. After he tasted the contents, a smile returned. “That Ibis is a genius. This fish is wonderful!”

“I—have—the pork,” Alric managed to get out around the food in his mouth. “Good.”

“I feel as if I am back on a ship,” Wyatt mentioned, but did not pause to explain why as he tore his bread with his teeth.

Myron negotiated a trade with Elden over walnuts—a discussion held without words. The little monk looked exhausted but managed to smile warmly at the giant as they debated with hand gestures and nods. Elden grinned back, delighted by the game.

After eating, Arista looked around for a place to sleep. It was not like bedding down in a forest, where you looked for a flat area clear of roots and stones. Here everything was rock. One place was as good as another, and all appeared to offer little in the way of comfort. With her pack in hand, she wandered toward the center of the shelf, thinking that at the very least she did not want to roll off. She spotted Hadrian far down at the low end of the rock. He was lying on his back, his knees up, his head on his blanket, which he had rolled into a pillow.

“Something wrong?” she asked, approaching cautiously.

He turned on his side and looked up. “Hmm? No.”

“No?” She got down on her knees beside him. “Why are you all the way over here?”

He shrugged. “Just looking for some privacy.”

“Oh, then I’m probably bothering you.” She got up.

“No—you’re not.” He stopped her. “I mean…” He sighed. “Never mind.”

He sounded upset, frustrated, maybe even angry. She stood hovering over him, unsure of what to do. She hoped he would say something, or at least smile at her. Instead, he refused to look her way. His eyes focused on the darkness across the cavern. The miserable, bitter sound of the words
never mind
echoed in her head.

“I’m going to sleep,” she said at last.

“That’s a good idea,” he replied, still not bothering to look at her.

She walked slowly back to the center of the table, glancing at him over her shoulder. He continued to lie staring at nothing. It bothered her. If it were Royce, she would not give it a second thought, but this was not like him. She spread out her blankets and lay down, feeling suddenly awful, as if she had lost something valuable. She just was not sure what.

Her robe was dark. She had not noticed until that moment and could not recall when it had faded. They were all tired, even the robe. She looked up at the glowworms. They did look like stars. There must be hundreds of thousands.

The boy was pale, ghostly, his eyes sallow. His mouth hung slightly agape as if perpetually on the verge of asking a question,
only he could no longer form words. She guessed it took all his mental capacity to keep from screaming. Jerish stood next to him. The fighter towered over the lad with a look that reminded her of a cornered mother bear. They were both dressed in common clothes, his armor and emblems left at the palace. He appeared to be a poor merchant or tradesman, perhaps, except for the long sword slung to his back, the pommel rising over his left shoulder as if keeping watch.

“Grinder,” the boy said as she entered the station.

“Nary,” she greeted him, and it took effort not to bow. He looked so much like his father—the same lines, the same clarity in his eyes, the cut of his mouth—the lineage of the emperor so obvious.

“Were you followed?” Jerish asked.

She smirked.

“A Cenzar cannot be followed?”

“No,” she said bluntly. “Everyone still thinks I am loyal to the cause. Now we have to be quick. Here.” She held out the necklaces. “This one is for you, Nary, and this is Jerish’s. Put them on and never take them off. Do you understand me? Never take them off. They will hide you from magical eyes, protect you from enchantments, allow me to find you when the time is safe, and even provide you with a bit of luck.”

“You intend to fight them?”

“I will do what I can.” She looked at the boy. Her efforts had to be for him now, for his safety and his return.

“You cannot save Nareion,” Jerish told her bluntly. She looked at the boy and saw his lips tremble.

“I will save what is dearer to him, his son and his empire. It may take time—a long time, perhaps—but I swear I will see the empire restored even if it costs me my life.” She watched as they slipped the necklaces on. “Be sure to hide
him well. Take him into the country, assume the life of a commoner. Do nothing to draw attention, and await my call.”