Rise Of Empire (100 page)

“So, you’ll make your escape tonight?” the empress asked.

Arista nodded. The empress looked down, a sadness creeping into her eyes. “What’s wrong?” Arista asked.

“Nothing. I’m just going to miss you.”

Arista’s stomach twisted as she looked out the window and watched the sun set.

Am I being foolish?

Her plan had always been to merely locate Gaunt, not break him out. Now that she knew exactly where he was, she could return home and have Alric send Royce and Hadrian to rescue him. Only that had been before—before she had found Hilfred, before she had been reunited with Thrace, and before she had known she could impersonate Saldur. It seemed like such an easy thing to do that leaving without Gaunt would be an unnecessary
risk. The smoke verified that he still lived, but could she be sure that would be the case several weeks from then?

She was alone with Modina. They had not said a word to each other for hours. Something was troubling the empress—something more than usual. Modina was stubborn, and no force could move her once she decided on a course. Apparently the course she had decided on was not to talk.

The gate opened and the hay cart entered.

Arista watched intently. Nothing seemed amiss—no guards, no shouting, just a thick pile of hay and a slow-walking donkey pulling it. The farmer, an elderly man, parked the cart by the stables, unhitched his donkey, hitched it to a new cart, and led the animal out again. Staring at the cart, she could not help herself. The plan had been to wait until just before dawn, but she could not leave Hilfred lying there. She managed to restrain herself only until she saw the harvest moon begin to rise, and then she stood.

“It’s time,” she said.

Modina lifted her head.

Arista walked to the middle of the room and knelt.

“Arista, I …” Modina began hesitantly.

“What is it?”

“Nothing …Good luck.”

Arista got up and crossed the room to hug her tightly. “Good luck to you too.”

The empress shook her head. “You keep all of it—I’m not going to be needing any.”

Disguised as Regent Saldur, Arista traveled down the stairs, wondering what Modina had almost said. The excitement of the night, however, kept her thoughts jumping from one thing
to the next. She discovered that she could remain in her disguise for a long time. It broke when she slept, but it would last beyond what she would need that night. This gave her greater confidence. Although she was still concerned about bumping into the real Saldur, the thought of seeing Hilfred again was overwhelming.

Her heart leapt at just the thought of traveling home to Melengar with Hilfred once more at her side. It had been a long and tiring road, and she wanted to be home. She wanted to see Alric and Julian and to sleep in her own bed. She vowed she would treat Melissa better and planned to give her maid a new dress for Wintertide. Arista was occupied with a long list of Wintertide presents for everyone when she stepped outside. The broad face of the harvest moon illuminated the inner ward, allowing her to see as clearly as if it were a cloudy day. The courtyard was empty as she crept to the wagon.

“Hilfred!” she whispered. There was no response, no movement in the hay. “Hilfred.” She shook the wagon. “It’s me, Arista.”

She waited.

Her heart skipped a beat when the hay moved. “Princess?” it said hesitantly.

“Yes, it’s me. Just follow.” She led him into the stables and to the last stall, which was vacant. “We need to wait here until it’s nearly dawn.”

Hilfred stared at her dubiously, keeping a distance.

“How …?” he began, but faltered.

“I thought Nimbus explained I would appear like this.”

“He did.”

Hilfred’s eyes traveled up and down her figure, a look on his face as if he had just tasted something awful.

“The rumors are true,” she admitted, “at least the ones about me using magic.”

“I’ve known that, but your hair, your face, your voice.” He shook his head. “It’s perfect. How do I know you’re not the real Saldur?”

Arista closed her eyes, and in an instant Saldur disappeared and the Princess of Melengar returned.

Hilfred stumbled backward until he hit the rear of the stall, his eyes wide and his mouth open.

“It
is
me,” she assured him. Arista took a step forward and watched him flinch. It hurt her to see this, more than she would have expected. “You need to trust me,” she told him.

“How can I? How can I be certain it’s really you, when you trade skins so easily?”

“Ask me a question that will satisfy you.”

Hilfred hesitated.

“Ask me, Hilfred.”

“I’ve been with you daily since I was a very young man. Give me the names of the first three women I fell in love with and the name of the one I lost because of the scars on my face.”

She smiled and felt herself blush. “Arista, Arista, Arista, and no one.”

He smiled. She did not wait for him. She knew he would never presume to take such a step on his own. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. She could feel the sudden shock in the tightening of his muscles, but he did not pull away. His body relaxed slowly and his arms surrounded her. He squeezed so that her cheek pressed against his, her chin resting on his shoulder.

“Maribor help me if you really are Saldur,” Hilfred whispered in her ear.

She laughed softly and wondered if it was the first time she had done so since Emery died.

R
oyce and Hadrian began investigating the spouts, giant tunnels bored out of the rock through which molten lava would blast on its way to the sea. There were dozens, each one aiming in a different direction, their access to the mountain’s core sealed off by gear-controlled portals. They climbed the interior until they reached the opening and the sky.

The sun was up and the sight below forced Hadrian’s stomach into his mouth. They were well above the bridge level. The world looked very small and very far away. Tur Del Fur was a small cluster of petite buildings crouched in the elbow of a little cove. Beyond it rose mountains that looked like little hills. Directly below, the sea appeared like a puddle with tiny flashes of white. It took Hadrian a moment to realize they were the crests of waves. What he thought might be insects were gulls circling far below.

None of the spouts were blocked, none of the portals tampered with.

“Maybe it’s in the other tower?” Hadrian asked after they had climbed out of the last tunnel.

Royce shook his head. “Even if that one is blocked, the pressure will vent here. Both have to be closed. It’s not the
spouts or the portals. It’s something else—something we’ve overlooked—something that can seal all the exits at once to make the mountain boil over. There has to be another master switch, one that locks all the portals closed.”

“How are we going to find that? Do you see how many gears are in here? And it could be any one. We should have brought Magnus.”

“Sure, with him it would be easy to find—in a year or two. Look at this place!” Royce gestured at the breadth of the tower, where the sun’s light pierced through skylights, spraying the tangled riddle of a million stone gears. Some spun, some whirled, some barely moved, and everywhere were levers. Like arrows peppering a battlefield, stone arms protruded. Just as the gears came in various sizes, so did the levers—some tiny and others the size of tree trunks. “It’s a wonder they ever learned how to vent the core.”

“Exactly,” Hadrian said. “No one knows what most of this stuff does anymore. The Port Authority leaves it alone for fear they might destroy the world or something, right? So whatever Merrick did, it’s a sure bet the folks in charge here don’t know anything about it. It’s got to be a lever that hasn’t been moved in centuries, maybe even thousands of years. It might show signs of recent movement, right?”

“Maybe.”

“So we just need to find it.”

Royce stared at him.

“What?”

“We only have a few hours left, and you’re talking about finding a displaced grain of sand on a beach.”

“I know, and when you come up with something better, we’ll try it. Until then, let’s keep looking.”

Hours passed and still they found nothing. Adding to the
dilemma was the interior of Drumindor itself, which was a maze of corridors, archways, and bridges. Often they could see where they wanted to go but could not determine how to get there. Luck remained on their side, however, as they saw precious few people. They spotted only a handful of workers and even fewer guards. All of them were easily avoided. The sunshine passing through the skylights shone with the brilliance of midday, then diminished as evening arrived, and they still had not achieved their goal.

Finally, they headed for the bottom of the tower.

Going there was their last resort, as the Drumindor defensive garrison fortified the first three floors. Approximately forty soldiers guarded the base, and they had a reputation for their harsh treatment of intruders. Still, whatever Merrick had done, he had most likely done it to the mechanism that controlled the lava’s release. Descending yet another winding staircase, they paused in a sheltered alcove just outside a large chamber. Peering in, they saw it was similar to an interior courtyard, or a theater, with four gallery balconies ringing it stacked one upon another.

“There.” Royce pointed to an opening in the room below, which radiated a yellow glow. “It has to be in there.”

They crept down the stairs to the bottom. Elaborate square-cut designs of inlaid bronze and quartz lined the tiled floor. It picked up the glow coming from the open doorway on the far side. The air warmed dramatically as it blew in their faces, heavy with the smell of sulfur.

“This has to be it,” Royce whispered.

They looked up at the stacked galleries of arched openings circling the walls above them, and slowly, carefully stepped forward together, crossing the shimmering tile, heading for the glowing doorway.

“Halt!” The command echoed through the chamber the moment they reached the center of the room. “Lie facedown, arms and legs spread.”