Theft Of Swords: The Riyria Revelations (18 page)

“What happened?” Royce asked. “Did it hurt?”

“No, it just felt sort of cold but I can’t touch it.”

“Try it again,” Hadrian said.

Alric did not look at all happy with the suggestion but nodded just the same. This time he pressed farther, and the whole party watched as his hand disappeared into the wall up to his wrist before he withdrew it.

“Fascinating,” Royce muttered, feeling the solid stone of the cliff. “I didn’t expect that.”

“Does that mean he has to go in alone?” Hadrian asked.

“I’m not sure I want to enter solid stone by myself,” Alric said with fear in his voice.

“Well, you may have no choice,” Royce responded, “assuming you still want to talk to the wizard. But let’s not give up yet. Give me the ring a moment.”

Despite his earlier desire for the ring, Alric now showed no concern at handing it over. Royce slipped it on, and when he pressed his hand to the cliff face, it passed into the mountain-side just as easily as Alric’s had. Royce pulled his hand back; then he took the ring off, and holding it in his left hand, he reached out with his right. Once more, his hand passed through the stone.

“So you don’t have to be the prince, and you don’t have to be wearing it. You only need to be touching it. Myron, didn’t you say something about the gem creating a vibration?”

Myron nodded. “They create a specific resonance with certain stone types.”

“Try holding hands,” Hadrian suggested.

Alric and Royce did so, and this time, both could penetrate the stone.

“That’s it,” Royce declared. “One last test. Everyone join hands. Let’s make sure it works with four.” They all joined hands and each was able to pierce the surface of the cliff. “Everyone, make sure you remove your hands before breaking the chain.”

“Okay, we need to make some decisions before we go any further. I’ve seen some unusual things before but nothing like this. I don’t have a clue what will happen to us if we go in there. Well, Hadrian, what do you think?”

Hadrian rubbed his chin. “It’s a risk, to be sure. Considering some of the choices I’ve made recently, I’ll leave this one up to you. If you think we should go, then that’s good enough by me.”

“I have to admit,” Royce responded, “my curiosity is piqued, so if you still want to go through with this, Alric, we’ll go with you.”

“If I had to go in alone, I would decline,” Alric said. “But I’m also curious.”

“Myron?” Royce asked.

“What about the horses? Will they be all right?”

“I’m sure they will be fine.”

“But what if we don’t come back? They’ll starve, won’t they?”

Royce sighed. “It’s us or them. You’ll have to choose.”

Myron hesitated. Lightning and thunder tore through the sky, and it began to rain. “Can’t we just untie them, so in case we don’t—”

“I don’t intend to make plans based on our expected deaths. We’ll need the horses when we come out. They’re staying—are you?”

The wind sprayed rain into the monk’s face as he stole one
last look at the horses. “I’ll go,” he said finally. “I just hope they’ll be all right.”

“Okay,” Royce told them, “this is how we’ll do it. I’ll go first, wearing the ring. Alric comes in behind me, then Myron, and Hadrian will take up the rear. When we get inside, we break the chain in reverse order: Hadrian first, then Myron, and Alric last. Enter in the same place I do, and don’t pass me. I don’t want anyone setting off any traps. Any questions?”

All but Myron shook their heads. “Wait a second,” he said as he trotted off toward where they had stored their gear. He gathered the lantern and tinder kit he had brought from the abbey and paused a moment to pet the horses’ wet noses one more time. “I’m ready now,” he said when he returned to the party.

“All right, here goes, everyone hang on and follow me,” Royce said as they rejoined their chain and moved forward. One by one, they passed through the rock cliff. Hadrian was last. When the barrier reached his shoulder, he took a deep breath as if he were swimming, and with that, Hadrian dipped his head inside the stone.

T
hey entered into total darkness. The air was dry, still, and stale. The only sound came from the rainwater dripping from their clothes. Hadrian took a few blind steps forward to make sure he was completely through the barrier before releasing Myron’s hand. “See anything, Royce?” he asked in a whisper so quiet it could scarcely be heard.

“No, not a thing. Everyone stay still until Myron gets the lantern lit.”

Hadrian could hear Myron fiddling in the dark. He tilted his head, searching in vain for anything to focus on. There was nothing. He could have had his eyes closed. Myron scraped the tiny metal lever on his tinder pad, and a burst of sparks flashed on the monk’s lap. In the flare, Hadrian saw faces glaring from the darkness. They appeared briefly and vanished with the dying brilliance.

No one moved or spoke as Myron scraped the pad again. This time the tinder caught fire, and the monk lit the wick of the lantern. The light revealed a narrow hallway, only five feet wide, and a ceiling that was so high it was lost in darkness. Lining both walls were carvings of faces, as if people standing on the other side of a gray curtain were pressing forward to
peer at them. Seemingly caught in a moment of anguish frozen forever in stone, their terrible ghastly visages stared at the party with gaping mouths and wild eyes.

“Pass up the light,” Royce ordered softly.

As the lantern moved from Myron to Royce, its light shone on more faces. To Hadrian, it seemed as if they screamed at the intruders, but the corridor remained still and silent. Some of the figures had eyes wide with fear, while others’ eyes were shut tight, perhaps to avoid seeing something too frightening to look at.

“Someone certainly had a morbid taste in decorating,” Royce said, taking the lantern.

“I’m just thankful they’re only carvings. Imagine if we could hear them,” Alric said.

“What makes you think they’re carvings?” Hadrian asked, reaching out to gingerly touch the nose of a woman with glaring eyes. He half expected warm skin and was grateful when his fingers met cold stone. “Maybe they let go of their gemstones too soon.”

Royce held the lantern up high. “The passage keeps going.”

“More faces?” Alric asked.

“More faces,” the thief confirmed.

“At least we’re out of the rain,” Hadrian said, trying to sound cheerful. “We could still be back …” When he turned around, he was shocked. The corridor extended behind them seemingly without end. “Where’s the wall we just came through?” He took a step and reached out. “It’s not an illusion. The hallway keeps going.” Turning back, Hadrian saw Royce pressing on the sides of the corridor. Unlike with the wall outside, his hand did not penetrate the surface.

“Well, this is going to make matters difficult,” the thief muttered.

“There must be another way out, right?” Alric asked, his voice a bit shaky.

The thief looked back, then forward, and sighed. “We might as well travel in the direction we entered. Here, Alric, take your ring back, although I’m not sure what good it will do you in here.”

Royce led them down the corridor. He checked and tested anything that appeared suspicious. The passage went on for what seemed like eternity. Despite the hallway’s appearing perfectly straight and level, Hadrian began to wonder if the dwarves had built in an imperceptible curve that made it loop back onto itself to form a circle. He also worried about the amount of oil left in Myron’s lantern. It would not be long before they were cast back into utter darkness.

The lack of variation in their surroundings made it impossible to judge exactly how long they had been walking. After a while, something luminescent appeared in the distance. A tiny light bobbed and weaved. As the light drew closer, the echo of sharp, deliberate footsteps accompanied it. At last, Hadrian could discern the figure carrying a lamp. He was tall and trim and wore a long-hooded hauberk. Over this was a scarlet and gold tabard that shimmered in the lamplight. The tabard was marked with a regal coat of arms depicting a celestial crown and a jeweled scepter above a shield divided into quarters and supported on either side by combatant lions. At his side he wore a polished sword with decorative detailing, and on his head, a pointed silver helm exquisitely etched with gold ivy trim. Below the helm were a pair of dark eyes and an even darker look.

“Why are you here?” His tone was reproachful and threatening.

There was a pause before Royce replied. “We are here to see the prisoner.”

“
That
is not allowed,” he responded firmly.

“Then Esrahaddon is still alive?” asked Alric.

“
Do not speak that name!
” thundered the sentry. He cast a tense look over his shoulder into the darkness. “Not here, not
ever
here. You should not have come.”

“That may be but we are here and we need to see Esra—the prisoner,” Royce replied.

“That will not be possible.”

“Make it possible,” Alric ordered. His voice was loud and commanding. He stepped out from behind the others. “I’m King Alric of Melengar, lord of this land wherein you stand. You will not tell me what
is
and what
is not
possible within the boundaries of my own kingdom.”

The sentry took a step back and eyed Alric critically. “You lack a crown,
King
.”

Alric drew his sword. Despite its size, he handled it smoothly and extended the point at the sentry. “What I lack in a crown, I more than make up for in a sword.”

“A sword will not avail you. None who dwell here fear death any longer.” Hadrian could not tell whether it was the weight of the sentry’s words or the weight of the sword but Alric lowered his blade. “Do you have proof of your rank?”

Alric extended a clenched hand. “This is the seal of Melengar, symbol of the House of Essendon and emblem of this realm.”

The sentry stared at the ring and nodded. “If you are the reigning sovereign of the realm, you do have the right to enter. But know this: there is magic at work here. You will do well to follow me closely.” He turned and led them back the way he had come.

“Do you recognize the emblem on the guard?” Hadrian whispered to Myron as they followed him.

“Yes, that’s the coat of arms of the Novronian Empire, worn by the Percepliquis Imperial City Guard. It’s very old.”

Their guide led them out of the corridor filled with faces,
and Hadrian was grateful to be free of it. The hallway opened into a massive cavern with a vaulted ceiling carved from natural stone and supported by pillars of the same. Torches lining the walls revealed a magnificent expanse. It appeared large enough to hold all of Medford. They traversed it by crossing narrow bridges that spanned chasms and traveling through open arches that rose like great trees whose branches supported the mountain above.

There was no visible sign of wood, fabric, or leather. Everything—chairs, benches, desks, tables, shelves, and doors—was made of stone. Huge fountains hewn from rock gurgled with water from unseen springs. The walls and floors lacked the adornment of tapestries and carpets. Instead, carved into virtually every inch of the stone were intricate markings—strange symbols of elaborate twisted designs. Some of them were chiseled with a rough hand, while others were smoothly sculpted. At times, from the corner of his eye, Hadrian thought he saw the carved markings change as he passed them. Looking closely, he discovered it was not an illusion. The shifts were subtle, like the movement of cobwebs in the wake of their passing.

They moved deeper, and their escort did not pause or waver. He walked at a brisk pace, which at times caused Myron, who had the shortest legs, to trot in order to keep up. Their footfalls bounced off the hard walls throughout the stone chamber. The only other sounds Hadrian heard were voices, distant whispers of hidden conversations, but they were too faint for him to make out the words. Whether the sounds were from inhabitants around an unseen corner, or the result of some trick of the stone, was impossible to tell.

Farther in, sentinels began to appear, standing guard along their path. Most were dressed identically to their guide, but others, found deeper in the prison, wore black armor with a
simple white emblem of a broken crown. Sinister-looking helms hid their faces as they stood at perfect attention. None of them moved or said a word.

Hadrian asked Myron about the emblem these men wore.

“The crest is used by the ancient order of the Seret Knights,” the monk explained quietly. “They were first formed eight hundred years ago by Lord Darius Seret, who had been charged by Patriarch Linnev with the task of finding the lost Heir of Novron. The broken crown is symbolic of the shattered empire, which they seek to restore.”

Finally they reached what Hadrian assumed was their final destination. They entered an oval chamber with an incredibly tall door dominating the far wall. Carved of stone, it stood wreathed in a glittering array of fine spiderweb-like designs, which appeared organic in nature. Like the veins of a leaf or the delicate, curling tendrils of sprawling roots, the doorframe spread out until its artistry was lost in the shadows. On either side of the door stood dramatic obelisks covered with runes cut deep in beveled stone. Between these and the door, blue flames burned in braziers mounted on high pedestals.

A man sat on a raised chair behind a six-foot-tall stone desk that was exquisitely sculpted with intricate patterns of swirling lines. On two sides of the worktable, barrel-thick candles twice the height of a man burned. So many melted wax tears streaked down their sides that Hadrian thought they might once have been as tall as the great door.

“Visitors,” their guide announced to the clerk, who, until then, had been busy writing in a massive book with a black feathered quill. The man looked up from his work. His gray beard hung all the way to the floor. Deeply lined with wrinkles, his face looked like the bark of an ancient tree.

“What are your names?” the clerk asked.

“I’m Alric Brendon Essendon, son of Amrath Essendon,
King of Melengar, Lord of the Realm, and I demand an audience with the prisoner.”

“The others?” The clerk motioned toward the rest.

“They are my servants, the royal protectors and my chaplain.”

The clerk rose from his seat and leaned forward to examine each party member in more detail. He looked into the eyes of each for a moment before he resumed his seat. He dipped his feather quill and turned to a new page. After a few moments of writing, he asked, “Why do you wish to see the prisoner?” With his quill poised, he waited for a reply.

“My business is not your concern,” Alric answered in a kingly voice.

“That may be; however, this prisoner
is
my concern, and if you have dealings with him, it
is my business
. I must know your purpose, or I will not grant you entry, king or not.”

Alric stared at the clerk for some time before relenting. “I wish to ask him questions concerning the death of my father.”

The clerk considered this a moment, then scratched his quill on the page of the great book. When he finished, he looked up. “Very well. You may enter the cell but you must obey our rules. They are for your own safety. The man to whom you wish to speak is no ordinary man. He is a thing, an ancient evil, a demon that we have successfully trapped here. Above all else, we are dedicated to keeping him confined. As you might imagine, he very much desires to escape. He is cunning and perpetually tests us. Constantly he is looking for a weakness, a break in a line, or a crack in the stone.

“First, proceed directly down the path to his confinement; do not tarry. Second, stay in the gallery; do not attempt to descend to his cage. Third—and this is the most important—do nothing he asks. No matter how insignificant it may sound. Do not be fooled by him. He is intelligent and
cunning. Ask him your questions; then leave. Do not deviate from these rules. Do you understand?” Alric nodded. “Then may Novron have mercy on you.”

Just then, the great doors split along the central seam and slowly started to open. The loud grinding of stone on stone echoed until at last the doors stood wide. Beyond them lay a long stone bridge that spanned an abyss. The bridge was three feet wide and as smooth as glass, and it appeared no thicker than a sheet of parchment. At the far end of the span rose a column of black rock. An island-like tower, its only visible connection to the world was the delicate bridge.