Heir Of Novron: The Riyria Revelations (84 page)

Hadrian sighed heavily.

“What?” she asked. “I do know her, don’t I? You would have told me her name by now if I didn’t. Oh come on. It hardly seems worth keeping the secret at this point.”

“That’s it exactly,” he said. “The reason I was thinking all this is because…” He paused, looking into her eyes. They were like pools he was preparing to jump into without knowing the temperature of the water. He braced himself for the shock. “The one thing I regret the most in my life is the one thing I can still change before it’s too late.”

Arista narrowed her eyes at him. She tilted her head slightly the way a dog might when it heard an odd sound. “But how are you going to—” She stopped.

Her mouth closed and she stared at him without speaking,
without moving. Hadrian was not certain she was still breathing.

Slowly her lower lip began to tremble. It started there and he watched as the tremor worked its way down her neck to her shoulders, shaking her body so that her hair quivered. Without warning tears spilled down her cheeks. Still she did not speak, she did not move, but the robe changed from blue to bright purple, surrounding both of them with light.

What does that mean?

“Arista?” he whispered fearfully. The look on her face was unfathomable.

Fear? Shock? Remorse? What is it?

He desperately needed to know. He had just thrown himself off a cliff and could not see the bottom.

“Are you upset?” he asked. “Please don’t be mad—don’t hate me. I don’t want to die with you hating me. This is exactly why I never said anything. I was afraid that—”

Her fingers came up to his lips and gently pressed them shut.

“Shh,” she managed to utter as she continued to cry, her eyes never leaving his face.

She took his hands in hers and squeezed. “I don’t hate you,” she whispered. “I just—I—” She bit her lip.

“What!” Hadrian said in desperation, his eyes wide, trying to see everything, searching for any clue. She was torturing him on purpose—he knew it.

“This is going to sound really stupid,” she told him, shaking her head slowly.

“I don’t care—say it. Whatever it is, just say it!”

“I—” She laughed a little. “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier in my entire life than I am right now.”

It was his turn to stare. His mouth opened but his mind
could not supply words. He was lost in her eyes and realized he could breathe once more.

“If you knew that I—how much I hoped—” She tilted her head down so that her hair hid her face. “I never thought that you saw me as anything more than a—a job.” She raised her head and sniffled. “And the way you and Royce talked about nobles…”

Hadrian noticed his heart was beating again. It pounded in his chest, and despite the chill in the crypt, his shirt was soaked with sweat, his hands trembling.

“We’re gonna die here,” she told him, and abruptly started laughing. “But suddenly I don’t care anymore. I never thought I could be so happy.”

This got him laughing too. Somewhere inside him, relief and joy were mixing together to create an intoxicant more powerful than any liquor. He felt drunk, dizzy, and—more than ever before—alive.

“I feel—I feel so…” She laughed once and looked embarrassed.

“What?” he asked, reaching up and wiping the tears from her cheeks.

“It’s like I’m not buried alive in a crypt anymore. It’s like—like I just came home.”

“For the first time,” he added.

“Yes,” she said, and tears began anew.

He reached out. She fell into him, and he closed his arms around her. She felt so small. She had always been such a force that he had never imagined she could feel so delicate—so fragile. He could die now. He laid his head back on the stone, taking in a breath and feeling the wonderful sensation of her head riding up and down on his chest.

Then they heard the rock begin to shatter.

No one could see anything and they gathered around the light of Arista’s robe as she and Hadrian came out of the alcove. The bright purple light shifted to white, revealing everyone’s faces, making them look pale and ghostly.

“What’s going on?” Hadrian asked as another round of thunderous ripping occurred. The noise came from the direction of the Vault of Days, the sound bouncing around the stone walls.

“I don’t know. Maybe the Ghazel are tunneling in,” Mauvin replied; then he narrowed his eyes at Arista. “Are you all right?”

“Me?” Arista said, smiling. “Yeah, I’m great.”

Mauvin looked confused but shrugged. “Should we barricade?”

“What’s the point?” Hadrian replied. “If they can cut through that rubble, a few golden chairs aren’t going to stop them.”

“So what are we going to do?” Gaunt asked.

Hadrian looked around, mentally tallying the faces. “Where’s Royce?”

Around the circle of light of Arista’s robe were Myron, Magnus, Gaunt, Mauvin, Arista, and Hadrian. Royce was nowhere to be seen. Hadrian turned toward the sound and began walking. Behind him, the others followed. When he reached the Vault of Days, he paused, and together with Arista he carefully entered the room.

“Where is it?” Hadrian asked no one in particular.

“Where’s what?” Mauvin said.

“The creature, it’s not in the corner anymore.”

“It’s not?” Gaunt said fearfully. “It ate him!”

“I don’t think so,” Hadrian said, and taking Arista by the
hand, he led them all across the open room. Partway there the air grew foul with dust. A cloud obscured the door ahead like a fog; the grinding and breaking sounds grew louder.

When they reached the far side, they found the door to the scroll room was missing—along with a good portion of the wall separating the two. The scroll room itself had also been destroyed. The far wall was down and stones lay scattered across the floor. Ahead, where there had once been a corridor leading to the collapsed stairs, was a giant tunnel from which came the thunderous noise and the clouds of dust.

They found Royce sitting on his pack, his feet outstretched, his back against the wall.

“I was wondering how long it would take,” he greeted them.

Hadrian looked at him for a moment, then started to move past him toward the tunnel.

“Don’t go in there,” Royce warned. “The thing isn’t careful about where he tosses the stones.”

“Maribor’s beard!” Hadrian exclaimed, and started to laugh.

“By Drome!” Magnus muttered.

“We thought the Ghazel were coming through,” Mauvin said, waving a hand before his face, trying to clear the air.

“I’m sure they will be,” Royce replied.

“That’s right!” Mauvin said. “There’s armor in the tomb—shields. We should—”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Royce told him. “I told Gilly to deal with them too.”

Hadrian started to laugh, which brought a smile to Royce’s lips.

“Aren’t they going to be surprised to see what comes out?” the thief chuckled.

“We’re going to get out of here?” Arista said, shocked.

“It’s a distinct possibility.” Royce nodded. “It took a while
to master the right phrases, but once I got him going, old Gilly—boy—he took to it like a knife to a soft back.”

“Gilly?” Hadrian asked, laughing.

“A pet has to have a name, doesn’t it? Later I’m planning to teach it
fetch
and
roll over
, but for now,
dig
and
sic ’em
will do.”

Another loud collision of stone rattled the floor and shook dirt from the ceiling, causing all of them to flinch. A thick cloud billowed out of the tunnel.

“Loosens the teeth when he really gets going like that,” Royce said. “Wait here while I check on his progress.”

The thief stood, wrapped his scarf around his face, and walked into the dark cloud. The ground continued to shudder and the sound was frightening, as if gods were holding a war in the next room.

“How is it fitting through the corridor?” Myron asked.

“I’m pretty sure it’s making a whole new one,” Magnus replied.

“Better pack up,” Royce told them when he emerged. “Gilly has got a rhythm going, so it won’t be long.”

They gathered their things and returned to the tomb, where Arista placed the horn in her pack. They replaced the lids on Novron’s coffin and Gaunt, Mauvin, and Magnus picked up a few small treasures, which they called souvenirs. Royce, much to Hadrian’s surprise, did not touch a thing, not even a handful of gold coins. He merely waited for the rest of them. They all bid one last farewell to Alric before heading back to the tunnel.

Hadrian was the last out of the tomb, and as he was leaving, he caught sight of something small lying on the floor just before Arista’s light faded. Picking it up, he stuffed it into his pack before trotting out to join the others.

The dust had settled by the time Royce led them through the tunnel. It was no longer a corridor, but a gaping passage like something a monstrous rabbit might burrow. It was round
and at least fifty feet in width. The walls were compact rock and stone held together by weight and pressure. The passage ran level for several feet, then angled upward. There was no sign of the Gilarabrywn, but ahead they heard the familiar beat of drums.

“Ghazel—how nice,” Hadrian said miserably. “They waited.”

The tunnel ended at the great wide hallway with suits of armor and sculptured walls that they had passed through on the way in. While large enough for the Gilarabrywn to walk through, there was no sign of it.

“Where’s your pet, Royce?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps I need to get him a leash.”

“What did you tell him to do?” Mauvin asked.

“Well, that’s the thing… I don’t know exactly. I hope I told it to clear the way of all debris and danger up to the square outside the palace, but who knows what I really said? I might have told it to clear the world of all decency and rangers up to the lair outside the ballast.”

Magnus and Mauvin both chuckled; even Hadrian smiled. Then Myron spoke up. “He’s not joking. That’s actually what he said the first time he repeated the phrase back to me. And of course we’re assuming I got it right to begin with.”

The sounds of yelps and cries cut through the empty hallway. Hadrian and Mauvin drew their swords. They waited a moment but there was only silence.

Royce shrugged and led them onward, always several dozen feet in front. His head turned from side to side. Royce always reminded Hadrian of a squirrel when he had his ears up. He had the same twitchy behavior.

They passed by the doorway to the throne room, the ornate entrance still closed. Royce halted, raising a hand and tilting his head. The rest of them heard it too. A horn, drums, shouts, cries, it all came from ahead of them—faint and muffled.

“Blood,” Royce mentioned, pointing up ahead.

As Arista approached, they could see a disturbing splatter that sprayed across the far wall, creating a ghastly painting that still dripped. A dozen arrows lay widely scattered like fallen branches after a storm.

They proceeded until they reached the end of the corridor, where another Gilarabrywn-sized tunnel ran upward. Through it, they felt fresh salt air and began climbing. They reached the end and Royce poked his head out first before waving for the rest to follow. They stood in the square between the Cenzarium and what Arista had left of the Teshlor guildhall. In the center, where the fountain used to be, the Gilarabrywn lay on a shallow lake of blood, its tail shifting lazily from side to side, hitting the ground with moist slaps. Bodies of Ghazel littered the square, forming mounds like shadowy snowdrifts running out beyond the range of Arista’s light. Swords, bows, headdresses, arms, clawed hands, and heads speckled the stone in a macabre collage of death.

“There must be hundreds of bodies,” Mauvin whispered.

“And those are the ones it didn’t eat,” Magnus added.

“Is it safe?” Hadrian asked Royce, looking at the Gilarabrywn.

“Should be.”

“Should be?”

Royce gave him a sinister grin.

“If it wasn’t, we’d already be dead,” Arista pointed out.

“What she said,” Royce told him.